It's that time of year

12/17

Ralph of ETHEL and I meet to plan Christmas Eve. This is amazing. For the first time in six years, we will have REAL music on Christmas Eve. A true gift. Now can we get some people here?

The mumbling man’s name is Eldridge. He’s a frequent visitor at our sibling Jan Hus over on the eastside. I can guess what’s coming. And am not disappointed.

Rachelle in her layers and layers takes off her mittens. Her arthritis gnarled fingers are cracked and bleeding. We wash off her hands. Slowly wrap band aids around her fingers.

12/18

I learn more about Pat O. He’s not just a guitar player. Or professor at Columbia. He’s an organizational consultant. With international clients especially growing field in India. I share with him the big picture. The nascent community coalition coming together to develop a strategy to raise the funds to repair the facade, get the scaffolding down. The commitment of Manhattan president Gale Brewer and our new Councilmember Helen Rosenthal.  And Pat will help develop a business plan to back us up.

Gregory comes in with that overingratiating smile. A little too familiar. Keeps promising to pay me back. Not going to happen.

  

Rachelle has brought lunch for us all, a bag of out dated Starbucks’ pastries. Pushing them towards me, one after the other. No, no. Just work on your cart.

                                                     * * * * 
One year ago today, Teddy died.  We took time last Sunday to share our memories. We lit a candle. We'll light another today. Can't help but think how things might have been different if he were still around. What deal closed earlier. My steps issues easier. And oh, yes, how many mpore laughs. So many more laughs. Damn. Still hurts. 

(for the story of that day, see http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/search?q=teddy+died+today)

For Zejlko's short film on Teddy, see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5fH-jMpIvTY

12/19

We’ve hit that point in the season where the awareness of expectation, the awareness of superficial plenty, of  heightened consumerism begins to wear on the people of the streets. Want, need, a sense of almost anger at inequity pushes people to ask more, demand more.

Eldridge is back. Mumbling. But this time he’s got a Christmas dinner from somewhere. Wants me to take it. No, please, no. Soon enough, it’s found someone ready to eat.

Spend most of the day with Sean and  Rachelle. We’ve got to get Sean’s electric wheel chair out of here. He’s working on it with  a screwdriver. I’m racing back and forth bringing him tools. He’s got an attack. What are we going to do?

Rachelle sleeps most of the day. She doesn’t look well. Danielle and I unsure what to do. She rouses, very woozy. I mention  the need to see a doctor. No, no pastor. They’ll cut off my feet, I know they will…I know what to do. I know what special things  to do. Just need to put my feet up, just need to put them up.

I have absolutely no idea what to do with her. Had her set up with an appointment. But she said  she had something else to do. Was supposed to go to court, but didn’t do that either.  I’m losing it.

So of course this is when the board of the Interfaith Assembly comes in to discuss our work on homelessness. Twenty-five years of living on the edge.  I understand that so completely. But this time feels worse. Like what we’ve lived through as a church. What’s needed is grassroots organizing. Even our formerly homeless board members worry about our level of organization. 

There is a sense of hope with a new administration. We’ve got three main policy points: renew the rent subsidy program, shorten the wait time and move the waiting list line forward and pull a top group together to build a strategic plan.

Meanwhile I ponder life reduced to shopping bags, shopping carts.  Last desperate attempts at some degree of order. Of something that is yours, to hold onto.

It’s that time of year.

What Mark wrote about Teddy

by Mark Koenig from http://graybeardtrail.wordpress.com/2012/12/20/on-the-steps-in-the-streets-with-the-people/

On the steps, in the streets, with the people

Ministry comes in a variety of forms.
Followers of Jesus do not all look alike nor do we all do identical work.
Pillars of the Church come in many different shapes.

On December 12, 2012, Cynthia Bolbach died. A former moderator of our General Assembly, Cindy was well-known and loved by many across the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.).

On December 17, 2012, Teddy Mapes died. The sexton at West-Park Presbyterian Church in Manhattan, Teddy was known and well-loved by the West-Park community and by many in the neighborhood of Amsterdam and W. 86th Street.

A gentle bear of a man with a heart overflowing with compassion, Teddy came to West-Park a little over a year ago as the congregation connected with the Occupy movement. He quickly fit into the community. He took part in Bible study and worship and became a member.

Teddy cared for the physical building of the church. More importantly, he cared for the spiritual building – the community – the Body of Christ. He helped negotiate the creative chaos that the Spirit so often stirs at West-Park. Teddy became one of the public faces of the church.

I had only met Teddy a couple of times – but in those brief encounters, I could tell the significant role he played in the community. So today, I walked to West-Park to talk to my friend Bob Brashear, pastor of the church, about Teddy. Teddy’s biggest contribution, his most profound ministry, Bob noted took place “on the steps, in the streets, with the people.”

On the steps. In the streets. With the people. What a ministry, what a legacy.

Teddy’s death has ripped a hole in the West-Park Presbyterian Church community. I cannot imagine how painful the tear is – nor how challenging their ride through the ragged reality of grief will be – nor how long the rebuilding process will take.

But this I know: God who loved Teddy Mapes in this life continues to love Teddy Mapes and has welcomed him home. I give thanks for Teddy’s life and love and witness and faith.

And this I know: it will take time, it will be challenging, there will be tears, there will be fits and starts – but somehow, some way, some day, “every little thing gonna be all right” for the people of West-Park Presbyterian Church. Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia.

See you along the Trail.

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Teddy died today

12/18

Teddy Mapes

I see it’s Martin calling and pick up the phone. Teddy passed away, he says. WHAT? I say. He’s dead. You need to come here.

 I’ll be there right away. Nate on the couch looks up and says what happened? Not wanting to believe what I heard, hoping there’s a chance it’s wrong, I say, Something happened at the church, I need to go check it out. 

When I get there, there’s an ambulance. A firetruck. Lights flashing. Martin, Soli, Martin’s daughter Gabriella, Teddy’s roommate Christopher, other dancers all standing around.

What Martin tells me: Teddy was supposed to work with him this morning. He kept calling. No answer. Saw Christopher. Sent him upstairs. Chris came back, said he was scared. Martin went up, found no pulse. Called 911. The paramedics say they don’t now for sure, looks like a heart attack. Christopher tells me he saw Teddy at 6 AM tossing and turning in bed, asleep. He left. And when he came back and Martin sent him up.....

I say to Martin, Emotions aside, we have to deal with this. How do we start making contact?  Gabriella reaches Teddy’s son at his high school. Puts me on the line. I have to tell him his father is dead. And I need numbers for his ex-wife, his sister, wife in Texas....Soon the numbers are called back to Gabriella and I start to work making calls. 

His ex-wife is concerned mainly for his children. His sister is shocked. But will be the point person for the family. Will  call his father. Despite their differences, he loved him, you know? He’ll be devastated. 

Then I call Jamie. She’ll be here as soon as she can. Stephen. I notice Christopher has taken off. My concern turns to him. Teddy was his roommate. Connection to the world. 

And we begin our vigil. The police arrive. The EMT’s leave. I ask for permission to do last rites. I consecrate oil, get water from the Jordan and head upstairs. Martin, Soli, Gabriella and the dancers follow. Stand beside me as I step forward. Teddy looks at peace. As I knew he was. At peace with himself. I say the prayers. Anoint him. Make the sign of the cross on his forehead. As I touch him, iI keep feeling that he’s waking up. Together in Spanish and English we say the Lord’s Prayer, el padre nuestro... and leave the room.

Jamie arrives. Asks if i’ve done last rites. Tell her I just have. She wants to go upstairs. I take her up. Asks the police if she can stay. Doesn’t want him to be alone while we wait for the coroner. Can she have a chair? You can’t touch anything, move anything, this a police site now. After an hour, they’ll relent, get her chair as she keeps Teddy company.

I’m glad I’ve got Stephen. I’d forgotten that Comedy Central was coming to finish arrangements for using our building  as a holding space tomorrow. I send them with Stephen.

I see RL in Mc Alpin. What’s up with Tedrick? 

He passed, RL, I say.

We look at each other. Sucks. 

What can I do? he asks.

I’ve done what I do. I say. Do what you do.  (He knows I’m referring to the Native American tradition.)

I will do that, he says. 

Mim has arrived with something for Kimberely before she heads home for the holidays.

I explain to her what has happened. I realize I’m still in my torn jeans and crocs and want to change. 

On my way out, Marsha has arrived. I catch her up. While we’re talking John R arrives with a supply of batteries for Sandy relief. I explain what has happened.

When I got back, I had forgotten that Bread and Puppet Theatre was coming. Jonathan B is there with several company members and Peter Schuman their founder. I tell them I’ve seen their work for decades, all the way back to my anti-Vietnam days. I tell them the social history of the church. Expecially the 1982 March Against Nuclear Proliferation. We were there, they say. They’re thinking about performing here. Possible logistical problems. It’s my experience that if something’s right, we can work out the logistics. I say. They like that. Jonathan knows what’s going on, understands as I leave.

Marsha is wrapping up negotiations with Comedy Central. Only needs my signature. I sign. Stephen and Danielle and Jamie have gone across the street to the Bean to talk about Christopher. I tell them I need to look in on RL. Find him at the Gate. Mandola Joe and Pat O share their condolences. RL orders me a shot of Jameson’s and a Guiness. To Teddy....

The Medical Examiner is upstairs. I had been expecting to lead an Advent Lectio Divina. Never had time to let people know what had happened. Inivte people to sit in a circle. Martin’s family and dancers join us. They’ve brought a candle with  el santo nino on it. 

I explain that a funeral, a memorial service will come later.  This is a service of commending, prayers for the journey of the spirit. As I look up, Anna and puppy join us as well. I lead our prayers in English and Spanish. Finish again with the Lord’s Prayer, padre nuestro. And we light the vela de memoria. Hugo has arrived now as well. I am happy he is there. His being there is a comfort. Now who will I deliver my chicken to? he asks with a gentle smile.

Just as we have finished, the coroner has finished his work and the ambulance has arrived to take Teddy’s body away. We go outside, stand in two rows as he is taken out. I say a final prayer, people crossing themselves. The ambulance takes off. A police officer wants me to sign a release so they won’t have to seal the building. 

We have held our vigil from beginning to end. We all depart. Teddy’s candle will continue to burn. His spirit will remain long after. I need time to let myself feel. 

                               * * * * 

Comments: I have included everything about the day as I experienced it, even what seems mundane or extraneous because that is how death happens...in the midst of living...even as we experience a time out of time, life goes on around us.

There are a lot of theological reasons why Protestants stopped doing certain practices.  But that leaves a big hole. We need rituals, acts, for spiritual and emotional and cultural reasons. (Which I imagine assumes a theology of its own.) The first time I was asked to do last rites, I responded that was actually Catholic, not Protestant. To which the response was It’s not about that, we’re Latinos. So I went to my friend Father John who told me just to do it. And taught me how. So now I do. Goes deeper than doctrine. We do what we need to do.

The fact is I will miss Teddy more than I can even say.

At the May Day rally

All I've got

5/29

The day after. After so much activity, the sanctuary always seems extra quiet. I’m checking out the water bottles, paper, etc. strewn around the sanctuary. So what are you up to? It’s Jeremy over in the corner getting his own music equipment back to normal. Just examining the detritus from last night, I say. Yeah, says Jeremy, looks like there was a rock concert here. 

Stephen comes in, looking appropriately exhausted. No good, I say. He agrees and will call Red Bull, as per contract to come in and clean up. He calls. And they will send a clean up person. It will take awhile.  We’ve been left, looks like, a year’s supply of Red Bull. 

Using the computer to try and locate Jay's computer and cell phone. Amazing how someone went up the backstairs during  the concert and made off with his stuff. Still shocks me when that happens. 

Eventually a Latina woman arrives. Stephen shows her where all the equipment is. Hours later, he'll check out the work. 

I step outside. The wheel chair man is asleep in the north doorway. He asks for some time. Looks like some quantity of something has spilled. I hope. 

Yesterday, Karen came in. Before the concert. Haven’t seen her for a long time. She was one of the original piano ladies, before Cara. She’s been in Hawaii. Wanted to play awhile. Clear that wasn’t going to happen. Then she asks if  Teddy’s around this afternoon. And I realize she’s missed the death, the memorial service, the whole thing. I tell her. And she’s in serious shock, disbelief.  I don’t have time to talk, with the concert coming up, so I direct her to the blog links for the stories (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2012/12/teddy-died-today.html ), http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2013/02/teddys-memorial-service.html) and the link for Zeljko’s movie. 
( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5fH-jMpIvTY )

Back outside, the man with the wheel chair is stirring. He asks for a soda. Maybe a sandwich. No soda, no sandwich, I say, but I do have Red Bull. It’s all I’ve got. 

Still later, the Sanctuary choir is arriving for rehearsal.

Third Sunday in Advent: That man gets it

12/17

George is on the steps waiting. I’m a little concerned, it’s been two days now. I ask if he’s still got his apartment. He harrumphs. Yeah. For now. But after January 1...

What happens on January 1?

What, you don’t read your news?

Well,yeah but what news?

The cliff. The fiscal cliff. The fiscal motherfuckin cliff. We all goin over. All goin over. 

I tell him I have to go in. Time for worship to begin.

Shortly before the service begins, Kara comes in. Like a leaf blown in by the wind, dancing on air. She has her hair down, which I have never seen before. A look of wild in her eyes. She’s never been to worship here before. 

As she whirls and twirls and rocks,alternately laughing and crying, I begin to realize that this is different. She’s talking about hatred and persecution and having no money.  And how she’ll dance and strip if she has to. Like Mary Magdalene, her spirit lives in me! If they don’t like it, fuckem, who are they to judge? she says. And starts laughing again. 

Teddy leads her down to the first pew. Gently puts his arm around her. Andre looks over. Cerebral isssue, brain injury, I say. And Andre nods, I knew it. I could feel it, he says.

We sing a new hymn today, commissioned by Mark Koenig, our UN ministries friend, for Human Rights Day. (Last Monday)

You Made Us in Your Image

                AURELIA  7.6.7.6 D ("The Church's One Foundation")

You made us in your image, O God of love and grace;

You treasure every person in every time and place.

You call your world to follow—to see in every one

A person loved and cherished, your daughter or your son.

Your will is for your people to live in safety here,

With dignity and justice, and free from want or fear.

In families and nations, may all know freedom’s song;

May all enjoy the blessing to choose where they belong.

You warn against enslavement and things that would oppress.

You call for living wages, for times of welcome rest.

You call for education for all—not just a few;

You teach us: Welcome strangers, for so we welcome you.

You made us to be equal; you made us to be free—

To speak the truth with courage, to change society,

To follow our own conscience, to choose the words we pray.

O God, may all your children enjoy these gifts each day.

Biblical References:  Genesis 1-2; Exodus 5:1-20; Nehemiah 5:1-13; Psalm 82:1-4; Proverbs 4:1-27; 

Isaiah 58:1-12; 65:17-25; Amos 5:21-24; Micah 4:1-5; 6:6-8; Matthew 25:31-46; Mark 12:28-34; 

John 3:16-17; Acts 10:34-36; Galatians 3:26-29; Hebrews 13:1-9a.

Tune: Samuel Sebastian Wesley, 1864.

Copyright © 2012 by Carolyn Winfrey Gillette. All rights reserved. 

Email: bcgillette@comcast.net Web site: www.carolynshymns.com

As we begin our prayers, and people raise the families of the children in Newtown, Connecticut Sandy Hook Elementary School, Kara seems to come unglued. Seems to be happening to a lot of fragile people around me. As we sing, she claps her hands and sways over intensely.  A young woman visitor, Carrie, looks on warily. Anna with puppy looks equally warily, although she has a litany of mental health resurces ready to share. 

And then it’s time for my reflection. And I have to talk about Connecticut.  We want to ask why. Don’t. Any answer would be disresectful and inappropiate and make the experience of tragedy secondary to some other scheme. Any why is inadequate. I was  reminded today on the op ed page of the Times of Dostoyevsky, in Brothers Karamazov, his questioning, of God. And the complete inexcusability of the suffering of the innocent. His answer isn’t spoken-- it’s carried out in caring for one another of the characters as the story unfolds. We need to look at the heroes. The ones who stepped up and did the right thing without a second thought. Who led children to safety. Protected them. And those who have, who do and who will bring comfort. Look there. Our job is not to prove, disprove, or  defend God. Our job us to love one another.

That was actually the theme of Dzieci’s Fool’s Mass last week Sunday in our chapel. The inmates of the asylum have lost their priest. Now they have to create it on their own. The subtext is what do we do when God seems absent or silent?  We care for one another. And that is enough. 

OH....but there is something we can and must do. We can do something about guns...it is insane that we have more regulations about ladders than guns....that owning guns is a right and heath care is a privilege. There is no need,none, for private citizens to own semi-automatic assault weapons. None. We can d something about that. Can say enough. 

I have to talk about John the Baptist today. This could be the two sides of John the Baptist. This is not a good way to win friends and influence people.  Brood of vipers? Feels good, but what’s up with that? As we learned last week, John was a  son of privilege....What he is saying is a rejection of all privilege....race,class, religion. When he says, who taught you to flee? I’m surprised someone doesn’t say,  ahhhh...YOU told us to flee...

But...as we learned last week in Bible study, Luke may be a different gospel than we thought. Once thought to be contemporaneous with Matthew, scholars now think that Luke was  probably written in the  early 2nd century. Probably by  a wealthy educated person. While Luke presents a God who is clearly on side of poor,long the favorite of liberation theologian, he speaks to  lives that must be lived  in tension....

For example, check this out:

• If you have 2 coats, share one. Obviously, of you’ve only got one, well, keep it. 
• if you have food, share it
• for tax collectors, working  for the empire, take only your proscribed amount...., NOT give up all that you have and follow the poor

* Then he circles back to a prophetic mode one more time

Yes, it does  sounds apocalyptic. Like all the buzz about the  Mayan apocalypse on December 20th this week...Now if it were true, it would certainly  simplify Christmas shopping. BUT Jane had the Mayan elders here a few weeks back...According to them, this date does not point to the end but to an era of spiritual rebirth.. and I’m seriously OK with that. 

Things get apocalyptic enough or us. Every Columbine or Virginia Tech or Sandy Hook Elementary is  apocalyptic enough Facing the end of our own lives is apocalyptic. And in time of living in tension, one thing is clear....we are called on to love one another. 

All these things are going to come together in a celebration of God being with us....God being is us ...coming....very ...soon. 

Following my refection Andre blesses us with his acapella In the Bleak Midwinter, by Cristina Rosetti. Says it’s his favorite hymn of the season.

After our final circle, Carrie asks me if  Sunday mornings are always like this. Before I can answer, Kara is swirling again, in every sense. So I invite her to play the piano. She wiggles her fingers and says, so what do fingers do? They fing!!!! And instead of her usual introspective moody playing, she is furiously pounding the keys. Uh no, Carrie, not always like this. Sometime ore, sometimes less, not always like this...I tell her we are in the process of rebuilding. I tell her we’ve only been back since a year ago March. She tells me she’s Southern Baptist from Alabama. Hope my theology wasn’t too out there for you, I say. No,not at all....uh, it...was ...interesting. I tell her I’d like to talk with her, tell her what we’re up to. What other options there are in the neighborhood. She likes that. 

Teddy has rounded up Kara. tells me he’s going to get her some food, get her to rest. They leave. 

Andre sits in my office and we talk. How Anxious Kara made me. How I was afraid she would drive away Carrie.  But in the end decided that something had drawn her here. And that this was where she needed to be. Andre said, but that’s who you are. Who we are. Why we’re here.  Even when it’s not easy.

Another woman has come in looking for help. He will fed her as well. And direct her to SPSA where there is a shelter. Seems she’s a domestic violence victim. Later in the day, Kara will wake up. Teddy will call Jane, who will call Nancy who will talk Kara out of her mania. No you will not go to a strip club audition, you will go home. Teddy, working with people until the end of the day. That man gets it, he’s beautiful, says Andre.

Late at night, I walk by the church. George is gone. 

* * * * 

Yesterday our friend, brother, companion Teddy Mapes died suddenly. The next post will tell that story. Almost too painful to talk about...