Madness and sweet music

6/25

Being without a cell phone leaves one feeling cut off from the world.

Approaching the church, I see squad cars with their flashing lights parked in front of the church. I see Martin’s assistant Mitchell standing by the door. I ask him what’s going on. He seems quite distraught. Seems he’s had a run in with one of our people who came into his office, questioned his use of candles then began going through his work papers. After repeated requests for the person to leave, he had no recourse but to call the police. 

Now the Captain has arrived.  We go inside to have a discussion. Lots of issues here, including a pet that needs care. I talk with the captain. We negotiate an agreement. There will be two summons given. A court appearance. But if there is cooperation, release from custody. Mitchell agrees too. After some further conversation with our detainee, we’re settled. Cuffs off. Release. 

It’s all over except for Mitchell’s feelings of sadness and my complete frustration as to how to deal with someone who deeply cares about the church, has grown increasingly proprietary and continually crosses boundaries. I don’t know what to do. ( ....and the man was clothed and in his right mind.... how I wish I could do that....)

As the situation is calming down, Soli and Eric arrive also wondering  what’s going on. We see an

unknown person heading into the church and Mitchell and I jump to see what’s going on. Then we see another bunch of people arriving. They point to the poster on the door. That’s us, they say. The Australian Voices. A vocal group from  Australia here to rehearse for their Wednesday night performance. They point to themselves on the poster, switching roles with a sense of humor.

So I walk them into the sanctuary and give them the story of West-Park, the archo-socio-historical one and they feel excited to be here.  All day long their voices lift me. Ethereal and earthy. From pristine English style harmony to throat singing and indigenous sounds. Ralph from Ethel joins them with his cello for another piece. Everything that makes up Australia. Madness and sweet music.  That makes the day. 

Jerry is on the steps all afternoon. Sullen. Noncommunicative. When I ask if he’s OK, what’s up with Anthony, he shakes his head and says, If he wants to die, that’s his business...

Late in the afternoon, our Session arrives to make plans for our strategic planning session coming up Thursday night and also review our current real estate situation. We’re holding fast on that, despite the risk. As long as there’s a chance....

The context for strategic planning involves many things. The long struggle with the building has distracted us from the core or our being, the congregation itself. That’s where we need to begin. For Hugo, it’s about our testimony, our witness. When Stephen describes how the church’s response to #OWS moved him to want to come closer, how Marsha’s public thanks moved him, Hugo says, That’s it, that’s testimony. And Marsha wants us to begin by asking what keeps us here. This group that has endured so much...That is where we will begin....(http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2012/01/casting-out-demons-amends-who-didnt-pay.html )

I’m walking home late with the left over ice tea. As I approach the Baptist church, the lost boy appears. 

Pastor Bob, Pastor Bob...I'm thirsty...can you...I hold out the iced tea. Thank you, thank you..I'm going to the church, going to  clean up the steps right now...I say, It's OK, it really is...enjoy the iced tea. 

The night is very warm, It's summer,

Election day. And reflections on crazy

11/6

Election Day. Long lines at the polls. Wondering what that might mean. 

Teddy and Martin  are scratching their heads over a puzzling interaction. Martin almost literally dumbfounded. I’m reading over and over again an e-mail that has come out of nowhere. Interpretations of looks. Moral accusations. It’s disturbing.  Pondering craziness. On the one hand, it’s always scary when you realize the other person's  not just using language tactically but actually believes what they are saying is true. Is real. And also that sometimes bipolar people can sense something, can find that weak place in you and go for it.  And I’m thinking how in small congregations the problem is so much more pronounced. Larger congregations can buffer, absorb. Smaller ones can be turned into stages for drama for apocalyptic narratives played out. Lived out. And preponderance of madness can actually scare away more normal people needed to create balance.  There must be openness and acceptance but management is another issue.

My first call was at a large downtown church with over 5000 members.  We had a resident pastoral counselor on staff.  He was good at helping me find words that could respond to the irrational in objective ways. You need to be aware that I do not share your perception......For him it was so natural. What I hate the most are the charges that go to my own deepest fears, misgivings, self doubts, regrets.... It bothers me to still be bothered hours later.  When someone comes to me with a problem that  is beyond my capacity, I can easily draw the line and refer them on. But when they don’t even realize they have a problem, I have no idea what to do....I’m wondering if PHEWA’s Serious Mental Illness Network is anywhere near still active. It’s occupying my thoughts today.

A steady stream of people keep coming in, wanting to vote. They will not  believe me when I say this isn’t the place. I finally read a letter and realize that they’re looking for  SPSA  two blocks down the 86th Street. A woman comes in wanting to drop off clothes she has collected. When I begin to tell her no, she almost cries, Please I’ve been three places already. So I accept them. 

I look up, notice Teddy is finishing a tour with a young couple. Steven and Tara. She’s from the neighborhood, he’s from Northern Ireland. A Protestant at that. So I give them the standard architectural/social history tour of the church. And then we talk about the bars in the neighborhood, our preferences for the Gate, and maybe the Dead Poet.  Teddy says So if you see an old man with long white hair and a cowboy hat, tell him he can’t sing and his songs are no good. 

I’ve got to make a condolence call. Then maybe my own visit to RL. Then watch the returns on an agonizingly close race.