Ecclesiastical hangover

5/22

Brief in between stopover at the church. Between the lectionary study and a meeting at the Presbyterian United Nations mission. A common response from colleagues is that yesterday’s interminable Presbytery meting  in the furthest north neighborhood in the Bronx has resulted in ecclesiastical hangover.  Which my friend Mark connects to an uncontrollable desire for Ben and Jerry’s. 

From last night, the Woodlawn section of the Bronx, right on the Yonkers border, feels almost normal in the context of New York City. Small one  family houses with driveways. A sense of space. In an empty Presbyterian Church, we have  established a new Ghanaian congregation. In the whitest neighborhood in the Bronx. A growing home to Irish immigrants.Ghanaians are in the south and west of the Bronx,not the  far northeast. Is this a good idea? The congregation is growing but.....

Stephen has the latest on the Red Bull concert. Later we’ll met with Marc to begin to figure out how to clear the space for the concert next  week. A major undertaking. While we are talking, Angelo appears. he is like a will o' the wisp, or one of his angelitos, to invite me to an opening at a major midtown gallery tomorrow.

I see Deacon James near a coffee cart on 86th. His voice is high and reedy. My voice is changing..at my age!Aint no teenager anymore...And the conversation goes to hassles with the Veterans Administration and chemo and...

There’s an old man. Always wearing a  Fargo hat  even in the warmest of weather. I lean  close. Hear: He  that believeth in me shall not perish but have everlasting life. I say Amen. He looks at me and responds, Amen. And then wanders off. 

Another man walks up, looks the church doors and says  Shit hole, and walks off. Well then.

As the day ends, the Sanctuary choir has gathered in the sanctuary with Jeremy.  I hear them sing what if God was one  of us, with Teresita on the lead. I’ve heard it too many times. But I am happy they are here.

Good News

5/20

Gregory stops in. He’s one of the guys that Teddy met on the steps and helped get hooked up with a place to live and a job. He’s still got both, but needs some help to pay his bills. (Me too.) So I give him what I have. Knowing the cost.

Jen from next door stops by with her baby, checking out the space in planning her upcoming alumni party. And the conversation about planning something next year for the 50th anniversary of the Goodman, Cheney, Schwerner murders continues. 

Stephen is finishing up details for the Red Bull concert coming up. Martin continues to be concerned about numbers, so work will continue.  

RL has brought in a young man from England, Ross, who cones to  the Gate when he’s in  town to visit his Upper West Side girl friend. I decide to take a break, join them on the balcony and do my quick socio-architectural tour of West-Park. He’s especially interested in the social history. 

RL pulls back a piece of cardboard covering a hole in the wall. We discover a treasure trove of video tapes, clothes, pieces of sound equipment. RL holds up his hands, shrugs his shoulders. And we both know what this means. It’s an issue I’ve got to deal with, uncomfortable as it is.

They go off to move somethings for RL. Later in the day, Poet Tim drops in after trying to repair RL’s pesky Internet. They’ll be off to the Gate soon. The day is almost over. 

5/21

A short day because a lengthy Presbytery (church governing body) meeting looms in the farthest north corner of the Bronx. It will take awhile to get there. 

Stephen alerts me that two men from another church are here to inquire about space for worship.

They are a young Filipino named Mikey and his equally young Korean pastor. We sit and talk. They are excited by the tour given them by Brother Stephen. They have been met with rejection everywhere else they have visited. Been told they needed an appointment to meet the pastor. No appointment needed here. 

When they tell me they are from the Good News Church, I knew what that means. Pretty much knew when I met them. The young pastor is earnest, eager, passionate. Raised a Presbyterian in Korea. (There are over 100 Korean Presbyterian denominations, continuing to split and divide almost daily over fine  points of theology. Somehow the strict side of Calvinism found a good connection with the Confucian Korean culture and took root....) He tells me how he was dirty until he found Jesus.

Goes on to tell me about his missionary work in Mexico, saving a 13 year old mother, an angry man with SIDA (Spanish for AIDS)....all saved by giving their life to Jesus. I can feel the evangelical  zeal burning  in his heart.

I explain that we’ve already got two services here on Sundays. And I wonder if he’s seen the rainbow flag. I give him a brochure about our history. He’ll figure it out. Tell him he can begin by writing a proposal, knowing that it’s not going to work.

Sometimes I wish I could go there. The certainty. The security. The peace of having every question answered. All you have to to do is....But I can’t. Too much remains mysterious. As God should be. The path I’ve chosen has to be one of inclusion, welcome, acceptance. What my mentor Dan Allen back in Tulsa called unqualified acceptance. It’s more about choosing to follow Jesus than believe in a convoluted sacrificial scheme where God sets up an impossible situation then sends His son to die for what he set up in the first place. Can’t go there. 

The message of love, of standing with the least of these, seems so simple and clear. Living it out, well, that’s harder. Good News.

Off to the Bronx.

Pentecost 2013

5/19

Bob, Kimberley and Lindsay

Pentecost. Memories of last night linger. Kimberley arrives with her friend Lindsay. Informs me that her friend AJ won’t be able to make  it and I’ll have to take his part.  Scrambling around to clean up, prepare for the service knowing my  regular staff won’t be there. Then I bring Kimberley and Lindsay in to explain that due to last night’s implosion, I don’t know what to expect. I’m already getting the too exhausted text messages. It’s almost 11, I say, and right now I’ve got two sleeping people in the sanctuary. One of whom is homeless. We hear the door swing open. There’s someone else says, Kimberley. No that’s the homeless woman leaving, I say.

So we rehearse. And one by one the faithful regulars appear. Kimberley has constructed a dramatic liturgy of the Tower of Babel and Pentecost, including passages from CS Lewis and Mary Daly. And in the middle, a gospel song about a river that won’t run dry and I can’t help but throw in the bass with their close two part harmony. 

We gather around the table for food after and Marc brings out his George Harrison guitar and I play I’ll fly away with Kimberley and Lindsay joining in. And I enjoy the chance to sing. 

A steady rain is falling. We’re not going to table today. The rain has caused a jack o’ lantern effect with the booths down Amsterdam, more gaps than teeth.

I’m very thankful for all Kimberley has added this year and need to find a way to bring her back next fall. And musical ideas are filling my head. I share Rest Awhile with them before they leave. Sad to see Kimberley go. 

Jamie and I head to brunch and to catch up.

No softball today, either. 

I come back for Sanctuary’s Hear it Out! theatre reading, the dream of Pernell to feature new plays from the African-American community. Today’s is The Lord’s Resistance by Camille Darby, starring and directed by Tony awarded winner Tonya Pinkins. 

Tonya Pinkins

It may not be finished yet, but it is strong. The story of a Ugandan child soldier, after rehab, adopted by a professional African-Americn couple in Chicago, whose home ks a battleground if its own.  Glad that Tony has added her spirit to these walls. And wishing we could figure out more how to work together.  

Walk home in the still falling rain. Exhausted. Waiting for that wild spirit to blow through. Pentecost.

Carman Moore and the Sky Orchestra

Gallery by Marc Stager

Daisy Jopling

Eli Fountain

Eric Johnson

Kenneth Bichel

Linda Wetherill

Premik Russell Tubbs

Sky Orchestra, Carman Moore, conducting

A certain imprecision

5/18

The farmers are arriving and setting up their stands. They’ve come from upstate and far away to share their wares today...grass fed beef, fresh organic eggs, sunflower oil....

farmers

Stephen helps me set up a stand to pass out West-Park information. Kimberley comes to sit at the table with me and also to discuss her service for Pentecost tomorrow. The smell of cooking burgers on the grill begins to float my way. Soon Pat and Larry have arrived and put down a new rug, bookcase and lamp in  the ongoing transformation of the office into a more organized, usable, professional space. 

Tours of the church are beginning, not a constant flow like last fall, but about one an hour. 

Martin stops by and we talk about Marina and Sol on last night’s flamenco performance and where the numbers now stand as we try and arrive at a workable plan.

City Council candidate Helen Rosenthal pedals up on her bike and renews again her pledge to rally the neighborhood for the support that has been promised (and not delivered) since landmarking. 

Lisa from next door is by to schedule a party for her alumni group but the conversation turns to next year and the upcoming 50th anniversary of the Goodman, Schwerner, Cheney murders in  Mississippi during the Freedom Rides. Andrew Goodman had lived right next door to West-Park. (That was when the Upper West Side was the Upper West Side...) We need to plan something here. 

Don and Stephen

Don drops by to help with me. In between China trips with a gig in Inner Mongolia to come. I do a tour with him, docent training if you like. The afternoon is turning cool and rainy.

Deacon Linda stops and says Hello.

A man comes up and asks do we have programs to help homeless musicians and when I say no, gets indignant and walks off. 

The smell of fresh popcorn is in the air. 

Leila comes to join me at the table and we discuss whether food or art is an easier street sale and she clearly believes food. 

Leila

Carman Moore and his Sky Orchestra are arriving for their final rehearsal before tonight’s concert. Beppe comes in to share a slice of pizza while other are rehearsing their own numbers.  They’ll be taking a break soon.

Lonnie the business manager for the Rioulh dance company drops by and swaps service stories with Steve. We realize that we haven’t done programs yet for tonight’s concert so need to scramble to do that.

The farmers were planning on staying until tonorrow’street festival but forecast of continued cold and rain leads them to pack up and head home, many miles to travel. There’s a predictable last minute rush to buy farm products. Some are anxious to establish a regular market. It’s an opportunity to not only establish an urban market for their food but also to engage the Upper West Side public in a conversation about food justice issues like the negative effects of corn dependence and how wheat production/distribution contributed to the social causes of Arab Spring.

The afternoon ends on an upswing....

                           * * * * 

The audience arrives for Carman’s concert. His followers have been waiting ten years for this reunion. The opening piece begins with Beppe on bowls and builds and swirls from there with Catarina’s projections filling the screen and Kiori dancing on the pulpit.

I’ll bet you’ve never had a dancer on the pulpit before? someone asks.

No but we’ve had actors on the altar. 

We have Eric Johnson’s performance  on the Beckstein. Premik Russell Tubbs sax ranging from Kenny G mellow to far rangier places, Eli Foubtain’s Afro-Latin percussion, Daisy Jopling’s violin....

The musicians love the sound, the roundness of it, far better than the echo-delay of massive cathedrals like St. John the Divine where they were in residence for ten years.  Kenneth Bichell says how good it sounds, I invite him to come back, he tells  me he’s come all the way from Mexico City for this reunion.

Then after the concert, things fall apart. Stars with my missing iPhone. I use my Find my iPhone app on my Ipad, expecting it to appear right here. But the green dot is moving to 88th and Amsterdam, then 89th and Broadway so I panic and a Keystone Cops scene ensues as I take off in pursuit. Sergeant Keith asks what’s up? I tell him and he’s all Marines to the rescue and he takes off with Los  Rodriguez, it's all the lost patrol on a mission. Then I see the green dot go back to West-Park then move towards me again. Long story but it appears it never left the building. I am relieved, but realize there are must be certain imprecisions with the app.

A dispute has arisen starting with one of my people. It gets further and further off the charts. I forget my first rule, never try to have a rational conversation in an  irrational situation. I should have said, this is an important conversation, but we’re not having it now. All please leave. But I get sucked into trying to resolve the unresolvable. 

People observing are disturbed. I know that some will feel exhausted and not come to Kinberley’s farewell tomorrow. It gets later.

Bob and Carman

Finally I get to spend somne time with Carman, but iI missed Beppe and Cararina and....

And there it is again. The West-Park reality. Stunning, exquisite beauty as a dream gets fulfilled a reuniuoin takes place....and then disturbing madness. A certain imprecision in the apps....

It's about family

5/17

Jen from next door has come with her daughter to look at some spaces. For her alumni group. She’s one  of the women who planned and helped a successful candidates’ forum to happen. But more than that, she’s on the board of the Goodman Foundation. As in Goodman, Schwerner and Cheyney. In 1964, three Freedom Riders were murdered in Mississippi. One of them, Andrew Goodman, lived next door to West-Park. Next summer is the 50th anniversary of this watershed event during the American Civil Rights journey. We need to have an event here, next door to where he lived, to reflect on that experience and what it meant, what it means today. We agree to work on that together.

Jeremy is in to finally take down his set up from the candidates’ forum. We want to take in another Knicks game together, if they manage to survive.  

Marc is hard a work setting up for Carman Moore’s rehearsal later today.

Stephen and Mitchell are hard at work going over figures to make something work.

Carman Moore’s Sky Orchestra has arrived for their rehearsal. The sounds of their music swell and fill the walls of the church. It feels loose and free flowing but he is exacting and knows precisely what he wants us to hear. I watch Kiori’s body against Catarina’s projections and the sound of Beppe’s bowls. Later, we’ll stand on the steps and talk over the events of the week. My strangely rising sense of hope.  I am so thankful for Beppe’s bringing this event our way. And that after having experienced so many performances here he’s  now a performer himself. Beppe has brought this gift to this place. While talking with him, I feel the warmth of the sun, things are feeling better. 

(Why do mice always look so sneaky running across a floor?)

RL drops in for a visit. Asks how it’s going. I tell him. He invites me to visit him at his office. 

About 3 PM Stephen tells me the numbers work. It seems we have a plan.  At 6 PM  Martin tells me the don’t. OK, enough for now. marina and Sol from Noche are dancing with another flamenco group tonight in the East Village. I’m on my way. 

I remember my first experience of flamenco in New Mexico. The sound of the feet pounding, I could almost see sparks, the tension, the passion, the sense of pride and power that shines through the eyes of the women, the ululating wail of the male singers in their cantes, their gritos. I could follow that anywhere. Lose myself in it. Marina is moved that I’m coming. It’s about family, I say. 

It all goes back

5/16

The wheelchair man is back, tucked under the 86th Street railing. I wake him, tell him he’s got to go. He tells me give him 5 minutes. Inside, I tell Stephen. We go back outside. He hasn’t stirred. I tell him again he’s got to move.  

I told you, give me five minutes.

You told me that last time and you here 24 hours.

I was sick, man.

And you left a serious mess.

Don’t say another word, man, not another word.

But you have to go. 

And with that he raises himself up quickly, taller than Stephen and I, even with no feet. In a voice filled with anger and rage and violence he says, I’m beggin you man, you got both your legs, I’m beggin you.

You want me to call someone?

Call someone? Call someone? Call fuckin who? Stop fuckin taunting me, stop fuckin tauntin me.

Stpehen intervenes, Sir, he’s not taunting you.

All right, all right. I’m goin through some serious mental stuff man, serious mental stuff. I’m goin, I’m goin.

OK,OK.

We back away. Stephen says, He’s getting up. Let’s leave him alone. I was scared. He moved fast. Taller than us. even with no feet.

And he’s right, I say, I have no idea who to call. Maybe where he got the wheelchair...and this feeling of sadness, helplessness fills me. And I can feel his frustration. His anger. His rage. Next time I go out, he's gone. 

Deacon James passes. Breathing heavy. How are you James?

Usually says, OK, this time just looks at me. Not so good. I’m strugglin, man.

You’re moving, you’re breathing, you’re here. You’re hangin in. Hope to see you Sunday.

He smiles. God willing, he says. I see his African beads, his Korean vet hat. Remember him as my sweeping partner. Shoveling partner. Hope to see you Sunday.

The Red Bull people are in to see Stephen. He’s closing in on finishing the contract. Later, NBC will be in to talk about a long summer filming. Some serious space use.

Catarina is in the sanctuary working on her projections for Saturday’s concert work with young Japanese dancer/choreographer Kiori Kawai. Very detailed work.

An older woman, hey maybe my age, comes in. Was at the candidates’ forum Monday. Lives across the street. Long career in politics. Wants to put us on the map. Thinks she could do the job for us. I feel confidence. And need. I ask her to write a proposal. 

Catarina and Kiori still working. Dzieci is arriving for the monthly healing circle. Martin is still looking for the answer.

Dzieci now alone in the sanctuary. No circle this time. Sitting in silence in the pews. Then a note. Then two. Then voices begin to join in. Unison. Then harmony. People rise, one by one. A circle begins. 

A circle, circling. People move to the center. Find their voice. Each individual. For awhile, the chant sounds like yah-weh. The sound of breath. The name of God. Sometimes sounding  tribal. Sometimes medieval. Gregorian almost. And sometimes like wolves. Or coyotes. All wordless...

The setting sun is pouring through the rose window bathing the sanctuary in light. Like honey. Like melting caramel. I feel like I’m in some corner of Westeros. Maybe with the wildlings. Game of Thrones.

We sit and talk after. It felt gentler. Quieter.  I talk about the ritual created by the theater group with the wolves and lambs, the cast of 30 for an audience of one. Rite of inititation. Theater. But here, like reaching back through our ancestors to roots. Pre-Christian. Pre-Jewish. Roots. Dzieci can’t commit long term until they see that the future is secure. That they can count on being here.  I am so tired. Of saying. Just a little longer. Just a little longer.....

I'm going with Isis to the B for conversation. My neighbor Rabbi Wildes walks by with two congregants. Or friends. I greet him. Shavout, I say. Right, he says. We were up all night studying. Then a rooftop breakfast. 

Sunday for us, I say.

He looks. Pentecost. Shavuot.

Of course, he says.

Our pentecost goes  back to yours. 

It all goes back, he says, it all goes back.