From Matt
That first Sunday away from Old Good Shepherd, as it has come to be known, was bitingly cold and it had snowed six inches overnight. I’d read the weather reports the night before and prayed fretfully for God to work some kind of miracle. The last thing we needed our first Sunday out was momentum killing weather. On regular Sundays six inches would mean a small dip in attendance, especially for the earlier service. I had no idea what it would mean for our first Sunday in a gym.
The Conklin Avenue Baptist Church gym is exactly half a mile away from the rectory of St. Andrew’s. Pastor Hollinger had given us keys the day before and a few men and I had spent part of Saturday night setting up about 60 chairs—always better to add than subtract seating I think—and tables for food. The altar guild ladies had transformed an old folding table into an altar and done their best to make it beautiful. They didn’t have much to work with. Our fine altar linens, silver chalices and patens, candles, vestments were left behind. We were left with one bluish clay chalice and paten, an older green vestment, some cloth that one of the altar guild ladies brought, and some candles Anne and I bought in Israel.
Answering questions from 8 o’clockers during announcement time at the early service
I arrived 7am on Sunday morning. The parking lot was not plowed but the snow was light and fluffy rather than heavy and wet. Things looked good. There was really nothing to do but wait and see who showed up.
At about five minutes till the top of the hour, the 8 o’clockers began to file in, all of them. I have to admit being surprised, not just because of the weather, but because 8 o’clockers are habitualists by nature. I feared that the gym’s utilitarian setting versus the traditional majesty of Christ Church (the cardinal Episcopal parish in downtown Binghamton) might be too tempting for some. But I’d misjudged them. They were all there.
The service was remarkably unremarkable. Readings, liturgy, sermon, communion. Liturgy is a comfort at times like this. There were many questions during announcement time that I simply could not answer. “How long are we going to be in this gym?” “Are we looking for a new church building?” “Are we going to appeal the judgment?” I didn’t have much to say. We’d scheduled a special vestry meeting that Wednesday (a local church, Ross Memorial Presbyterian, had offered their classrooms to our vestry for meeting space), but I really had no idea.
There was one piece of information I had at this point that I could not share.
Having moved into the rectory earlier in the week, we’d begun to cast our eyes longingly toward the former St. Andrew’s church building which stood mere feet from the rectory door. It was big, beautiful, and empty. I’d talked it over with the wardens and we’d decided that, since I had a good relationship with him, I would call Msgr Meaghar before the week’s end to discuss the possibility of renting the space. I probably should have called to ask right off the bat, but Msgr Meaghar had already done so much for us and he’d not offered the worship space when we spoke about the rectory so I was ashamed to ask for anything more. I prayed that God would give me the words to say and give me the confidence to say them. And I put it off. I procrastinated. I procrastinated all week long until finally, Saturday evening, driving back to the rectory after setting up the gym, I realized I could not put it off any more. I’d see my wardens the next day and I couldn’t face them without having made the call.
About five minutes after I walked through the door, my cell phone rang. It was Msgr. Meaghar.
“Listen” he said, “Do you have a place to worship tomorrow?”
“Yes” I said, “Pastor Hollinger was good enough to offer us his gym so we’re planning to worship there”.
“Well, I had no idea you were out of your church already or I would have called earlier. Before you make plans for next Sunday, call me.”
My heart was pounding. I felt sure that he intended to offer the St. Andrew’s sanctuary, but I couldn’t be sure and I didn’t want to jump too eagerly. Maybe he wants to offer some space at his current location? There was no way to know and he didn’t offer anymore information so I decided not to press him. Instead, I thanked him for his concern for us and I expressed, again, our deep gratitude for the use of the rectory, and promised to call him Monday. He said good-bye and we hung up.
I couldn’t share any of this on Sunday morning. I reported the conversation to the wardens but there was really nothing firm to tell the congregation and we didn’t want to get hopes up (theirs or ours) so we decided to keep it to ourselves until Monday.
Meanwhile, the 8 o’clockers were also concerned about the legal situation which was still up in the air.
Choir sings at the later service
We had sixty days to appeal the ruling if we wanted to and the judge had left one major unresolved issue on the table, the Branan estate, a $600,000 bequest.Would it go with us or must it also be relinquished? I am no lawyer, but my understanding is that the question hinged on discerning the intent of the donor (who had died in the 80s), and the judge wanted more time to consider the matter.
I couldn’t say this at the time, but I was somewhat disappointed that the judgment was not a blanket loss. Far better, from a pastoral standpoint, to lose everything at once and deal with it than to have a continuing court battle while trying to build a new church. Furthermore, lots of my parishioners knew Mr. Branan personally and well and were scandalized at the now distinct probability the judge would hand their old friend’s bequest over to the diocese that had sued the church he had so loved.
The first service ended with the familiar warmth of handshakes and smiles. There were questions, big ones, hanging in the air but it was clear that the 8 o’clockers were committed to Good Shepherd for the long haul.
Most 8 o’clockers, as a rule, do not stay for Sunday School. Instead about 30 to 40 from the 10:30am service come early for adult ed. We’d been working through a series of lessons based on Neibur’s Christ and Culture and I planned to keep that focus despite the new circumstances. My theory is that the less people think in terms of “crisis mode” in the middle of a crisis the better. So I determined to answer questions honestly when they arose but to speak, preach, and converse in a manner that conveyed, despite my own deep anxiety and doubts, confidence in God’s plan and purpose for us and trust in his providence.
From Anne
Meanwhile, I was was back at home rifling through piles of beautifully clean laundry and boxes trying to get everyone clothed and in their right minds for Sunday school. Besides being overwhelmed by the basic circumstances of life at that moment, we’d all been overwhelmed by the luxury of having three bathrooms and an enormous kitchen. No one knew which bathroom to occupy or which chair to sit in or what to eat for breakfast or what to wear.
And the children were weepy. A forced move from home and church in one week had been a difficult but abstract concept that we were all willing to live through abstractly two weeks before. But now the abstract had become real. We were getting dressed in a palatial but strangely empty house, not our own, to go to church in a gym. It was now enfleshed reality that we would never go home or worship in the Old Good Shepherd again.
Furthermore, in a fit of insanity, I’d had my hair cut short two days in the middle of the week. While the children squabbled and fussed, I tried to carefully and ineffectively muss my hair in the manner prescribed by the hairstylist. I eventually gave up and we shoved ourselves into the car feeling not ourselves and not entirely in our right minds.
The whole half mile was spent in anxious wondering about where we were going. Emma and Aedan didn’t have a concept that “church” was bigger than the building we used to occupy. When you say “We’re going to church”, surely we mean to the place we always go on Sunday and every other day. Our holidays away visiting other “churches” never made any lasting impression. Aedan’s voice gets higher and higher when he is unsure of himself, and Emma’s is swallowed in her throat.
Arriving to worship at Conklin Ave. Baptist was infused with the same sense of overabundance as being in the new house. Everybody fell down in the big drifts of snow in the few short steps from the car to the door, but the gym was so perfectly warm and bright. The number of classrooms provided for our use were so many. The donuts and cookies were too great and of too many kinds to number. (Possibly out of nervousness, it seemed that everyone had brought something to eat. Fortunately, the kitchen was so vast as to accommodate them all.) All of God’s grace and providence hit us like a wave as we walked in so that we all cheered up and launched into the usual chaos of a regular Sunday morning.
Despite the plethora of rooms and opportunities, all the younger Sunday School met together for comfort’s sake and walked through the 23 Psalm—the Lord is my Shepherd, I have everything I need, I have more than I need. We lit the candle and organized the sheep and shepherd and the children all talked about how they saw that was God leading us from one pasture to another. Woe was turned to wonder and excitement about what God was doing.
Matt again
In other words, Class went well. There were about 35 adults, and all the kids classes were filled to usual capacity. The adults were much more interested in “secularism”, which was the topic (still setting the context for Christ and Culture) than in anything else. Mostly we were all bewildered at the fact that we were in such a different place doing much the same thing.
Celebrating communion on a folding gym table
There is about a 15 minute interval between the end of Sunday School and the beginning of the 10:30 service. It was during that interval that the press, once again, arrived. This time it was one television crew from News 10 Now. They asked whether they could stay for the service. As long as the camera did not interfere with worship, I had no problem with it and, in general, think it a good thing for press people to be in church. But it did add to my sinful worry. If nobody shows up, I thought, then the cameras will pan across a basically empty gym and that would only add to the gloating we were beginning to hear from the Episcopalians all over town.
There was no reason to worry about the cameras (you can watch the news video shot that day here and read the accompanying article). We had about sixty for the 10:30am which meant that the seats we put out were filled. But this was still not good. We were pegging in the low 90’s regularly before we moved. This first Sunday out we were down to 80 total (including the 8 o’clock). I immediately began piling anxiety on top of anxiety. What if this is the beginning of a long slow trickle of loss? What happens if Msgr Meaghar has something else in mind besides the St. Andrew’s sanctuary? What’s it going to be like two months from now with, say, 60 people total, ever decreasing numbers, increasing sense of loss and homelessness?
During announcements, I passed on plans for all the bible studies to meet that week and morning prayer to continue. Daily morning prayer, the two Tuesday bible studies, and the Saturday women’s bible study would meet in the St. Andrew’s rectory basement. The Friday morning men’s bible study and breakfast would meet at Denny’s. Given that we had no permenant place to run the Shepherd’s Bowl (our soup kitchen which was running in a temporary and makeshift way out of Sts John and Andrew’s parish hall one block from the Old Good Shepherd) We decided to put the Thursday beginners’ bible study on hold.
Men’s Bible Study meets at Dennys
The congregation’s attitude that morning was the polar opposite of mine. There was a sense of excitement and anticipation and trust. People were downright jovial during and after the service. Kids running everywhere, pastries, cake, donuts and coffee flowing. Those who belonged to the various bible studies promised they would be there and everyone said they would be back for worship in the gym next week.
But it was clear that the gym, as nice as it was, would not be sufficient long term.
Even without telling anyone about the call from Msgr Meaghar, the St. Andrew’s facility was on everyone’s mind. John Chaney, our junior warden, had, long before we lost the lawsuit, been in favor of making an offer for St. Andrew’s and had drawn up a financial plan for doing it. But in the middle of the fight for our beloved building, few were willing to go that route.
Things were different now.
And, thanks to the wisdom of various parishioners, we were not destitute. When the diocese filed their suit in April of 2008, there was an immediate and dramatic drop in giving. Nobody wanted to give to Good Shepherd knowing that, should we lose the case, all assets would have to be handed over to the Diocese of Central New York. Instead of giving to Good Shepherd, they pooled their money in an account held by a completely separate charitable organization that had been set up (years earlier and not by anyone from Good Shepherd) to help churches in distress. The leaders of this group of parishioners invited those who could no longer give in good conscience to Good Shepherd to contribute what they would normally give to this separate organization instead.
From April 2008 to January 2009, this group had saved up about $100,000.00.
St. Andrew’s was on the market. It had been appraised at $700,000.00. This appraisal included the entire property—the rectory, 400 seat sanctuary and parish hall, school building, parking lot and storage facility. That may not sound like much money for readers from places like Virginia and Texas, but property prices are generally much lower here in Binghamton and 700K is just right for a property of St. Andrew’s size.
Inside the St. Andrew’s Sanctuary
Given the numbers, the hope that St. Andrew’s could become our permanent home seemed an impossibly remote one.
But it was standing empty. And it was in a great location, right off of one of the busiest routes in town and only a mile and a half down the very same road from Old Good Shepherd. And we did have a good relationship with Msgr. Meaghar. We were not in a position to buy, but we were in a position to rent. It would be tight but we believed we could afford to pay rent for the worship space alone for Sunday mornings each week without touching the 100K parishioners had saved during the year.
So, after a number of Sunday afternoon conversations with the wardens, it was resolved that at some point during my conversation with Msgr Meaghar on Monday, even if he offers something else, I would ask about the possibility of renting St. Andrew’s for Sunday worship.
31 Comments •
I think sharing this story is so good on several levels. As someone who is probably old enough to be your mother I can say it’s good to tell how it happened before you forget.
And I imagine that it’s healthy emotionally and spiritually for you to share it, and I appreciate that you’re doing it as a couple/team. Then it’s good for us to read and understand how God works in the lives of other believers and parishes. Looking forward to the next installment.
[1] Posted by Jill C. on 02-08-2010 at 09:41 PM • top