Living in cornavirusworld 260: Holy Thursday

4/1

Better Together

 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 a  child, 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 the  church. 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 institution  of chattel slavery. Exclusion of Chinese (after they built the transcontinental  railroad), 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….

true repentance

Living in Coronavirusworld 18: It's Maundy Thursday

4/9

The Last ZOOM

It’s Maundy Thursday…when Christians commemorate the Last  Supper. A popular internet meme shows the Last Supper as if  it were on ZOOM, each disciple in their own square.  I remember how I used to enjoy the quiet candlelit simple agape tennebrae services at Good Shepherd-Faith, our years of services  at West-Park with my colleague Katherine and my first experiences with the ritual of footwashing.

So A. Philip Randolph Park is closed. 

A. Philip Randolph Park is closed

It’s not that big for one who started the first African-American union, of Pullman sleeping car porters. He was a key organizer of  the 1964 March on Washington where a young Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr made his mark on the American conscience. He once said, "The idea of separatism is harkening to the past and it is undesirable even if it could be realized, because the progress of mankind has been based upon . . .social, intellectual and cultural contact." It’s a small neighborhood park. Just big enough for a few men to gather and talk about martial law and the rest of what they see  coming. They are the kind of people  Rev. William Barber's Poor People’s Campaign should be organizing. No gathering there now, not even the informal ad hoc encounters that  make a neighborhood a neighborhood. Closed until  further notice. 

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It’s now official that we have lost  twice more the number of Americans to to the Coronavirus as to 9-11, over 6000.  I need to repeat that. There is a certain numbness….      

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I keep hearing from old friends, even old girl friends, who just because I live in New York City, in the eye of the storm so to speak,  want to know that I’m okay.  I find that kind of comforting      

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In the midst of all these deaths, I find myself especially saddened by the loss of singer-songwriter John Prine. He was soooo good. Maybe because my voice has been  compared to his?   

(https://www.facebook.com/dian.killian/videos/10210618178481538/UzpfSTU3ODk4MzM2MDozMDYwNjExMjk0OTk0MTQ6MTA6MDoxNTg4MzE2Mzk5Oi02MDAxNzU4OTkzMTU0NTMzNzQx/)     

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At the nurse’s action, on a light pole, there was a flyer comparing the Trump-Pence reopens etc the evokes to the  plan for epidemics contained in the constitution for a socialist republic of North America written by Revolutionary Communist Party Chair Bob Avakian. (https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/?shva=1#search/rev+com/FMfcgxwHMjpZnvkbDLpphBMBzHQhZFdG?projector=1&messagePartId=0.1)  I could write a whole other essay on my history with communists,  some of the best people I have ever known, but this is not that. Whatever else you might say about Avakian, he is certainly thorough in cases like this laying  out what a decent, effective and efficient governmental policy related to public health and epidemics might look like. Written years before this Corona virus global pandemic just because, well, epidemics happen. They are part of our life. Certainly not like this one, but….Suffice it to say, if I had to choose between Trump and the Rev Coms, well, all power to the people.  I wish there was more of their info here but there are only a pair of ardent Spartacists on the fringe. 

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I spend most of the day in tech land. Trying to learn how to host an open mic on ZOOM.  My buddy Steve is helping me, since he’s got this down. Of course he thought it was Friday already, but that happens to all of us.  And also trying to revive an interactive online meeting place for  my long-forgotten colleagues in then Presbyterian Health Education and Welfare Association who are currently serving on the front limes of the epidemic. I inch closer, but it’s slow work. I finish my day by watching game 7 of the 1960 World Series where my hometown Pirates came back to win from the indomitable New York Yankees with a walk-of homerun in the bottom of the 9th. I was 10 years old. It allowed me to believe that anything can be possible. I’d never seen the whole game before. Comparing the  game of 60 years ago to today was fascinating, not the least being it was an hour faster in all than most games today. I loved the strategic battle of wits between the Yankees “ole professor” Casey Stengel and Danny “the little Irishman” Murtaugh of the Pirates. Of course the game itself could have been scripted by a combination of Garcia - Marquez and Disney.  Somewhere inside of me, Bill Mazeroski’s homer is always sailing over the left field wall into Schenley Park, Yogi Berra staring into the sky helpless and forlorn. 

It's Maundy Thursday. 

                                                                                                                          

Maundy Thursday

4/17

Ready for Easter

Maundy Thursday. The day we remember the last supper of Jesus, possibly a Passover seder. Or the night before.

Marina is taking on a business discussions role with Noche. Hmmm. I’ve enjoyed watching her become more and more integral to the company.

The Frog & Peach cast is putting in long hours preparing for King John.

Berik raising a banner

Berik and Leila have arrived to hang the Bread & Puppet banners that they gave to us as parting gifts.  We bring in David S to help with the project because a tall man is needed. And after some time in negotiating and strategizing, the banners are hung. The bring back to me the sense of spirit and life that the company brought to us during their residency. There is a simple, affirming funkiness to their cheap art that somehow conjures that time known as the sixties and a down home rural rootsy America at the same time. (Although that always was part of the sixties ethos). It makes me happy to see the banners up. Proclaiming spring. The renewal time of Easter. And reminding me of the joy of having B&P with us.

At the end of the day, RL stops in, just because.

The speak for themselves

For past Maundy Thursdays, see http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/search?q=maundy+thursday

For more about Bread & Puppet, see  http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/search?q=bread+%26+puppet

Maundy Thursday, Holy Thursday

3/26

Need a break. UP to RL’s studio for a quiet sit. He’s playing classical music for a change. We share complaints and stories of woe. If it were music, it would be the blues. There’s a group called Mudfoot coming in to shoot a music video on Saturday. We want to check them out, but the Internet is disappearing again. Stephen comes down to give it a look. I’ve got t be on y way to my colleague Alistair’s for a screening  of Of Gods and Men....a film about the seven Trappist monks kidnapped from the monastery of Tibherine during the Algerian civil war of 1996. Perfect film for Holy Week.

3/28

It’s Maundy Thursday. Holy Thursday. The night we remember Jesus gathering with his friends to celebrate the Passover. The last supper. Danielle meets me in the sanctuary. RL passes through and allows as to how he’s bemused encountering us in the sanctuary trying to figure out what we’re doing in the sanctuary. Stephen and Danielle have prepared the table. It’s already set with fresh grapes, mozzarella, basil and tomatoes. Welch’s grape juice. 

I go out for two cheeses. Matzoh. Wine.  I’m in a state of rising anxiety trying to finish packing up my manse for its renovation. And ultimate sale. Feeling fragile. While I’m racing round trying to get ready, I encounter Rachelle on the steps. Tonight it’s almost too much. She’s heading to Borough Park for a seder. Telling me about all that they’ll have left over.  She can’t carry it. All we need is someone with a car. Am I sure that I don’t know anyone with a car? Why not? Punctuated by horror stories from capital hall where she lives. I’ve been trying to figure out what ‘s wrong with my debit card until I discover I put the deposit in the wrong account. Just enough to run out and run back again. But she’s relentless. I pull away.

When I come back, she’s gushing over a nice young couple, an intelligent young couple,won’t they come in? They’re just in town and just married. Won’t they come in, pastor invite them in...They are glowing, I try to be nice. Realize I’m being unpleasant. Not good. I try to reverse course, probably too late. Maybe they’ll come back tomorrow. Rachelle’s about to chide me. Looks at me. Thinks better of it. I wish her again a happy pesach. 

My phone  rings. It’s P_____. I know what she’s up to. About to accuse me of betraying her again. She's still angry we wouldn't let her move in. Madness is beginning to get to me. Stephen sees and decides to stick around. We are very small. So I ask everyone to sit down. Speak quietly and calmly. And so the conversation  goes. Anna and puppy have arrived as well. 

I remember last year. Teddy leaning across to wipe Bobby’s mouth. The warmth of the circle around the table. Each year is different. But I do begin  calm down. Relax.

Stephen promises me he’ll be sure everythings ‘s cleaned up right. My keys see to be missing. Son Dan and Andrea waiting at the Indian restaurant beside the B. 

Maundy Thursday: Economically unsustainable, but beautiful

 4/3 and 4/4 

Teddy and I struggle to get Wesley and Antonia moving off the steps...short time at the office, working with Danielle, the daily visit of our US Post Office mail carrier who always greets us cheerfully and stops for a chat....

4/5

Meet with Don to talk about church, how Disenchanted is going and how he enjoyed Newsies with its working class themes...

There’s that middle aged white guy asleep on the steps again. Marc Greenburg of Interfatih Assembly drops by to pick up a check from the Halbreich Foundation. Chris feeling a bit down, imprtessed that no one has left a mark in the new concrete sidewalks. 

Runi has much on her mind. I feel the swirl that is racingg around her head. I know what that feels like. I try to get her to focus in on just one thing, find one issue that Danielle and I can help her with. And keep thinking about the days that I’m not too far removed from that feeling. Like most of the week, with everything that’s going on, not always sure where to begin.

People gathering for Maundy Thursday. Tables set up in the the sanctuary. Soft candlelight. Simple meal of bread, cheese, grapes, wine...Mark fron the UN has joined us, pitching in to help set up. David and Donna from the  Occupiers have joined us for the first time. Jane, Jamie, Anna and Puppy, Hope, Arcadia and Hugo,Teddy. 

While we are gathering, I ask each person to talk about the most interesting thing that happened that day. I mention that Don had lunch with Katherine’s friend Bonnie, who had produced the play about the Triangle Shirtwaist fire at Judson. How she was one of the first who said we had to come back into the church, start living there even before repairing everything.  We talk about the Passover story. How the Hebrew word for Egypt, mitzrayim, means the narrow place, the tight place...and we share the tight spaces we all are living in. Jane mentions the birth canal, a metaphor we can all respond to. And Jamie has trouble getting past God’s killing of the first born. And I completely get it. Even though in the passover seder, a drop of i eis taken ffor our cups to symbilize our joy dimished by the suffering if the Egyptians, you just can’t nuance your way around the angel of death. What kind of God are we dealing with here? 

We talk about footwashing and I remember the first time I ever did that with Kevin, a Seventh Day Aventist student of mine back at the University of Bridgeport. When  Deacon Ken introduced us to the ritual here at West-Park. The times we did it right here in the sanctuary. For me the sense of uncomfort combined with humility.Talk about the foot ministry of First Presbyterian, Atlanta. Pedicures, new socks for the homeless. How important the treatment of feet...and shoes.... are for the poor.

Tonight we share a handwashing ritual, perhaps more appropriate in our own day. Remembering the ritual created by Scott Matheny for the haggadah-like Maundy service at Good Shepherd-Faith  that has inspired our own. Thinking about all the places  our hands have been over the course of the day, subway poles, metal straps on buses....we symbolically wash each others’ hands. 

We use the matzoh and celebrate the last supper like Jesus and his friends. Connecting the passover story and Holy Week. The paradigm stories, the ur stories for each of our tradtions. I read the Corinthians words we use to institute the eucharist. Jamie asks about consecration. And its a good discussion. I mention that I come from the left end of the reformed tradtion and Jane and others laugh a bit. Really? But I explain that I’m talking about Zwingli. That it’s us who get transformed into the body and blood, not the bread and wine. 

 Jane smiles, says how beautiful it is.

We finish with our simple meal. Anna has brought a variety of pies. As if to make everything perfect, Bobby comes in and sits at the end of the table. Teddy leans over, whispers to him, helping him to clean up a little. He is gentle, firm, caring. Hope and Jane and I looking down the table. Someone says it feels like da Vinci or Vermeer, the candlelight, the deep red mahoganys of the wood. 

 I laugh and say, yeah, economically unsustainable, but beautiful. Like the conmmunion of saints.The kindom of God. The way its supposed to be. 


All that's left is to strip the altar and pepare for Good Friday.