Houses of worship are adapting, thriving
‘It’s been a whole new way of doing things’
Easter. Passover. Ramadan. At houses of worship, no one expected to still be dealing with the pandemic, which hit last spring just weeks before some of the biggest days on the spiritual calendar.
Many say they’ve adapted — even thrived — since the virus first closed their doors, while others are barely hanging on.
For Christians, Easter is traditionally a pew-packer, with congregants dressed in their finest.
“We jokingly call it the Super Bowl,” said the Rev. Byron Harris, executive pastor of New Calvary Baptist Church in Norfolk.
The last one was a scramble. “We didn’t have much time to figure it out,” Harris said.
The church wound up prerecording an Easter message for online, which, looking back, seems rather primitive.
“We’ve learned a lot about how to do things virtually,” Harris said. He ticked off the church’s new know-how of YouTube, Facebook Live and other social media platforms that have helped hold its 400 members together, and even attract more who watch from
computers in other states.
And while New Calvary still hasn’t resumed services in its sanctuary — “We’re following the science,” Harris said — this Resurrection Sunday will be celebrated with a “park-and-praise” in the church’s lot.
“Everyone will stay in their vehicles and the pastor will be on a podium, up high so everyone can see him,” Harris said.
At the Catholic Church of St. Stephen in Chesapeake, professional-grade cameras and livestream equipment have been installed since last Easter’s broadcast with a shaky iPad.
In-person services are also happening, but with attendance caps, sign-up sheets and pandemic protocols.
“It’s been a whole new way of doing things,” said Linda Hollingsworth, liturgy coordinator. “A big learning curve — things none of us in this office ever thought we’d have to do.”
Parishioners — other than a “couple of cranky pants” — have rolled with the changes, she said:
“We’ve gotten great support. It’s been enlightening in many ways.”
Chris Cuthbertson, the minister at Seaford Christian Church on the Peninsula, said he’s been moved by his flock’s faithfulness. The pandemic had churches worried that, without regular services, members would drift away.
“But they haven’t,” he said. “They’ve even continued in their giving.”
Seaford is doing the hybrid model these days — a combination of virtual and in-person with protocols for its 90 or so members. During it all, folks have mailed in their tithes or dropped them into an offering plate that’s no longer passed around to avoid spreading germs.
“We leave it on a table in the back,” Cuthbertson said, “where it would be really easy for people to think, ‘Hey, nobody’s watching. They won’t know if I give or not.’ But we’ve had no problems. We haven’t been financially impacted at all. If anything, it’s better.”
But smaller, rural churches have been harder hit, said Bishop Kevin White, a Chesapeake pastor and vice president of the Virginia Baptist State Convention.
Those churches tend to be poorer, with older congregations.
“They don’t have the proper internet system or equipment,” he said, “or the manpower or sound systems to even set up a drive-in service.”
On Easter, the one Sunday when even those who rarely attend will “definitely get there,” White said, “some of the rural churches will have no service at all.”
At synagogues and mosques, where the pandemic arrived just in time to disrupt last spring’s communal Passover and Ramadan rituals, leaders say they’re better prepared now.
Tents have been erected on the 8-acre property of the Peninsula Islamic Community Center in Hampton, where up to 200 are expected to come in the evenings during the month of Ramadan, which starts April 12, to share traditional meals.
“Last year, we basically had to shut down all activities for Ramadan,” said Brother Syed Ismail. “But most of our people are vaccinated now. We’ll have prayer inside the building, but still with social distancing.”
At Ghent’s Ohef Sholom Temple, Rabbi Rosalin Mandelberg marveled at how the pandemic has “pushed us into the future.”
This time last year, few at the synagogue had even heard of things such as Zoom. Now, they’re veterans.
For Passover’s second seder on March 28 — a ceremonial feast typically enjoyed with elbow-to-elbow community — they were able to spotlight families around tables in their homes and transform at least one ritual into a digital, interactive game.
“It’s called the afikoman,” Mandelberg said, where children hunt for a piece of hidden matzah. “We made it like a ‘Where’s Waldo?’ kind of page and created a photo dump where they could share pictures of themselves pointing out the matzah on the page.”
Even when life returns to normal, faith communities that can offer virtual options plan to continue.
Ismail said the mosque’s online services are drawing viewers from as far as Canada. Mandelberg said the synagogue’s technology has allowed shut-ins to participate.
“Change is hard and slow but we did it because we didn’t have a choice,” Mandelberg said. “Thank goodness we had people who could help us figure it out. God bless the millennials.”
Simpler times have been greatly missed, though. Face-to-face fellowship. Friendly hugs. Voices lifted together in song.
Inez Cox, a long-time member of New Calvary, figures folks won’t deck themselves out as usual this Easter Sunday. It’s an ancient custom — new clothes to symbolize new life — that adds to the pageantry of the occasion.
But for a drive-up service, “I just don’t think they’ll be dressed up,” she said. “Not to just sit in their cars. I think they’ll be presentable, but that’s about it.”
The times are creating their own customs.
“Like when the pastor says something where we’d normally all say ‘Amen!’ we’ll blow our horns instead,” Cox said. “Just a little ‘toot-toot’ — like ‘hallelujah.’ ”