Third Church of Christ, Scientist
Houston, Harris County, Texas
Marker Inscription
Intended to serve the congregation that had been organized as an offshoot of the growing First Church of Christ, Scientist, in 1922, this structure was designed by J. Rodney Tabor of the Jonas and Tabor architectural firm. Completed in 1928, this structure is among the last of a number of Mediterranean-style buildings erected in the South Main area to lend a sense of history and place to the newly developing Almeda Road corridor. The edifice is noteworthy for its octagonal tower, arched windows, tile roof and stuccoed walls. The Sunday school addition erected in 1953 follows the same style. Recorded Texas Historic Landmark-1999
Erected by Texas Historical Commission
The Story
Organized as an offshoot of Houston's growing First Church of Christ, Scientist, this congregation completed its own home in 1928 along the newly developing Almeda Road corridor. Its octagonal tower, tile roof, and stuccoed walls made it one of the last of the Mediterranean-style buildings that gave the South Main area its sense of place. A Sunday school addition in 1953 carried the same graceful style forward.
Why it matters
The building shows how faith communities and their architecture helped shape the identity and growth of America's rapidly expanding early-20th-century cities.
The story behind this marker
AI contextThe era
By the 1920s Houston was booming outward, and the land south of downtown was some of the most actively developing in the city. The Almeda Road corridor and the broader South Main area were being transformed from open ground into new neighborhoods, and developers wanted them to feel established and dignified rather than raw and new.
One popular way to conjure that sense of permanence was through architecture. Across the country in this era — and especially in the warmer states — builders reached for the Mediterranean Revival style: stuccoed walls, red tile roofs, arched openings, and towers that evoked the old villas and missions of Spain and Italy. The style promised instant history, a feeling of age and place applied to brand-new streets.
This was also a time of religious growth and diversification in America's cities. New congregations organized, split, and multiplied as populations grew, and each new church building became both a spiritual home and a civic landmark in its neighborhood.
People & events
This building was raised for a congregation of Christian Scientists — followers of the Church of Christ, Scientist. The group had organized in 1922 as an offshoot of Houston's First Church of Christ, Scientist, which had grown large enough to spin off a new community of worshippers.
To design their home, the congregation turned to J. Rodney Tabor of the architectural firm Jonas and Tabor. Completed in 1928, his building became one of the last of the Mediterranean-style structures that gave the South Main area its distinctive character during those years of rapid development.
Tabor's design leans fully into that tradition. An octagonal tower anchors the composition, arched windows punctuate the walls, and a tile roof crowns stuccoed surfaces — the full Mediterranean vocabulary. When the congregation added a Sunday school wing in 1953, they carried the same style forward, so the addition reads as a continuation rather than an interruption.
Its place in the American story
The Church of Christ, Scientist grew rapidly across the United States in the early twentieth century, and its congregations often built handsome, dignified edifices that became fixtures of their communities. This building is one chapter in that broader American story of a home-grown religious movement establishing itself city by city.
Just as important is what the building says about how American cities grew. In the 1920s, architecture was used deliberately to give new districts a sense of rootedness — and the Mediterranean Revival style was a favorite tool for the job, from Florida to California and across the Sun Belt in between. A tile roof and an arched window did quiet cultural work, telling residents that their new neighborhood had character and belonged.
Seen together, faith and architecture here reflect a national pattern: houses of worship anchoring the identity of expanding cities, and building styles chosen to make the new feel timeless.
If you visit
Let the octagonal tower catch your eye first — it's the signature of the design and the easiest feature to pick out from the street. From there, notice how the arched windows, the tile roof, and the smooth stuccoed walls work together to create that warm, Mediterranean feeling of age and place.
See if you can spot where the 1953 Sunday school addition joins the original 1928 structure. Because the later builders matched the style so faithfully, the seam is subtle — a small pleasure to hunt for, and a lesson in how a congregation can grow while honoring its architectural heritage.
Think of this as a window into the way the South Main and Almeda Road area came together in the 1920s. It fits nicely into a slow drive or walk through Houston's older southern neighborhoods, where you can watch one of the last survivors of a once-common style still lending its corner a sense of history.
Written by AI to add context, grounded in the marker’s inscription and the historical record. The inscription above is the original, unaltered text.
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Related people
- · J. Rodney Tabor
Themes & tags
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