Two Sundays

4/21

The Rundetaarn

It’s Palm Sunday. For the first time in 22 years, I’m not in New York City. I’m in Copenhagen for a two day Transformation Symposium (.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LMtd6CxmXbk&feature=youtu.be )But it’s Palm Sunday and I want to be in a church. Just up the street from the Symposium is the Rundetaarn (Round Tower) home of Trinitatis Church. It was a 17th Century astronomical observatory with an equestrian staircase to take  the the king to the top in his carriage.

I’m hoping that they’ll  be passing out palms, but not so. The young man who is at the door tells me that there’s a worship service starting in 5 minutes. I tell him that’s why I’m there. I open the pew gate and take a seat. Far to the front I see the altar against the front wall.

Altar Trinitatis Church

And half way up one side, an ornate pulpit. I’ve not seen that arrangement before. I notice the light streaming in and that there are plain glass windows, no stained glass. 

Pulpit Trinitatis

There is seating for maybe 900 people or more and on Palm Sunday, there are are maybe 50 people in worship. The music is beautiful. There is a full choir in the loft behind us. As the pastor approaches the pulpit, I notice he’s wearing a black robe and a distinctive crown-like white ruff around his neck. He preaches for about 10 minutes. Then exits the pulpit, goes to the altar for eucharist. When I get to the rail, I see there is a small cup for each person. I take the wafer, the cup, that familiar taste of tawny port that reminds me of the Episcopal Church I worked at in New Haven. The perfect wake up jolt for a Sunday. And I feel for a moment connected to my friends back home. When the service is over, there is coffee and cookies in the back. I take my coffee, shake hands with the pastor on the way out. 

At the Transformation Symposium, I will speak about the difference between forgiveness, which we do for ourselves, and reconciliation, which restores a relationship. But only after a process of acknowledgment and reconstruction. Vaar tells me of a church I should see and I invite her to take Carman and I there and she agrees. 

So we walk down the street to the Our Lady Church …again the simple sun light through plain windows, the altar against the wall, the pulpit on the side.

Our Lady

But this church is neo-classcial filled with the statuary of the famed Danish sculptor Bertel Thorvaldesen. Vaar walks Carman and I to the front. To see Jesus. Freed from the cross. Seemingly floating. Not in agony but welcoming. it’s an image she likes.

Jesus at Our Lady

She shows us the candles where the Taize group meets on weeknights. I can imagine being here, the repeating chants, building harmonies, glowing candles at night….here’s a spirituality that is living and growing even as traditional church languishes. 

Carman and Vaar

We will go outside, get hot dogs, sit in the sun and talk about transformation and spirituality. Mainly enjoying the feel of the sun. 

On the steps

Kimmo comes and we take a long walk to Christiania, the “free town of Christaina.”  "Now leaving the EU " the sign says as you enter this autonomous anarchy hippy cooperative community.  

Welcome to Christiania

Almost like you froze Haight Asbury around 1973 and it was still there. Psychedelic art and tie dye, arts and crafts and open tables selling weed and hash. I don’t know of any other place like this. (Except maybe the whole city of Portland, Oregon..insert ironic smiley face emoticon here..)  In the Woodstock bar there are a few folks who look like they haven’t moved since1973, still at the same table…after decades of struggle including at least one effort to shut down the trade, accommodation has been reached with the government and the place is quasi-legally owned and organized now. There’s a kindergarten.

Kindergarten

We stop and listen to a jazz trumpet player form Baton Rouge, David Dunlap.

Carman and the trumpet player

Carman strikes up a conversation, and the drummer, a New Yorker, comes over. 

On the other side of the bridge, a kind of gentrification is taking place. Old DIY houses, some beginning with shipping containers, grow, expand, adding floors, levels. The architectural jazz, funk and improvisation is in stark contrast to the architecture by Ikeaness  of many modern Danish homes. 

Carman at the bridge

Kimmo seems to know everyone. There are second generation dealers. We meet one’s father, an original founder, and visit his kiosk of t-shirts and curios and Third World crafts.They’ve survived government efforts to shut down or evict, organized crime efforts to take over or introduce hard drugs, against which a hard line is held. It's not so much  a vision of the future as it is a living tribute to an idealistic past. On our side of the  Christiania gates, it's a lot of broken dreams since its founding. 

Jazz ala Django

I would later learn that when the city believed it was ending the “free town,” the National Museum created a commemorative exhibit complete with hash table. When the exhibit opened, dealers complained that they got it wrong and volunteered to fix it. They’ve been a kind of advisory committee ever since.

Dinner in another neighborhood of DIY houses awaits.

Palm Sunday is almost over…

                             ****

Uli and Bob on Easter. Niemoller House in background.

 Easter. Berlin. I traveled here by bus and boat. Celebrated a Passover dinner with my family and Israeli friends of my son. Lamb from a Georgian cookbook and pomegranates. And now it is a cool and rainy Easter morning. My son Micah travels with me to the little St.Annen chapel in Dahlem.

St. Annen Chapel Dahlem

Like New York City, the boundaries of Berlin expanded to incorporate smaller villages and towns. Dahlem, home of the Free University, is one of these. There’s an urban farm museum across the street. There’s been a church in this site for 700 years. The walls show the different ages of construction in patchwork masonry.  I preached here once, when our neighborhood clergy group came to visit with Uli.

There ’s a good crowd, older, but I recall a family service and egg hunt will come later. Again, a service in a language I do not understand.

Inside St. Annen

Uli tries a simultaneous translation, but someone behind us shushes him. And so I listen. Later I will learn the pastor spoke of the importance of story. The difference between the various gospel writers. The need to find little resurrections of our own lives. My son Micah, a philosopher by training, said he would have liked a little more awe and wonder. I was missing the traditional opening song ‘Jesus Christ is risen today” and the "Alleluias.”

Following the service, Micah heads home. I stand in the churchyard with Uli. On the other side of the little cemetery is the Martin Niemoller House, surrounded in scaffolding like West Park. He was pastor here in the 30’s. We remember his famous quote:

First they came for the Communists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Communist. 

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

I remember the times I stayed there before Micah moved here. The reunion of all who had been part of the many groups Uli brought to stay at West Park and explore what living in a multicultural city meant to us. I remember sitting in  the room where young Bonhoeffer watched as Niemoller was taken from his garden by the Gestapo. We greet the pastor.

Greeting the pastor

And another  man who works with refugees. Other friends. 

As we walk down the street in a steady rain, towards a Dahlem coffee shop, for one more coffee before I leave, I am wondering how near we are to our own Niemoller moment. 

By the time we finish our coffee, the sun is out. It is Easter.

Uli and Bob

Christmas Eve 2016: Light in darkness

12/24

It’s Christmas Eve . As always, I am  anxious about how the night will go. As the hour approaches, I say a silent prayer. And cross myself. Leila and Pat have once again done beautiful work decorating the sanctuary, now a stage for the upcoming Noche Flamenca production.

Ready for Christmas

And after months worshipping in our chapel, we are back in our sanctuary. We get closer to  PM and the sanctuary is still empty. Farolitos outside on the steps proclaim welcome.

Farolitos say "welcome"

And as 7 o’clock comes up, the sanctuary fills….

We move through the service, my spirits lift, the congregation lifting me. We sing Carman Moore’s new carols, a full quartet.

The "Sky Singers"

And finish with John Lennon’s Christmas/War is Over…and it’s time for my reflection….

Hear these words:  

Light and life to all he brings

Risen with healing in his wings

We passed this week, as we always do three days before Christmas  Eve, the longest night of the year. From here on out, the light grows, we say. And a voice replies, if only…

The darkness seems so much darker this year. Just this last week, the attack at the Christmas Village near Kaiser Wilhelm Church in Berlin. A place I have been. In a city where my son and daughter in law and grandson live. My grandson who looks at the world as if its a wonderful surprise gift just for him to unwrap every day. I want  a world for him where you can walk through the markets with the smell of pine and warm mulled wine and music in the air. And no fear..But that is not our world. 

In Turkey, the Russian ambassador is shot dead.

And the  ancient city of Aleppo vanishes in a veil of blood and smoke.  And the world stands by.

And we await with fear and uncertainty in less than a month  the unexpected inauguration of a most unlikely President. 

Light and life to all he brings, risen with healing in his wings..

It’ s always about light….the light that shines in the darkness, that the darkness does not overcome….

It didn’t begin with Jesus.  its been there since creation. Sometimes dim, sometimes nearly imperceptible, but always there.  With Abraham and Isaac. With Moses and his freedom march. With the prophets Hosea, Amos, Micah…Isaiah…in the fields, in the streets, in the halls of empire..they lifted their voices.

And tonight with our Jewish friends, we remember the Maccabees…freedom fighters against a most powerful…and attractive..empire…and celebration of a miracle that tells us the light always grows, does not diminish, as a candle is added each day until a menorah full of light bursts into flame…

On December 6th, St.Nicholas Day, our Buddhist friends celebrated Bodhi, the coming of light, the enlightenment of the Buddha. A year ago, I got to participate in that event at Riverside  Church. It was profoundly moving as I watched the  light move from the altar throughout the sanctuary until the whole place glowed.

Bodhi

Even as ours will soon…

And this year on December 12 (or for the Shia the 17th) our Muslim neighbors celebrated id e malad, the birthday of the prophet.

Something in our darkness, no matter who we are,  craves light. 

Light and life to all he brings

Risen with healing in his wings

Healing.  As Mary Gauthier says, we all could use a little mercy now. Our light comes in a poor stable in a way side town. Occupied then, occupied now. Angels singing to outsiders, to the shepherds. In the by was of red states, Shut down mill towns, and mining towns. Angels voices. 

The one who brings us light comes from there.  From the midst and middle of our darkness. We light these lights as a witness that the light still shines…and will not be extinguished..it doesn’t fix everything, doesn’t cure everything….but it’s the beginning of healing…

This all too human one shows light through love…and when we love, we shine…our imperfections remain….they make us who we are…like doubting Thomas knowing the risen  One first by his wounds, not made perfect by resurrection, but made whole.  Or as a prophet we lost recently Leonard Cohen said, there is a crack in everything…that’s how the light  gets in..

Tonight let that  light in..and take it back out again…out to the streets…for this Christmas, this year…

I was almost shaking when I finished. I looked out. Saw neighbors. People I did not know. Visitors who came seeking.The Christmas tree sellers from Alaska from across the street

Sean, James and Rachel..our tree friends..

…our friends and neighbors for the last month. We shared bread and bathrooms, they shared trees and wreaths. Hung out at our open mic. Were neighbors for a month. My musician Jeremy has brought his wife and new son Elio and we greet them.

Priska, Jeremy and Elio

And Pat and Larry are on the stage with their granddaughter Nyla. Who is playing with the baby Jesus.

Nyla plays with baby Jesus

My friend (and bandmate) Pat, militantly antireligious since his Irish Catholic upbringing, (rightfully so) has come with my good friend (and singing partner) Rabbi Steve. 

Pastor Brashear, Rabbi Steve and Pat

We sing Joy to the World to Jeremy’s rocking gospel piano. I have missed him so much. So glad that they have come back from Switzerland for this night.This is the way it should be. This is Christmas. And if this is my last, no better way to go out. 

Living in the Spirit: What is your greatest need?

9/27

Jeremy, Andre and Pastor Bob preparing for worship

What an amazing week it’s been. I’ve lived through two pope visits here. But this one was truly special.  I followed on Facebook those of my friends and colleagues who were able to participate in various events.  Presbytery Exec Bob Foltz-Morrison. Sarah Sayeed (Muslim) former Interfaith Center of New York City staff person, now in the Di Blasio administration, Simran Jeet Singh, Sikh leader who visited with us and participated in an interfaith dialogue here at West-Park. This pope is helping us to  recover  the original meaning of catholic…universal, all-inclusive….that is who this Pope Francis is…

And the message seems so simple…humility, compassion, true caring, ….and a smile….able to see connections between the environment and who truly suffers…but more than ideology or theology it is that human touch …those daily moments of choosing to connect…and how many of us need just to be touched.

It’s in that context I want to look at today’s passage in James…it assumes a community…perhaps a large congregation even,…

¹³Are any among you suffering?

They should pray. Are any cheerful? ( I’m thinking of our friend Stephen’s smile challenge, better than an ice bucket challenge…)[1]  They should sing songs of  praise. ¹

⁴Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. ¹⁵The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven.  (Here we have lifted up the role of our elders and deacons)  About what we can do for one another.

¹⁶Therefore confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed.  I’m thinking of  the truth and reconciliation commission in South Africa. How it began with the telling of truth. Of people’s stories. Sometimes just being heard was enough. I’m thinking of reconciliation between people. The process it takes beginning with critical clarification of what caused the rupture and ending with reconstruction.

And I’m thinking of our friend Carman Moore and his work with Lotte Arnsbjerg in the Girl From Diamond Mountain  project.  Her song cycle about childhood sexual abuse and her personal healing. How healing begins  with the telling of the story.  And how their project is now reaching out to abusers because they were themselves invariably abused. And only speaking out, breaking the silence can break the cycle. (http://www.girlofdiamondmountain.com/)

In the end, the deepest meaning of confession is not a recitation of things we have done wrong so much as it is an open and honest statement of who we are. Our deepest statements of belief we call confessions:  the Westminster confession, the Barmen confession….

The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective. ¹⁷Elijah was a human being like us, and he prayed fervently that it might not rain, and for three years and six months it did not rain on the earth. ¹⁸Then he prayed again, and the heaven gave rain and the earth yielded its harvest. Never doubt the power of our prayers… remember the pope’s last words to us Pray for me.

¹⁹My brothers and sisters, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and is brought back by another,²⁰you should know that whoever brings back a sinner from wandering will save the sinner's soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins. I believe that reconciliation, healing that which is broken, is one of our principle callings and that nothing pleases God more than reconciliation.

And so my question to you this morning  is ….what is your greatest need today?  Can you name it? Define it? 

This seems to be what Francis is asking of us…to share with one another our deepest needs…to be alert to what each other needs and to respond as we are able …..to be alert….let us be inspired …and  let us connect…and perhaps even smile…

And as Pope Francis said, Pray for me, and pray for each other…

preparation in black and white....thank you Stephen....

---

[1] Good morning!   Though we are not Catholics, we are people of faith and compassion. Honestly,  I was not excited about the Pope's U.S. And NYC visit, but I am truly touched by this man after a few days of 24 hour TV coverage, hearing his words, and  watching the grace that he shares with all of us.   I think  Pope Francis  truly walks in the footsteps of St Francis - preach the gospel and only use words when necessary.   He offers us a simple. powerful approach to life and our personal ministries - be compassionate, show your humanity, and smile smile smile.   When I went out for my daily walk this morning I made a point of having a smile the whole walk and not only did I feel better and happier, I found men, women and young people  smiling at me before I made eye contact, and many giving a nod of the head, or saying hi and good morning.   To consciously smile as I walked, and enjoyed the beautiful morning and the sweet character of my neighborhood, this truly simple change to my walk on my part gave me peace, lifted my spirits, made me feel God's grace, and most importantly to me, welcomed those  walking around me simple moments of fellowship with me.   I would like to challenge all of us in the West Park Community to  smile when you typically would not, to do it conciously, to do so with compassion, and to do so as a way to share your humanity.   Then, at service in the near future, let's share our experiences of this simple gift that we can give to ourselves and to those we encounter.   If you choose to take this challenge, I hope your experience provides you with the blessings and joy I am receiving from it.   Bob, if you believe this is a worthy challenge for our Community, please share it with everyone.   Enjoy your day - and smile .  All the best,  Stephen Webber 

Tuesday night with Noche

7/21

My friend Elise has joined me for tonight’s performance of Antigona, as has Carman Moore, Guggenheim award winning composer and friend of West-Park. Elise has traveled to Argentina and Andalusia. One time in conversation about Noche, she said that she preferred the darkness of the tango to the joyous frivolity of flamenco. I took a deep breath, Ohhhhhh…I said, but that is not flamenco. (Later Martin would explain about the bubbly version offered up to tourists, soda pop instead of dark, rich sherry.)

So tonight she would see the depth of flamenco as Noche pushed it to the edges. And beyond. Now after a week, the second half of the Antigona story builds and builds until Soledad Barrios final solo where she comes to a seeming climax at least twice before one more final explosion where you feel she could almost burst into flame.

After the performance, we were almost as breathless as the dancers. Carman gave the first musical review I’ve heard. He spoke of the seamlessness of the transitions, the crossing of boundaries (which Carman does) and the careful mixing of voices, sung and otherwise. He spoke of complexity and layers, all true.

The night was perhaps inspired by the review from the New York Times that came on line late in the day, for tomorrow’s print edition.

Review: ‘Antigona,’ From Noche Flamenca, Pairs Rhythmic Dance With Greek Drama

Soledad Barrio and Noche Flamenca: Antigona

By LAURA COLLINS-HUGHESJULY 22, 2015

Antigona Soledad Barrio in the title role, with Eugenio Iglesias on guitar, in this dance drama at West Park Presbyterian Church. CreditZarmik Moqtaderi

Flamenco paired with ancient Greek tragedy? It’s the kind of idea that makes the brow furrow. But in Soledad Barrio and Noche Flamenca’sdark and explosive “Antigona,” this odd-couple match makes an “Aha!” kind of sense, uniting two fierce and stylized forms to tell the story of a sister’s defiance of a king in defense of her dead brother.

A haunting, distant classicism coexists with sweaty, unmediated corporeality in this dance drama, adapted by Martín Santangelo, Noche Flamenca’s artistic director, from Sophocles’ “Antigone.” Displaying the same allegiance to dance as the earliest Greek dramas, it mines the martial, confrontational qualities of flamenco, and the mournful ones as well.

Sophocles’ narrative is not the easiest to follow, and “Antigona” takes pains to provide context amid the dance and song, almost all of it performed in Spanish with clear, well designed English supertitles. “Meet the family,” the gregarious Master of Ceremonies (Emilio Florido) says, introducing us to Oedipus and Jocasta; their sons, Polyneices and Eteocles; their daughters, Antigona and Ismene; and Jocasta’s brother, Creon.

The crown of Thebes passes among the men of the family, and Creon takes it after his nephews kill each other. When he refuses burial to Polyneices, a traitor to the city, Antigona buries him anyway.

Directed by Mr. Santangelo and choreographed by Ms. Barrio, who plays the title role with arresting intensity, “Antigona” takes atmospheric advantage of the arched space in West Park Presbyterian Church, on the Upper West Side, yet this production — which boasts Lee Breuer as consulting director — has a distinctly downtown vibe.

Sophocles liked a big chorus, and the group of eight here is a bit small by his standards, but it’s complemented by an excellent onstage band: Eugenio Iglesias and Salva de Maria on guitar, David Rodriguez on percussion, and Hamed Traore on electric guitar and bass. Together, the company reaches critical mass, no more so than when the astonishing Juan Ogalla, as Haemon, Antigona’s betrothed, nearly lights the floor ablaze with his dancing.

Like all discipline-straddling works, “Antigona” raises questions of category. It could be labeled theater or dance, and last fall, when it was a work in progress at the Joyce Theater, several segments from the piecewere reviewed as dance. Developed and expanded since then, the show sometimes feels like opera, and for a couple of moments — especially during a face-off between the brothers, Eteocles and Polyneices — even like rock opera.

A reasonably expansive definition of musical theater would embrace this show, even if Ms. Barrio, eloquent in Antigona’s anger and sorrow, is just about the only performer who’s doing as much acting as dancing.

“Antigona” continues through Aug. 8 at West Park Presbyterian Church, Manhattan; 866-811-4111, nocheflamenca.com.