Feed my sheep

4/21

Remembered from yesterday...young person in the south portal...a sign outside sleeping bag...Hungry. Homleess. Looking for a miracle. I don’t have the heart to tell him we don’t allow signs....

                               * * * *

As I arrive at the church, Rachelle is in animated conversation with Stephen on the steps.  Pastor, I wanted to help your congregation, I was going to come to services, bring other people to services, but not now, not because of this man, this man..indicating Stephen. The issue is she wants to bring her SUV cart inside. I explain that’s not going to happen. She continues to argue. Listen I say, there’s not a single congregation that would let you put that in the sanctuary. 

Oh but pastor, they all make  room, every time I go to schul....

Her voice has that dental drill tone again....I break my own standard  and say, Rachelle, it looks like a garbage truck, empty bottles, papers.....and so she begins to explain the value and worth of each treasured  item....I want to give up.

As always, my friend Mark from the UN ministry is here early and ready to help.  Anna has brought a suitcase filled with clothes from a former occupier. Stephen puts it beside the garbage can on the street. Mark’s UN interns are arriving. One a Columbia undergrad the other, a third career seminarian from the Bay area. 

I start out by sharing the religio-socio history of West-Park with those who have come as visitors.  I begin the service by playing Good Shepherd, by the Jefferson Airplane. Seeing who’s old enough to remember. Our prayers are filled with  remembrances of Boston, including the surviving suspect, Dzhokar Tsamaev and his family. There is reference to the explosion in Texas. And Mark and Don speak of the earthquake n China. 

I reflect that this is Good Shepherd Sunday. Regardless of how liturgically, lectionary wise, we got here, it’s perfect for this week.  I start by asking people’s feelings. Some feel  vulnerable. Some wondering about our mental heath system. others simply the random uncertainty  of our lives. Yet none see this as a call for more access to weapons..Instead there us anger towards the Senate and their failure  to act...

Our scripture is John 10: 2-30. Lots going on this week. The Boston Marathon, the vote of the senate on gun control, the 70th anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising.......

In the midst of all of this, it is Good Shepherd Sunday. It happens every year on the the 4th Sunday of Easter. The very middle of Eastertide, halfway between Easter and Pentecost.Why? No one is exactly sure. But this year, it’s especially appropriate...

 We remember how after 9-11 we read, sang, and prayed the 23rd psalm....even though it wasn’t the appointed psalm for the week. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall; not not want. The  Lord is my shepherd, I shall  not want we chanted and then André took off improvising off the verses. 

This is the most requested psalm for funerals.one we  carry  around in our  hearts...Why?

It must strike us as essential some how, somehow inherently true, beyond our heads, deep into our hearts.  Last week in our neighborhood lectionary group, I misheard one of our members translate a passage as darkest ALLEY not darkest valley...an urban image ....we agree, it’s about living with courage ....It’s about finding your way home in the dark....

The actual Hebrew says. Goodness and mercy shall PURSUE me all my days...As for the end, I like Eugene  Peterson’s take on the psalm: 

in his The Message : I'm back home in the house of God for the rest of my life. Back home....

In community organizing, we are taught that  leaders are those who have  have followers..and that we need to differentiate between organizers and leaders. What was amazing in Boston as in New York before it, was how the people organized themselves,without  directions  from authorities, to deal with what was going on...

So in Boston, where was God? In those who jumped the fences to staunch wounds. In those who kept running two more miles after finishing the marathon to the hospitals to give blood. Those who organized the medical tents. Those who kept heir heads and helped others to keep theirs. These are the heroes. The everyday heroes.

There is nothing dumb in these sheep.....

After the service, we share the cake that Arcadia has brought as well as the coffee that Jamie brings. The session gathers and gets up to date as to where we now are.  Outside, to police cars, lights flashing, pull up to gingerly examine Anna's suitcase left by garbage.  Berik, from Kazakhstan, is concerned that all the suspects's relatives sound like him...

after worship

After visiting the art exhibit  at SPSA by Angelo Romano, including his angel talisman, I return. The Sanctuary NYC new play reading performance is  still going on.

And much later that night, I return. Rachelle, with her SUV cart, is at the corner. Waiting. 

Mexican connections

4/17

And when I hurt,

Hurtin' runs off my shoulders

Sweet Caroline, Neil Diamond

                     * * * *

I tell Stephen about my shock arriving at Yankee Stadium last night and seeing the Red Sox and Yankee logos on either side of United We Stand. Never thought I’d live to see that. And around the third inning they played the Fenway favorite, Sweet Caroline. It’s all a shock to the system. I actually look forward to hearing the fans  chant Red Sox suck again. It will mean we’re back to normal. Whatever that is, these days.

Stephen briefing me on developments in the upcoming Pantha du Prince concert. Continuing to get bigger. They are now looking for 3 days load in, the concert, and two days load out. A large set will be constructed. There will be projections. And the concert is technically sold out. Martin joins us to talk about negotiating the final contract. We want to do this right. 

I get back from my visit with Jack. He lives at the Aurora, run by the Actors’ Fund. You have to be connected to the theatre in one way or another to live there. And many residents are living with AIDS. I told Jack about Dzieci. He’d love to see them. On the way out, I stop to see Chris, the program director, to talk about the possibility of Dzieci doing something there. He’s open.

I go upstairs to talk to the Frog & Peach troupe. Tell the new company members why I'm glad to see them. And tell them the story of F&P and the balcony theatre. 

Marty is out there in his own world today. Nonresponsive.

Chris still pacing the balcony. 

Rene comes in. From Mexico. Getting ready to marry a Jewish woman who’s a diplomat in Haiti. I share my own interfaith experience. My work in Mexico. My Mexican brother-in-law. And speak of my Catholic priest friend in Tulsa who spoke to me about God’s greater unity when I told him I was marrying a Jewish woman. 

Ready to head home. Martin’s done for the night, too. Stop and talk with him and Marina. Turns out she’s from the Bay Area. Mexican family  roots. Why she’s into flamenco. And as we head to the subway she says, And Irish too...that’s where this comes from, her red hair. 

A direct relationship

4/16

Martin is first to greet me this morning.

Stephen is hard at work on the contract for the Pantha du Prince concert.

Out on the steps, Marty is sitting, staring out towards the street. He sees my gray shirt with the word New York arched across in blue felt letters. Yankees or Mets? He asks. Don’t tell me. It’s the font. It’s Yankees. It’s the font. My father, he wrote 12 books. He’d check the galleys. Send them back to reset the Linotype. It’s all about the font. Did you ever publish a book? Like in the 42nd street library?

No. Not exactly. Just some articles. Don’t think they’re in the library.

But in a book?

Mainly magazines. Journals. Dissertation. You know?

Ahhh. What about the font?

I shrug.

Well, have  a good day, Reverend. And he’s on his way.

Later in the day, Stephen walks in with the man in the cowboy hat. (Danielle tells me his name is Yonah.) This man has escorted me into your office. Tell him it’s OK for me to play for an hour or so. 

Well, actually it’s not. You did some serious damage to our sidewalk gates.

No, I  did not.

Danielle responds, Well actually two people saw you jumping up and down on them. That’s not respectful. 

I had to. Those gates are dangerous. It’s rotten iron. There was a man in a wheel chair. I had to save him. What if he rolls over them in a 600 pound wheel chair?I had to save him.

Don’t you think there might have been a better way to do that?

Danielle says, They were okay before. It’s going to cost us a lot of money to fix them.

I have been sent here to save you. I have done so much for you. And you don’t listen. Am I angry? You treat me like they treated Yeshua. He was angry. He cast out the moneychangers from the Temple. I cast out the smokers from the church. And not a word of thanks. But that’s the least of your problems...

You can’t be harassing people who rent from us, says Danielle. And you can’t be going through the church.

Yes, I went through the church. I’ve been sent to save you. I emptied the refrigerator. There was dead meat in there. Bad meat. Can you believe it? I found ham in there. Ham! Meat of the pig. And it says clearly in Leviticus 17:7 it is an abomination.

So he knows his Bible. I consider talking to him about Peter’s vision in Acts 10, but think better of it. 

People with logs in their eyes come to you to talk about the speck in my eye. They use my little imperfections to distract you from their big faults. I have tried to tell you but you just won’t listen...

I listened to you for an hour the other day...

You and I have different concepts of time. You have compassion but no wisdom. Yeshua told me what to do. If you will not receive my peace, then take this...and he shakes his pants cuffs and turns to walk out. Then looks back over his shoulder, directly at me. You need to know, there’s a direct relationship between what happened yesterday and my presence here today. Believe it. Then turns again and goes out the door. 

Stephen looks at me. He better not say that too loud in the wrong place...not today...

Danielle puts her head down a minute. Then looks back up. Sometimes I feel I can’t take anymore...it’s exhausting. Draining....takes it out of me....

In a funny way, he’s right. There is a direct relationship between what happened yesterday and his presence. When ever there’s a major incident like yesterday’s Boston Marathon bombing, it sends people on the border over the edge. They feel the disturbance in the universe. They don’t understand it, but it disturbs them deeply. Unsettles them. And they wind up here.

Christopher is acting stranger. He repeatedly walks rapidly onto the balcony, stops at a particular place, stares at it, then walk rapidly back out. Tells Stephen he's working on his memory. Jane's Diego Rivera is missing from the women's room. I fantasize that if Christopher has found it, and written all over it, as he is wont to do, we could probably sell it as outsider art. 

Frog & Peach is rehearsing in the balcony. Makes me feel good to see them there. Way back in '96, they excavated the theatre from years of neglect and accumulated detritus and restored it for use. The first step in recreating an arts and cultural presence here. In exchange for their work, we gave them space for years' worth of their free Shakespeare performances with some pretty amazing actors, Austin Pendleton among them. (One day, one of he congregation's children saw Austin coming in for rehearsal and said excitedly, Hey, Back to the Future!...) They're performing now in the cozy but nearly perfect theatre down the street at SPSA. But I'm glad just to have them here. Back in their old home. 

Nancy stops in. Wants to talk about apartments. Can we go to the B? The phone rings. Better wait until tomorrow. 

Boston : April 15th, 2013

4/15

Why do these explosions at the Boston Marathon finish lone disturb me so? I’ve lived through 9-11. Newtown, Columbine, Colorado, greater body counts. Maybe it was looking at the clock, the finish time, just beyond 4 hours. In another life, when I ran the Boston Marathon, that was about my finish time. Middle of the pack. Average joes and janes, yous and mes. Whoever did this planned it out carefully for the peak time of finishers. Not elite runners. Just normal people, their families and friends. And planned to go off close to the ground, cutting off legs, destroying dreams. Those bombs were targeting me. 

Funny what you notice, think about. Even as the explosion goes off, runners continue to cross the finish line even as others drop. I see one man pump his fist in victory as he crosses. Maybe it’s just that zone feeling I remember, being in this focused place of near exhaustion, just focusing on the finish line. Some thought it was celebratory cannons. Still, strange....

And I think what new invasions of civil liberties will we now be forced to live with? Every time I go through airport security, I ponder how one crazy man with a shoe bomb has affected the lives of millions. That’s the thing about terrorism, it works. It’s extremely cost effective. 

And who did it? Does it even matter? Of course a Saudi was picked up first. But he is not considered to be a suspect. I keep thinking Tax day? Patriot’s Day? Some misguided domestic right wing fanatic maybe? 

So it’s compassion, annoyance, anger I feel. Not fear. Other places in the world, London, Israel, Spain....this is or has been common occurrence. Life goes on. We are  too innocent.... safety, security, a matter of privilege. Life goes on....

As always, where is God? In those who immediately, with no regard for their own lives, jumped fences to bandage and tend to the wounded. Who  without official instructions self-organized triage and skillful coordination of medical resources. The capacity of normal people to not panic and immediately go to work continues to impress me. God is in the human hands and hearts that reach out, stop the bleeding, care for the wounded.....

Life goes on....