People of Faith in Windsor Terrace Stay Connected, as Pandemic Restrictions Keep Them Apart
Gerri Cassone was working at her church’s food pantry last March when her pastor broke the news: They were closing the church. Temporarily, at least, due to COVID-19. “I remember having a terrible pain in the pit of my stomach,” said Cassone, who has been attending the Immaculate Heart of Mary Roman Catholic church in Brooklyn’s Windsor Terrace neighborhood for over 60 years. “It felt like a loss of a close family member.”
The past year has, indeed, been a time of immense loss. And for many, religion is a way to help navigate those losses. But this leads to a predicament. In a pandemic characterized by a disease known for spreading indoors through people in close proximity, the decision of whether to go to your place of worship to sing and pray together has been a difficult one. And for some, literally a life or death decision. Nearly 200 people have died of COVID-19 in Windsor Terrace and Kensington, and that number continues to grow.
The desire to gather in person led to a Supreme Court case, in which the Roman Catholic Diocese of Brooklyn, based in Windsor Terrace, and several Orthodox Jewish Synagogues from Brooklyn and Queens, sued Governor Andrew Cuomo over his pandemic restrictions, arguing they violated their freedom to exercise religion. The places of worship won. However, despite being legally able to attend, many still feel uncomfortable attending in person for fear of getting sick. So they needed to think outside of the box.
Within Windsor Terrace, a tiny neighborhood just eight blocks square, places of worship are landmarks in the community; some are just a few years old, others have been around for over a century. But regardless of how long they’ve been here, the congregations associated with them have maintained a deep level of connection, despite the obstacles to more traditional forms of worship. Each faith community has overcome the barriers in different ways, using varying methods of technology to stay close, despite being physically apart.
Immaculate Heart of Mary
The Immaculate Heart of Mary Roman Catholic Church is well over a century old, with some parishioners having attended for as long as they can remember. For those who can no longer attend church in person, some have turned to the telephone as their primary source of connection.
Located on the southern border of Windsor Terrace and Kensington, the Immaculate Heart of Mary towers high, with looming brick walls and decorations in stone lining the vast wood doors into the church. A black iron gate frames the outside of the church property, and large stone steps lead up into the sanctuary. To Gerri Cassone, the church is deeply meaningful. “I feel like I’m there with Jesus dying, as his mother’s holding him,” she said. “It is a very spiritual church.”
Before COVID, Cassone attended in person seven days a week, but once the Immaculate Heart of Mary reopened, after its initial closure, she now attends mostly on weekday mornings to avoid the crowds. Physically attending church is vitally important to her. “To me, it’s a source of strength,” she said. “I just find that if I start my day off going to mass, I’ve given myself the greatest gift I can.”
Because it means so much to be able to step into the sanctuary every day, her thoughts often turn to those who still don’t feel comfortable attending in person, and who don’t have access to the online services created in response to the pandemic. She has made it a priority to stay connected to those members, especially those who are elderly, using the phone. “I’ve prayed with people over the phone during this pandemic,” she said. “It doesn’t start out as a prayer — it starts out as a conversation — and it just turns into prayer.”
One 95-year-old woman called Cassone to ask a quick question about the food pantry. Their call lasted two hours. “I could tell that she was lonely,” Cassone said. They talked about everything from opinions on music, to the neighborhood, to different types of cars and hairstyles. “It was like giving her a million bucks. I just kept the conversation going for as long as I could.”
For Cassone, talking to parishioners over the phone became her ministry. The most impactful way she’s found to support the underserved seniors in her parish has been to just pick up the phone and listen. No matter how trivial the conversation, Cassone described it as an act of service. “You’re important, and I’m going to sit here and talk to you for 30 minutes about your shoes, because you’re a child of God, and this is what Jesus would want us to do.”
United City Church
Just two blocks north of Immaculate Heart of Mary, parishioners have been relying on newer technology to stay connected, and it’s been even more successful than they anticipated.
The United City Church is a small grey building that might be mistaken for a modest house, if not for the large stone entryway with thick wooden doors at the front. This is the Evangelical Protestant United City Church (UCC), a 40-person congregation that belongs to the larger Every Nation Network. According to Alex Meltsin, the pastor who founded the church three years ago, they’ve held both in-person and online services over the past year.
For some members of UCC, practicing their faith through virtual services has opened up unanticipated opportunities for connection. Angela Rojas Cornejo, who lives in Peru, decided in April to search for churches in the United States. She wanted to practice her English. After she messaged a few on Instagram, a member from United City Church replied. She’s now been a part of UCC for eight months.
She started attending the church’s Zoom sessions and, after being coaxed to turn on her camera, she now feels like she’s part of their community, even though she lives more than 3,000 miles away. “For me, it doesn’t matter where you are, or what part of the world you are in,” she said. “I think that using technology, we can be together.”
Despite the obvious benefits of gathering in person, Meltsin says that in some aspects, the Zoom services are more convenient. It’s easier to wake up, roll out of bed, and sign on to a computer than it is to get to the church. He says they are going to continue online services even after the pandemic. Even so, it is upsetting for him when they can’t meet in person.
“Like any other human being, you want to hug a person, give a high five; you miss that physical interaction,” said Meltsin. But for him, “church is not a building, church is the people,” and all he can do is stay nimble, offering services over Zoom until they can consistently meet in person again.
Chabad of Windsor Terrace
For the congregation of the Chabad of Windsor Terrace, Zoom services were never an option. They observe Shabbat on Saturdays, and therefore choose to refrain from using technology from sunset on Friday until sunset the following day. They held regular services outside until it got too cold, said Rabbi Moshe Hecht, and now only a maximum of 10 people are allowed to meet inside their small space. The rest observe Shabbat and pray at home.
The only Jewish organization in Windsor Terrace, the Chabad is young, established just over a decade ago. Community, and sharing food and drink is a tenet of their faith that Rabbi Hecht said members of his congregation crave deeply.
“One of the highlights of the Jewish tradition are the Friday night meals,” said Hecht. “It’s like a Thanksgiving Dinner every week.” He said that these Shabbat dinners are the number one thing he notices his congregation missing. So he brainstormed ways to keep the 100 families of his congregation connected. Now, although they don’t use Zoom to connect on Saturdays, they use Zoom for just about everything else.
One Sunday in late February of this year, the Chabad hosted a virtual hamentashen bake in preparation for Purim. Families joined the Zoom call, wearing aprons and with rolling pins in hand, to bake the traditional holiday cookies together. Mushky Hecht, the Rabbi’s wife, explained how to make them, periodically glancing up at the screen to make sure everyone was with her. “Let me see your dough!” she said.
Although one might think it would be hard to bake dozens of cookies and participate in a Zoom call at the same time, the congregation of the Chabad of Windsor Terrace has gotten used to it. “It got a little sticky, so I added some flour,” said Hecht, explaining how to tweak the recipe. She paused and reflected, feeling the texture of the dough between her hands. “We’re very flexible. We definitely have learned to be very flexible.”
For now, they are doing all they can to keep their hope and faith strong. In the words of Mushky Hecht during the virtual hamentashen bake, “My heart is melting. Keep sharing the kindness and the goodness. Keep sharing the challah. Keep sharing the hamentashen. Send me your pictures.”
