"The story of the Cathedral of All Saints is dominated by the building itself," writes George E. DeMille in his 1967 book about the Gothic Episcopal cathedral in eastern New York state. Great churches have a resonant silence, an intensity of presence best appreciated when they are empty of people and activity. All Saints', in the dim light of an early Saturday evening, calmly radiates a history centuries older than itself.

"The American Cathedral" was the vision of the first Bishop of Albany, William Crosswell Doane, who lies with his wife and daughter behind the high altar. In 1882, he staged a design competition which was won by a young, relatively unknown British architect, Robert Wilson Gibson, who had "spent several years touring and sketching the cathedrals of England and Europe and developed a passionate love of the 'primitive' early Gothic style." An All Saints' anecdotal history states that when work on the building ceased in 1888, it was the largest church in America at 328 feet in length. In 1904 J.P. Morgan donated $250,000 to complete the choir.

The brilliant choir clerestory windows, it was recently discovered, were created by Sir Christopher Whall, whose work was "the subject of a major 150th Anniversary Exhibition" in London last winter. The paired mosaic lunettes on either side of the high altar, Old and New Testament depictions of bread and wine, were commissioned by Bishop Doane of French impressionist Puvis de Chevannes in 1906. The choir floor leads from tile waves through various nautical symbols to the altar; records of discussion between Bishop Doane and King Umberto II indicate that it "may be the finest example of 12th-century Cosmati pavement outside of Italy." The monumental pillars within and flying buttresses outside were constructed with 12th-century methods: Stone upon stone upon stone.

Gibson's and Doane's vision has never been finished. The original drawings, on linen as thin and translucent as ancient parchment, show north and south towers ornamented and spired, above a triple-arched entrance, with a central lantern to cap the transept.

The present west wall and entrance are jarringly modern, a 1970s insult to a building whose soul is medieval. The elegant north steps are fenced off, crumbling and dangerous.

The discovery of the original plans led the cathedral congregation to the edge of a gigantic leap of faith coupled with financial daring. Bishop Doane, luckily a highly quotable gentleman whose words are well recorded in convention journals and chapter minutes, said in 1874, "Every church ought to cost just as much as possible; because we ought always to offer the best to God." The Bishop of Albany, the Rt. Rev. Daniel Herzog, dean of the cathedral the Very Rev. Marshall Vang, and physician and fund-raiser-in-chief Edward Doucet, intend to repair leaking roof and shifting stone, renovate the vacant guild house - and finish the cathedral. The estimated cost: $100 million.

The first bishop's vision was more than architectural. The "reality of a cathedral" involved "work and worship, in frequent services, in schools and houses of mercy of every kind." Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer are offered every day. The Eucharist is celebrated each day, including three services each Sunday: at 7:30 a.m. in the Lady Chapel, at 9:00 in the nave with Rite II, and the Solemn Rite I sung by the choir of men and boys at 11:00.

David Lamb is organist and director of music. Raised a Roman Catholic, he was, he said, "torn between the priesthood and playing for the Yankees - I'm still waiting for them to call me." He came to Albany three years ago after working with an independent boychoir in New Jersey. Albany's choir is "one of the oldest boychoirs in the United States - maybe the oldest. It's a real challenge. Bishop Doane's vision was very English. I hope to see a choir day school, after the reconstruction." The entire choir is paid, boys and men. "There are lots of churches and not enough good singers around," he said. "And it involves a great commitment of time, with the Sunday Solemn Eucharist and diocesan services." The boys rehearse two days by themselves, and with the men on Thursday evenings.

The singers are not all members of the cathedral congregation. "If they are exposed to quality, and to God, it's a good thing. Get them in the door and they'll be hooked," Mr. Lamb said. Excellent music was one of Bishop Doane's three characteristics essential to a cathedral, with daily services and free pews. Both our 1916 and our 1940 hymnals have his hymn "Ancient of Days," set to a tune by the cathedral's first professional organist, J. Albert Jeffrey. (The Hymnal 1982 resets his text to Alec Wyton's tune Coburn.)

Joseph Porter has been a cathedral member "off and on most of my life." He's served on the chapter and the board of Episcopal Charities of Albany. "The cathedral is known as a spiritual resource," he said. "Government workers attend Morning Prayer or the noon Masses." When he visited Germany and Austria, he said, "I was struck by the government's role in preservation. Here it's the church's responsibility. Cathedrals take a substantial period of time to construct. But it provides huge benefits to the diocese, the Episcopal Church, and the city."

Each October large fanciful banners appear in the nave and the chairs disappear, to be replaced by the booths of artists and artisans, food vendors and animal sellers, by jugglers and musicians and dancers. The annual Medieval Faire offers a taste of the ancient to the community.

Throughout the year, lifetime member Doris Bedell said, "The church's concerts are well known. It is the center point to experience the best in liturgy and music ... in a special place, the heart of the seat of government."

People come from all over, she said, to the downtown cathedral. "It's an integral part of my life. Diversity has always existed here." Not a big congregation, but "we're growing, full of life. Dean Vang is vibrant, energetic. We're a family, even though we are not a parish. New people become part of it, as a new baby does." Dean Vang said, "The cathedral has a loyal, faithful congregation. And our visibility is emerging in the city."

Ms. Bedell feels a strong sense of commitment to the diocese. "We have to preserve cathedrals — they can't be done again," she said. "The cathedral is a special place of holiness, and a special experience for the parishes who come to visit. It's their mother church. The dean goes out to other parishes and those clergy come here. We're caretakers for the diocese."

The Episcopal cathedral has a strong covenant relationship with the Roman Catholic Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception nearby. Vonda Cannon, in her second term as a member of the cathedral chapter, mentioned foyers, small dinner and conversation groups meeting periodically. On the Feast of St. Francis, the two congregations brought their animals to the Episcopal cathedral at the corner of, appropriately, Swan and Elk Streets to be blessed. Gale Sharron, administrative assistant, described the service. "We brought the animals into the church and we sang a hymn, 'All creatures of our God and King, lift up your voices...' One of the dogs started to howl along. It was very lovely."

The cathedrals will share stations of the cross during Lent. All Saints' vicar, the Rev. Frederick McQuade, said, "We go to them for the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, and we invite them here for All Saints' Day."

On a glowing October Sunday, the Cathedral of All Saints installed, at Solemn Vespers of the Holy Cross, 14 new stations of the cross, commissioned from and painted by the nuns of New Skete in Cambridge, N.Y. Each is formed of a heavy cross, painted a deep red, accented with blue and gold. At the center is a circle containing an image relating to the Crucifixion. One of the nuns involved in the artwork said, "It is non-graphic and non-representational; instead it's suggestive and iconic. You, the viewer, have to work."

There are no faces, only parts of bodies. One shows a black wooden crosspiece, a nailed hand, blood streaming down a white sleeve. Another, a woman's hand wrapping a blue robe about a shoulder. They are extremely powerful.

Acting as verger is Larry Norville, a cradle Episcopalian whose wife, Lisa, and daughter Lauren are also active at All Saints'. With immense dignity he leads the procession of cross-bearers and clergy to where red carnations placed on the floor indicate the site for each station. At each station, Bishop-in-residence David Ball, the seventh Bishop of Albany, whose ministry the crosses honor, reads the lesson and the prayer; the choir intones the plainsong verse. Mr. Norville is head acolyte, not only of the cathedral but "for the entire diocese. Visiting acolytes look to us; we set the standard," he said.

Will the congregation of the Cathedral of All Saints achieve Bishop Doane's monumental standard, a building "that should be large because it is everybody's church," where "the cathedral service is the very highest ideal of earthly worship of Almighty God"? Ned Doucet says unreservedly, studying those fragile drawings, "We'll build it!" One of David Lamb's choirboys sums it up: "If God's for it, if it's for the right reasons, it'll happen." o