THE Rev. William McDonald Tully, with his bald head bare and his clerical shirt and collar camouflaged by that urban essential, a V-neck sweater in black cashmere, is loping down the center aisle of St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church, the gently decaying Park Avenue landmark where he has served as rector, and as a bit of a secular entrepreneur, since 1994.
The church is hushed at midday, and dimly lighted. A Christmas tree glows to the left of the altar, and poinsettias ring the pulpit. The public trickles in and out, murmuring at the grandeur, or perhaps realizing that this austere sanctuary once provided the setting for the madcap wedding scene from “Arthur,” the Dudley Moore comedy.
In the pews to Mr. Tully’s left, in varying stages of slumping and dozing but not flat-out sleeping (that and disruptive vocalizing are grounds for ejection), are the homeless denizens of the weekday congregation. “Every once in a while you run into somebody who is incredulous that this could happen on Park Avenue,” says Mr. Tully. To his right is a sprinkling of tourists and prayer-sayers. Musicians carrying lutes and zithers prepare to give a free concert in the chapel. Out on the plaza, the church’s Christmas bazaar is drawing last-minute shoppers.
Peaceable coexistence ”” street people and devout souls ”” is the prevailing vibe, and Mr. Tully is its architect.
“I came here for the risk of it,” he says. His job as rector of St. Columba’s, the largest parish in Washington, “was getting too cushy after 14 years.”
I have some personal and business experience with St. Bart’s. It is well run and there are plenty of people around. The one time I attended services there-in the summer, no less-it was pretty crowded. As I recall the rector emphasizes summer attendance and programs.
Problems: open communion and the “new thing”*. In many ways the parish is a mirror image of its nearby neighbor, St. Thomas, which is one of NYC’s more conservative-and certainly traditional-parishes.
Randall