Living in Coronavirusworld 146: Normalish

8/23

The "Monkey Cup"

a bit of Venezuela un Harlem

Sunday morning is just right for a walk to my favorite coffee shop with the Sunday Times. My friends from the Monkey Cup have slowly turned their outdoor cafe into a bit of Venezuela in Harlem. The owner’s use of branches left from our recent storm encourages me as New Yorkers keep taking what’s left in the pandemic and turning it into something beautiful.  

                                                   "Love your neighbor kind of stuff"

                                                 "Me and Jesus" John McCutchen

I stop by the West Park (virtual) worship service as my friend Russ tackles the Matthew version of Peter’s confession. The center of the conversation has to do with our collective responsibility as opposed to individual salvation. How the “kingdom” is something we are creating now, nota future reward. Russ has chosen to call it “the keys to the car” as opposed the “keys to the kingdom.” What we’re given is not the end but the beginning. The keys turn the engine on, but we’ve got to do the driving, stepping on the gas, or brakes, navigating the turns. It’s good to have one of our periodic visitors from Canada join us and share what Toronto is like these days. Russ chooses as his music “That Love Your Neighbor Kind of Stuff” by Scott Anderson and “Me and Jesus” by John McCutchen.   

In our weekly family ZOOM from Berlin, my son notes with irony that Berlin developed a plan for the brothels before the schools. 

I go to visit my friend Beppe to watch the European Champion league final between Bayern Munich and Pars St. Germaine live from an empty stadium in Lisbon. So strange with recorded fan chants. Family and friends in Germany put me on the Bayern side while Beppe, and as he says, “all of Europe” cheers for PSG.  A bit disconcerting seeing all the shots of massed fans in Paris, no masks, no social distance. This is the first time Beppe has invited me into his house since the lockdown began. I do a thorough cleansing of  my shoes. And hand sanitizer. There are neatly divided personal snack servings. Nothing touched in common.  Oh, and Bayern wins 1 nil.

We are "incidental" in harmony

I go to my weekly gig at Bar 9’s outdoor set up. I learned the week of the state edict that all music must be “incidental” to the serving of food. Like alcohol, we cannot be the main attraction.  Names and times cannot be publicized. Nevertheless, as odd as it feels, I am now a regular weekly “incidental.” I remain surprised at how nervous I feel in front of live people. I went over my set all afternoon, every song until all were perfect. Then I stand in front of real people and I start a tune wrong, forget chords and lyrics. Like wtf? Is this what reopening will be like? Until my friend joins me on harmony and all is right. I’m moved that one of our Friday night “virtual” open mc regulars  has come to perform and waited to see us. “It’s so starnge to see you in real life,” he says, “I mean good, but so strange….”  Another singer is wearing high heels.  We’re used seeing her and her partner in sweats in their apartment. Step by step.

the street has the last word

We sit, in the cool of the evening. Enjoy our drinks, Our host takes an extended set of favorites. Our server is a young woman from a steel town near where I grew up. She came here to “act.” Wanted to finish out ten years. “But if what I came here for no longer exists, why stay? Why not go home? I hear Pittsburgh’s pretty cool these days…” And it is. Filling with new young techies. Blue skies now. Here, in New York City,  we enjoy the coolness. Decide to split one more wine. The twinkling lights of the outdoor cafes on both sides of the street. The quiet comfort of well loved songs. Late August.  “It feels almost normal,” says my friend. “Well, normalish…” 

Living in coronavirusworld 145: It's like Paris...

8/21

upper manhattan from the roof

street fair graffiti

The booming bass of the street fair dj makes its insistent way through my window.  It’s another weekly effort to close the street, register voters, provide some kids' activities and music to dance to. The crowds have not  been big. 

Meeting at the French African patisserie Des Ambasassades for coffee and pastries. Talk about the still unsettled plan for reopening the New York City schools. The union is  determined not to go back until they feel safe related to Covid measures.  Talk about family conversations on race and privilege.  Struggling with our own culpabilities. The uncomfortable conversations we all have to have.  And the growing awareness that Ulysses S Grant was not only a good general but also a good man who actually worked  to use  his Presidential power to expand participation of black Americans in our national life.  And his assessment that Robert E. Lee was not a hero, but a traitor.

on he roof

street singer

Walk to visit my friend Beppe.  Their building is now allowing visitors on their roof patio. I notice all the Spanish restaurants on Amsterdam have live singers with guitars and romantic baladas romanticas. We sit on his roof enjoying the view. Did you see the closed off streets between here and 110? he asks.  The street bars, cafes, restaurants, The tainting lights. The music. The life…It’s like Paris, he says. I listen. And from his rooftop I hear the sounds of the Mister Softee trucks mixing and dancing with the canciones de los cantantes melodicos. Something special about the cool of the evening and the peaty taste of single malt. I walk home pausing to take  in the street life. Now some bandas rumbas and bandas nortenas have joined the fiesta de las calles. The older Caribbean and newer Mexican neighbors mixing like music in the air. In late August 2020, in the midst of covid19, there is beauty and life in the streets of New York City.

Living in Coronavirusworld 144: Untended gardens

8/20

"Keep Our Neighborhood Safe"

the untended garden

On my walk south, I find the 89th Street community garden is open again. In a typical summer, there would be Shakespeare productions, concerts and community picnics all in this pocket park created and tended by he neighbors. But from this spring until now, the garden has been under lock and key. And clearly the flowers have gone untended all this time. But still to see the gates open is a good sign.  All throughout the neighborhood I find posters from the Guardian Angels recruiting people to join their safety patrols and “keep our neighborhood safe.”  The question is from whom? The homeless? My old neighborhood has become seriously gentrified even with the continuing presence of public housing projects. Like masked super heroes, our Angels edge ever closer to vigilantism.

The West Park Center board struggles with the effects of the virus. No real productions since March. Productions shut down in mid run. Program committee putting together ideas for virtual programming. Meanwhile, the church struggles with its own issues of sustainability in light of the virus. And inevitably what happens with the church will impact the Center. We are all wrestling with the unknown.  Untended gardens. And of course we wrestle with how to engage the community debate over the placement of homeless in hotels. The “antis” have collected thousands of signatures and facebook members and now have hired an attorney.  The faith community, scattered and disconnected, even as their congregations are scattered and disconnected, is trying to finds a way to engage.  There will be a virtual Community Board 7 meeting Monday night to address the issue. We will at least be there to see what goes on.  Untended gardens.

The Gate feels almost normal when a neighborhood character brings her drama back again. With the inevitable call to the police. Just like BC (Before Corona) time.  The owner stops by our table. “Dinner and a movie” she says. And gives us a health pour of red. It is the cool of the evening.

8/21

....and still we die....

Emergency vehicles continue through the neighborhood. Three times during my phone call with my mom. And people continue to die.

Then Open Mic community gathers again. Shares our conversation. Our songs. Our anxieties. We are there  for each other. Until we end with RL’s “Stay Awhile With Me.”

                                                                     Stay Awhile....

Living in coronavirusworld 143: the fruit of the prayer is not in the prayer

8/19

...and it does.....

Our Underground group gathers from New York City, the Berkshires, Catskills, Maine and the Jersey Coast.  Any of us who can be away are away. Typical New York August stretched out over months. 

A lot of time is spent today talking about contemplation and….like say action. How the depths of contemplation can lead to action. 

We talk about prayer. How true prayer is more listening than speaking.  How Jesus learned things through listening. To others. And to God. That the fruit of the prayer is not in the prayer. We talked about Thomas Merton. How through prayer we find ourselves, love ourselves. How he said the one who begins in contemplation will end in revolution.  And that prayer unleashes our power. Compassion and empathy as the fruits of prayer.

We talked about the difference between chanters and shouters. 

We talked about hope. How it is not objective, it has no object, it just is. And it is, as the Bible says, not seen. (Hebrews 11:1) 

Joel says we are living in a time of cold civil war. I describe my emotional state as quiet anxiety, not helped by our current system,  our crazy electoral system in which a voter on Wyoming has 4 times the voting power as one voter in California.  Hold onto hope.

We speak of the difference between meditation, emptying of all thought,  and contemplation, single minded reflection.  And what each leads to . And commit to following up on this conversation, deeper,  next week.

a reminder

trees

Walking through Central Park, there’s a new set of banners affirming the Park’s role in  our lives.

The Presbyterian Health Education and Welfare Association continues to explore the potential collaboration between our Disabilities Network and the Black Women and Girls working  group.  Our Reproductive Options group also sees collaboration as helping to move us past pro-choice, to reproductive justice, a perspective that explores the social economic and bias pressures that push abortion rates in communities of color. 

Tonight at the Democratic Convention is Kamala Harris’ night.  Fine points of ideology and change theory aside, her story is a quintessentially American story.  Immigrant parents from Jamaica and South Asia. Meeting in a march for justice. An extended family of various colors, cultures snd spices. An American story. Our story. That alone counts for something.  As does a Presidential candidate's wife who is a teacher and believes in public education, not ending it. People who know us. Yes, that counts. 

Living in coronavirusworld 142: over crumbs

8/18

art on 125th 

after the storm, a cafe

Any day Liliana comes to clean my house is a good day and I’ll feel fresh after.   Earlier this year she had a rough six weeks while her husband recovered from Covid19.  Now her mother is gravely ill in Guatemala. Only the Guatemala City airport is closed. And Mexico is closed to the US. She’s got to use her Guatemala passport and then fly to Mexico and then ride a bus for five hours and hopefully cross into Guatemala and get there in time. Such is travel in coronavirusworld. 

My Venezuelan friends at the  Monkey Cafe have  built their outdoor space. With his typical artistic flair, the owner has used tree branches fallen in our recent violent wind storm to build his cafe. That's the way we do in New York City. 

On 125th, new art covers plywood on vacant buildings. Including rapper Biggie Smalls in his classic king pose. 

Biggie on 125th 

The Presbytery cabinet continues to wrestle with the issue of churches straining at their bonds to reopen.  We’ve prepared a very long check list, that frankly only the  wealthiest churches can easily meet the standards. In the end, we  can’t control whether they reopen or not.  We debate whether to release a list of vendors who can provide resources for reopening when we don’t believe they should.  It turns out one of our Korean churches (one I know well) elected to reopen. A keyboard accompanist was infected by covid.  Soon the pastor was infected. Now his whole family. And others throughout the congregation. We are obviously sensitive to the fact that most of us  are white. And many of the churches that want to reopen are ethnic. But our  stated clerk, who is African American, points out how little has changed since March.   And that clergy are our essential workers who we are  are putting at risk. We must stand firm, he says. We can’t even  begin to fathom the myriad insurance and liability issues. This is not going away any time soon.      

      

Walking east on  114th by the school,  there’s a world of activity including family dinners, one card game and a covid craps game and dice shooters.  I walk to the Cantina and wait for my Tuesday tacos. I sit outside in the cool of the evening, enjoy my drink and tacos. I’m thinking about the furor in my old neighborhood, the  Upper West Side, over the presence of homeless people housed in local hotels. And the arrival of the voluntary security forces, the  Guardian Angels in their red jackets snd berets, beloved in the ’70’s, more complicated now. They are here to “help out,” their very presence a rebuke of the mayor. 

In California, there are tornadoes made of fire, firenados.  Iowa, in the middle of the country, has experienced a violent tropical hurricane and its devastation. 

By the pond, a man is throwing bread crumbs to the turtles. They are swimming to shore. Scrambling over one another. Pushing each other aside. Struggling to get to the crumbs.  I wonder how awarec of each other they are. Can they feel one another? They are scrambling still as I leave. Over crumbs. 

Living in coronavirusworld 141: Who is Jesus to you?

8/18

Be kind

La biblioteque est ouvert

Our neighborhood library is finally open. While much of the city had English/Spanish signs, note ours is English/French recognizing us as the  center of French West Africans in New York. The Mali community center is right down the street . The Senegal  consulate is one street north. And French African restaurants all around, And French speaking mosques And the Malcolm Shabazz street market. And street vendors on every block.  That’s our neighborhood.

Tonight’s Bible Study looks at Matthew 16: 13-20.  Otherwise known as Peter’s declaration. Jesus wants to know who people say he is.  Some say Elijah.  Others a prophet, or Jeremiah. Jesus refers to himself as the “son of man.” This could be the final judge, as in Daniel 7: 13-14. Or one who must suffer. (Mark 16:21) Or in the original Aramaic, simply as a way to speak of yourself as a human being, as in how we speak of Jesus as , “the human one”.Like in Exodus 2:1, “ben Adam.” 90 times in Ezekiel, as in “O mortal.” 

As for Elijah, Jesus’ miracles recall Elijah. (As John the Baptist’s clothing recalls Elijah.) 

As for prophet, it could be:

*Miracle worker (like Elijah)

*Lawgiver (Like Moses)

*Oracle, one who has visions

* a popular charismatic

As for Jeremiah, there is a possible prediction of Jeremiah by Moses (Deuteronomy 18: 15)

Peter answers the question, representing us. He calls Jesus the anointed one. A phrase commonly used for kings and priests. And “son of the living God.” (As at Jesus’ baptism, when God calls Jesus “my son.”) And again, a phrase used commonly for all kings. Jesus being called God’s son is a function of role, not relationship.  Peter has come to know this by God, not by “flesh and blood,” human beings. 

115th street

In return, Jesus calls Peter, Cephus (Aramaic), Petros (Greek) in other words, an endearing  nickname, Rocky.  And the powers of Hades (death) will not prevail. Jesus grants Peter the keys. The power to bind to loose. That is, the forgiveness of sins. (26: 28). Exorcism (12:29) And excommunication. 18:17). After this, Jesus tells them to “tell no one.”  The keys  we see on the Vatican flag. And until this day, all bishops are believed to have received their call in direct line from Peter. 

This story is also in Mark 8: 27-30 much shorter and simpler. And Luke 9:18-21, where the issue of suffering is brought to the center stage. 

Jill Duffield has made three significant points about this passage.  First, what  we say about who Jesus is to us reveals a lot about who we are. What we say shifts and changes as we age and grow.  Fact is, we will never fully know.

When Peter tells Jesus who he is, Jesus tells Peter who he is. Peter knows this not because he’s special, or insightful. But because God reveled it to him. In her words, Peter rose to an occasion he didn’t see coming. 

We have to ask that question who is Jesus to us?

What Marsha sees in all this is grace. And Jesus is calling us to do what we know we need to do, even when we don’t want to, but will do any way. Leila reflects on how we are called to be Jesus, to  live a Jesus life. And Berik sees Jesus explaining what it is we are supposed to be. As the teacher of the 12 apostles, he tells us how to live. Even in our modern society. Each time has its own problems. We look around us, see clearly what’s going on. And still have hope,

Hope. Tonight begins the Democratic convention, Bernie Sanders will speak. One who truly brings hope. And Michelle Obama. Former first lady.  I will watch carefully. 

Living in coronavirusworld 140: Harmony

8/16

Live music in a window

Sunday morning. Cool and wet. I go out to get the Sunday paper and read awhile.  At 11 I tune into the West Park streaming worship service, this week led by my friend Dion.  I am moved and impressed by his warm and personal style sharing  his own experiences and inviting others to share theirs on the scripture about how what comes out of your mouth is more important than what goes in. (Matthew 15: 10-28) Even more, I’m impressed by the  people from  Friday night’s open mic who have shown up to share at his invitation. This is something I should have done myself back when I was still pastor. Back in that other world. Bringing communities together to build community. I’m very proud of what they are doing.

This cold wet day is one for staying inside.  (As if we haven’t had enough of that.) I’ve got a music gig scheduled for later tonight that I can’t imagine will go on. I get an email and say “I’m game” and an hour or so later, I get the word, we’re on. 

When I arrive, there’s yet another configuration. The first try was rejected as an illegal use of sidewalk. The second was rejected for improper  street performance. (Hey, we kept our clothes on!). This last attempt now puts the performers inside playing to an audience outside.

It feels a bit like being in a live ZOOM window. Or like then brothels in Amsterdam, Hey sailor, want to hear a song? I’ve invited a friend to sing harmony. It looks like  there were two mics. But that was that duo’s own equipment. The host is reluctant at first, but after speaking with management relaxes and its okay.  I’m still surprised at how nervous I am in front of real live people. The dropped chord here , forgotten lyric there. And in a moment of panic, can’t remember hw to start a song that went over so well the last time. I had a careful selected and well rehearsed set. It’s all about returning to real life. I am able to recover with little notice. My friend joins me. And she sings with me in harmony! The first time in over 5 months to sing with another voice!  It feels so good.  One verse of my song goes “ You are on my mind at home while I’m playing my guitar. Kind of brings you close but how far away you are. They ask me what I miss the most, what isn’t there for me, to hear your voice  beside  me and to sing in harmony…” And we did. 

At last .....harmony.                              

      

When I finish, I remove the individual mic cover, the mic condom as it were, for safe song. 

We talk.  It still feels so odd.  Like you could walk around the corner and open a door and go through and the other BC world would still be there, having gone on as usual for the last five months.  An alternate reality where that world still exists.  Like in “Man in the High Castle,” like that.  Buy here we are. In this world. And there is harmony, once again.