A Unique Calling: Grace Church and the Altar Call

By Emily Winsett

February 9, 2004

Anxiety over turning 50. Overcoming difficulties at work. Battling depression. Fear of an approaching surgery. Strength in dealing with family problems. Or just saying thank you. These are a few of the things congregation members of Grace Episcopal Church in Corona, Queens, may pray about during the "altar call."

Inside the small faded brick church that is Grace Episcopal, the altar call is common practice. During each Sunday service, after his sermon and the church notices, the Rev. Leopold Baynes, Grace's rector, announces the altar call. Silently, parishioners rise from their seats on wooden pews and walk to the altar where they kneel side by side on red velvet cushions in front of a thin wooden railing. There they wait for Rev. Baynes to reach them and pray for them. Those who remain in their pews sing hymns from the Lift Every Voice and Sing African-American hymnal.

"You go up there and you pray," said Teddy White, a lay Eucharist minister at Grace, of the altar call. "And you're also getting prayed for and prayed with. It's sharing, a sense of community, a sense of bonding. There's something about doing it publicly: it works."

White would know. He does not go up to the altar each Sunday, but only when, as he said, "the Spirit moves me." And the Spirit moves White under different circumstances. In the past he used the call as a chance to pray for guidance in serious matters, such as a lengthy disagreement with one of his daughters, or over concerns he now jokes about, such as turning 50. "I did go up on that momentous occasion," White, now 52, said with a laugh. "I got a little concerned, but then I was fine. It was over."

As with White, not everyone in the congregation goes forward every Sunday. "It's not forced upon you," said Lorna Valencia, a 40-year member of Grace Episcopal Church and president of the church's Episcopal Church Women, a club that raises funds for the church. "It's your choice. It's not a forced ritual."

It is also unique. Most Episcopal churches in the United States do not offer the altar call to their congregations. Even at Grace Church, the ritual became a part of the service only when Rev. Baynes became the pastor there five years ago. The origins of the practice date back to the 1820s, during the Second Great Awakening, a period of revivalism that swept the country, encouraging people to abandon their secular lifestyles. The sermons of Charles G. Finney, an influential preacher at the time, first mention the altar call, although he termed it the "anxious seat."

In 1868, during one of his later sermons entitled Measures to Promote Revivals, Finney defined the anxious seat as a "particular seat in the place of meeting, where the anxious may come, and be addressed particularly, and be made subjects of prayer." Finney believed public acknowledgment of one's troubles was an important part of prayer. He also argued that public prayer, by its mere practice, weeded false Christians from the congregation.

For those kneeling at the altar railing of Grace Church, the call serves a more personal purpose. With his fingers spread wide, Rev. Baynes places both hands on either side of the individual's head. His touch is symbolic of the belief in Jesus. "It's just for a blessing," said Pauline McDermott, a shy elderly woman in a black and white checked hat pulled low on her forehead. "Jesus put his hands on his children and blessed them."

With his eyes closed, and his head tilted slightly back, Rev. Baynes says a prayer or a blessing for the individual he is touching. He spends approximately 30 seconds praying for each parishioner, who remains kneeling, silent beneath the priest's hands, listening to his words.

"Our priest doesn't ask, he just gives a prayer and a blessing," said Gladys Challenor, seated at a table in Morgan Hall, the meeting place next door to the church where the congregation gathers for brunch. "And you don't know what he's going to say so you can't say it with him. It's not formalized."

Muriel Taylor sits next to her. The two women jokingly call themselves the "Bobbsey Twins" of the congregation. They have taught Sunday school to two generations of children within some of the congregation's families. As they eat their brunch, they finish each other's sentences -- one chewing on a buffalo wing, the other speaking. Taylor tries to clarify her friend's point on the informality of the altar call.

"It's for your needs," she said.

"Or what he says your needs are," adds Challenor, quickly swallowing her bite in order to speak. Challenor explains that sometimes parishioners will go to Rev. Baynes outside of service to speak to him of their individual problems. Challenor, for example, has told Rev. Baynes of her difficulties in getting her Sunday school students under control. Because he is aware, he will often say a special prayer during the altar call for her, asking God to guide her through her difficulties.

Those who kneel before Rev. Baynes expect no miracles. They do not pray for immediate healing, but for a chance to acknowledge their troubles and to ask for guidance in resolving them. "To think by going out there and praying everything will straighten itself out would be an error," said White. "It's not for an instant fix. I believe that the Lord will guide me. I'm not going to tell you it's the Lord answering, because I'm not some sort of fanatic, but I believe it is."

Belief is essentially what the altar call boils down to: The belief in the strength and power of prayer. "We believe prayer changes things," said McDermott. "We believe prayer strengthens and encourages you. By faith, you believe in what you will receive."

What comes from the altar call, what is received, may not always be easy to pinpoint. "Every Sunday the priest prays for us and lays his hands on us in blessing because he's ordained by God to do that," said Valencia. "And some priests, when they lay their hands on you -- I can't explain it, you just get a feeling and you feel better."

As she speaks, Valencia closes her eyes, and leans back slightly in the brown metal folding chair in which she is sitting. And then she smiles.

(Updated April 6, 2004)