Too many prayer books??? Everyone needs a first run......

I spent part of yesterday packing up remnants of worship at a closed church. For two years I have been part of the administrative authority team assisting in the closing and deposition of property with the caring and professional oversight of our diocesan staff.  Since the church, rectory and parking lot are a quick ten minute drive from my apartment, I am often called upon to do the mundane minutiae that someone who lives close by is able to do. Yesterday I needed to pick up the mail and gather some prayer books for a parishioner who had requested some.

Prayer books and hymnals, I learned,  make up the majority of materials left behind when churches close. Finding appropriate homes for such objects can be difficult, so I was happy that a former parishioner was looking for some prayer books. As an unexpected bonus, I would be spending some time out of my two-bedroom apartment and would actually be able to look at a different set of four walls.

Before I left my space, I had decided that while I was there, what the heck, I should start boxing up the materials that have been accumulated over the years that will have to be eventually removed once the property's fate has been decided.  I had been saving boxes from my bi-monthly "Misfits Markets" deliveries, and they were beginning  to crowd out my family room to the extent that I could not get into my walk-in closet. They were threating to limit my access to the second bathroom and block the sliding glass doors to the roof deck. It was time to either throw them out or pack them into the Ford Fiesta and get them out of here.

Due to the current state of the Covid-19 pandemic in New York City, I would be basically by myself in this now empty sacred space. In the past, when I have been in this now empty church, there was always someone with me often trying to rid the larger space of trash that had accumulated over the many years of benign neglect of which most cash strapped churches are victims. Many have had basic maintenance issues postponed until what might have been an annoying and unexpected expense has ballooned into a major construction issue that would be several times the original repair cost.

So,  in an attempt to basically change my daily scenery, I gathered my many cardboard boxes, tossed them into the back and front seat of my very little car, and phoned the requesting parishioner leaving a message that the prayer books would be ready for pick-up that  afternoon.  I drove the scant 4 miles turned into to empty and rather bumpy parking lot, pulled up to the front door , threw the boxes out of the car and entered the building.

The door creaked as I opened it, and I could begin to feel an itching in my nostrils. I detected the smell of old wax and dust mixed with the unmistakable odor of mildew. I entered the back of the sanctuary and went immediately to the circuit breaker and began flipping switches as I lit up the sanctuary and sacristy space to begin my book gathering.

As I walked down the center aisle I began to think about how many people did just the same over the 60 years this space served a community of faith, albeit, a community had had drastically dwindled over the years. Like may Mainline and Roman Catholic Churches across America, there was an unprecedented rise in church attendance in the Post-World War II era, sparked, I think, by the large number of returning veterans who were grateful for their personal survival. It seems the decimation of the church-going population of Europe in both World Wars led to empty churches after the wars, had the exact opposite effect on the returning, surviving sons of America.


This building in which I toiled is a rather non-descript cookie-cutter cinderblock and masonry edifice  similar to so many others built in the late 40's and 50's across America to accommodate the returning vets and their families of baby boomer kids. It has a distinctly mid-century modern feel with light woods, tall, long and lean lancet windows that allow sunlight to stream in, and clean, crisp lines. The pews have a comfortable slope that make sitting in them almost bearable.

 Soon prayer books and hymnals are neatly piled up in pews that are shared by vestments still in the dry cleaner plastic and an old service bulletin left behind by an unknown worshiper.

I began to pile prayer books into an used box that had previously held some sacramental wine. The familiar red books slide in one by one in alternating columns. It was mindless work until I dropped one. As it hit the floor and my foot, it fell open to one of the front fly-pages. As I picked it up, I saw that it had an inscription, a date and a quote. "To Michael"...it began. It included a reference to a date in 1977, the feast of the conversion of St Paul, which would be January 25th, and ended with an obscure quote: " Everyone needs a first-run sometime!" I wondered who Michael was, and why his prayer book ended up in one of the pews of this now closed church.  It really felt out-of-place in this now cold and empty space. I think it deserved better. I did not want it to be just packed up and sent off somewhere yet unknown.

So, I tucked it under my arm and took it home with me. I hope Michael, whoever he is, will not mind me using his prayer book from time to time in my daily devotions. Not only does it deserve a first-run, it deserves to stay in the game.