Fifth Sunday in Lent: Green eyes, just like Eva Gardner

3/17

Stephen, Kimberley and Andre

St. Parick’s Day. The doors are open. Stephen is waiting. On the way to 85 Copy, I run into Marty.  Happy St.Patrick’s Day, Marty. He looks up. Recognizes me. It takes a minute. 

So Reverend. Did you say a special mass for the holiday? It’s a sad day. or is it a happy day? My father was a reverend, I see you’re wearing green. My mother had green eyes, just like Eva Gardner. That’s why he married her.

Because of the green eyes?

No, she was a good cook. But when he got mad at here, he’d just stare. Right in those green eyes. 

You have a good day, OK? And he nods. 

On the way back from the copy shop, an Orthodox Jew in his black hat and beard is taking to him. And do you have matzoh? And grape juice? When are you going to get it?

I walk past. Back to church. Anna and puppy are guarding my office. When I go to set the sanctuary, she goes out to sweep the steps. I set the table with Lenten purple. Lay down my purple Guatemalan stole. Then, just for today, add my green stole. St. Patrick’s Day.

Kimberley is leading today. Stephen has learned the music and is playing the piano. And Andre has arrived to sing and lead the music. Her reflection is on the story in John where Lazarus has just been raised. A dinner is going on. Mary perfumes his feet with expensive pure nard.  And Judas, called a thief by John, complains.

Her main focus is living in the moment. How even in the shadow of the looming cross, we need to feel the joy of the moment. Allow it to fill us. Share it with each other. Celebrate in the midst of sorrow. Appreciate the people around us, now. We know not what tomorrow brings. But we are here, together, now. 

Her reflection was well thought out. Theologically coherent. Filled with touchstones of people’s lives. And seasoned with a collection of quoted from a broad variety of sources true to her Unitarian self.

Andre does a reprise of Come by here, my Lord. I say that it began with the slaves, was taken to Africa by missionaries and brought back around by Pete Seeger. Remember its role in Glen’s play, Dem Dahk Days Down South.( http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2012/07/it-just-doesnt-work.html )And Glen tells us his assistant Victoria has been accepted into the graduate program at NYU.  And Kimberley leads us in a rousing Shout for joy,  brightening our Lent.

Tracy has sent pastries from Joe Bar. Jamie has brought coffee. We take time to enjoy each other. Get to know Ashley, our visitor. 

Time to get the Session together. Review where we are negotiationswise. 

I’m loaded down with boxes for packing. Jame hails a cab.

I’m remembering last year. The Occupy action. Tying together the deeper meaning of St. Patrick’s, finishing at the Irish famine memorial. (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2012/03/twentyfirst-day-of-lent-st-patricks-day.html) Then the next night, our celebration of el fiesta del San Patricio, with the Buskers, Joe and Pat and KT. And Carlos and his norteno band of Mexican workers. As we lifted up el batalon San Patricio, the immigrant draftees who decided they were on the wrong side and refused to fire on Mexicans. It’s good to remember. (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2012/03/fourth-sunday-in-lent-vivan-los-san.html )

Que viva el batalon San Patricio. Presente!

Glen and Don

Hope, Stephen and Arcadia

Andre and Cara

Eighth day of Lent: Vivan los san patricios

3/17

St. Patrick’s Day. The most sunny, warm, nearly perfect day of the year so far. 

Steps almost empty today. Just a black plastic knife. But Amsterdam Avenue is awash with a steady stream of people in green returning from the parade on Fifth Avenue. The pubs south of 86th are overflowing onto the sidewalks. A bus pulls up in front of the Dead Poet, (the place Amanda calls the office, much good work done there) emptying out a band of pipers in green plaid kilts. 

                                                  

One block down 86th from the  church, in Euclid Hall, the home of the West Side Federation for Senior and Supportive Housing, (yes, birthed at West-Park)is the Parlour.     More than an Irish pub, it’s a Celtic bar. That is, a home for the New York fans of the Scottish Glascgow Celtics, the traditional Catholic football club and arch rival of the Protestant fan based Rangers, though both teams are filled with all kinds of international players. Green and white striped Celtic jerseys fill the walls. While other neighborhood pubs are showing the NCAA March madness, the big screen here has English Premier Football. Right across the street from SPSA, it’s been a good place for church gatherings when we had no place of our own. I order a Magner’s Irish Cider, for Amanda, watch Kentucky’s last second win over Princeton on one of the smaller screens.

I’m thinking today of the San Patricio Battalion. That group of several hundred mainly Irish but also German and Scots draftees in the Mexican War of 1846-48 led by Captain John Riley. When they got to Mexico they looked around and said, wait, they’re Christians, we’re Christians. They’re Catholics, we’re Catholics. They’re poor, we’re poor. It’s their land, not ours. We’re on the wrong side here. So  after refusing to shoot at the Mexicans, they switched sides. 

After defeat by the US army, most of the  captured san patricios were tried by military tribunal, without defense, and hung, in violation of the Articles of War.  In Mexico, los san patricios are remembered as heroes.  Streets named, statues. The Mexican  name Obregon is a latinazation of the Irish O’Brien. But in the US, the story remained buried for centuries. 

Each Easter morning, West-Park gathers  in Central Park at the site of the All Angels Church in Seneca Village, the community of African-American, Irish and German immigrants there before Central Park. We gather there because All Angels was a multicultural church and we honor that heritage. Their story, too, was buried. Given the draft laws of the day, who knows if Irish immigrants from Seneca Village may have been among the san patricios.

Here’s a promise....if we’re still here a year from now, I’ll invite  El Taller to join us and  do a concert of Irish and Mexican music in honor  of los san patricios. And maybe go to Gabriela’s for corned beef and cabbage burritos after.

Vivan los san patricios.

Now the army used us harshly

We were but trash to them

Conscripted Irish soldiers

Not first class soldier men

They beat us and they banged us 

Mistreated us you know

But they couldn’t make us killers in the sands of Mexico.

Our John Riley seized the day 

And marched us down the road

And we wouldn’t slay our brothers

On the sands of Mexico.

Ry Cooder