In Search Of Community: Burien’s St. Elizabeth Episcopal Church

Online interaction through social media can only go so deep, and I think more and more people are finding that it does not fulfill our real need for human connection. Through this column I’ll explore the ways people are finding community in real life.

This month I attended Sunday service at St. Elizabeth Episcopal Church, to see what goes on within the iconic 1955 building that some have called “the turtle” because of its domed facade.

My experience at St. Elizabeth Episcopal Church began with a polite greeting just inside the door. I was given a bulletin for the day’s service, before I slid into a wooden pew in the main room – which I have since learned is called a nave – of the church. Relaxing piano music filled the room, a relief and a reprieve from the rock bands that now make many churches feel more like concerts for god.

This scene was calm, in contrast, with items of ritual illuminated in natural light at the front of the nave. Over the pews, the arched ceiling was decorated with a series of handmade quilts. Despite the quilts, the nave remained chilly through the 60-minute service. I found out later that the furnace was having issues, and it should be cozier than it was during my visit. 

As church leaders prepared for services to begin, I was momentarily surprised by the sight of a man in a full-length white robe, carrying an oversized red cross– an odd sight for those of us who did not grow up in the church. However, white robes or no, everyone at this gathering seemed truly welcoming of people of all sorts. 

In fact, due to their embracing of all types of people, this church has been the victim of repeated acts of vandalism. Each time they have flown a pride flag, someone comes along and steals it.  I was told that the last time this happened, the vandals cut their flag rope so no more flags could be hung. In addition, the prior week, windows of the church were broken by a vandal.

The Episcopal Church has a strong tradition of inclusivity, welcoming people of all backgrounds, genders, and sexual orientations. Its canon laws prohibit discrimination. After the service, one member told me that when the Episcopal Church elected its first openly gay bishop, membership in the church dwindled as many people elected to join or form more conservative churches. 

I have to admit I was surprised the election of a gay bishop was viewed by so many as a negative thing. Everything I have heard about Episcopalians in the years since has been positive– precisely because they made that bold move which set them apart from so many other churches. Of course, 2003 was a different time, when a gay bishop was much more shocking.

Most of the 35 or so people in attendance appeared white. They were also on the older side, perhaps because the younger people have gone in search of a rock band. In fact, I saw no children, though there were welcoming statements in each of the pews for those with kids. The leaflets reminded parents that their kids are a blessing and not a disturbance. I know as a parent, I would have appreciated this message:

“Please relax! The sound and movement of children is the new life we pray for. Your children are welcome here.”

It went on to offer ways to keep kids happy during the service.

The service began with a ceremonial lighting of candles, followed by readings from the Bible by various members of the congregation. Father John led the room through a series of hymns and prayers. His homily addressed the ongoing conflict in Israel, drawing parallels to biblical passages and emphasizing Jerusalem’s history as a place where prophets have long faced adversity. He also highlighted Jesus’s identity as a devout first-century Jew.

There was a lot of standing, and then sitting, and then standing again, for songs and prayers. At times, organ music rang through the room. Other songs were sung acapella, and the building’s acoustics made every voice sound lovely. However, most attendees sang very softly. I did not sing, nor answer back during call-and-response prayers, for I did not know the words. 

The service culminated in Holy Communion. Father John performed the ritual preparations at the altar, and then signaled the beginning of communion by joyfully breaking the flatbread. Bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ, were also brought directly to two members who were unable to approach the altar.

Afterwards, everyone gathered for coffee with three choices of cream, alongside a tray of cookies. Father John greeted me warmly. I spoke to both new and longtime members of the church, as well as to Father John. One 15-year member told me that before COVID, their church community had been twice the size, including families with children, but that people just hadn’t made it back since then. After a year or so of everything being shut down for COVID, it seems like it became harder for members to get their kids, or perhaps even themselves, dressed and out of the house for church.

But some people are coming back. One member said she had returned to the Episcopal Church after an Episcopal bishop, Mariann Budde, publicly shamed President Trump during a service he had attended. Budde had implored Trump to have mercy on the LGBTQ+ and immigrant communities. Trump’s response was predictably angry, denouncing Budde as a radical. Meanwhile, a video of the service went viral, and Bishop Budde received an outpouring of support from both the public and the church.

In speaking with one member after the service, she told me that she hopes to find in the church a like-minded community to do things like letter-writing. For people who don’t necessarily want to attend protests or rallies, this is one way they might feel like they are not alone and can take meaningful political action as a community.