Envisioning unity

Picture for yourself a church in Newark. You see a stately old building, with white pillars, a white steeple, and a double-width red door.

Walk inside, in your mind’s eye, and see a high-ceilinged room, with many high windows letting in much light, and the light walls and white pews amplifying that light.

Imagine a room full of beautifully dressed Black worshippers, some in suits and bright dresses, others in African robes. Hear the gospel music, and thrill to it.

And then look up at the bimah — no, that’s wrong, the pulpit. You see the congregation’s leaders, dressed in white. Standing in front of them at the lectern, though — who’s that? A small white woman, in a gray suit with a yellow hostage pin, a kippah, and a radiant smile.

The church is Franklin-St. John’s United Methodist Church in Newark; the woman is Rabbi Abigail Treu, who leads Oheb Shalom Congregation in South Orange.

She and many members of her congregation were at the church on Sunday, June 29; it was the second time in two months that they’d joined, and a third meeting is planned. She had moved from her seat on the pulpit to introduce a reading — of Psalm 100.

The reasons for the meetings are both specific to the two congregations and more general.

The relationship began a few months ago. “The genesis of this came out of the blue, two days before Passover, when I got a call from Reverend Carter,” Rabbi Treu said. That’s the Rev. Dr. William D. Carter III, the pastor of Franklin-St. John’s. “He said, ‘We don’t know each other — I’ve only been here for three years, and you’ve been there for four, so we’re both kind of new, but I’ve been told that we used to have interfaith seders together. So let’s do it again.’

“I said that’s amazing. We’d love to. And he said, ‘What about Tuesday?’” That was the first day of chol ha-moed Pesach. “We ended up having an interfaith seder a month later, on Pesach Sheni,” the time when people who had not been able to have a seder could remedy that omission.

“A lovely group of people from Franklin-St. John’s came. After that, he and I have come to know each other. We’ve gotten together for coffee. We both have an interest in building a relationship. So when they were at Oheb, everyone said, ‘What’s next?’ and that we’d go to them. So this was the second step.”

Rabbi Treu explained why she thinks it is important to work with the church.

“It seems clear to me that in this moment of antisemitism, of hate across so many different lines in our country, that the number-one thing that we can do as Jews, and that I can do as a rabbi, is to reach across the divide,” she said.

“That’s why I’m stepping up to serve as the leader of the Interfaith Clergy Council for the Jewish Federation of Greater MetroWest’s Jewish Community Relations Council. It just feels that what we need to be doing right now is to try to get out of our bubbles. Out of our silos.

“And how beautiful is it that there is a largely African-American congregation just three miles down the road from us.

“But one of the things I said on Sunday was that we are only three miles apart, but we are also worlds apart. Part of what we have to do here is close the distance.”

The church is in Newark; the shul is one of the many — and in fact was one of the largest — of the synagogues that moved from the city to the suburbs as the social and racial unrest of the 1960s upended it. Franklin-St. John’s and Oheb Shalom are only about three miles apart. Many of the shul’s members grew up in Weequahic, the section of Newark that was home to the city’s thriving Jewish community. “A number of our group were from there, and were excited to go back,” Rabbi Treu said.

So on Sunday morning, the Jewish group made the short trip over the city line to the church.

There’s a daily minyan at Oheb; on Sundays, it’s at 9. “I said that I won’t be able to go, because I couldn’t get to the church by 9:45.” That was not a popular decision. The shul’s minyan-goers wanted the minyan, and the church offered them space. “They said we could do minyan in the chapel,” Rabbi Treu reported. “So we were there, in our tallitot and tefillin, and then at 9:45 we started the church service.

“It was really lovely.”

The ushers were careful to seat the Jewish visitors among the regular congregation, instead of in a block. “They were really thoughtful in helping us feel part of the community,” Rabbi Treu said.

Delivering remarks in the church was exhilarating, she continued. “Jews at shul generally listen politely, even attentively, but we tend to remain in our seats. We do not applaud, and we do not call out affirmations. It’s gratifying to address an audience that does those things.

“I am only speaking from now on in places that give standing ovations,” Rabbi Treu said; of course she was joking, but her appreciation was clear. “It’s the best.”

After the service, “there was a lot of hugging. People were very friendly. And then Dr. Carter invited everyone to sit down and he did a question-and-answer session. He answered questions about the service, the congregation, the building, the art in the building. His congregation was there too.”

Was it as she expected it to be? “I’m not sure that we knew what to expect,” Rabbi Treu said. “People were really grateful for the friendliness, the open-heartedness, the hospitality, and for the joy of the service.

“We were able to experience a different kind of spiritual experience.”

The group from Oheb Shalom “opened up to this interfaith service,” Rabbi Treu said. Members of the group felt that “I know who I am. I am a Jew. And I’m going to sit with you as a Jew, and I’m going to be open and I’m going to be moved by something else, by a different experience, one that is not mine, instead of being threatened by it.”

She talked about the offering, the part of a Christian service where ushers pass a bucket back and forth through the pews, “so that each person can make their offering into the basket. And so many Oheb congregants joined in, because we’re all here together.”

In a classic bit of cultural confusion, though, Rabbi Treu did not contribute. That’s because she left the stuff she’d brought with her — her laptop, so she could stream the morning minyan, her tallis bag, and her wallet — in Dr. Carter’s office. She’d never carry a wallet or money on Shabbat; this was Sunday, so she could, but why would she want a handbag on the bimah? Um, the pulpit? She wouldn’t.

That meant that when the basket was passed, she could contribute nothing to it.

“Oheb Shalom will make a modest contribution to the church’s capital campaign,” she added.

What about the music? “It’s amazing,” Rabbi Treu said. “It was amazing,” she repeated. “And the music director is what you think of as a classic gospel musician. It was so good.”

Dr. Carter was similarly moved by the experience of being hosted and then hosting members of Oheb Shalom; he framed it in terms of looking both behind and ahead.

“I had heard that the two congregations had a history of having collaborative services together, but over time that had ceased,” he said. “So I reached out to rebuild a new relationship. We had an amazing conversation. She’s so progressive and forward-thinking.

“That’s why my congregation went to hers for the interfaith seder. She and I led it together, and both of our congregations enjoyed it. We all gleaned so much from each other’s traditions. So we invited them to our congregation so they could experience what a Black church service actually is like. And it was amazing.

“It was a day of unity. Of solidarity. But it also was a day of envisioning what unity looks like, particularly in this climate, where there is so much division. So much divisiveness. It is good to see two different faiths come together and say that we are not going to focus on our differences but on our similarities.

“And those similarities are to advocate for all of humanity, no matter who they are, and how they identify in the world, and to do that in a way that speaks truth to power.”

Like Rabbi Treu, Dr. Carter was moved by the shul’s minyan meeting in his building. “It was held in our chapel during our Sunday school,” he said. “It was amazing just to be able to embody that. We had two different faiths under one roof. That is a message in and of itself.

“The congregation was so excited and so engaged. And they also were curious. At the end they asked so many questions about our faith, and about what it means when we did this or that.

“That sense of curiosity demonstrated their level of engagement.

“I don’t perceive this as a one-and-done,” Dr. Carter concluded. “I perceive it as an ongoing relationship. And I also perceive it as a message to the world at large that it is time to unite across faiths, across traditions, across perspectives, and work together for the greater good of all people.”

Before Slichot services on the Saturday night before Rosh Hashanah, Dr. Carter and Rabbi Treu will discuss teshuvah. That’s repentance, turning back, a key feature of the High Holidays. Other faith leaders might join them, as the idea of true interfaith conversations — where participants speak out of the depth and conviction of their faith and identity, unafraid to listen to others, open to others — continues to unfold.