May the Peace Be With You
NEW YORK — “La Paz sea contigo.” This phrase, La Paz sea contigo, means “may the Peace be with you,” and may have been the only time the churchgoers at St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York City interacted with each other on a recent Sunday.
With a capacity for approximately 2,400 people, the cathedral attracts more than 5.5 million visitors annually, making it one of New York’s major religious tourist attractions. During Sunday masses, which are considered the Lord's Day for the Catholic Church, St. Patrick’s Cathedral hosts eight services, including one in Spanish at 4:00 pm. In between masses, the church welcomes tourists to explore its design and tradition.
This means that the time in between masses is extremely short. The church also has extra security personnel who ask churchgoers to show the interior of their bags before entering the seating area for mass. As a result, the parishioners at the cathedral do not have any time to interact with each other — until the passing of peace.
The ritual happens during communion, which encompasses the prayers for peace and the communion itself. The greetings happen after the Prayer for Peace, and before the communion, where the priest asks that peace extends to all people, present or not, so that they can fully live the mystery of Christ. At that moment, people can share their wishes for peace with one another.
It is also the moment to observe the vast difference between those who frequent church. We see families hugging one another, toddlers who take the opportunity to finally run around and talk with each other, and those who come in solitude talking to their neighbors. It is the moment people step out of their own prayers to extend their votes of peace to the community.
“La Paz sea contigo,” are the wishes shared among the faithful, who shake each other’s hand - except a man with glasses who did not shake anyone’s hand and, instead, held up the two-finger peace sign in response to the greetings.
Growing up Catholic, I had already been to many masses in different churches around the world. Most of the time, I tend to prefer more charismatic churches that promote interaction between churchgoers. However, the solitude of St. Patrick’s promotes a more introspective and direct connection with the ceremony. Sylvia Rivas, Assistant to the Exec. Director of Development, said most people who attend mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral seek solace and prayer.
This elevates the prayers for peace, turning them into a more cherished and extended experience compared to other churches. I was taken aback by the significant number of parishioners at St. Patrick’s Cathedral who were praying alone, particularly noteworthy considering that Hispanic masses typically bring large families together. Observing young women in their twenties, older women with veils, and solitary men reaching out to say "La Paz sea contigo" adds an intimate and meaningful dimension to the moment, creating a sense of mutual understanding.
St. Patrick's Cathedral is in the Midtown Manhattan district of New York City and serves as the principal church for the Archbishop of New York. The cathedral stands directly across from Rockefeller Center.
Back in the 5th century, Saint Patrick undertook his mission in a predominantly pagan Ireland. His efforts to evangelize led to a significant portion of Ireland's population embracing Christianity, according to the cathedral’s website. The Catholic faith has remained a resilient force in Ireland ever since, especially in the southern part of the country. His legacy remains alive, represented by the large New York City cathedral.
St. Patrick's Cathedral, designed by James Renwick Jr., is the most extensive Gothic Revival Catholic cathedral in North America, according to the Cathedral's website.
An Afternoon of Katha
PLAINVIEW, N.Y. — The voice of the priest at the Sikh center grew louder on a recent Sunday afternoon as he delivered his final message.
“God doesn’t reside in the room; God resides within us,” he said.
As he spoke, the Guru Gobind Singh Sikh Center on Long Island was filled with approximately 200 people. After the children’s teachings had finished in the nearby school, it was time for adults to listen to the sermon, known to Sikhs as Katha.
The members of the congregation sat cross-legged on the soft red velvet carpet that covered the ground of the large space. Women, dressed in robes and colorful scarves, sat left. Men, with long beards and turbans, sat right. In the middle of the space stood an altar where the Guru Granth Sahib, the holy book, lies. At one side, a man, dressed in a white robe with an orange turban on the top of his head, delivered Katha.
Katha can also be described as the oral delivery of the teachings of Sikhism. It means “to describe and to help someone understand,” said Satleen Kaur, a 24-year-old law student at St. John’s University, translating the words of the head priest, Giani Amarjit Singh, aged 57. Even explaining the meaning of Katha is Katha, the head priest added. Every Friday and Sunday, the priests in the Plainview Gurdwara at 1065 Old Country Road share historical or everyday context through which the teachings can be understood.
On the walls hung several screens, on which a single line, appearing in the Guru Granth Sahib, was projected in Punjabi, accompanied by its phonetic and English translation. “This is the blessed opportunity of this human incarnation,” the screen read. This was the line the priest focused on.
“It’s about recognizing that God is within you too and to never forget God: the one that created the universe and the one that created you,” Kaur said. “There may be differences between us all, but at the end of the day God still resides in us all no matter what.”
The priest built up his sentences, sometimes he spoke with a bouldering voice. Other times, he spoke softer, with long pauses. He switched between Punjabi and English, but spoke Punjabi most of the time.
Harwinder Singh, 22, is a consultant for Mastercard and explained that the changes in language are to make Katha more accessible for those who do not speak Punjabi. Singh said that the style of every priest is different: some only use historical context to explain certain lines, others strictly use everyday examples.
The Guru Grant Sahib, the holy book, consists of poetry and music, but does not explain the meaning or historical background of the lines. Therefore, the contextualization of the holy scriptures must be done through scholars who have extensively researched the scriptures, Singh added. By spending an hour on every line, the readings are contextualized to understand the historical background and learn how to apply it to one's life.
The men and women listened quietly. Sometimes they nodded. Sometimes they exchanged whispers.
The teaching that day focused on the idea that God is within oneself. But in order to reach him, one must be attentive and intentional, Singh translated from the priest’s words. “If you want to do service, your mind should be with it,” Singh said. “If you do it for 5 minutes and go home, it does not work.” The decisions you make should not be just performative, Singh added. The priest used an example of a dirty house. In a dirty house, you cannot pay attention to what is holy within yourself, Singh translated.
After an hour of Katha, the people moved downstairs to do seva, the selfless service part of Sikhism. Both children and adults cooked, cleaned and served food. It is part of a learning process, said Kaur. When we left, the kitchen was almost spotless, acknowledging the words of the priest.
Observing the Akhand Path: A 48-Hour-Long Reading of Sikhism’s Holy Book at a Temple in Queens
NEW YORK — In the heart of Woodside, Queens, a pink building stands out against the gray January sky. The busy road outside contrasts the serenity inside the building. The Shri Guru Ravi Dass Temple is a Sikh temple, but here, next to praying to Guru Nanak, the founder of Sikhism, people pray for Guru Ravidas, a holy figure known in Sikhism for his rejection of the caste system. It is the only Ravi Dass temple in New York City, and it is located at 6101 Broadway in Woodside, Queens.
On a Saturday afternoon in January, the large space is filled with three men sitting in a circle on a blue and white carpet. A Sikh altar – a palki sahib – stands in the center. Paintings of holy figures decorate the walls. Downstairs, the sharp smell of onions tickles the eyes as people are doing seva, the ritual of selfless service to stand for equality, show humility and help others. Anyone who visits the temple may enjoy a meal made by the volunteers.
In the corner next to the large altar sits Amar Jipt Singh in a distinct space, wearing a yellow turban. His lips, almost hidden in his long white beard, move soundlessly as he shifts his head from left to right, reading the poetry that guides Sikhs in living a faithful life.
Today, January 27th, marks the second day of the 48-hour reading of the holy book, the Guru Granth Sahib. The ritual is executed in honor of major life events, such as marriages, funerals or births. The reading today is in honor of the birthday of Baba Deep Singh, a martyr from the 18th century who devoted his life to the teachings of Sikhism. The continuous, uninterrupted reading of the holy book is called the Akhand Path and is executed by a team of granthis, ceremonial readers, who each read for two hours.
When two women enter the temple and pray in front of Jipt Singh, he raises his voice and the rhythmic words of the Guru Granth Sahib become audible. As the women drop to their knees, Jipt Singh’s deep, low voice fills the room.
The prayer is not meant for Jipt Singh but is a way of paying respect to the holy book, Jipt Singh says after he finishes his reading shift. A young man has taken his place reading the book. “The Granth Sahib serves as a guide to human beings on how to live their life, to control desires and greediness,” he says. Jipt Singh, who is 72, was born in Moga, in India, but moved to New York in 2002. He recently retired from being a taxi driver and cashier at a gas station. With a cup of chai in his right hand, Jipt Singh describes what it means to read the Granth Sahib. “When you are reading and concentrating, you can get a happy peaceful mind,” Jipt Singh says. “But if you’re reading and you think about your car, then it means nothing.”
Not everyone is able to concentrate so deeply, he adds; sometimes his own mind also wanders off. But Jipt Singh says that is okay, as no one can judge what is going on in your mind. He will continue his reading in four hours, from 7-9 p.m., and from 1-3 a.m.
The young man who has taken the place of Jipt Singh continues muttering the Punjabi words written in the ancient book soundlessly. Tomorrow morning the last part of the reading will be done, and the Shri Guru Ravi Dass temple will be filled with 200-300 people who come together to sing, pray and eat, and celebrate the life of Baba Deep Singh.
A Sunday Children’s Quiz With a Twist, Ft. Imams, Namaz & Ethics
NEW YORK — A children’s quiz is on, in full swing. A dozen or so kids are seated on the floor in a semicircle in front of the quizmaster, answering his questions with aplomb. The rapid-fire questions, however, are not about current affairs or state capitals. Instead, they are about the names of revered imams and types of Muslim prayers.
It’s Sunday school at the Al-Mahdi Foundation mosque on Brooklyn’s Coney Island Avenue, and the children are being quizzed about their knowledge of Islam and Shia history.
They are asked to name the five pillars of Islam. “Who will count them for me?” enquires the quizmaster, Dr. Sakhawat Hussain, the founder of the Al-Mahdi Foundation. The children are eager to respond.
Nine-year-old Syed Mujtaba Haider says this is what he likes most about Sunday school at the masjid. She is particularly fond of the imam, whom she calls Maulana, meaning a learned Muslim scholar. “It’s fun, reading the Koran and answering Maulana’s questions. So, you can have more knowledge,” says the fourth-grader, rather knowledgeably.
Ameer Qaim Raza is a year older than Mujtaba. He’s come all the way from Staten Island. Why make the trip to Brooklyn every Sunday? “Because I get to see my friends and we get to read the Koran,” he says.
The quiz continues. “What is the meaning of roza?” “Fasting,” answer the kids. There are around nine boys, and three young hijab-clad girls.
“Which month is obligatory to fast?” The children respond immediately, “Ramadan.”
Can they name the five types of namaz or prayers Muslims are “obligated to perform everyday”? Yes, they can.
As the children continue answering his questions correctly, Hussain says, “You guys are getting expert, Mashallah (Allah has willed it). Your class is very successful today.”
“Can anyone name the 12 imams?” Unlike many of the other questions that would be applicable to all Muslims, this question is specific to the Shia fold, to which the maulana and his students belong.
“Imam Ali Alaihis Salam…Imam Hasan Alaihis Salam…Imam Hussain Alaihis Salam…,” the maulana and his students echo one another and go through the list of twelve. The “Alaihis Salam” said at the end of each name stands for “Peace be upon him,” an Islamic honorific used after naming holy figures.
They must know the names of the twelve imams, the maulana reminds his class. “Even if you are sleeping, and you woke up, and someone says, can you tell me the names of the twelve imams, (you should) say yes,” he tells them.
Interspersed in between the Q&A are lessons in ethics and morality from the quizmaster.
In the middle of his quiz, for example, Hussain says, “We are obligated to stop community members from committing sins – when someone is cheating, abusing, lying.” He adds, “But always be humble, be polite. Don’t get aggressive – Islam is peace, tolerance, forgiveness, love and harmony, politeness, this is Islam.”
Muhammad Danial Raza, a 15-year-old who had also come from Staten Island, said that hearing the line about Islam being a religion of peace and harmony made him happy. “It is, it’s true,” he tells me. “Islam is peace. It’s a good religion.”
Hussain cautions the children, “Do not become addicted to getting revenge.”
“I kind of get angry to people sometimes,” six-year-old Zamin Raza tells me.
“But Maulana said to be kind, right?” I ask him.
“Yes,” Zamin admits.
“I have a question - what is the meaning of ethics?” asks Hussain in class.
He answers the question he has posed, “When you get home, you say salaam to your parents, that is ethics. You will not shout. You will not bother. You won’t tease, you won’t back-bite, all this is ethics.”
Hussain adds, “Ethical values are more important than each and every thing.”
There are some more questions. A reminder to do the homework, and not to miss future classes. And then it’s a wrap.
The children leave. And adults come in and take their place. Sunday school is over, but the lessons shall continue. It’s time for the grown-ups now.
In the Candlelight: Reflections & Remembrance at a Roman Catholic Church in the Bronx
NEW YORK — An elderly woman stood over an array of mostly unlit candles at St. Barnabas Roman Catholic Church, which is located in a heavily Irish neighborhood on the border between The Bronx and Yonkers. Dusk hung heavy inside the nave as the raw, rainy evening filtered through dark stained glass. Three or four lit candles weakly brightened the dim space, leaving a detailed painting of Jesus peeking through the shadows on the high ceiling.
The woman arched her head downward. Two middle aged men leaned on either side of her, the three bodies close, their puffy winter coats forming one whole. They were silent, but their emotion — unmistakeable grief — cut across the room. After a moment, the trio quickly shuffled into the growing crowd of congregants.
It was Sunday evening at St. Barnabas, located at 409 East 242nd Street. Sturdy and rectangular, the Italianate-style church has beckoned Woodlawn’s Catholics for Sabbath celebrations since 1911. On the Catholic liturgical calendar, it was the Fourth in Ordinary Time and the faithful were quietly taking their places in the church’s long wooden pews. Filling up yet leaving everyone with ample personal space, a few families and many lone elders took their seats. Some dressed casually — tight jeans and a fleece — while others were more proper — a suit and tie under a tan peacoat.
Walking the line between the two styles, a polished 20-something in a shirt with a loose top button and no tie walked past the pews. He brought a narrow binder from the sacristy, a bright white room where the priest and altar servers prepared for the 5 o’clock mass, due to start in about two minutes.
The lights flashed on in dramatic fashion, yellowish LEDs supplanting the wiggling candle glow. The elaborate fresco-style painting above the altar led all eyes to Jesus Christ, heroically pictured at the center, surrounded by the Holy Family, the Apostles and flying cherubs. Around the altar, floral arrangements, green, white and red-orange evoked, perhaps by coincidence, the Irish Republican tricolors flying throughout the neighborhood.
The young man read a few announcements from a binder. He welcomed visitors, proclaimed that St. Patrick’s Day was fast approaching (it was still January), and read out a Wikipedia-style appeal for donations.
“If everyone here today donated…”
After mass, a few more people approached the candles. There were six separate arrays — two at the back, four at the front, including two dated-looking tables of electronic “candles” with push buttons that could light up your plastic tube of choice. The real candles were far more popular; none of the electric candles were turned on.
Names were engraved on the edge of the arrays, recalling the memory of various parishioners. Boxes with small slots hung beneath the candles, instructing how to donate if you wish to light one. One woman dropped a few dollars in the box. She lit two candles and knelt deeply before them, whispering a prayer.
Soon, she rushed off, perhaps bothered by my presence, and I decided to let her be.
Outside, I caught up with the fashionable lector named Terrance Tunnock (“T-U-N-N-O-C-K… Like the tea biscuit”) who told me he reads every week at 5 p.m. He said the candles are for special intentions, hopes, wishes, prayers. Often, people light candles for those they have lost.
As the dusk turned to night, the nave emptied out. Tunnock began tidying up around the church entrance, the priest returned to the sacristy, and the candles burned.