In a Needy Time, America Seeks Spiritual Solace

In a week of tragedy, the Rev. Peter Laarman has struggled with the message for Sunday’s sermon: Can he console his shocked and grieving parishioners while also acknowledging their bitterness and rage?

“We can’t just respond with calls for peace, with calls for prayer,” said Laarman, senior minister of Judson Memorial Church in Greenwich Village. “We have to go beyond.”

The need for spiritual solace has taken on great intensity for many Americans as they try to come to terms with the terrorist attacks earlier this week. Houses of worship have thrown open their doors, invited strangers inside, conducted unscheduled services, arranged counseling and otherwise tried to comfort the anguished. At the same time, the massacre has left many religious leaders searching for the right words, a message that they say is painfully difficult to find.

For Jews, the new year’s celebration of Rosh Hashana is normally a happy time. But next week’s holiday has taken on a painful dimension, now weighed down by anxieties of safety and an uncertain future.

“Every rabbi in America is struggling to say something different during Rosh Hashana than we thought we were going to say,” said Rabbi Ellen Lippmann, who leads services at Kolot Chayeinu, a small, independent temple in Brooklyn. “What am I going to say?

“We are definitely beefing up security,” she added, for the High Holy Days of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur.

The spiritual thirst, the yearning for some larger connection in America’s diffuse, individualized society, has stunned some who seek to help meet it. Organizers of an interfaith prayer service Thursday evening at Boston’s City Hall Plaza hoped to attract 5,000 people. Instead, more than 25,000--many waving American flags--packed the area alongside historic Faneuil Hall. In the somber spirit of the event, they were asked to refrain from applause. But when the presence of four busloads of employees from American and United airlines was announced, spontaneous clapping erupted, filling the plaza for more than a minute.

Nor has the yearning been limited to traditional houses of worship. On the Internet, word circulated Thursday of a national candle-lighting ceremony planned for today, at 5 p.m. Pacific Daylight Time. “Step out your door, stop your car or step out of your establishment and light a candle,” the announcement read. “We will show the world that Americans are strong and united together against terrorism.”

Yet it is the traditional religious institutions that are playing an extraordinary role in the crisis, filling needs that are often ignored by the rest of society and even seeking out new services for an unprecedented crisis.

At the Church of Our Saviour near midtown Manhattan, a sign Thursday beckoned passersby to “Come inside and rest.” Two open books were on prominent display, filled with messages from the public: names of victims, prayer fragments, passing thoughts: “Mary Kate’s Daddy.” “Kevin wife and baby.” “Please pray for Alan Roche and Carla Rupp. They are both missing at the moment.” “Pray for all the families of the innocent victims trapped in their unbearable circumstances. Thank you.” “For healing with love for the city and the world.”

“A counselor came by, a lady with tears in her eyes,” recalled the Rev. Patrick Hennessy, in shirt-sleeves as he greeted the stream of visitors. “She was going to counsel little children in school, and she was trying to get herself together to do that.”

Sessions With Trauma Experts

With Trauma Experts

Several blocks away, the Rev. Stephen Garmey of Calvary Church on Park Avenue recalled that after the plane crashes and building collapses, a swarm of humanity marched like war refugees past the front door of his Episcopal church’s brownstone building: “The sidewalks wouldn’t hold them. They were covered in dust. They had to use the bathroom. They were in a state of horror, disbelief and shock. We just opened the doors and said come in.

“Many, many hundreds” walked inside, Garmey added, some making use of hastily arranged sessions with trauma experts.

Nor have good works been limited to churches and synagogues. At Dawod Mosque in Brooklyn Imam Abdalla Allam spoke solemnly to nearly 100 worshipers earlier this week as two police officers stood guard outside New York’s oldest mosque.

“Islam as a religion is against anything inhuman. We condemn what happened today,” he said, urging followers to donate blood. “We are civilians living in New York City, and we are part of the fabric of America. What happened today is barbaric, and no matter what people say, it is un-Islamic.”

Certainly, the crisis has challenged efforts among different faiths to work together. “It is hard to say what it all means--we’ve seen the worst of the human condition, and at the same time there is a greatness of the human condition,” said the Rev. Arthur Caliandro, a Reform Church minister and part of a coalition among Muslims, Christians and Jews.

Yet even those who struggle for meaning are coming up with ideas that have rarely if ever been heard before. Laarman of Judson Memorial Church, which houses American Baptist and United Church of Christ congregations, has decided to offer aid in arranging funerals for nonmembers who may not know where to turn.

“It sounds awful, like I’m putting myself in the death business,” he said Thursday. “But it seems like something we can do.”

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Times special correspondent Lisa Le Fevre and staff writers Maggie Farley and Elizabeth Mehren contributed to this story.