Saturday, June 29, 2013

Waiting. And questions. And still waiting.


A day of waiting. And waiting. The waiting is wearing.

Sergeant Keith drops by. Offering to work when we need him. Not yet, not yet.

Cara and Stephen and I go for conversation. To talk about the Reformed tradition.Grace. How our decision making process is rooted in our theology.A theology that affirms the value of each human being. How all of us together are smarter than any of us alone.

The Noche crew is getting ready for their West Coast tour. And Martin is waiting too. We are getting weary of waiting.

RL calls. Somehow, the side door was locked. Not open for the sign up time for Open Mic. He’s weary. Ready to call it a night. But there’s a group of musicians around, ready to play. So Marc hooks up some sound. We sit around the room in a circle. Take our turns playing for and with each other.There’s a  friend of Pat’s. Hasn’t played with people in 30 years. He takes off on a fairly mean extended solo. It’s  chance to try out some new material.

Someone’s neighbor has shown up.

Cara does an impromptu poem. Mandola Joe has one too. RL has both a poem for his grandfather  and  a tender song for Harvey, back in the hospital. Try as he might, he can never fully hide his romantic, even sentimental spirit. He plays Stay Awhile, and we all join in, ready to call it a night. But we’e got more music to play.

I look up and see Marsha has walked in, quietly listening. After Marc finishes  with a Beatles’ medley, we’re ready to go.

Marsha has a lot on her mind. We go off to talk about the church. Big C Church and little c West-Park. How the world is changing around us. Like we’re in another kairos moment.  I learn more of her past. A whole background with  farmworkers. We can know each other for years and still not know each other.  The burning innate sense of justice that keeps her going. And very serious questions as to whether the fight for the building is worth it. Is it killing us? Even with its rich history? Wasn’t it the people who made that history? What would it mean to be truly radical? Be a pop-up church, springing up in coffee shops, restaurants, community rooms, gardens, where we’re least expected?

Of course that appeals to me. But I think of everything the walls have soaked up, everything that has happened. How every one always talks about what they feel here. Does a building have a spirit, soul? How do we afford it?

It’s late. The questions will remain hanging in the heavy summer air....


I go to remind our city council member of promises still unkept. In the midst of her new campaign, I have to keep reminding her. She owes us....Landmarking was her victory. For us, more like a sentence. I know she truly supports what we want. But where is the support she promised? Sometimes, I wonder why I haven’t followed the desires of several members to just start a direct action campaign. We are starving as we wait, even as we seek to remain faithful....She will try again...

Martin’s closing out the office before tomorrow’s trip west. We look at each other. News? News? Still waiting. 

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