Holy Thursday. Opening Day for baseball. April Fools’ Day. And the 26th anniversary of my first day of work in New York City. An interesting convergence of events. Strange and perhaps portentous that I began my lat two jobs on April 1st 10 years apart.
I watch my hometown Pirates play at a chilly Wrigley Field and win the game while rehearsing for Mike Geffner’s (Virtual) Inspired Word show. For Opening Day, I’m working on Dylan’s “Catfish,” a classic blues about the great Catfish Hunter of years gone by.
And reflect on Holy Thursday.As achild, it was the beginning of my least favorite part of the church year. A Maundy Thursday night communion. Endless Good Friday “Seven Last Words” service. By the time we get to Easter, so weighed down with church, hard to feel joy. There was of course the year when I joined thechurch. Maundy was always the first communion of that year’s Communicants Class. Later theological refinement in our tradition now allows communion for children, thus ending that rite of passage.
In New York City, there was a quiet, simple meal and candlelit communion at Good Shepherd Faith. When that ended, we began holding our own services at West Park. Which introduced foot washing to the community.
Those services were remembered when we discussed the Last Supper at our Monday night Bible Study focusing on the story in the 13th chapter of John.
That act stands out to people. Jesus’ humbling himself and washing others’ feet not as a host, but as a servant. Peter’s impulsive promise which he of course will break. The intimacy of that act. I remember the first time I did that, with a student of mine at the University of Bridgeport. At his Seventh Day Adventist church service. Which precedes communion every Saturday. Men and women in two separate rooms. Washing each other’s feet. It was hard for me to do. So intimate.And so it was at West Park.
At Good Shepherd Faith, they did hands. Because in this culture, our feet are covered but our hands touch subway poles, bus straps, all kinds of public places. But there is just something about feet.
It is a demonstration. Jesus wants us to do as he has done. What is that relevance in 2021? In the last year we have had an ever heightened awareness of dominance and privilege and oppression in this country. Genocide of the native population. The control and destruction of Black lives through the institutionof chattel slavery. Exclusion of Chinese (after they built the transcontinentalrailroad), detention of Japanese Americans and on and on. Georgia passes a voter suppression act seemingly aimed at African-Ameircans. A born again Christian guns down Asian women as symbols of temptation he can’t resist.It goes on and on.And we can only respond with humility.
As I look at my task of heading a New York City Presbytery working group on dismantling systemic racism, the image of Last Supper Jesus tells me the only way we of privilege can move forward is with utmost humility. And that as Jesus gave up privilege, so must we. Concretely up to and including reparations. Our Holy Thursday can only be meaningful if we can see ourselves in that servant role in real terms in the world around us. That’s the only way to make the Lenten repentance emphasis that draws to conclusion in these days meaningful and real.
Jesus said, I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.Let it be so….
And now our second Passover in coronavirusworld.No extended family gatherings. Just our “core four” get together. ZOOM with the cousins and inlaws for awhile. Sara asks us “what is your Egypt, what are you trying to leave, what holds you back?” I consider all the deeply personal things I could say, things I am so painfully aware of and my son whispers “you don’t have to go so deep…” I nod as if to say “I got this.” I say, ‘I understand Egypt to be mizraim,the tight place. This virus has been a very tight place. It has kept us inside. Restricted our lives. And now, things are slowly starting to open. Again. But we don’t know…we don’t know…what’s holding me back? Uncertainty. Uncertainty…”
I spent yesterday shopping. No matzohs at the Harlem Whole Foods. Rumors of shortages all around. I'll have to go to Zabar’s to finish my shopping. I miss the old “Best Market” on Fredrick Douglass with its barbecue counter and seasonal Chabad displays in a store that knew its neighborhood and its needs well.
The knife I saw in the Zabar's catalogue, I wanted to buy as a gift, well, not there…looks like online only.
After hosting our every Friday virtual open mic, I start my cooking. Last nightit’sGreek charoset from the Hania community on the isle of Crete. Tomorrow, after a wedding (‘Can we take our masks off?,the couple asks…"of course", I say...), and planning a much delayed memorial service, I’ll make a Moosewood spinach, mushroom, cheese and matzoh casserole and New Orleans style “dirty Matzoh” stiffing to go with the main course lamb meat balls with tzatsiki.
As we eat, we remember and talk about the seders we experienced in the past, before...... And accept the quiet of this one for what it is.
Sunday, l joinmy friend Steve’s Congregation Sim Shalom “virtual” seder with people from around the country. (And even world.) I share the old spiritual ‘Pharoah’s army got drownded…” with the Arlo Guthrie verse, “Moses was the first to get the notion that the world is safer with the army in the ocean cause Pharoah’s army got drownded…”
On Passover in 2021, the plague continues, theAngel of Death has not yet passed over.Our vaccinations and masks like marks above our doorways toward off the Angel. . Our lives are still stuck in thenarrow place like a super container ship in the Suez Canal. Ironically, the numbers of our dead are helping to move us towards immunity. Everyone has suffered losses. We’re standing at the edge of the Red Sea. Placing one foot in the water. Waitingfor the waters to start to part as we wade deeper.The Promised Land is a long way off.
One of my pleasures during this pandemic has beenthe opportunity to enjoy theatrical productions from literally all around the world. And of the many companies I have come to know and love, one of my most appreciated has been the Irish Repertory Theatre from right here in New York City. For the last several weeks, the Irish Rep has been streaming a festival of its best productionsfrom the last year, produced specifically for the ZOOM platform.And among these was the unexpected gift of Molly Sweeney.
Written by Brian Friel, perhaps best known for his hit show “Dancing at Lughnasa,” and directed by Charlotte Moore, Molly Sweeney is the story of a young woman blind from infancy. Molly has constructed a full life for herself rich in friendships and sensual fulfillment and then comes thefateful entrance into her life of two men with their own agendas.
Convinced that what they are doing is for her best, they have decided that she should have surgeryto seek to restore her sight. For herhusband Frank, it’s his effort to make her “complete” and for the Doctor, Mr. Rice, an effort to restore his damaged reputation and career. In discussion of the proposed operation, the question is raised, “so what does she have to lose?” As it turns out, quite a lot.
Molly has a full life. She knows her father’s garden like the back of her hand. She knows her way around the streets of her town and her other heightened senses give her a sense ofindependence. She has a job at a local sports club and many fulfilling relationships. Nevertheless, out of a sense of obligation to her (seemingly) devoted husband, she agrees.
In a profoundly moving scene, on the day of her operation, Molly takes one last walk to enjoy and experience her world as she has known it. Sadly, the operation is only minimally successful. She can sense light and dark and vague images but no clarity. A second operation does little to improvethe situation. She increasingly find herself in a perpetual state of limbo, an in between place with no clear vision and the loss of her sensual perception. She slowly retreats into her own solitude and within the year has lost her job and her friends andbegins a descent into a madness from which she will not recover. Her husband loses patience and takes his savior complex to Africa while the Doctor consoles himself with the idea that at least now she couldsee men as “trees walking” as in Mark 8: 22-26.
Molly winds up institutionalized while her “saviors” get on with their own lives. What did she have to lose? Nothing but herself.
The play, based on a true story, is a clear expression of the ableist perspective that it is always the able who know what is best for persons with disabilities, completely missing the fact that quite often persons with disabilities have used their own God-given resources to learn how to navigate their world on their own. Regardless of good intentions, such valuing of one’s own perspective over and against the other’s self understanding will most often result in a form of violence being done to the one being instructed how to live their lives. Perhaps even being fatal.The play serves as a great resource for an important discussion.
I stop in to the West Park worship service because my friend Russ is leading it. Right in the middle of his sharing a video of John McCutchen’s moving song, “Christmas in the Trenches,” about the Christmas Truceof 1917, I experience my first ZOOM bomb as a crude penis appears on the screen followed by the word “fuck” and then scribbling all over as demonic cackling fills the sound. Amazed at how violated you feel. It takes a few minutes to straighten all thatout. You just can’thave ZOOM meetings without a waiting room.
"Christmas in the Trenches"
Leading a Christmas service for my Beverley friends this morning.Here’s what I had to say:
Luke 1: 26-38
26In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, 27to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. 28And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” 29But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. 30The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. 31And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. 32He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. 33He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” 34Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” 35The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. 36And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. 37For nothing will be impossible with God.” 38Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.
Here we are…the final Sunday of Advent. Our journey is almost at an end. Just 4 more days until Christmas Eve in the most strange of Christmas seasons.As I've walked the city streets, everything seems subdued, toned down, quiet. There are still lights, the midtown shop windows, but it all seems, you know? The parties we’d normally be going to aren’t happening. The extended family visits also curtailed. We’re all shopping on line and the mail is slower than ever.We all wonder what’s up with this virus even as the vaccine begins to make its way around.
Can you see in your mind’s eye the inside of Beverley Church? Decorated for Christmas? And we walk down the stairs and see what Eugene’s been up to and share in the food we all have brought and enjoy the transforming decorations and fellowship with one another? That’s where we see each other today….in our mind’s eye.
Try to see in yourmind’s eye a young woman. All we know when she enters the scene is that she is nobody famous. Who lives in a town, not a city, just a town, a non important town, Nazareth in the upstate region of Galilee. (As Nathanel says in John ,”Can anything good come out of Galilee?”) Tradition tells us she’s a teenager. Luke tells us she’s a virgin. And out of nowhere, an angel appears! And says “Greetings!” But this is where I like the King Jame version better…where the angel says
Hail Mary!
I’m sure Gabriel never imagined he’d become famous in football which didn’t even exist then…Of coursethat started at Notre Dame, but get this, it was a Presbyterian player who suggested they pray!He tells her Hail, thou that art highly favored, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.
Which coming out of nowhere would shake anyone up…can you see thelook on her face? Luke tells us she was “perplexed” and “pondering”…but it gets better..she’s going to “conceive” and “have a son.” Let that sink in..The angel goes on. But I’m sure Mary is still struggling with that pregnant part. Because her first words are, “How can this be, since I am a virgin' ….and for anyone who wants to bring up the fact that in her Hebrew of Isaiah that informs this passage, the word is just young woman, Mary makes it clear. He literal words in Greek are.. " I have never known a man”…which is to say, “ I have never had sex..”And Gabriel tells her ““The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.” Okay then, how does thework?And earlier he had said, 2He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. 33He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” That’s a lot to take in.
And if you’re Mary, what do you think? Well, maybe the first thing you think is, hmmm, most favored? Here I am engaged to a good man from a good family, yeah, he hasn’t done so well, but he’s a good man. And I’m going to be an unmarried pregnant woman? In this town? At best I’ll be a scandalized woman and maybe even taken out and stoned…doesn’t sound so blessed to me..
And the angel’s not done. Her cousin Elizabeth, an old woman, is now six months pregnant. Elizabeth is married to Zechariah, a priest in theTemple. They live in the fancy suburb of Judah just north of Jerusalem. Think Associate Pastor of 5th Avenue or Madison Avenue Presbyterian living in oh, say, Chappaqua. So that makes Mary the poor relative. Elizabeth’s late in life pregnancy os like that of Sarah, Abraham’s wife.SO making barren women pregnant is a standard Biblical event…a virgin is just one step beyond. Did you know around the world how common that Is ? Found at least 10 famous virgin births including Krishna, Bacchus, Hercules and down in Mexico, Quetzalcotel.The Muslims say, if God could created humans out of nothing, hey with a woman you’re halfway there!
Bottom line: with God, anything is possible.
So how long does Mary ponder? How along was she perplexed? Did she hesitate? She says, resolutely, , “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”
So Mary goes off to visit her cousin, and when she arrives, the baby leaps in her cousin’s womb, Elizabeth confirms for Mary what the angel has told her and Mary sings this amazing song:
46b My soul magnifies the Lord, 47 and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, 48 for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; 49 for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. 50 His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. 51 He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. 52 He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; 53 he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. 54 He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, 55 according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”
It’s amazing because the baby isn’t even born yet and she sings as if all these things have already been accomplished. Like Desmond Tutu saying long before apartheit fell, We have already won. The others just haven’t figured it out yet. It’s that knowing, deep inside, at the heart of creation, that it is God’s will that the lowly will be lifted up, the hungry filled. (Mary’s song is a riff on Hannah’ song (1 Samuel 2: 1-10), the mother of Samuel.) It is the already and not yet.
In Nicaragua, in the 1980’s, I heard a woman who had just learned to read in their literacy campaign read this passage and then say that this had come true in her lifetime.
When I was growing up, we were taught that all this Mary business the Catholics do is at best idolatrous. But through my life I’ve come to understand that this song is the reason poor people around the earth venerate Mary as one of them and proof that God wants their concrete life circumstances changed now, not just in the sweet by and by.If you come to thinkabout it, this is what Jesus was talking about in his sermon on the mount, the Beatitudes.
Hear this :Gabriel’s message to Mary and Mary’s song are at the very center of the meaning of the child who’s birth we will celebrate next Friday. This is the why and what of who this child, this Jesus is….
And see this…Mary’s been givenlimited information….it’s heavy, yes, but limited. She says yes to the risk of what many happen to her and without any idea of what will come next. And no idea that this most beloved son ofhers will wind up executed by the imperial Roman oppressors as an insurrectionist, condemned by the religious leaders, abandoned by his friends. In spite of all she does not know, Mary says , Let it be, to me according to thy word.
We have lived through dark days. And they are not over yet. It will take courage to keep walking with one another to the other side.
So here’s the point…just as the angel had a message for Mary, God has a message for us…this Christmas, there is something waiting to be born inside of us. God has something ready to be born in each and every one of us. What we need is to have the courage, like Mary, to say, Here am I…let it be to me according to thy word. And more…if God has something to be born inside each of us, God has something to be born inside your community, inside Beverley Church. I can’t tell you what it is. You just have to listen together and let it be.
Remember …Nothing is impossible for God.
On last word, just like Mary riffed on Hannah’s sing, Paul McCartney and the Beatles riffed on Mary’s song. The words of Let it Be come straight from Luke. NO matter howdark the days, there will be an answer, Let it Be.
****
our concert
In the late afternoon, my friend Steve and I do a virtual holiday concert. Last year at this time we did a pop up concert at the Bethesda fountain in Central Park. Drew a crowd of a 100 or so.Sang harmonies.Not this years. Solos on ZOOM and a team up on White Christmas. Hopefully brought some cheer in the darkest days of this pandemic.
I enjoy cooking. Especially for a family shared meal. This morning , I’m doing a homemade sweet potato pie, starting from raw potatoes.And I’m also making my own guacamole.
Under normal circumstances, there’s that phrase again, I would have headed to my sister’s in the Trenton suburbs for a dinner with her family and my mom and in many years, my New York boys. But not this year.It will just be my core four, me, my boys and their mom. I’m happy that she’s invited us to make a day of it, starting with pancakes and ending with dinner.
This would also be a day for football. But at least 9 of the Steelers’ arch rivals Ravens are positive for Covid, including the quarterback, so the game is postponed until Sunday.That’s a disappointment.
It’s a weird year with most of the country observing strict protocols to avoid Covid and millions of others running around like hey, why not?That vaccine can’t come soon enough. This country is unable to control it any other way.
In a normal year, my neighbor church First Corinthian would be hosting a sit down dinner for any neighborhood hungry. But in coronavirusworld, volunteers are passing out bagged dinners. Turkey breast, rice and beans, stuffing, green beans, cranberry sauce and sweet potato pie. They are alway there when needed.
As we finish breakfast, we call my mom, quarantined and alone in her assisted living facility. Each of us taking a turn.Our frail elderly are all but incarcerated. I can imagine the pain of being alone in lockdown circumstances.
My boys have made macaroni and cheese. Their mom chicken thighs and breasts with Italian sausage and bacon, Brussel sprout salad, cranberry relish and apple crisp. And I brought wine, too. This was a true feast.
Late in the day, ZOOM with extended family. Sitting at the far end of the table, it feels almost like atv show.
It wasn’t usual. But it was what we needed it to be. Even in the coronavirusworld, there is much to be thankful for.
On the way home, I see my first Christmas tree stand.
The young man who lives with me’s younger sister died—of Covid— in Mississippi.So he and his sister drove all the way through the night to get there on time for the funeral. Anxious to be back in time for work, he flew back and reported only to discover that because Mississippi is on the “bad list” he would have to quarantine for two weeks. And so he is housebound.
The morning vote line
As I head outside at 10:30 am, there is a line all round the avenue’s block of people waiting to vote as “early voting” has begun.
A friend has come from Pittsburgh to celebrate her birthday. We’re meeting to tour the Harlem Audobon Bird Murals. Painted by various artists all through Audobon’s old Harlem neighborhood. (https://www.audubon.org/amp) What I find interesting is our responses to Covid. This is my friend’s first venture out of Pittsburgh. Filled with anxiety about the airport and plane. Mask and goggles. She is the first house guest since the lockdown for her friends from Alphabet City. They come to Harlem via car since neither has been on the subway or bus since March. Slowly …and cautiously…they are beginning to check things out. I find this common among friends my age. We are all more careful. It’s leaving the fallout shelter. But it’s still radioactive out there.
bluebird
Audobon birds
Diana and her owl
Audobon grave
In the midst of birds, a memorial: we are still dying
The murals…it takes someone from out of town tell you about something you’ve missed right in your own neighborhood. Some are sketchy. Some are spectacular and arresting. Some have been graffitied already. It’s wonderfully and typically urban in scope and execution. We walk through the streets of this Audubon neighborhood where the immigrant from the Caribbean built his estate neighboring that of his West Indies predecessor Alexander Hamilton. The former
BeauxArt headquarters of the American Geographic Society was the base of operations for various famous polar expeditions, includingthe (Lady)Franklin Polar Exedition, is in the same neighborhood.We go to the Trinity Church Cemetery to visit Audobon’s grave before finishing our tour.
after lunch
Eating Seneglese food under thecanopy at Les Ambasades feels like a normal visit. But the car ride with open windows was a reminder it is not.
Fauci has respect in the hood
Later there’s another walk. Meeting in Morningside, walking through Central Park noting the slowly changing colors as yellow and browns are appearing along with steadily falling leaves. The Public Schools seem to be settling into pattern. But I just heard that my alma mater, after opening, has now shut down again. Both us are filledwith anxiety regarding the election. Earlier at lunch, the other man at the table forbade political talk.
afternoon line
As I head home, the line still runs around the block. This makes me feel good.
10/25
Take a morning off from church. As I step out for coffee and the Sunday Times, I see the round the block line again. My neighbor, who sit outside and watches the street, says people began arriving at 7:30AM and where still there, even in the sub 50’ weather. (9’C) Some has waited three hours the day before without getting to vote.
In our Sunday "international chat"
, our son tells us Germany is up to 900 new cases a day now. He’s more and more convincingly that Covid is there and is not going away and can’t be controlled. Questioning the renewed imposition of protocols. The very thought of being quarantined for two weeks with two preschoolers is daunting. His brothers teasingly accuse him of sounding like a Trump supporter. He replies the difference is that he believes in science and knows it’s real. I know what the protocols are doing to my mom.
Bar 9
It’s cold and drizzling as I make it to Bar9. What once was We Love Songwriters has become something else. Last week there was memo asking us to focus on upbeat covers. This week’s memo banned songs with religious or political references. The owner is worried about business.He’s now lost some artists without appreciable gain in audience. Only one patron has come indoors. Something about the temperature check and id gathering puts people off. (Though all of us performers have to do it. When I get up to sing, the previous performer’s "mic condom" is still on. Icall on the host to remove it…)The rest of us huddle (well kind of, distanced) outdoors as we drink our beers and eat our wings and talk about recording in these corona days. It’s going to be a long winter.
