Clergy pressed to fill needs of their flocks
Say pandemic has left people hungry — literally and spiritually
“We really are at the front lines in terms of the safety net that has shown itself to have some pretty significant holes when the regular stressors that people are dealing with are exacerbated.”
Cass Shaw, president and CEO of the Council of Churches of Greater Bridgeport
Food insecurity. Loneliness. Youth struggling in school. Deaths without proper funerals.
For nine months now, Connecticut’s clergy have been working to alleviate the COVID-19 pandemic’s ever-mounting toll on many facets of peoples’ lives, as demand for everything from food to phone calls has increased.
“The struggle, it continues from March and in many cases is actually getting worse,” said the Rev. Kelcy Steele, pastor of New Haven’s Varick Memorial AME Zion Church.
Since spring, Steele has seen community members bury their loved ones without big church funerals. He’s forgone visiting sick parishioners due to hospital restrictions.
And he’s watched people struggle with worsening depression, exacerbated by continued isolation, he said.
Some individuals with substance use disorders have relapsed “due to the stress and trauma,” according to the pastor, who noted that Varick Memorial runs an addiction services program.
Overall, demand for church services is as high as Steele has ever seen.
“I think that this comes with the pandemic,” he said, estimating that he makes five to ten pastoral care calls weekly.
“The demand is up because people are attempting to be a part of something and they want that, you know, connection,” he said.
But tending to congregants remotely is “nothing like … practicing the ministry of presence,” according to Steele.
Besides parishioners’ spiritual needs, there’s another challenge: making sure the community doesn’t go hungry.
“It’s sometimes difficult trying to keep [the food pantry] stocked because so many people are coming on a daily basis for their needs,” Steele said.
A safety net
Bridgeport clergy also described a constant scramble to create a safety net for underserved community members.
“We really are at the front lines in terms of the safety net that has shown itself to have some pretty significant holes when the regular stressors that people are dealing with are exacerbated,” said Cass Shaw, president and CEO of the Council of Churches of Greater Bridgeport.
The need for food has “increased exponentially,” according to Shaw, who said the organization’s network of around 30 food pantries have shelves that quickly go bare.
The Council of Churches also works with youths who “have high rates of truancy and trauma,” issues worsened by the pandemic, Shaw said, noting that many students are struggling with a digital divide as schools have students working remotely.
Already frustrated with school before COVID hit, some “have tuned out,” she continued, adding that her team is doing everything it can to keep them engaged.
But it isn’t possible to meet all the need.
“We at the council have only a few caseworkers who can manage up to 30 kids at a time on a weekly basis,” she said. “If we had 10 caseworkers, we still couldn’t meet the need. … Given the inequities in how schools are funded, given all the restraints and all the roadblocks, nobody’s meeting the need, but people are really trying.”
The Rev. William McCullough, pastor of Russell Temple CME Church in Bridgeport and president of the Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance, has long been working to provide resources to an underserved community, but “the demands are different now,” he said.
“People are losing their jobs, so we’ve been feeding people,” he said. “People are hungry.”
His nonprofit FaithActs for Education has given out approximately $40,000 in grocery store gift cards since spring, according to McCullough, who also said some folks have not even been able to afford masks, which is why he’s worked to distribute personal protective equipment.
“People have lost their jobs and they can’t even afford some of the stuff they need to stay safe,” he said.
How clergy have coped
Especially in communities of color, Shaw said, the frequency with which pastors have had to perform funerals “takes a lot out of them, and they have to be careful, and attentive to their own needs, so that they can continue serving the community.”
Some have been dealing with heavy personal losses as they tend to their communities.
Imam Kashif AbdulKarim, of the Muhammad Islamic Center of Greater Hartford, said he lost his wife, Khaliah Abdul-Karim, in July.
Abdul-Shahid Ansari, assistant imam at the mosque, died earlier this year and had to go without a proper memorial service due to the pandemic, he said.
And another imam, Adabi Abdul Karim, who Kashif Abdul-Karim said was heavily involved in assisting local refugees, died in early November.
None of the deaths were from COVID, according to Abdul-Karim.
But they’ve made a hard year even harder.
“It feels as though death is just in the atmosphere,” Abdul-Karim said.
The imam gave a service Friday on “how God controls the storm,” he said. “We have to be patient until the storm dies down, and that’s the only thing that we have to hold onto right now. ... Hopefully with the vaccine and the new treatments that are coming, the storm is gonna die down and we’re gonna be all right.”
For McCullough, the current spike in COVID-19 infections has hit closer to home than the first, he said, adding that he lost two fellow clergy members.
And he’s constantly worrying about people’s
safety.
“It’s not easy. Gaining weight, you know, can’t sleep at night, so concerned about others,” he said when asked how he was coping.
While he has taken up biking and does his best to get out of the house, “it can be taxing, you know, anxiety can set in,” McCullough said. “I care so much about the people and especially their safety. … Almost 275,000 people have died. They’re saying that one person dies every minute. … These are not statistics, these are real people.”
For some clergy, the duties of the pandemic can seem never-ending.
Bishop W. Vance Cotten and his wife, the Rev. Dr. Kim L. Cotten, are copastors at Shiloh Baptist Church on Butternut Street in Middletown.
“It’s a 24-hour-a-day job since March, trying to keep people going,” which they do via Zoom, Facebook and phone, Kim Cotten said.
“I have not gotten to bed one day before 2 o’clock,” W. Vance Cotten said.
“I’m tired,” said Steve Darr, pastor of the First Congregational Church of Torrington. “I have an associate, which helps, but it’s a lot of work.”
But, Darr continued, “It’s all well worth it. God’s got us in the midst of this, that’s where we get our strength, trusting in Him.”
“It’s been pretty intense,” said Penny Kessler, a cantor for the United Jewish Center of Danbury.
Knowing she could easily work 15 hours a day, Kessler has made it a point to practice self-care.
“I meditate, I exercise, I’m watching a lot of fun TV that I’ve never seen before, I’m bingeing ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ from the start, I’m staying in touch with family a lot,” she said. “Is this easy? No. My eyes are exhausted from being on Zoom conferences … but I do try to take care of myself because I want other people to see that we can’t sit in front of a computer all day.”
Filling spiritual, emotional needs
There’s an ongoing debate among the members of the Muhammad Islamic Center of Greater Hartford: while most want to do “whatever we can to avoid getting sick,” standing six feet apart during prayer “goes against the actual religious practice,” Imam Abdul-Karim said.
“Traditionally ... we’re lined up toe-to-toe and shoulder-to-shoulder,” he said. “There’s a conflict
within the community Between people who want to do it exactly as God says and others want to make exceptions because of COVID.”
With the COVID protocols implemented at the Masjid, some “feel like we’re really not praying,” according to Abdul-Karim.
Due to capacity restrictions, the Masjid increased the number of Friday services in order to accommodate all participants, Abdul-Karim said.
Meanwhile, a lower attendance rate overall has the mosque struggling financially, according to Abdul-Karim, who said the organization depends on donations it receives during prayer and Friday services.
Other clergy spoke of the challenges of attending to their congregants’ mental health struggles and isolation.
“I have congregants who have not left their houses — I mean not left their homes — since March,” said Kessler.
For Hanukkah, the UJC is holding a virtual event series — “something, really, for everybody, for every night, so that people can feel connected,” according to Kessler.
Kessler and other clergy described a higher demand for pastoral counseling.
“I think people are just a little more lonely than they had been,” she said.
Deacon Steven Marcus, of St. Maron Maronite Catholic Church in Torrington, has seen a similar impact.
“I’ve been ordained for 12 years, and in the past
year, I’ve never prayed more with people over the telephone,” he said. “People say, ‘I’m lonely, I’m feeling isolated, and I can’t see my grandchildren. I just want to talk.’”
One challenge is keeping older congregants connected.
“What we’re trying to do for them is send a weekly email with a prayer, the readings from the Mass and a link to see the Mass livestreamed, to touch them as much as we can,” Marcus said. “We also make phone calls to elderly parishioners, bring them a blessing, so they feel connected to our community and to God.”
Rabbi Mitchell Hurvitz of Temple Sholom in Greenwich also has been hard at work helping folks battle isolation.
“You’re pulling every lever possible to keep connected to your households and to keep people engaged,” he said.
Hurvitz has seen an uptick in the number of people who reach out to him, he said.
‘Silver lining’
Without question, the pandemic has been a challenge: with more congregants struggling financially, Temple Sholom has increased membership fee abatements, which in turn has strained the institution’s own finances, according to Hurvitz, who said the restricted attendance at the synagogue’s day care also cuts into profits.
In terms of the needs of the wider community, Temple Sholom supports a
local food pantry called Neighbor to Neighbor, where demand for services nearly has doubled since March, according to spokeswoman Susan Maher.
But at the same time, more people have stepped up to donate their time and resources, according to Hurvitz.
The rabbi personally has not felt the strain experienced by many clergy, he said.
Hurvitz said he was diagnosed with indolent lymphoma in February. When the pandemic hit, he was able to stop focusing on his own worries and “meaningfully be there for people,” he said.
As for the community, its members generally have worked hard to find the “silver lining,” Hurvitz said. Many have “reoriented to what’s really important in their lives.”
The synagogue also has seen an uptick in attendance, according to Hurvitz.
It’s not the only one. According to Shaw, head of the Council of Churches of Greater Bridgeport, many religious leaders are finding the pandemic has led to a more “inclusive worship.”
“People who can’t get out of their homes and were traditionally visited by deacons or pastors but were unable to participate in worship now can,” she said.
It’s an impact Shaw believes will be lasting.