The US alternative to International Workers’s Day, who ironically, started in the US at Haymarket Square. The unofficial end to summer. In New York City, we alway shad tthe parade one week later so the workers could have Labor Day weekend off.
I go to my favorite local coffee place for my regular Monday morning session to plan out my week with coffee and an almond croissant. I have enough “Xs” on my card for a free drink. So I askfor a new card. “No need,” says thebarista. I raise an eyebrow above my mask. “No more. We’re closing tomorrow.” I say”what?” “Yeah, we tried.Just couldn’t make it. Life goes on” I feel sad. Caffeine was my closest cafe. I was worried when after trying for a few weeks, they shut down. But then they reopened. They tried “happy hour cocktails” for awhile. They added outdoor tables and a covered space.(The city is now closing Fredrick Douglass on weekends for more street restaurant space.) They tried. But just couldn’t make it. Another covid victim.
We meet in Morningside Park. The smell of grilling burgers, dogs and chicken fills the air. Family picnics every where. Somehow it still doesn’t feel like Labor Day to me without a visit to my mom’s pool on closing day and a cookout on the back deck of our house, my dad at the grill. But it is. She starts teaching again tomorrow. For some approximation of Labor Day, I’m cooking bratwurst and kraut. And baked beans. And watermelon. For myself.
Labor Day. I posted on Twitter:
On this Labor Day 2020 let us honor all those workers we used to cheer every nite for keeping us going thru this pandemic at their own risk- nurses, emts, clerks, kitchen workers, delivery people #coronavirusworld#wewillgetbywewillsurvive
It's Labor Day weekend . The unofficial end to summer. And I am back to Beverly Church on a hot and humid Sunday. Walking through the streets with the English names and Victorian homes. And occasional gardens.
a home garden
And Pakistani restaurants...and Mexican panaderias...Still flyers up from last week's church flea market and barbecue... Mark, who is in the Navy, as he does whenever he is home on leave has come. And brought an old friend. Here is the reflection.... It's good to see you again. As always, there's a lot on my mind. I spent a week back home in Pittsburgh. And many of my friends were struggling with a grand jury report that came out and said that in Pennsylvania, there was testimony of 300 priests abusing over1000 victims. And they believe those figures are conservative. Everyone was checking the list. One of the musicians from my old church found the priest who had married him, baptized his first child. Beloved parish priests . Men I used to work with. Some friends wanted to know where to turn. Because they could not go back. Can you imagine how that would feel? I continue to wrestle with that. Thinking of all the victims. I'm also thinking about the death of John McCain. When I was at the ballpark yesterday afternoon, the flags at Yankee Stadium were at half mast. In his honor. And so all the other flags were lower as well so as to not be higher than the US flag. His body lie in state in the Capitol Rotunda, rare for a Senator. And everything from invited speakers to pall bearers had symbolic value and meaning. Of course some can argue about some of his decisions, his positions. But at the end of the day, I think we want to have someone who symbolizes for us a different way of being than we are living out right now. Where personal integrity is important and valuing and respecting others, especially our opponents, is honored. And I believe our desire to lift up those values says something good about us. I think both these stories relate to our scripture passages today. In the Gospel, the religious leaders are very upset at Jesus' disciples' failure to wash before eating. (Not a bad idea..) Jesus is very clear that no ritual of what to do before eating or even what we eat is as important as righteous behavior. You've heard of clean hands, pure heart? He's saying clean hands don't count when your heart isn't pure.... Part of what's going on here is opening up the doors of the community so more can come in. Jesus is saying no ritual, no tradition, is more important than the living, moving spirit of God. Let me clear though. Jesus is not saying that tradition has no value. Think about it....Jesus went to worship regularly. He prayed. He was going to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover. In our communion service today we'll recall Jesus following the traditions of his faith. I've spent enough time with you to know that you have your special traditions, your ways of doing things that are different from what any other church does. If I asked you, what would you say you'd most want to hold on to? Or miss the most if it were gone? This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me; 7in vain do they worship me, teaching human precepts as doctrines.' We take our human prejudices and make them doctrines. Certainly, our Roman Catholic church knows about tradition. They've been at it longer than we have. But I wonder if some of those traditions may not be contribute to their problems. Maybe it's time to have women priests. And allow priests to marry. Certainly we Presbyterians have had to move beyond tradition. We divided over slavery in the 1860's and didn't reunite until 1983. We hesitated to ordain women and when we made it mandatory, some of our churches got angry and left. And when we finally allowed LGBTQ folk to have their God-given ministries officially recognized, more couldn't abide that and left. Traditions keep us and imprison us. We have a President who seems to be telling people things can go back to the way they used to be. No uppity women or scary black people or other languages on our phones. So OK. What makes us us? What is distinctive? We don't dress like the Amish people I saw in the Philadelphia Greyhound station. Or wear yarmulkes like Jewish men or hijabs like Muslim women or turbans like Sikhs. I think it should be in our practice...in James' words, caring for widows and orphans. In James' words, being doers, not just hearers. And he's got some wonderfully specific advice... : Let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; 20for your anger does not produce God's righteousness. Is that true of us? Of you? Of the church? I had a preacher who used to end his sermons with Let those with ears to hear, hear... But maybe today what I want to say is Let those with ears to hear, do.... And once again we pray for each other. And share bread and cup together before sharing a meal. I remind them that just being here...just choosing to spend Sunday morning in worship is a witness. Is important. Has value. There is still tomorrow left before we go back to our regular lives... **** Second Reading James 1:17-27 17Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. 18In fulfillment of his own purpose he gave us birth by the word of truth, so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures. 19You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; 20for your anger does not produce God's righteousness. 21Therefore rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness, and welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls. 22But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves. 23For if any are hearers of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; 24for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like. 25But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act-they will be blessed in their doing. 26If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless. 27Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world. Gospel Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23 1Now when the Pharisees and some of the scribes who had come from Jerusalem gathered around him, 2they noticed that some of his disciples were eating with defiled hands, that is, without washing them. 3(For the Pharisees, and all the Jews, do not eat unless they thoroughly wash their hands, thus observing the tradition of the elders; 4and they do not eat anything from the market unless they wash it; and there are also many other traditions that they observe, the washing of cups, pots, and bronze kettles.) 5So the Pharisees and the scribes asked him, "Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?" 6He said to them, "Isaiah prophesied rightly about you hypocrites, as it is written, 'This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me; 7in vain do they worship me, teaching human precepts as doctrines.' 8You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition." 14Then he called the crowd again and said to them, "Listen to me, all of you, and understand: 15there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile." 21"For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, 22adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. 23All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person."
The lost patrol is asleep on the steps when I arrive. Come on guys, get up, I’ve got to get the doors open. Time for church. They’re none too happy about getting up. I finally get them at least off to the side. But they’re halfway blocking the way to Barney Greengrass. Which I'm sure Gary is not too excited about.
I‘m walking down 86th Street and see a familiar face. It’s my cousin in law’s daughter Sarah and her husband Ryan and baby Dylan. Baby? He’s over two years old. And I realize that I’ve never seen him. And I feel a twinge of sadness. I’ve been aware that they’re now living in the Belnord across the street. It’s pleasant enough. They’re good people. And I miss them.
People are slow arriving. It is Labor Day weekend. The end of the summer. Sigh. Everyone coming back. Just not yet. I haven’t been away. I’m making calls to make sure that we’ve got enough for a quorum for the vote we have to take today. When there’s enough to begin, I get up and sing, Hard times come again no more... suggested by a friend on the anniversary of the March on Washington.(thank you AE). I thought about playing onE of the myriad recordings but since it was haunting me, decided to just, well, sing it. MandolaJoe got me the original sheet music on line. I’m anxious to do it with him and his gravelly bass. Everyone from Cash to Dylan to Springsteen to Nancy Griffith and Emmylou Harris...oh and the Chieftains...
Emmy Lou's version
I asked who knows who wrote that and of course Marsha knows. Stephen Foster. 1855. Died at 37. In New York City. On the Bowery. Taken home to Pittsburgh to be buried. Great song for our time.
1.
Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears,
While we all sup sorrow with the poor;
There's a song that will linger forever in our ears;
Oh hard times come again no more.
Chorus:
Tis the song, the sigh of the weary,
Hard Times, hard times, come again no more
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door;
Oh hard times come again no more.
2.
While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay,
There are frail forms fainting at the door;
Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say
Oh hard times come again no more.
Chorus
3.
There's a pale drooping maiden who toils her life away,
With a worn heart whose better days are o'er:
Though her voice would be merry, 'tis sighing all the day,
Oh hard times come again no more.
Chorus
4.
Tis a sigh that is wafted across the troubled wave,
Tis a wail that is heard upon the shore
Tis a dirge that is murmured around the lowly grave
Oh hard times come again no more.
Chorus
We start with our Jeremiah again. (2: 4-13) God’s voice through him sounding put out, annoyed....See if there has ever been such a thing...be appalled o heaven, at this, be shocked,be utterly desolate...my people (are) cracked cisterns that can hold no water...
Hebrews 13: 1-8, 15-16; another epistle of general moral instruction. But with that wonderful phrase Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it...The Kong James version is so much better 2 Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares....
Angels unaware...I love that..Marsha remembers that from Sunday School back in Texas...And it raises questions for us again about the whole steps situation. Could the most annoying be angels sent by God to catch us unaware? Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God....
We finish with the gospel, Luke 14: 1, 7-14.The whole deal about taking the lower place at the banquet so you’ll get invited up. And inviting people to your banquet who can’t pay you back. Marsha as always sees through some of this. If you take the lower seat strategically, what’s good about that? And isn’t there something inherently patronizing about the description of the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind...we can hear Hope’s voice even though she’s not here.
I share the new concensus that Luke is the latest gospel. Written as the community is beginning to be established. Very sensitive, perhaps the most explicitly concerned about the poor, but also very nuanced as to the rich. A very compassionate liberal, one might say.
As it’s Labor Day weekend, I have us end our reflection by sharing about our work. Marsha enjoys when she can get an elderly person hooked up with the housing and other resources they need. Stephen enjoys being back in medical education. Cara sharing her music with others. John when he’s out of the lab and working with real patients. Leila the travel that goes with her art. Pat, being retired and being a grandmother. Larry also retired. Jokingly describes himself as a spy, checking us out. But he enjoyed his work as a psychologist, watching people change their lives.
We share our communion, John and Pat serving.
Then brief congregational meeting to ratify the specific contract we’ve negotiated regarding the sale of our manse. One step closer to stability.
The lost patrol is still there. I ask Joe, so what's the plan?
The plan? He says, It's Sunday. Yes, it's Sunday I say. Still can't just hang here all day. There is grumbling. The new guy, a bit of an eminence gris, stares at Cara. And she stares right back, Yes I see you, time to move on. The marine never showed up for mass.
But late in the day, as I’m trying to wrap things up, he walks in. Looking distraught again. Could he ever be forgiven? Truly forgiven? Thou shalt not kill? He talks about a former marine he met who’s now a Southern Baptist priest. (I wonder at his mixed religious images, but....) Who told him he was being attacked. He had to fight. And that God does forgive. I talked about my friends Cols. Dale Zelko and Zoltan Dani, the friendship they have developed.
And we talk about grace. And the first step being forgiving himself. Accepting yourself as you are. No more hiding. How it’s like being in an open field with gunfire all around. Slowly he calms down, relaxes. He is seriously working on accepting himself. Forgiving yourelf is the hardest of all. As he leaves, I say, Call your daughter. She’s waiting to hear from you.... While I'm talking with the marine, Marc walks in. There's a gentleman here in is wheel chair. Says you've got his phone.And camera. So, Sean. I get them for Marc, continue my conversation. She's waiting to hear from you
Things seem to be ready as I approach the church. Teddy is sitting on the steps, gives me a hearty Good morning. We look at the Con Ed guyshard at work on a Sunday. Amazing, says Teddy, given that Con Ed just laid off 8000 workers. After a lockout....Brutal. And those guys will be back out here tomorrow. I go to get supplies for communion. Get a call from Danielle. Bulletins not printed. Both copy shops closed. Labor Day weekend. One of our printers is out of toner. I’ll have to do this by hand. And try not to get intimidated.
When I get back, Teddy and I continue our conversation. But something’s not right. And then we realize. In the north doorway, there’s a massive mess of human shit. Papers, flies. And another in the south doorway. Damn, I say. Jesus Christ...There’s too much to do and too little time before services. I’m sorry, Teddy, I say, we got to deal with this.....No man, he says,I’m sorry, missed this. I am sorry...Damn, this is just vindictive....
And sadly, the hose is locked away in the boiler room. We’re going to have to old school bucket brigade this. Teddy goes to roust Jay. I pull Steve off the piano. Sorry man, this is more important... Bucket after bucket dragged from the basement. Inside, Luisa is entertaining Antoinette, a visitor from Staten Island. Before it’s over, we’ll have run out of bleach and worn out a mop. And there are still bulletins to print.
We’re halfway done when Jamie shows up with her dog, Toto. I’m also upset because I know how hard she works to try and make the place inviting to the people in the neighborhood we need to come. But she quietly grabs a broom and dustpan and gets to work. Not the prelude I want for Sunday worship.
When it’s clean enough, I call everyone inside. Glen has arrived with his dog, Tony as well. Tony and Toto eye each other with a combination of interest and wariness. I pull up my stool, welcome the congregation. Thank Teddy and Steve and Jay. Try to find the right theological language to describe how what they’ve done ties into worhsip. I feel it. But the words are not easy.
In our prayers, we lift up Edward, though that is not easy either. Next time I see him, it’s an automatic 911, no questions asked.
Today, we begin with beautiful love poetry from the Song of Solomon (2:8-13) But the main passages are from the letter of James (1:17-27) and Mark 7: 1-8, 114-15, 21-23.
It’s Labor Day Sunday. We think of the Con Ed guys hard at work outside. The issue between Jesus and his adversaries is pretty clear. It starts with the laws related to food, the laws of kashrut. These laws originally served a variety of purposes:
A call for humane treatment of animals. Muslims and Jews have virtually the same laws. Kosher and hallel very similar.
A caution against mindless consumption
And finally health. Careful of pigs in hot climates, careful of shellfish, etc.
And ultimately here, what also is at stake identity....this is who we are as opposed to those who are not us.....
Jesus has several concerns in this confrontation:
Those who live on the surface and not the deeper values
Going to the heart of the matter
And most importantly,ultimately breaking down barriers to inclusion.
We talked about the short road from classifying food as traif (unclean) to classifying the people who eat it as traif. I recalled coming to Tulsa as a vegetarian. And being invited to a barbeque at my friend Thomas’ Church of the Living God. (As opposed to?) I decided their offering of fellowship transcended any moral issues I might have about meat. It’s not what goes into the mouth....
James makes it straight and clear: what we are looking for is DOERS of the word, not HEARERS. Walk, not talk.
Those who were at out last Bible Study, August 20th, remember our dialogues and discussions on the Mark passage.
Our conversation goes to all kinds of places, including addiction and the place of tough love. How love sometimes requires a no. I can love Edward and still believe that the most loving thing would be to get him arrested and taken to detox. At any rate, he can’t be there anymore. The law of freedom is not easy. Takes reflection. Discernment. Hard choices.
Yes, doers, not hearers.
We are an intimate group this Labor Day Sunday. So I invite everyone to gather around the table for communion. As I look around the table, I see faces. Each one, the image of God. And as hands reach out to take the bread, I look at hands. The small black hands of Shana. The cafe con leche hands of Luisa. Hands gnarled by arthritis. The worn and dirty hands of homelessness or SRO life. The faces of Rachelle, Bobby. This is truly the Lord’s Supper. The communion of saints. Even though some of my exiled Catholics are still hesitant about partaking of non-priest consecrated bread and wine, they too, are in the circle, this is what it is supposed to be.
I stand outside, in my green stole. Greeting people.
Jamie and I sit to go over details of our ongoing negotiations with Noche. Marc comes in to pick up a CD changer Jamie has brought in to donate. Later we go down to check out our hoses to facilitate steps cleaning.
There are hospital visits ahead to Rachel who took a fall on her steps and Jim W who had a fall of his own. Later, I will join our folks in serving a meal at the homeless shelter at SPSA. My day is far from over.
