31 images Created 3 Oct 2020
PANDEMIC ALTERS WORSHIP
London and its environs are home to a notable diversity of faiths and flocks. Rites that have been the bedrock of their beliefs for centuries had to evolve swiftly during the pandemic lockdown to be safe and relevant for the faithful amid global uncertainty.
In the village of Northchurch, Anglicans normally worship in the more than 1,000-year-old St. Mary’s Church. That ended March 24 when the Church of England closed all its buildings, and Rev. Jonathan Gordon began recording and broadcasting services via smartphone. “It posed an immediate and immense challenge,” he said. “We had to rethink how we did everything.”
In Neasden, a London suburb, a magnificent Hindu temple of carved stone constructed according to ancient Vedic architectural texts usually welcomes thousands of visitors a day. Now the Mandir gets just a trickle of devotees who book appointments online to keep the crowds down.
Everywhere there are reminders of the unusual times: smart screen devices flashing images of Hindu deities allow for contactless donations, and after each prayer session, workers in full-body protective suits swoop in to sanitize surfaces that may have been touched.
At a suburban home in Hemel Hempstead, the Patel family dressed in their best saris watched attentively in their living room as Hindu s gurus spoke to them through their video screen. “That is what we would have worn to the temple,” said Hemali Patel, “so it felt only right to dress for the occasion.”
Taking worship virtual has been particularly challenging for the Orthodox Jewish community, which are proscribed from using electronics on Shabbat, their day of rest. Rabbi Mordechai Chalk broadcasts video services from his home Fridays just before sunset.
“L’chaim,” he toasted in Hebrew recently, connected to the congregation via Zoom. His children ran into the picture to peer curiously at his laptop, before Shira Chalk, his wife, whisked them away.
The Buddhist Amvrati monastery decided to simply close its doors and retreat inward to protect the communal way of life of its yellow-robed monks.
At the Cambridge Central Mosque in the city of the same name, Imam Ali Tos has found solace in a slow reopening. Mats are now spaced a meter and a half apart during prayers, and worshippers are asked to bring their own.
“The mosque is not only a place of worship” the imam said, “it is the center of our lives.”
But religions have endured trauma countless times before, and indeed, many of the tenets of faith held dear today were born out of hardship and suffering. And today’s pandemic has not been without its lighter moments.
Rabbi David Mason, said he took joy from knowing tech-savvy volunteers were spending hours on the phone helping older community members get online.
“My high point during lockdown was when a 90-year-old lady came onto a Sunday night talk and explained how delighted she was,” the rabbi said. “That’s how communal collaboration works. I watched it work, and it was just wonderful.”
In the village of Northchurch, Anglicans normally worship in the more than 1,000-year-old St. Mary’s Church. That ended March 24 when the Church of England closed all its buildings, and Rev. Jonathan Gordon began recording and broadcasting services via smartphone. “It posed an immediate and immense challenge,” he said. “We had to rethink how we did everything.”
In Neasden, a London suburb, a magnificent Hindu temple of carved stone constructed according to ancient Vedic architectural texts usually welcomes thousands of visitors a day. Now the Mandir gets just a trickle of devotees who book appointments online to keep the crowds down.
Everywhere there are reminders of the unusual times: smart screen devices flashing images of Hindu deities allow for contactless donations, and after each prayer session, workers in full-body protective suits swoop in to sanitize surfaces that may have been touched.
At a suburban home in Hemel Hempstead, the Patel family dressed in their best saris watched attentively in their living room as Hindu s gurus spoke to them through their video screen. “That is what we would have worn to the temple,” said Hemali Patel, “so it felt only right to dress for the occasion.”
Taking worship virtual has been particularly challenging for the Orthodox Jewish community, which are proscribed from using electronics on Shabbat, their day of rest. Rabbi Mordechai Chalk broadcasts video services from his home Fridays just before sunset.
“L’chaim,” he toasted in Hebrew recently, connected to the congregation via Zoom. His children ran into the picture to peer curiously at his laptop, before Shira Chalk, his wife, whisked them away.
The Buddhist Amvrati monastery decided to simply close its doors and retreat inward to protect the communal way of life of its yellow-robed monks.
At the Cambridge Central Mosque in the city of the same name, Imam Ali Tos has found solace in a slow reopening. Mats are now spaced a meter and a half apart during prayers, and worshippers are asked to bring their own.
“The mosque is not only a place of worship” the imam said, “it is the center of our lives.”
But religions have endured trauma countless times before, and indeed, many of the tenets of faith held dear today were born out of hardship and suffering. And today’s pandemic has not been without its lighter moments.
Rabbi David Mason, said he took joy from knowing tech-savvy volunteers were spending hours on the phone helping older community members get online.
“My high point during lockdown was when a 90-year-old lady came onto a Sunday night talk and explained how delighted she was,” the rabbi said. “That’s how communal collaboration works. I watched it work, and it was just wonderful.”
