As kids were being dropped off by their parents at the Cathedral School in Manhattan early April 14, Bishop Matthew Heyd of the Diocese of New York led his staff members in a prayer at the parking lot of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine.
“We give you thanks for the privilege of being your people at this moment of closure,” Heyd said. “May we be present to what we experience, mindful of your faithfulness across generations.”
The bishop and the bishop assistant, the Rt. Rev. Mary Glasspool, were ready to work in their purple cassocks even as the weather hovered in the 40s that morning. The Upper West Side neighborhood still felt calm and quiet before 9 a.m.
The Rev. Canon Alissa Newton, the diocese’s canon to the ordinary, organized the day’s events. She told group members to enjoy each other’s company. “Remember that we’re saying goodbye. There’s joy in finally being done sometimes,” Newton said, “but who knows what we’ll encounter today?”
The New York diocese’s canonical jurisdiction covers a land area equivalent to the island nation of Vanuatu. It has almost 200 worshiping communities across New York City and seven counties in upstate New York. The boroughs of Manhattan, the Bronx, and Staten Island are under the Diocese of New York, while Brooklyn and Queens are under the Diocese of Long Island.
Myriad reasons, including declining membership, have led to the closure of New York parishes over the years. Church canons, including the Dennis Canon, which states that properties are held in trust by the diocese where they’re located, guide the liquidation of properties no longer used for worship.
Before this can proceed, a service for secularization must be conducted, in which the bishop’s Declaration of Secularization is read. The document’s public proclamation revokes the “Sentence of Consecration and remits the building and all objects in it for any lawful and reputable use in accordance with the laws of the land,” An Episcopal Dictionary of the Church says.
Newton was carrying five such declarations in an open box filled with binders. “We realized, probably last fall, that we had a number of churches that were ready for their next step,” she said.
That was a declaration for each of the five churches on the day’s agenda, whose collective history spanned centuries: St. Mark’s Church in Yonkers, St. Mary’s Church in Scarborough, Christ Church in Patterson, St. Mark’s Church in Chelsea, and St. Thomas’ Church in New Windsor, the oldest of the group, organized in 1728.
As the group moved to the cathedral’s steps to begin the formal part of the day, a staff member handed out “Stations of the Cross for Deconsecration Pilgrimage.” Five minutes after 9 a.m., Heyd led the opening prayer for the first station, which reflects on when Jesus was condemned to death.
Weddings, Confirmations, and Chickenpox
While en route to one of the churches, Newton said she was surprised by the response to the pilgrimage. “Some of the clergy rectors would say, ‘Oh, I have a parishioner who used to be part of or attend that church—could they come?’” Newton said. Former parishioners welcomed the group from the diocese at every church. At St. Mary’s Church in Scarborough, there were about 50 people.
It was at that church, established in 1839 as an outreach to workers building the Croton Aqueduct, where Bob Davis’s parents were married in 1922. Now 90 years old, Davis was also married at St. Mary’s in the 1950s.
It was there that the Rev. Dr. Matthew Calkins, rector of Grace Episcopal Church over 50 miles away in Millbrook, was confirmed as an acolyte. It was his first time back on the church’s premises in 50 years, he said. And the Rev. Betsy Roadman and Janice Landrum could not forget what their kids took away from the church’s nursery 40 years ago.
“They were both in diapers,” Landrum said. After attending a Bible study, she and Roadman went to the nursery to pick up their kids. As Roadman was changing her son’s diaper, she saw chickenpox. Landrum remembered her daughter was playing with him and asked Roadman if their kids could hang out again, “so that we would be sure we got the chickenpox over with.” Both their kids are now successful young professionals and chickenpox-free for decades. “I even had a picture of their confirmation class,” Landrum said.
Similar scenes played out in other parishes, where former parishioners shared their connection with the church, often in tears. They talked about milestones—weddings, confirmations, funerals—transpiring in the very spaces that would soon be repurposed, their sacred objects given to other parishes.
“We came here in 1956, so it had been our home for all these years,” said Rick Weaver, who was married at St. Mark’s in Yonkers with his wife, Marcia, 50 years ago. In 2022, the parish was already closed but could still be used for services. In December of that year, a memorial service was held at the church for his mother, who died at the age of 101. “It was a nice thing to be able to bring her back here,” Weaver said of the moment.
At another St. Mark’s Church, this time in the hamlet of Chelsea, former Sunday school teacher Donna Taylor stood near the entrance with her cane. She’ll turn 85 in June and, though frail, still has a strong sense of humor. “I’m glad I came because all my neighbors would think I was dead,” she said, laughing. She recalls how she taught kids whose parents “didn’t want to get up in the morning, and we had to go get them.”
Heyd spoke with two parishioners while inside St. Mark’s in Chelsea before the service began when one of them asked if he felt discouraged conducting five secularization services in one day. “So many of our churches are growing,” Heyd told them both, “and so there’s life, death, and resurrection always.”
He felt that performing the services this week was the perfect time. “This is the week to walk together, and to honor the fact that remarkable things happened in these places,” Heyd said.
Celebrating a Church’s Life
There was no shortage of emotions during the pilgrimage, which lasted 10 hours. In every service, a dean was asked to read the bishop’s declaration, while a member of the closed parish (usually a longtime parishioner) read the church’s history. In Patterson, New York, the Rev. Christine Veillon, priest in charge of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Pleasantville, read the statement secularizing Christ Church, which was incorporated in 1797.
“I’m feeling very grateful for the moment that I have as a parish priest to be stewarding a congregation and doing this in the context of the Stations of the Cross,” said Veillon, still visibly moved by the service. She felt the service put her “in touch with all of the joys that this space held and all of the hopes that people still have for how they’ll encounter God and one another.”
Inside Christ Church, the pews and the altar were undamaged. There were books, though dusty and unused, including a recipe book with a price tag of $3, featuring top dishes from local congregations. “What’s interesting to me is how they’ve closed, and still, you could walk back in tomorrow and go to church,” Heyd said. He found an old Christ Church bulletin, which he hurriedly showed to Janet Peters, who used to attend the parish. Peters immediately cried as she pointed to a picture of her late husband.
Kara Smith, who at 36 has been a warden of St. Thomas’ Church for 18 years, felt a mix of disappointment and failure. “Our congregation was averaging eight to ten people for morning prayer for the last five years since COVID,” she said. But she’s also proud the church stayed open until Palm Sunday, when the parish held its final worship service.
“It’s a celebration of a church’s life, and I don’t want the sense of failure to fill these moments,” Newton said, as she and two of her colleagues in the diocese, the Rev. Canon Víctor Conrado and Elaine Delgado, drove back to the cathedral for the final part of the pilgrimage.
At this point, around 5 p.m., all five parishes had been secularized. Delgado, who handles the diocese’s communication department, said many felt the services presented an opportunity for renewal of the church.
But Heyd, Newton, and the rest of the team did not discount the reality of grief amid the pilgrimage, which they saw as a celebration of the churches’ lives. “I’m a pastor, and a pastor’s heart always wants to be with people in their grief and to make sure they’re not alone,” Newton said. “I feel like that’s something that we accomplished at each one of these places today.”
The Stations of the Cross ended where it began—at the cathedral steps of St. John the Divine. It was around 7 p.m., and the sun was still up. By this time, the neighborhood was busy. Columbia University students could be seen walking along Amsterdam Avenue, and the Hungarian Pastry Shop near the cathedral was packed.
A final service at the columbarium was a liturgy of farewell and witness, and Heyd handed the declarations of secularization to Wayne Kempton, the diocese’s archivist and historiographer.
“I receive them as witness on behalf of the church,” Kempton said, “giving thanks for all that has been, and praying for all that will yet be.”
The rest of Holy Week would be busy for the diocese. From the columbarium, Conrado, the diocese’s director for congregational development, headed to his office to make sure Tuesday’s chrism Mass was all set. On Maundy Thursday, Heyd will visit Rikers Island to wash the feet of the incarcerated.
Caleb Maglaya Galaraga is The Living Church’s Episcopal Church reporter. His work has also appeared in Christianity Today, Broadview Magazine, and Presbyterian Outlook, among other publications.
