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Showing posts with label community. Show all posts
Showing posts with label community. Show all posts

Monday, October 3, 2011

World communion and a tag sale


10/2
It’s World Communion Sunday. I am excited to discover that for the first time in over a month I can climb up and unlock the door. I feel like something has been returmed to me.  I go out to the steps and pick up papers  and butts and other detritus  for the first time in weeks.  I’m not yet up to moving furniture around, however. Ana is first to arrive and I ask her to watch things while I go and pick up the bulletins.
I also pick up some grape juice and then go to Barney Greengrass for bread. No round challas left,  only a round pumpernickel. As I’m checking out, Gary says to me, Reverend, if you need anything,we’ll be open tomorrow. And even if you don’t need anything, we’ll still be open anyways. 
Back inside, our guest for today, Ryan Smith of the Presbyterian United Nations ministry  has arrived and under Ana’s direction is moving the table to the front. Candles are placed. We have to send out for mathces. John has arrived. I try not to get anxious as people slowly are gathering.  And there are guests. I’m glad that Andre and Amy are both here.
As we are gathering Hope brings word that yesterday, one of the Saigon Grill protestors was attacked by someone inside. We’re going to need to get a group to visit the precinct. And it seemsthat somehow police helped provoke the situation on the Brooklyn Bridge with the Occupy Wall Street protestors that led to the arrest of over 700 people, including press. Again, the Times is virtually silent while the Post splashes it all over the front cover with the headline The S*#t hits the Span with a full picture. 
We finish the reading of scriptures,  incuding the Exodus version of  the Ten Commandments and Jesus' strange parable of the ungrateful (to say the least) tenants. Definitley not one of the kingdom of heaven is like this parables.  Then I introuduce Ryan who talks of his work in promoting global discipleship through peacemaking. His job is interpreting and advocating for international policy as articulated by the PC(USA) General Assembly.( I find it  ironic that there is a PCUSA General Assembly, A UN General Assembly and the Wall Street Occupiers call their daily discenmnet and decision making meeting the General Assembly.)
Ryan works with Ecumenical Women and Israel-Palestine issues and recently anti-human trafficking. He also speaks of the slavery footprint website that has started to raise conscuousnees as to how things we use get produced.  We share with him our work with the coalition seeking to build a sweatshop free Upper Westside. Of the coalition between the Chinese and Mexican workers. (Take the  slavery survey at http://slaveryfootprint.org/ )


Ryan and Bob
During the offertory, Andre singing, He’s Got the WholeWorld in His Hands, people bring their breads to the table. There is  Puerto Rican, Cuban, Italian and best of all, Marsha’s homemade Texas cornbread muffins.  As we prepare to share communion, I talk about my week, the song smiths of P & G’s, the actors of Woodshed, the communities of mutual respect and apprecaition they created, the encouragement of each other to risk more, to grow, with your freinds beside and behind you. And I asked what it would take for our church to feel like that. That’s a big part of what sharing communion with each other is all about. As Zwingli said, it is not bread and wine that is transformed into  the Body of Chirst, but we oursleves, together. We become the body of the  Risen One. 



We sing our amens, make our greetings. P____ is still concerned about me, but also anxious to talk to Ryan. 
The  congregation meets with Sarah who has brought Ben Valentine, one of the artists of the upcoming Telling the Truth gallery installation scheduled for McAlpin Hall.  He wants to work with us, have an ongoing dialogue, not just install a show, have a party and leave.  


Sarah, Ben and Marsha 

The Session meets to work on our boiler strategy and other parish concerns. Sarah and Danielle want to come to clarity about what exactly do we want Woodshed to leave. Already, they are going room to room, marking and pricing things, preparing for the tag sale. I look to see what’s mine/ours. Then head to the Firehouse to watch part of the Steeler game with Andrea. 
We come back at 3 and join Katheirne for a walk through the building. She has been surprised to find things of hers she hadn’t seen in years which had become part of the set. Like the Buddhist meditation chair her mother had given her and a raised ceramic Eucharistic bread plate. They eye some deco furniture, and  a floor lamp tucked away in a corner. 
Some actors have come to claim part of their apartments. Jocelyn has brought her leg braces to sell, which go pretty quickly. Bought by teenage boys. I’m not going think about that for very long. Andrea says it’s overwhelming seeing the level of delapidation as the building begins to return to itself. It’s a bit painful seeing the Parisian apartment building that existed just last night beginning to disapper. People are walking around eying, buying, various   intriguing items. Actors wander around, look for awhile, perhaps share a hug, a see you soon, then one by one go off. Katherine has left her items with Teddy for John H to pick up tomorrow. Andrea has left.
I take today’s communion cups, one made by John H with the church on the outside and people on the inside, and one by Andrea’s mother Pat, downstairs to wash and clean before I leave.  

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

It's about community


9/26


Jeremy has come by. I wanted him to hear me play and see if we could work anything out for the P & G's  concert tonight at West-Park. I warm up with Leonard Cohen’s Bird on a Wire, what I sang years ago with Jed at a special benefit at West-Park. Then I suck it up, take a breath, and start in on my own songs. The piano and guitar thing is not really working. He pushes me in some good directions. Especially on getting a groove and not swallowing punch lines. Its loosening up. I feel good, though my fingers hurt and I’ll be nervous all day. Jeremy tells me that my songs are good. Depressingly good.
Why depressingly?
Well, I work really hard at it, he says, I don’t like to think just anybody can write well. 
I laugh. I’m not just anybody, I say.
Deacon James stops in. He’s bothered by the effects of the chemo. Taking more out of him than he’d like. 
All afternoon RL and Dave are setting up sound, resetting lights, getting ready for the evening. For one night, we’ll recreate P & G’s at West-Park.
The doors open at 7. Deacon James has come to hear me perform.  RL will hold off starting until we’ve got at least three civilians, as he puts it. RL opens followed by a spoken word poet. And then he introduces me. I feel a bit odd that he calls me Church Bob, but I am accepting that this closeted singer-songwriter me and the pastor of West-Park me are the same me. 

RL Haney

I’ve got Amanda’s New York guitar. We found P & Gs together. That was where she first played in New York City. Open mikes and her afternoon showcase. And she used many of the P & G’s folks in her December Balcony Music Festival. Piano Dan and David and RL all P&G’s regulars. I plug in her guitar, take a breath and jump in. 
Doing this is a  bit like preaching ( at its best). You walk off the ledge and see  if you can get across to the other side without crashing. You can feel the rushing of the wind. I start with a New Mexico song. And a song about a well. And finish with my song about the old Greenwich Village club, the Bottom Line. 
I look out at the faces. There are smiles. Looks of pleasant surprise. When I finish, I know. I held my own. 
Over the course of the night, there are solo acts. Bands. Irish music. Sea songs. A woman violinist and jazz singer. The amazing Piano Dan. And Mandola Joe. And RL’s Western song stories. Classic rock. And many good shout outs to Steve, the man who made P&G’s what it was. Who welcomed them all.  
Hank from Coyote Love tells me my lyrics blew him away. Lots of folks have thoughts of maybe doing this again on a regular basis. Maybe once a month.  There’s a jar marked donations for renovations. RL’s idea. We collect almost $400.
Jeremy arrives shortly after ten. Does a mini set with a shout out to the late Jack Hardy who hosted a pasta and song writers’ night every Monday in the Village. He was friends with Dave van Ronk. Mentored Suzanne Vega, the Roches, Lyle Lovett. And Jeremy. RL’s wife is wearing a t-shirt from Jack Hardy’s memorial service. On the back it says Shut up and play the song. 
It’s past midnight. Still going strong. And in walks Jack’s old partner David Massengill.  Whose own writing far surpassed Jack’s. He playes his dulcimer. Sings Kill the Rich (it’s a satire, he says), his Orphan Train song, then Forever Love, and finally  his Great American Dream, which my uncle-in-law David Sear also once recorded. At that hour, at that moment, he was magic. 

The "Folk Brothers" David Massengill and Jack Hardy

So why did I want to do this? it’s about community. Martin Luther King, Jr. said that community was God’s love in action. It’s community that I find sacred, wherever it’s found. In church, in a cafe, in a bar, around a soccer field. Anywhere people accept each other as they are and offer care and support for each other. That’s what I saw at the Monday night open mike at P&G’s:  community, acceptance, mutual care and respect. And that’s why I invited them to West-Park. Makes me sad sometimes that community is found more at some other places than the church. But I believe God blesses it, wherever its found. 
If I, if we, together, could truly create, be a community, I would be happy. 
It’s late. RL wants to go off in search of a proper drink.  And i need to go home. 

                                          * * * * 

    The Great American Dream - David Massengill
    Excuse me sir... I am a foreigner I left the white sands of Zanzibar Where is this place you call free lunch bar? I am hungry and have overstayed my visa I'll work your farm your factory your pizzeria Is TV more beautiful than the Mona Lisa Someday my sons will I fight for the eagle My daughters will never be ashamed of me It is my dream... to be a citizen It's the Great American Dream It's the Great American Dream It's the Great American DreamExcuse me sir... I am a prostitute Just pretend that I'm a Playboy bunny For a Franklin I will tongue your tummy My body is a battlefield and a flower Four score and seven tricks by the hour O the many men--one might have been my father Gonna make my getaway in a zeppelin Take a bubble bath in the fountain of youth It is my dream... to be a girl again In the Great American Dream Excuse me sir... I am a writer Tho' the critics are jealous of my genius They say I'm writing with my penis Perhaps you've read my work in True Confessions It pays the rent and fuels my obsessions On the sly I give elocution lessons Someday I'll write the Great American Novel To be required reading in the Ivy League It is my dream... to die infamous It's the Great American Dream Excuse me sir... I am a carpenter Once I built a treehouse for Rockefeller Tho' now I've been laid off since December Someday I'll build a castle all my own In the den the best laz-e-boy throne In every room a different color phone These torn hands are skilled as spiders I hear there's work in Kansas building coffins It is my dream... to be cremated It's the Great American Dream Excuse me sir... I am an Indian O the white man is as greedy as fire His heart is wrapped around with barbed wire My father died of whiskey and religion But ghosts are cheap on the reservation In the summer we're a tourist attraction It is wrong to squeeze the earth like a snake A deceit to give a stone to the hungry one It is my dream... to skin a Pilgrim And the Great American Dream Excuse me sir... I am Everyman I'm the good thief of Jekyll and Hyde I'm the social climber on a mountain of pride I'm the deaf the dumb and the debonaire I'm the mouse the monk and the millionaire I'm the Great White Hope riding an old grey mare I'm the sad-eyed girl as young as the earth I'm the mother who died giving birth To the Great American Dream I love freedom I hope freedom loves me