While Our Lady of Grace had no heat until mid-December following Sandy, many residents attended services there. Close to 300 people came to the first mass after the hurricane, and Father Rucando said they came because they needed to “hug, to cry, to touch each other.”
As Rev. Anthony Rucando left for Our Lady of Grace Church’s first mass after Hurricane Sandy swept through Howard Beach, he doubted there would be more than 50 or 60 people who would come: These were dark days and many had been forced from homes in which they had lived for decades, their houses’ insides ripped apart by the devastating power of water and wind.
The church sits empty after it had to rip out its pews following Sandy’s devastation.
Instead, despite the lack of lights and heat and a building resembling what had stood less than one week before, close to 300 people rushed into the church.
“They needed to hug, to try, to touch each other,” Rucando said. “That first mass – we had no electricity, no heat. The music was a cappella – it was wonderful.”
Despite the fact that it had no electricity until mid-December and its pews and floor were ruined, Our Lady of Grace became a place after the storm for people to remember they were not alone in their suffering – there were others who knew exactly what they were going through and they, despite having lost everything themselves, were there to help. Almost immediately after Sandy overpowered much of South Queens, the church became a community center, its school’s auditorium used to distribute the food and clothing that was so desperately needed by so many throughout the community.
“We were the glue that kept the community together,” Rucando said. “It’s a center not only of faith but of community.
“Our role was to be an oasis of a place where people could come because in their houses they were overwhelmed,” he continued.
The National Guard rolled into Howard Beach following the storm, and many of the members showed up at Our Lady of Grace in the chaos immediately after Sandy.
The relief efforts were surreal at times, if not most of the time, with members of the National Guard rolling onto the church grounds armed with massive firearms and dozens of people from Mayor Bloomberg’s office appearing and asking Rucando what they should do.
“It was literally confusion – there were well-intentioned people but nobody knew what to do,” the pastor said.
Not only did members of the mayor’s office or the National Guard not have a defined course of action, many of the church’s members, people who had just seen nearly everything – parents’ wedding photos, homemade videos of relatives long gone, mementos of times they could never get back, felt utterly lost as well. And, for many, a sense of hope seemed only to come when gathered with neighbors at the church. It was a reminder that there was still a life to live.
“People were walking around like zombies – functioning, but just barely,” Rucando said. “The wound was so deep that we’ll always have a scar.”
But, the pastor stressed, “we were healed because of who we are.”
“Neighbors were helping neighbors,” he continued. “I had people who had just lost everything asking how the church was. And when I told them not good, they said, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll rebuild.’”
And, the pastor said, not only have his congregants supported one another, they have worked hard to help those impacted by natural disasters across the country – including the people of Oklahoma whose lives were shattered by a tornado last May.
“People lost everything, and they kept being hit with reminders of how imperfect things are,” Rucando said of those in South Queens. “But if you have faith and love, which is seen through sacrificial caring, then you have hope. If everybody only cares about themselves, there’s no hope.”
By Anna Gustafson
