Rev. Imani-Sheila Newsome-Camara (STH’87,’88,’12), of Greenwood Memorial United Methodist, in Boston Globe
This story was originally published in The Boston Globe, written by Gal Tziperman Lotan. Click here to view.
When the coronavirus pandemic took hold in the spring, the Rev. Imani-Sheila Newsome Camara felt overwhelmed, filled with worry over how to keep her family safe.
But as a pastor, Newsome Camara could not dwell too long on her personal troubles, no matter how extreme the circumstances. The 200 congregants at Greenwood Memorial United Methodist Church in Dorchester were worried, too, and looked to her for comfort and guidance in their time of need.
“Vulnerability for clergy can sometimes be difficult, because we’re called to stand so tall,” Newsome Camara said. “They’re trained to believe that they can leap tall buildings in a single bound. And when you miss that ledge, it’s going to be painful.”
Her impulse was to pour herself into her ministry, pushing her own fears aside. But with the world feeling more chaotic by the day and anxiety taking a physical toll, she made a concerted effort to slow down and take some time for herself.
“I did preach every Sunday, I did pray,” Newsome Camara said. “But I decided not to do anything heroic. Just sit and absorb how this was impacting me and my community.”
The past nine months have brought upheaval to every aspect of life, and religious leaders have faced immense challenges in charting a course through the pandemic. They have found ways to hold services remotely when gatherings became unsafe. They have faced financial uncertainty as their members had less to give. They have addressed their parishioners’ concerns around the effects of racism, the deaths of Black people at the hands of police, and the presidential election. As COVID-19 deaths climb, so has the emotional toll.
As she returned to a fuller work schedule, Newsome Camara turned to workshops on trauma and emotional well-being. She carved out more time for her family, baked bread, and wrote spiritual reflections and litanies. That has allowed her to recharge and see the challenges her parishioners face with clearer eyes.
“I didn’t pretend the pandemic wasn’t happening, I didn’t pretend that Black Lives Matter wasn’t happening,” she said. “It allowed people to say, ‘It’s OK if you have anxiety or concerns during this time period.’ Yes, you can still believe in God and be afraid.”
Clergy can be front-line responders, said the Rev. Laura E. Everett, executive director of the Massachusetts Council of Churches. In October, the organization put out a public call for lament, asking their communities to acknowledge the difficulties pastors and the communities they serve are facing.
“We know, in this country, there is still unfortunately a stigma around care for our mental well-being,” Everett said. “I think the complexity is often that clergy are in front of congregations, and in many ways set apart from that congregation to lead. And talking about one’s own needs invites a kind of vulnerability that can be hard in this culture.”
So clergy have tried to reset expectations, Everett said. If faith leaders don’t take care of themselves, their ability to care for their congregants may wane at the time of greatest need.
“We want to have candid and honest conversations about the whole of peoples’ lives: our spirits, our bodies, our economic, civil, emotional well-being,” she said. “We believe God cares about all of that, so it’s incredibly important to focus on.”
Everett said she has found a measure of peace in darning clothing, in Friday night family dinners, in kneading bread dough, in being in nature. She has often returned to a hymn about uncertainty: “On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand; All other ground is sinking sand.”
The stress, the Rev. Dieufort Fleurissaint said, had been mounting for a while. Even before the pandemic Fleurissaint, executive pastor at Voice of the Gospel Tabernacle in Mattapan and president of the Haitian Evangelical Pastors Association of New England, saw rapid changes in immigration policies take a toll on the emotional well-being of the people around him.
And the pandemic has only exacerbated those issues, he said. Some congregants have lost their jobs; others work in settings that leave them vulnerable to the virus. Families, especially ones with mixed immigration status, are struggling.
“We are always relying on the promises of God, in helping congregants face difficult situations,” he said. “But pastors are people too.”
“It’s a taboo subject, culturally, people do not want to talk about that. But when it causes so much stresses, at some point, being a pastor that has been trained to deal with it, we understand that prayers are not enough to deal with it. We need professional counseling to deal with it.”
Rabbi Mendy Uminer of Chabad at Chestnut Hill said he has seen many people grapple with uncertainty. In a pandemic, there are so many unanswered questions, and not knowing can be difficult for faithful people, he said.
“But really, in Judaism, faith is not that there is no uncertainty,” he said. “It’s persevering and living through uncertainty and still holding on to your faith.”
The Rev. Jay Williams of Union Church in Boston’s South End said he has encouraged his congregation to pay attention to their own well-being. In September, he preached the story of Deborah from the Hebrew Bible, focusing on the moment she sat at the base of a palm tree to rest.
“Rest is so very hard for us to experience,” Williams told congregants over Zoom. “So much of our reality is so shaped by doing, instead of being. God knows I still struggle to practice what I preach, and that’s why I keep preaching it.”
When life gets hard, as it often does, Williams said he encourages congregants and church leadership alike to extend grace to themselves, to cut themselves some slack. That can mean extending a deadline or pushing back a meeting. It can mean trying to disconnect from emails and spending time with his nieces and nephew, or going for a long run in nature.
Williams said he also tries to remember that hard times are part of the human condition. There is strength to be found in remembering his ancestors, their suffering and their joys, and how they found strength in the communities around them.
“Being in community has reminded me of the power of the people who are walking beside us,” he said.
Amr Elfass, a spokesman for the Islamic Society of Boston Cultural Center in Roxbury, said he and other leaders at the mosque are trying to remind their community that this moment, while extraordinarily difficult, will someday fade to memory.
“We know that this moment will pass, and we know that we can look back and say, we passed this together,” he said.