Living in coronavirusworld 223: Advent 3

 

12/6

Barawine on Malcolm X

125th Street

selling trees

State Office Building Tree

outdoor heat lamps

ATLAH's latest

new shelters

home communion

Cold wet day. Still walk to  the Farmers Market. And a long walk through Harlem. The streets decorated for Christmas. The tree sale stands. New outdoor shelter for restaurants looking hard to distinguish from cabins. Covidwise, are they really any different from being inside only colder? Other restaurants installing outdoor heat lamps.  And a giant tree at the Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. State Office Building.  And the latest declaration from ATLAH Church. Somehow they remind me of a Giuliani election hearing witness. Christmas in. Harlem.

12/6

This morning preaching for the Beverley Congregation of Brooklyn.  Here’s what I had to say:

A lot has happened since last we were together. That long awaited election finally came …and is finally over…well, pretty much…We’ve had  a new spike with the virus. And I have to tell you..it’s been hard. I’ve lost three people I cared about in the last three weeks. And that has left me feeling sad…and angry.  Sad at the loss. And angry that it is all so unnecessary. We have government officials in Washington, DC throwing holiday parties with hundreds of unmasked guests. And somehow public health and common sense have become political issues. It is simply crazy.  That vaccine can’t come soon enough. We’ve been through Thanksgiving and now we’re all trying to figure out Christmas. It’s a holiday season like no other we’ve ever experienced. And last week, Advent began. 

In normal times, there’s hustle and bustle and packed stores and streets events to go to and music everywhere. And church was where we would come to find peace and quiet and time to reflect. A place of refuge. A sanctuary. Now we don’t have a place. Not a place to decorate and to sit in and to be together. But we still have a space…a space in time, This hour on Sunday mornings to hear each others’ voices and to see each other in our minds’ eyes and to gather what we need to make it through another week in coronavirusworld.  We are preparing ourselves fo celebrate the incarnation, the indwelling, God’s decision to come be with us in human form. To be present in our midst.

The comic book superheroes like Batman and Superman and Black Panther all come to us with what they call “origin stories.”  How they came to be who they are. In the Bible, we get our “super hero” origin story. And each one is different. Matthew and Luke give us “magic baby”stories, Luke with shepherds and Matthew with wise kings. We mash them all together but each story is unique. John brings us a cosmic Christ who swoops down from heaven like Kal-El from krypton to stay for awhile before returning. SO what does Mark give us?  Now this is hard, really hard, but I want you to imagine for a moment that the Gospel of Mark was the only story of Jesus you had. NO virgin birth. No shepherds or sheep or wisemen or camels or genealogies or carpenter fathers or that dramatic Radio City Music Hall final scene with live animals processing down the aisles.

All the icons of Christmas we have come to know and love that define Christmas. Just Mark. 

What does Mark give us? Mark is crisp and clean and everything happens “suddenly. I’ve seen the whole gospel performed twice as a monologue...it takes about an hour and a half to recite. And, well, it’s subversive from the start, the very first sentence is loaded…The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.[a]. Now that sounds like Bible talk to us, but in those days, around 70 CE, people would hear it differently. The word 'gospel’ or “good news” was used for proclamations about Roman victories. The word Christ is not a last name. It means “anointed” one, like conquering generals in their laurel wreaths. And that phrase, “son of God,” was applied to the Roman emperor. For Mark it is not a biological or genealogical expression, it is an honorific expression describing one who is obedient to God. 

Written in the time of open revolt against Roman rule, any Roman finding Mark would see this as seditious literature. It is an announcement that for those who love God, the emperor is an illegitimate authority, military victories are “fake news.” We are to be  introduced to a conquering hero whose victory story ends in a cross. 

But first, there’s my favorite character, John the Baptist, introduced as the forerunner, a messenger like the one described in Isaiah. Words you can’t read without hearing Handel and his messiah or even Godspell. (They’re part of it now, they can’t be unheard.) And here comes John.  In other gospels, he is the son of Zecahriah, a high priest of the temple, a tall steeple preacher’s son the son  of an AME Bishop. Who like a sixties hippie or radical leaves the city and goes out to the country and starts growing his hair. Actually, in John’s appearance and diet he is made to call to mind Eijah, the forerunner, the one who comes before the Messiah or Messianic redemption.  And he  even says so. And he’s also like an Old Testament nazarite who takes a special vow to avoid alcohol and not cut his hair.Like Samson. Like you can almost see him in his camels skins and leather and dusty dreadlocks. 

And what is he doing? He is preaching “repentance for sins.”  His baptism is like the flowing healing waters of the Jewish mikvah.  He is in his own way, saying our hierarchy, religious establishment, is so corrupt, that the only thing left  is to go out to the wilderness, where we as a people were born, and  get reborn, start all  over again.  And since he’s rooted in Isaiah, it's just not individua sin but corporate sin, rebellious turning from the ways of God that weakens a society so the that can  fall apart and be taken into exile. Certainly we’ve seen parts of our own establishment churches (and megachurches) get so caught up with power structures this they are inseparable. If we take Mark’s announcement seriously, no matter who wins the election no matter who is in charge, we are called to hold them accountable because no leader, no political party can ever be the expression of the full will of God. And our ultimate loyalty must always lie elsewhere. Where? The gospel of Jesus Christ, son of God. 

And so here comes Jesus. Like a mystery man from out of nowhere. In Mark’s Gospel, he will be revealed to us as each page is turned. He appears like someone  who has heard reports of John and has to find out for himself.  No back story. In the other gospels, they are cousins. But here, no relationship. And if you read closely, John doesn’t even recognize Jesus. 

SO what does this mean for us this Advent? Mark was writing for a community under the heel of the Roman Empire. And likening it to being in Babylonian exile. Like we sing every Advent, “O come o Come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel. That mourns in lonely exile here. Until the son of man appear. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee O Israel." 

Many times in these last over almost 9 months, we have felt  in exile. Confined to our homes, cut off from friends and families and people we love. My mom in her assisted care facility completely isolated. I haven’t seen my grandchildren in over a year. Captive Israel indeed!  So into this captivity, this exile we are inviting Emmanuel, God with us, to come to us, to be with us. The thing is, he’s been here with is all alogn, He’s never not been  with us. My challenge to you is to meet the Jesus of Mark  like one with no back story, as if it's all new. What would that be like, to meet Jesus again, for the first time? John calls us to prepare, to make straight a pathway. And that pathway leads straight to our hearts. Let us open them, and prepare to welcome him in again, like we never have before.  Prepare ye the way of the Lord and Come Emmanuel!

home communion

We once again share our communion, each in our own homes. 

                                                                                                                   ****

In the back and forth dance between the city and its schools, tomorrow two of my family are going back to live teaching. In our weekly analytic/philosophical discussion of Covid, I share that I still have the antibodies.

                                                                                                   

 

Living in coronavirusworld 203: At last, Church bells in Paris...

 

11/7

Into the streets

I want to remember this day.  

Morningside Park

bluegrass

It was bright and sunny and warm as I headed to the Farmers’ Market.  A perfect fall day. Even with the ongoing uncertainty, the desire to have it over, but over right.. The market the perfect place to spend some time. I’m cheered by a trio of bluegrass buskers come to play for the people.  I wander through  the market checking out produce, craft spirits, breads, pickles, art works, baked goods and fresh from the farm meat. Bought some bolognese, some weisswurst, a shepherd’s pie, fresh baked cookies and some Colombian coffee.

I stop to enjoy a cup of coffee and a cranberry walnut cookie on a park bench.  Then I hear it. Pots and pans being rattled reminding me of what we heard every night at 7 honoring our “heroes.” A sound from earlier in the pandemic. I wondered what was going on. Only from one window.  Could it be a family celebration of some kind? Then slowly the sound began to build as more people joined in. And  then the rising crescendo of a cheer and then a steady stream of car horns and even a big bass truck horn. I was almost afraid to hope.  What else could it be? But still hesitant to let myself believe.  So I nervously pulled out my phone and there it was. Joe Biden had been declared President and Kamala Harris Vice-President. And I felt a dam begin to break. 

red leaves

I almost broke when I heard a bike rider proclaim “We did it! We drove him out!” And more and more people cheering, “We did it. We did it.”  I look up and realize that some trees have  turned bright red. Almost like they had waited for the declaration to be made for  their colors  to come out. (And maybe wishing they could turn blue?)

I make my way to Fredrick Douglass Boulevard. It seems lie from every open car window I am hearing Kool & the Gang’s” Celebration…..” 

                                                           "Celebration"

People are pouring out of apartment buildings and into the street. 

Snapshots:

*A man  with a cup walks by, says, “Joe Biden’s President! Spare change? Joe Biden’s President!…”

* I see a couple walking with their little daughter. She is wearing a princess outfit and carrying a sign, “Kamala is my Vice President”. And I know that when she sees the Vice President, she will see someone who looks like her and not an old white man. Her idea of what she can be grows like her glowing smile. 

celebration

* The bars are sending servers out with trays of shots of celebration for the people 

*. The Mister Softee ice cream truck appears out of nowhere after weeks of absence.  its jingle jangling like it’s spring again. 

a toast to Joe and Kamala

I’m trying to take it all in. I’m hearing the voices. Seeing the faces.  This Harlem. The majority are black. And they truly feel they drove this man out of the Whitehouse. These are the people I saw lined up day after day waiting three hour or more to vote. Sometimes having to come back a second day. Sometimes standing in the cold and freezing rain.  Just to vote. And they feel it mattered. And they mattered. And truth be told, nationwide, they, especially black women, were the difference. An al time record number of people voted. And their voting, their participation rescued democracy from those who won do everything I their power  to suppress the vote. They still believed  it could  matter. And it did. And that counts do something. I hear the voices, see the faces, and I begin to choke up. This is special. Like Obama in 08. 

Throughout the afternoon, I keep getting texts and messages from people all around the world…Germany, Chile, Denmark…a friend I haven’t heart from in months calls me from Californa, because she has too…my boys report  the celebration in Brooklyn.  My journalist friend in Pittsburgh and I agree, its like a Mazeroski moment, a walk off home run in the bottom of the 9th, the scrappy Pirates beating the  mighty Yankees for the World Series title. 

Someone who knows me better than anyone else invites me over. We sit on a  balcony, share cheese and crackers and IPA, our accounts of the day, as the sun sets and darkness falls over Harlem. 

Look, I understand the proximate nature of this victory. The narrowness. The limitations of the vision of Joe Biden. His problematic history. But there is a decency there, a vulnerability, someone who understands loss. And I feel I can breathe again. Not wake up every morning with a sick headache, another offense of the day. That’s gone.  It will take a while to emotionally accept that. There I much work to be done.

I hear the voices again. We did it!  People who believe they have won one victory can believe they can win more. And they can.

Church bells are ringing in Paris.

    

.

Living in coronavirus world 119: opening day

7/23

Harlem Mural

The optometrist offcies are now open. It’s been  too long since I’ve had an eye exam. That’s enough to get me out of the house.

Magic Johnson Theatre

.....changing the things I cannot accept...

Hand shake no, Harlem Shake Yes.

the latest from Atlah

I notice all the plywood is gone from the 125th Street shops. Except for the Magic Johnson Theatre whose protective plywood has become a community message/graffiti board.I love the flow of life up and down 125th. The ubiquitous Black Lives Matter shirt vendors, the phrase of the summer. I stop at my bank and then to the storied  Harlem Shake for a hot dog to celebrate the opening of baseball season. I choose a Snoop Dogg, smothered with chili and cheese. Halfway down Lenox, I realize that I left my kinte cloth mask at the Shake. I go back, but too late. I stop to see the latest wisdom from Atlah then decide against ice cream and head home.

It’s the opening (at last ) of baseball season. I last saw a game on my way out of Florida March 7th. Everything shut down week later. 

In the Yankees-Nationals game from DC,  Dr. Anthony Fauci is invited to throw the first pitch. His throw is wild as a virus. Someone will later say he didn’t want anyone to catch anything. Both teams took a knee holding a long black ribbon, then rose together for the National Anthem. I was impressed that in the later game, Giants manager Gabe Kapler and several player remained kneeling.  New Dodger Mookie Betts remained kneeling, teammates hands on his shoulder. The initials BLM on the mound in Washington. Players are wearing either Black Lives Matter or United for Change patches or both. I love the market penetration of Black Lives Matter, but please don’t let it be too easy.

Sometimes I feel I am ordering things online just to have the pleasure of waiting for things to be delivered and surprised on any day. Like the little boy waiting for the Wells Fargo Wagon in theMusic Man. “….or it could be something special  just for me…”

I am upset to see Mariani Rivera as a special  White House guest  of the President. Having a catch with him. Mariano was the quintessence of all that can be good about a ballplayer. Quiet. Focused. Determined. A good teammate. The perfect closer. The last player to wear Jackie’s number, 42. A true Yankee, as they say. Like the essence of decency. I was gifted  a photo of Mariano’s farewell. Behind him I can see my regular seats. It’s a beautiful photo of one of those players who meant a lot to me like Clemente, Jeter, McCutchen. But I haven’t had the heart to put it on my wall. It remains on the floor behind a table and lamp. Because of his inexplicable friendship with the President. Or all too explicable. Somewhere along the line he became a born again evangelical and has-been probably convinced by a beloved pastor that  the he owes allegiance  to this President who is the opposite of everything  I hold holy. 

I don’t understand why Mario can’t see what this President has done to people of his color. To people who speak his language. To immigrants just like him. I don’t believe there is a mean bone in Mariano Rivera’s body I believe he wants to be a good, decent and faithful man. But playing ball with Trump feels like a betrayal of all that. The picture stays on the floor, out of sight. 

I’m shocked when my son texts me to let me know the President has been invited to throw out a first pitch on August 15 against the Red Sox at Yankee Stadium. He wants to go to the stadium to protest. So Yankee’s President Randy Levine is “friends” with the President. What is he thinking? Can anyone still imagine  this is a normal President? One where even if we had widely divergent understandings of political directions,  there was a basic respect for the office because the office holder respected the office. Where standard courtesies would still be extended  because the officeholder is courteous? That the President truly IS the President of all of us and somehow represents all of us? Can anyone still believe that? He doesn't even care.

I thought the final death knell of any semblance of democracy was the day I realized we put children into cages. We do that. And how much more there was to come. Today federal military personnel under the aegis of Homeland Security are patrolling the streets of our cities with no ids and unmarked vans pulling people out at random. Ponder that into you believe it. That’s where we are.  I don’t know what world Levine thinks we’re living in. I’ve spent much too many dollars on the Yankees in my 25 years here.  I'm actually a "partial season ticket holder." This all feels so disrespectful of all of us who sat through years of the gritty democracy of the old Yankee Stadium though sun and snow. We tolerate the Taj Mahal Las Vegas style “Yankee Experience” that seeks to mimic the old stadium while creating a new temple of income inequality across the street from where Mantle, Ruth, Berra and Bernie played the field.  If you’re calling out a rally, I’ll be there. 

Sunday afternoon. Harlem. Spring.

4/22

Global women leaders mural

Sunday afternoon. Spring. Harlem.

It's the first day that really feels like spring. Like it actually might finally be here. Walking up my street towards the Boulevard, the neighborhood craps game is up and running again. Fists filled with dollar bills. White basketball shoes. A whiff of weed. The sound of dice as they rattle and bounce off the corner where the stoop meets the wall. Sure sign of spring.

The store front apostolic holiness church on the corner is in full tilt rockin mode the with rising vamps of organ and drums and an almost Tina Turneresque gospel singer, the sounds spilling  out into the street.I look inside to see the women in their white hats and dresses bouncing in a dance of joy. A woman in a wheel chair sits outside and is occasionally graced with plates of food. Two deacons/bouncers, meticulous in 3 piece suits and medals,  are stationed outside, just in case....They're talking about the passing airplanes above. And drones. "See that shiny light there? That's a drone. Keep them away from me. Don't want no drones looking down on me." 

The outdoor tables of the cafes are filled with the brunch crowd. Prices clearly set for black professionals and Harlem's new white emigres. 

The African men in their long flowing robes are out strolling the street.

At the Harlem Tavern, anticipation is rising for LeBron's game later tonight and on the side wall, a new street mural is being painted to honor global women, and of course, prominently featuring Michelle Obama.

A salt and pepper matched set of Mormon missionaries walk down the boulevard, confidence in their step and earnest purpose in their faces. 

It's Sunday afternoon. Spring. Harlem.

You give them something to eat

8/6/17

Rendall Church

Today is the first of  my four August Sundays that I will spend as the guest preacher at Rendall Memorial Presbyterian Church  in Harlem, about a mile or so north of where I live.

Today's preacher

Although I have heard that they are growing again and beginning to attract young people, today’s congregation is mostly older people. Everyone in attendance is African-American save for the music director, his wife, and of course me.

There are a number of unique touches, like all the women elders of the church wearing white. Including, of course, hats. And gloves. I am moved watching the ice of the tall, dignified elderly elder who brings the offering and makes his prayer eyes looking heavenward as the plate is extended to me. And the women coming forward with a wash basin for a hand washing ceremony before handling the communion elements…something I’ve never seen before. 

The Rendall Sanctuary

After the  reading of scripture, Matthew 14: 13-21, this was my reflection:

Good morning. We are Into that last third of summer. When it gets quiet around here. Lots of folks gone. August. If you’re like me and really haven’t gotten away, you feel like you want to. And today we find Jesus wanting to get away. It’s all in one of those so familiar Bible stories, the feeding of the 5000. I’m certain I could ask anyone of you to tell the  story and we’d get a pretty good rendition.

The table ready for communion

SO let’s take a closer look.  I said that Jesus wanted to get away….do you remember why? He has just received the news that his cousin John the Baptist has been killed. This following on the heels of being rejected after preaching in his home town of Nazareth.  Let that sink in a minute.  Try and imagine what he must be feeling….to see the faces of the people he’d grown up with turned against him…unable to do any works there because they couldn't believe  in him..and then to get word that his cousin has been put to death by Herod the King.  Is he wondering what might lie ahead for himself?  Is he dejected? Depressed? Questioning?  This is not a summer vacation break he’s looking for here….Let’s feel that with Jesus for a moment…

SO he wants to get away….to a deserted place…but what happens?  People follow him….Lots of people…and what happens?  He could go, man, can’t they leave me alone for just a little while? He could feel annoyed, exhausted, like he’s got nothing left.  But as he looks at them, he sees their need and he is filled with compassion. In the King James Version, it says he was moved in his bowells, ie moved in the deepest part of his guts…and he cured their sick. Maybe when he looked at them, he saw in the what he was feeling. maybe seeing their pain, their seeking, drew him out of his own sense of desolation….and his power returns…looking beyond himself his power returns…

As it gets late, his disciples come to him with a very reasonable, practical idea. Send them away so that hey can buy food for themselves…a very good idea…

BUT…not for Jesus …They need not go away he says….. you give them something to eat…

Just note that…when the practical solution people say, send them away, Jesus says bring them near….to the chorus of voices all around us saying about so many people send them away….Jesus says NO…bring them closer…

But that second part is equally  important …you give them something to eat…

To which  we get the expected reply…we don’t have enough resources….just five loaves…and two fish….and hear this carefully….Jesus says Bring them to me….

and he blesses them and they pass them around and there are 12 baskets of leftovers (one for each disciple to take home, I guess…)

How often are we tempted to send people away because we just don’t have enough? Jesus says you give the something to eat…he doesn’t want to hear about how  little we have…he doesn’t want to hear about scarcity….he says Y’all have enough to do something…

as individuals

as a church

as a city 

as a country

we have enough…….

A few thoughts…when i was learning to do community ministry, i was taught how to do needs assessments….remember those?  Until someone realized that as long as that’s where we focus our energy we will always be depressed and defeated…because we will never have enough…and we will always be looking  for the answer to come from outside…so instead we started to think about beginning  with capacities assessments…what do we already have? what can we do with what we’ve already got?

But here’s the thing…he says …bring them to me…we’ve got to offer what we have up to him for HIS use for it to work…that’s when miracle making happens …when we offer up what we already have to him for his use…

People have spent a lot of time trying to figure out what happened here…

Some say, Jesus used his powers to multiply those loaves  and fishes, created more food  out of thin air

Others say he knew the disciples had more food stashed away or that in starting to pass food around , people would open up and share what they had brought…..it’s all interesting but in the end doesn't matter…

The real miracle here is not production, the real miracle  is one of distribution….perhaps the real miracle is in the  sharing

We hear a lot thee days about the deserving poor…like  there’s undeserving poor? Like If you can’t afford health care, it’s your own fault…about deserving immigrants vs non deserving….send them away….the chorus says…NO says Jesus let them stay…and YOU give them something to eat…

I recently heard a Lutheran pastor, Nadia Bolz-Weber, ask what would happen if we knew our church only had 5 years to live? That we no longer had to worry about survival?  Would we give it all away? Risk wildly in love and extravagant generosity? Live without fear? His point is that if we lived that way NOW, we wouldn’t have to worry abut survival because people would be so attracted to who we are…

Let’s review what we’ve got here…

1. See in others what we feel in ourselves…look with compassion
2. Don’t send then away, bring them near
3. Take what God has already given us and offer it up to Jesus for HIS work…and then
4. Watch the miracle happen

I have heard that you all have had a bit of a miracle yourselves…that you have taken what God has has given you and offered it up…that’s what I’ve heard…and that God is blessing  this church community…if that’s right, don’t stop NOW!

And let us as well be bold enough to call our city and nation to moral accountability…and show our neighbors what righteous living in Jesus name is all about..

Jesus said…you give them something to eat…

and let those with ears to hear, hear….

After the sermon, we end our service with the sharing of communion, in the old passing of plates and mini cups style. Holding each element until all have been served and taking it together. We sing our final hymns. Maker final prayers. Say our farewells. And go out into the Harlem streets.