Living in coronavirusworld 61: ...the kindness of strangers

5/22

Haven't seen this one before

This corona’s fuckin up everything.

(heard through my window this morning as I drink my coffee)

The President has declared he wants the churches open. Will “override” any governor who resists. Our denomination says “no.”  Our Presbytery executive had this to say:

The Presbytery’s Coronavirus Emergency Response Team has done significant research on the pandemic and does not believe there is scientific evidence that says it is safe to gather in person as congregations at this time.

We commend the counsel of the Rev. Dr. J. Herbert Nelson, Stated Clerk of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church to the congregations of the Presbytery of New York City: “We are not for rushing people back into the pews when this virus is still claiming victims. When people can go to church without fear of infection, we will be ready.”

The Rev. Dr. J. Herbert Nelson reminds us that “the Church is, and has always been, more than a building. Congregations are using new and creative ways to share the gospel and minister to those in need.” Our congregations have demonstrated that again and again. With buildings temporarily closed, we have prayed, worshiped, made music (which is a bit of a challenge on Zoom), advocated for justice, worked for the welfare of the city, and witnessed to our faith in Jesus Christ by building on existing ministries and by developing new ministries.

                  Rev. Dr. Robert Foltz-Morrison

What a bizarre twist of fate…the president trying to force churches to open, faithful resistance means staying shut. 

But fact is, sigh, churches have not been closed. Buildings have been closed. Churches have worshipped every Sunday. I’ve led and attended Bible Studies. Sigh, The church is not the building. It is the people. The building is there as means to the end of mission, not as an end to  itself. 

Seems to me like a cynical ploy. This does not come from the President’s abiding love for Jesus. This  is the cynical act of a man worried about reelection who is willing to sacrifice our lives to curry favor with one of his base constituencies, the right  wing  evangelicals. 

My walk begins and ends with cop cars again. I see bunch of guys playing ball on a school yard that still has hoops.  I take one picture. Began to take another. Am seen. Hey man, no pictures…So hoops here are still on the down low. 

Hoops on the down low

I see another ironic sign I haven’t seen before at the dry cleaners. And see that someone’s birthday has been celebrated. We all doin’ what we can….

Happy birthday Adrienne

Talking to my mom, I realize how hard I’m trying to connect with home. I love New York City, I belong here. But in this cornavirusworld, I’m clearly yearning for a deeper home. I broke down and bought a subscription to the Post Gazette and read it online every morning. I’m wearing a  Cutch number 22 shirt from the last time the Pirates were good. I went out walking in a  Pirates hat. (The checkout guy at the grocery store noticed my hat and my Steeler grocery bag. Tells me he's from Rosslyn Farms.) Am drinking my margarita in mason jar from PNC Park with a Buccos logo. And I just cooked a sauerkraut, noodle and kielbasa casserole. All that’s missing is an Iron City beer.

My friend is in another ZOOM production, from the Barrow Group and it's For and ABout (FAB) women series. I have just enough time to catch her monologue. 

I host the West Park Open Mic again. We’ve got a good turn out and as usual, some people struggling to get in. On the one hand, some folks just have issues with tech.  On the other, inevitably some mysterious random thing will go wrong each week as if directed by gremlins. We’ve got a classic woman comic. And music from Kazakhstan again. And I end as always, end with RL’s Stay Awhile, as a connector to our first open mics. 

I finish the night with the National Theatre’s production of “A Streetcar Named Desire” a wonderful performance  with Gillian Anderson and Ben Foster. (https://www.nationaltheatre.org.uk/nt-at-home) There’s the tragic romance of the poetry of Tennessee William’s lines against the simmering sensuality of New Orleans as a backdrop. And of course, Blanche's final line, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. In cornavirusworld, we all do.