2 FAITHS, 1 REFUGE
Post-Harvey holidays prove special for Jewish, Christian congregations
In the past, Emmanuel Episcopal Church marked Holy Saturday with a Great Easter Vigil, a deeply spiritual ritual that concludes with the lighting of the paschal candle — a symbol of rebirth and renewal.
But this year, a time when so much has changed for so many, members of the Christian church in west Houston instead observed Easter eve with a Passover seder, sharing a meal of gefilte fish and matzah ball soup with Jewish worshipers from Temple Sinai. It is a fitting metaphor. Two communities ravaged by the force of nature. Two faiths with common roots. Two religious traditions. Under one roof, at the same table. It’s been that way since Temple Sinai opened its doors to Emmanuel Episcopal, which was left without a place of worship after Hurricane Harvey’s floodwaters swallowed up the dove gray church at Eldridge Parkway and Memorial, rendering the building unusable.
Their story — of how a church and synagogue came together through crisis and upheaval, how they formed one family in the midst of fear and uncertainty, how faith was shaken and re-
stored — is the story of this season.
It recalls the message of Passover, when Jews commemorate God’s liberation of the Israelites from slavery in ancient Egypt, and the traditional seder welcome that, according to Temple Sinai Rabbi Annie Belford, invites “all who are hungry to come and eat.”
It embodies the hope of Easter, when Christians celebrate the day Jesus rose from the dead, and the promise of redemption for those pushing through despair.
It is the story of “huge loss coupled with with incredible generosity and love. Darkness and light together. Death and resurrection together,” said the Rev. Andrew Parker of Emmanuel. “That’s what the paschal mystery is all about. We are living it in a bigger, more tangible way.”
Parker paused and blinked back tears. His expression was an amalgam of pain and gratitude, a glimpse of how far they have all come.
Before the light, there was darkness. There was Harvey. Days of pounding rain. A storm that seemed as if it would never end. And water. Water that rushed from rivers and bayous. Water that swamped roads, poured into houses, filled churches and synagogues and mosques.
Water that rose inside the Emmanuel Episcopal building, shrouding the pews, destroying prayer books, wiping out four decades of history.
It would take 10 days for the flooding to recede from the church. Lane Ferguson, senior warden at Emmanuel, did not wait that long. The Tuesday after the storm, he waded through chest-high water and hitchhiked a ride on a boat to get to the church, trying to rescue as much as he could from the building.
The following Saturday, he went back to retrieve Emmanuel’s eternal candle, which hung 25 feet above the altar. He carried the treasured artifact — flame still burning — from the waterlogged church.
The candle, the altar and the kitchen stove were the only things salvaged from the first floor. Everything else was gone.
It was, Parker said, like a death, like seeing someone you love beaten up. A sacred space in ruins.
Word spread quickly. Parker got messages asking if his congregation needed a place to gather. Belford was one of the first to call, but Emmanuel already had accepted an offer from Holy Spirit Episcopal Church.
For several weeks, the Emmanuel congregation held services at Holy Spirit, but the only time available was a Sunday afternoon slot, a hardship for families still reeling from Harvey. So Parker thought back to the invitation from Temple Sinai, which is just two miles from the church.
The generosity of the offer had taken him aback. But holding Christian services at a synagogue? The notion seemed odd. Some of Emmanuel’s members, already anxious about the future of their church, were skeptical.
Then Parker noted: If worshipping in a Jewish temple was good enough for Jesus, it’s good enough for Emmanuel.
At Temple Sinai, the prospect of sharing space also raised eyebrows.
After all, that congregation, too, was suffering the aftermath of Harvey. About 40 of its 200 families had lost homes in the storm. The temple spearheaded rescue and recovery efforts, distributed food to displaced families, welcomed neighborhood residents without power for coffee, doughnuts and phone charging, and forfeited dues from members impacted by flooding. It was feeling the financial strain.
Belford was peppered with questions: Would there be a cross in the sanctuary? What about security, always a concern for synagogues? Would Temple Sinai, a sunlit building where even light fixtures are in the shape of the Star of Israel, remain a Jewish space?
In the end, the rabbi says, there was only one answer.
An answer that comes from a commandment uttered in the Torah more than 30 times.
“We are supposed to welcome the stranger, for we were strangers in the land of Egypt,” she explained. “It was the right thing to do.”
An opportunity for a mitzvah. A good deed.
No one knew what to expect that first Sunday, the weekend before Thanksgiving.
The logistics had been tricky. The bimah, the slanted platforms used for Torah reading, had to be transformed into an altar. A member of Emmanuel crafted a wooden plank that can be switched out for the Christian service.
Temple Sinai’s “ritual room,” used to store books for High Holy Days and Haggadah pamphlets for Passover, had to be cleared for vestments, candles and a shelf filled with copies of the Book of Common Prayer bound in red. The synagogue’s Sunday school classes, where students prepare for confirmation and Bat Mitzvah, were shifted to the library.
There was palpable nervousness in the air. Then Belford addressed the Emmanuel Episcopal congregation, now gathered in an unfamiliar setting.
Welcome, she told them, before translating the Hebrew words inscribed in gold on lecterns in front of the sanctuary. Tzedek. Emet. Torah. Justice. Truth. Teach. She instructed Parker and the Rev. Brad Sullivan to open the doors of the ark, revealing the Torah scroll. The entire room oohed.
Then she taught one more Hebrew word: shalom.
There are three meanings of the word, she explained to the congregants who had been displaced from their house of worship. It means goodbye, which applies to your journey. It means hello, which applies to where you all are. And it means peace, which is what we hope you find here.
Four months later, the trepidation has long vanished. Emmanuel members now greet Belford by calling “Shalom, Rabbi Annie.” The two congregations held a joint Advent-Hanukkah celebration, where they sang songs from both faiths, ate traditional Hanukkah food and St. Nicholas cookies. (It was, Parker said, like nothing he has ever seen.)
On March 4, the synagogue’s annual mitzvah day, both communities joined to do service, building a pit for “GaGa” (a Jewish day camp game) in the back field of the Temple Sinai property. Emmanuel’s sewing guild set up machines in the synagogue hallway, where young boys from the synagogue stitched pillowcases alongside ladies from the church. They have become one family. When Belford’s mother was diagnosed with brain cancer, Emmanuel sewing guild members made a quilt for her. Every Sunday, the congregation offers prayers for her health.
The church presence has brought blessings to the synagogue, Belford said. They have given Temple Sinai members an opportunity to practice the values of their religion.
For their part, Emmanuel members say the time at Temple Sinai has helped renew their faith.
Ferguson said “the hair was standing on my arms” during the first service at the temple, his soul filled with wonder at the thought of the Torah scroll inside the ark.
“It was new and exciting and spectacular,” he said, noting that the joint quarters also have reinforced the shared ancestry of the two faiths.
That is especially meaningful this week, as Passover and Easter converged.
On Maundy Thursday, as Parker readied the sanctuary for the traditional foot washing service later that night, tables had already been set up for the Saturday seder. A silver bowl and white hand towels were laid out, not too far from Shabbat candles.
That’s fine, Parker joked. “The tables are a wonderful reminder for us because Maundy Thursday is all about the Last Supper.”
The foot-washing ceremony itself pays homage to Jesus’ commandment to “love one another as I loved you.” The Easter vigil service includes a reading from the Book of Exodus, which follows the flight of the Israelites from Egypt.
Like everything after Harvey, that Biblical story now carries additional significance. So too, does the Easter triduum, the period from Holy Thursday to Easter Sunday, which takes Christians from the most solemn day of the Liturgical calendar to the most joyous.
“We feel like we have been through a time of darkness,” said Parker, who has adopted a line from a hymn as the church’s new motto: “A new creation by water and the word.”
Still, the Emmanuel journey is far from over. The rebuilding of the church may take up to two years, during which the congregation will remain at Temple Sinai.
Passover is a fitting metaphor for that as well, Belford said.
“After the Israelites got through the Red Sea, they weren’t done marching. They got through marching hand-byhand,” the rabbi said, echoing a reading. “Together, we just have more hands.”