Rituals Take On New Meanings and Directions

They gather around the flag each Friday morning at Philip J. Reilly Elementary School in Mission Viejo in the well-kept heart of suburban Orange County. It’s largely the same ritual each week, but like much of life, it feels different now.

The school’s nickname is the Patriots; its mascot is the eagle. Each week a different student dons the revered eagle costume for the flag ceremony.

Students line up around the basketball court, say the Pledge of Allegiance--louder now--honor outstanding students and, finally, discover the identity of the student beneath the feathers.

On the Friday following the attack on America, something new was added to the ceremony. They sang “America the Beautiful,” and when they got to the line, “God shed his grace on thee,” tears came to the eyes of principal Julie Hatchel. A lump formed in her throat, and she struggled to continue.

This past Friday when they sang, it was more in celebration than in pain: The students had raised $2,560.18 to send to the Red Cross.

One would be hard pressed to find a city that places more importance on public safety, but suddenly it doesn’t matter how much residents here spend on law enforcement, how actively they participate in community watch programs, how hard they work to keep schools safe. On Sept. 11, the rules of safety changed.

It’s reflected in rituals ranging from the flag ceremony at Reilly Elementary to weddings and funerals, walks to the park and daily prayers at Mission Viejo Masjid, a Muslim mosque. Some of the changes are spoken, some sung, some are silent.

A national ranking of 322 cities, based on a formula using FBI figures, lists Mission Viejo as the second-safest city in the nation. Nearby Lake Forest and Irvine also were included in the top 20. Amherst, N.Y., near Buffalo, finished first.

Public safety is the community’s top priority, says Mission Viejo Mayor William Craycraft. Of the city’s $39.4-million budget, its biggest expenditure goes to law enforcement, $9.1 million. Safe streets, safe schools. Everything else, he says, is secondary.

Located just east of Interstate 5 in southern Orange County, the median household income in this city of almost 100,000 people is $97,650. The median value of a home is $332,296.

The Rev. Edward Martin, co-pastor with his wife, the Rev. Leslee Martin, at Shepherd of the Hills United Methodist Church, sometimes wonders how much of a difference he makes within the scope of such an affluent community.

During the past month, however, attendance on Sunday has been up, reflecting a turning to faith as people try to understand and cope with world events.

“It’s made a difference in people’s habits,” he says. “When something like this happens, people’s priorities change, at least for a season and maybe permanently.”

Martin has conducted three weddings during the past month. In none of the ceremonies did he make reference to world events.

Still, he says, there was an undeniable feeling, a statement: “Life goes on, and we do what we do, and we don’t let all this take over our lives,” he says.

Martin’s belief is that people should still feel safe in Mission Viejo. Yet, young members of the congregation have been asking such questions as how much anthrax it would take to kill everybody, whether all of civilization might now perish. Martin says that maintaining rituals, a sense of normality, can help ease such panic and fear.

There is another ritual at the church’s preschool. On the 3-year-olds’ first day, parents are invited to stay and visit, have coffee after dropping off their children. It’s a process of easing anxieties, but most parents do not stay.

This year’s first day was Sept. 11. About 50 parents congregated outside the classroom, the news from New York, the Pentagon and Pennsylvania fresh in their minds. They seemed stunned, unable to return to their cars and leave their children. Some cried.

At the Unitarian Universalist Church of South County, the Rev. Anne Felton Hines received a call on Sept. 10. A 17-year-old boy had died, and she was asked to conduct a memorial service.

Hines explained to the 400 people in attendance that Friday after the attacks that not only were they feeling the loss of a loved one, they also were feeling the loss of all those killed in New York, the Pentagon and Pennsylvania.

An unlikely song for a memorial service concluded the ceremony. As people stood and sang “God Bless America,” Hines sang but her heart told her that what she really wished was that God would bless not only America, but everyone.

Muslim children from Al-Ridah Academy rush into the washroom in preparation for midday prayers. Then they enter the prayer room, zipping and zooming and laughing across the carpet. They are in first grade.

An adult helps them settle down, and prayers begin. For them, the ritual is unchanged.

But on Sept. 11, the students at Al-Ridah were sent home. A man approached Maysoun Assaf, a first-grade teacher standing out front of the building and said, “You made a big mistake.”

“I asked him what he meant, and he said, ‘Your people did this and this.”’

Assaf told the man that whoever was responsible for the assaults were not her people. “I told him that my people, if he wanted me to have people, were the people inside the building,” she says. “He eventually apologized.”

A couple of weeks ago, there was an open house at the center that houses the preschool as well as the Orange County Islamic Foundation and Mission Viejo Masjid. Community leaders--including the mayor and chief of police as well as representatives of other religious denominations--attended, offering support to members of the mosque. Three threatening telephone calls had been received by the foundation.

“There was a 4-year-old non-Muslim boy standing next to me with his hands over his ears, saying, ‘This is a Satan meeting. I can’t listen,”’ Assaf says. “I said to his mother, ‘You didn’t teach him this, did you?”’ The woman said she did not, but had no control over what came out of her son’s mouth.

Assaf no longer takes her two young children with her when she goes to the store, concerned that someone might confront them. “I felt people were looking at me like, ‘You’re all bad.’ It was the first time I thought, ‘I can’t be proud of who I am.’ I felt shame because of the way people looked at me.”

She has discontinued one of her daily rituals, going for afternoon walks around the block or to the park. She doesn’t know when she might resume her routine, when she might take her children to buy milk at the store again. “It will take a long time,” she says.

But more than fear, says Mohannad Malas, co-director of the Islamic Foundation, there has been the comfort of an outpouring of community support. “When people talk about what a safe place this is, that’s what it means to me,” Malas says. “We have received tremendous support.”

Throughout Mission Viejo, there is a determination to return to normal daily activities, says Mayor Craycraft. “Outside of heavy hearts,” he says, “the sadness that one experiences when innocent lives are taken, I think the community is resilient in knowing we have to move forward.”

And so it is that parents still show up to cheer at youth soccer games. Surging with a sense of patriotism, the city’s residents continue to enjoy a place leafy and clean and safe even as war is waged half a world away.

For those with loved ones in the military, there, too, are new daily rituals revolving around newscasts. Bud and Laura--they asked that their last name not be used--have a son, Mike, stationed on an aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf.

As they watch the evening news, Bud says, they pray.

And they are not alone.