Solstice: Making Music New York

6/21

Early part of the day spent in getting ready for this afternoon and evening. In the midst of preparations, the mumbling man comes in. That needing look again. When I tell him I/we have no money, I wish he could actually believe it. They just assume an open  church keeps a stash of money around. He of course wants to show me the edema  around his badly swollen ankles. No money. No food. No metro cards.We end our conversation, our negotiation? by my giving him enough for one subway ride. (It was Danielle’s turn last time...) He asks for a Bible. And I give that, too. 

Andre arrives. Almost time for our Rush Hour Concert on the Steps to take our part in Make Music New York.  Jeremy arrives with his keyboard and mics. Aaron is here to sing, too. And also Teresita. I’ve learned to accept her for the authentic person she is. Her smile, her spirit, is real. 

Rush Hour Concert
Aaron, Andre, Teresita, Jeremy, Bob

So there we are on the steps. Deacon James sitting there for support.  Singing for those getting off the buses, coming home. Those walking up and down the street. Classic gospel songs. Sanctuary, the signature song we share. My answer will be yes.... Through it all.... This little light of mine..... We’re all taking turns taking the lead. Jeremy gets me to do my Rest awhile...Aaron leads on Any day now. Teresita with What if God were one of us? (...like a stranger on a bus...) I take 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.

Pharoah’s army got drownded....

And the Jeremy brings us home with And I bid you goodnight...

I’ve enjoyed the looks on peoples’ faces. The thumbs up signs. The child who is completely taken by Jeremy’s keyboard. The people who stop and stay awhile. people taking iPhone videos. Being in touch with the street. From the steps. Feels good.

And now, just an hour. Before open mic....but, then  I see him. Edward Green.(for Edward's story seehttp://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/search?q=edward%27s+story) On the steps. Got there while we were singing. I walk over, speaking softly. Edward, you know you’re not supposed to be here. He gives me a quizzical look. There have been issues, that make it impossible for you to be here. 

Ah man, what you talkin about, I’m just here to hear the people sing...

Don’t you remember, Edward?

Ah man, I remember everything....

I don’t think so. Two summers in a row, Five days each time. Cleaning his waste from the steps.  

...Just here to hear the people sing...

You can’t stay here, OK?

And I go back inside.

I hear Andre’s voice. Edward’s voice raised. Andre comes in. He says you’re persecuting him...And I tell Andre the back story. Well, you might be having to call 911. He seems adamant....I can’t be dealin with that up in here anymore...

I go back out. Edward is gone. I wonder what I would have to ask in order to re extend welcome. Some awareness, some understanding....

The chapel is all set for open mic. Martin has removed his construction materials. RL has done some redecorating. Marc has the sound system set up. Stephen the bar. A couple comes in, sees we’re not ready. Leaves. It may be a night of mainly musicians.

Before it’s over, Pat and Larry will show. My son Dan. And Damarius brings two friends. Who answer my question with the information that they are from a men’s cell group at a super conservative megachurch that causes name brand confusion.

Cara’s old friend Andy,

Andy

from Queens, opens with some decent songs. Then Jeremy. Who after his opening, moves over to our old piano. The one with the pedals not yet reattached. That has made its way from Andrea’s childhood home in Freeport to our home on 93rd and now to the chapel. It’s well worn. But still has a warm sound. He moves into his neo-Brechtian Let’s waste this year...And then invite me up for my new I’ve reached my limit with you...we just worked out this afternoon.

Then there’s Mandola. And RL in and out. David S has his set of surprisingly good originals. And Pat O’ playing his originals. I do a set of my own with Pat joining me on my ...Well....song. Playing Marc’s electric Fender for a change.  Marc shows his accomplished skills on the guitar. And RL finishes with his Stay awhile...and we all join in....It’s been a good night.

Mandola Joe

Somewhere towards the end, Beppe comes in. Sits down, shares Stella and conversation. Good to have him there.

Time to clean up. And then it begins. Is it the solstice? Anna comes in with puppy to report on her rounds. Next comes the #OWS lost boy to complain ... that woman with the dog is harassing me.... I look at him square in the eye. She’s very protective of this place you know? You know the rules. Follow them , you’ll be OK.

Awhile later, I go outside. The suburban Samaritans of the Midnight Run have arrived. People are gathering around for the sandwiches. A smiling man approaches, Hello there, would you like a cup of coffee? A sandwich? I consider telling him I’m the Pastor. Don’t.  It used to embarrass me when the Midnight Run crew first showed up on my steps during the peek of #OWS.  Now I just accept it.

David

Then I look around and see George is back. I walk over and shake his hand. Hello George, it’s been awhile. He smiles, shakes my hand. The Samaritans approach. They seem to know each other. He is soon lecturing them on the state of the world. 

Beppe takes this all in. Amazed? Amused? Or just accepting. Must be the solstice.

6/22

No one’s around while I’m in to do my service. Or later when I come in to write. Outside, the steps are completely  empty for the first time in a long time. Walking up Amsterdam, I see los Rodriguez and the #OWS lost boy encamped in the semidarkness of Baptist doors. 

Bob

Thanks to Marc Stager for Open Mic photos

A quiet day

6/20

On my way to the church, I see Los Rodriguez camped out at the Baptist Church. Perhaps they have moved on.

David S comes in lugging cases of wine from the Gate for tomorrow night’s Open Mic. Later RL and David will be hard at work on another project in RL’s studio.

Jeremy and I going over plans for tomorrow’s Make Music New York Rush Hour Concert on the steps. And maybe something for the Open Mic. 

I go to meet with Elise and some folks from Riverside to plan a summer Palestinian film festival.

I get back just as Dzieci is ending their final Healing Circle of the season, quiet darkness as the solstice sun is setting. They stick around to work out their next performance...at a Bar Mitzvah?

Some more office work before Game 7 of the NBA Finals. No love here, but Le Bron earned it. Sorry it’s over....

Quiet for a change

6/19

Leftovers...Fathers’ Day...last Saturday, the day before Fathers’ Day, barney Greengrass was all abuzz. Like a Jewish holiday...I ask Gary, so is all this about Fathers’ Day? He nods, smiles. We deserve some  recognition, no? Me being a father, my children, that’s my naches..so he shows me his pictures. I show him mine....And on Sunday, when I stopped in,  we saluted  each other as fathers.

RL wants me to make clear, when Mr. Blue was living on the rooftop, he was living in a large container box, not a penthouse. And no, Mr. Blue would not be texting someone while sitting in a bar talking to someone else...

                   * * * *

Long, emotional, important conversation between Jamie and Stephen and I about where we are and what decisions we face.  What keeps us together is a shared dream.  

Luli comes in wanting to know if anyone needs the queen size bed she wants to get rid of. Not right now, though my queen size blow up has deflated....

Jeremy comes in. We talk about Friday’s Make Music New York concert on the steps. And the follow up open mic. Martin is working hard to get all his stuff out to get ready for Friday night’s open mic in the chapel. 

Marc is happy to do whatever sound we need on Friday and looking forward to maybe playing at the open mic. 

RL and David S are working on RL”s studio and prep for Friday night’s open mic, we’re all getting behind it...

Late afternoon the strange young man engages me in conversation. Tries to explain how he’s just down on his luck. College educated. Will get it back together? When are services? He looks straight, what’s he doing here? And I realize the space between where I am right now and where he/they are is very thin indeed. Very thin.

Long conference call re. present options. Crunch time coming. Soon. May already be here. We choose to keep all options open strategy. What they call punting. But the stress pushes my heartbeat up. Bottom line, I won’t sign what I don’t believe in. Time to go to RL's studio,. See what he's been working on. Let my heart slow down. Would I like an ice cold Stella?  Yes.

I head home to go to the Yankee-Dodger game with Ric. My neighbor and attorney. After the Yankees go down, I head back to the office. See los Rodriguez now encamped on the Baptist church steps. Have they permanently changed venues? Back at West-Park, the strange young man has the north door, the man with the bicycle south. No one else. Quiet for a change. 

That I can do

6/18

Morning begins with Dick Leonard on the bus stop bench waiting for me. The steps are empty, save for the sketchy white boy with his bike who despite his promise is still there. I wake him, tell him he’s got to go. Then bring Rev. Leonard around to the 86th Street door, bring him inside and give  him the extended tour.

I actually met him two Saturdays ago when he hosted the house concert by Beppe and Catarina that was for the benefit of West-Park. I’m anxious to hear his story.  Three years ago, when his wife’s Alzheimer's had reached the point where she had to be moved into assisted living in Georgia, he opened up his home and created a project whereby artists would bring  a concert and be responsible for bringing their own crowd and collecting their own money, so that none would ever touch my hands, he said,  for their own cause. Rev. Dick would provide sandwiches, drinks and ice cream bars,  cost me less than I would pay at Carnegie Hall...

Sadly, even though he worked all along for his neighbors’ support, the present neighbors no longer are happy with the concerts, too many, too many people....so after 61 events over 3 years and over 1500 people, his marvelous gift has come to an end...He wants to check out West-Park as a possible venue.

But there’s more to this man. He was an eyewitness and recorder of the transformative march in Selma,

Alabama in 1965. (A brief report of his experience can be found  here (http://www.uuworld.org/2002/04/letter.html) and a fuller report in his book, Call to Witness, 18 days in Selma (http://www.amazon.com/Call-Selma-Eighteen-Days-Witness/dp/1558964215 ). He has a wonderfully ageless outlook on life with a love of music that never left since his early days at Eastman. And even better, much like my own mother did, he has reconnected with his first college girl friend. His life is so much in the spirit of what we are seeking to create here. We don’t quite have the cozy living room environment of his home. We’ll see. 

Mim drops by, back from the country, it’s time to bring the Center’s president back in touch with everything that has been going on. Her constant faith and support keeps us going. She helps me continue to see a future. 

Damarius is in for a visit. To help out. Job change coming. Talking with Jason who’s still working for AT&T customer service and living in the Bronx while turning out for protests when needed. Damarius, I say as I shake his hand, come on Sunday, we miss you....

A man wants a pocket Bible. None that small, I say.

Talking with Stephen. A large woman named Andrea comes in. Tells her story. Wants help. I try to explain. No money here. She keeps after it. I reach in  my pocket. Pull out a dollar. That’s it. It’s all I got. 
Clothes?
No. 
Bible? 
Yes, I get her one. 
Would you pray with me? 
That I can do. And Stephen and I pray with her. She breathes a deep sigh.  Gets up, thank you, I’ll be going now....

Working late. Jeremy texts. his rehearsal is done. Second half of Spurs- Heat? 
For sure. And I enjoy learning more of his story, which he can tell in his own time. Great game. Really great game, though my rooting for the Spurs is just enough to enjoy the game. Not a heart matter. One more to go.

Back at the office. Finishing my writing. Commotion coming through the doors. I go outside, repeat my speech from last night. The bike guy, apologizes. I say, Man you apologize every night and it keeps happening. It’s not about sorry...

I’m OWS. Don’t you remember me from OWS?

Yes I do. That’s part of the problem. This is not OWS.

In the ever changing unraveling and regeneration of #OWS, he represents one stream. There are the Jasons embedding themselves in communities, supporting themselves by working, participating in specific and targeted actions. Then there is my bike guy. One of the lost boys who landed in the Wonderland of #OWS and now are washed up on the shore as the ship sails on. No Peter, no Wendy. Just the streets and borrowed bikes. You got to bring it down. He nods his head.

About about an hour later, there’s serious strife outside. Joe of los Rodriguez and   the thin young black woman are loud in each other’s faces, her Latino man with the pony tail and Joe’s woman being back ups. 

I come around the corner. Cell phone out. You are 30 seconds from 911. Shouts and allegations and accusations. Doesn’t matter whose fault it is. I don’t care. Not here. Not now. 30 seconds.

The bike guy starts to speak. No, I don't want to hear it. You promised me you’d be gone, and I had to wake you. No good. He shakes his head,jumps on his bike and rides off. The Latino drags the still shouting thin girl away. Word on the street is she was raped in Central Park and is still fragile.

Now it’s me and los Rodriguez. Joe is about to explode. You threatened me three times, man. NO one threatens me...I can read your body language, no one..his muscles tense and taut. Flexing as he makes fists, not sure what to do with them. 

I’m too tired to be frightened. Or intimidated. Joe, breathe. It’s not a threat, it’s reality. Can’t be. Not here. 

He calms down, goes through a long rambling rap. His frustration. I know him. He’s been here the longest. Everything was OK, then...I respect you as a pastor. I know this keeps up, they get after you, and he points across the street to the Belnord home of old reds, octogenarian peace activists and hedge fund newbies. And Matt Damon. And Jeremy. I know, I know...hangs his head, keeps talking. From PR. Family gone in  a car crash. No ID. Can’t get benefits. Screwed by the VA. Had his dog tags taken...It’s a never ending circular story. But he has been to the precinct. Has talked, reluctantly with Reachout.

Right now, Joe, it’s Reachout or nothin....they're all you got...

He extends his hand. We shake. I’ll keep it together, I’ll make sure they know the rules, I’ll...

It’s alright, man. Forward, OK? I gotta go.

I think about Dick’s neighbors unhappy with his chamber concerts. And here’s me on the street at 1 AM with a PTSD marine at the end of his rope. (Damn I miss Teddy...)

This crew could succeed in doing what even Edward Green never did...force me to put up the No Trespassing signs and close the steps. There is a limit.

I head home up Amsterdam. The guy on the bike is riding my way.....

From Ohio to how it works

6/17

I’ve just come into the church. RL asks if I’ve got a moment. Poet Tim’s parents are here for a visit and he’d like me to give a tour. I happily agree.  So his parents are from Akron, Ohio. I mention that I went to school at Wooster, just 30 miles away. And Tim’s father said he actually lived in Wooster a few years. So we share Ohio stories. Akron’s part of the rust belt, it’s long time rubber industry down to only Goodyear, but somehow they’re making the transition into tech. 

A conversation about our Austin organ leads to a discussion of the Schantz Organ Company, the largest organ company still under the original family ownership in Orrville, Ohio, also the home of Smucker’s Jams and Jellies. And the late lamented Rubbermaid lived most of its life in Wooster before absconding to Atlanta. With 900 jobs. 

I give them my full tour guide rap. And when he talks about coming to Merion, Pennsylvania, for the US Open, we can talk about that, too. Takes me back to Tulsa. It’s good to know more about Tim and his roots. His folks connected me back to a part of my past. 

I leave for a meet and greet with Mayoral Candidate Bill Di Blasio, our current Public Advocate. He’ll make a classic progressive speech. Main issues are stop and frisk and education. He sees them as connected. In 2011, there were 700,000 stop and frisks. Only 9% resulted in arrests. And of those, over half were for small amounts of marijuana.  What’s going on here?

I take my opportunity to press for what his housing policy will be. I’m still looking  for ore creative answer.  

I swing by late to finish some work.  Noise on the other side of the door. So I gather my thoughts and go back outside. To confront the current group. 

Let me tell you how this works. We provide temporary shelter, OK, temporary. A haven. Sanctuary. Not a permanent home. Not a play house. We expect you to work with Project Reachout. To find real housing. Most people here wind up with real housing. You have to be working to move on. Or you’ll have to go. I am going to open these doors at 8:30 am tomorrow morning. You need to not be here. Thay’s how it works. 

Fathers' Day, Forgiveness. And the power of back up singers...

6/16

Church is quiet when I arrive. In the darkened sanctuary I hear music. Is it Stephen? No, Jeremy’s father practicing for his appearance later this afternoon in the Sanctuary service. It’s good to hear him. 

I do the set up by myself. Anna and puppy are first to greet me. Then my friend Mark from our Presbyterian United Nation Ministry(https://www.facebook.com/PresbyterianMinistryUN) and his wife Tricia, national organizer of the Covenant network,(http://covnetpres.org/) a committed circle of liberal churches dedicated to expanding the place of lgbtq folk in our church. Currently their most important issue is marriage equality. It’s great to have them here, where the deepest roots of that movement were born.

Our friends Mark and Tricia

It’s father’s day. As we get into the scriptures, the first lesson is Naboth’s vineyard, I Kings 21: 1-10, (11-14) 15-21a. Where the worst king of Israel, Ahab, lusts after poor Naboth’s vineyard and his wife, Jezebel, goads him to take it by setting Naboth up for assassination. I recall tjat one of my favorite sermons was preached by William Sloane Coffin, Jr. who preached this in the context of US intervention in Central America. The US was Ahab, the countries of Central America, Naboth’s vineyard. As a former CIA operative, the prophetic Coffin even understood the targeted assassination part. Sadly, those same dynamics continue today in US foreign policy. With drones and the free right of assassination by a President, even more.

The Gospel reading was from Luke 7:36-8:3, the woman who bathes Jesus’ feet with her tears and hair. In John, she’s Mary Magdalene, here she is unnamed. 

But I start somewhere else. 

Does anyone know the names Darlene Love, Merry Clayton, Lisa Fischer, Táta Vega, Judith Hill and Claudia Lennear? John R immediately says they have to do woth music.I ask how he knows and he says, because I know music. 

I talk about the movie i saw with Katherine yesterday, Twenty Feet from Stardom. They were all back up singers. Most all of us here have heard them...they're on most of the big hits of our lifetime.    And they essentially changed the sound of American music.  A sound born in the black churches with the preacher testifying up front and the choir responding. Most of thee singers came right out of the  church choirs.  And they brought that name sensibility to their pop music work. 

Many times they were not even  listed, not even named.  In some cases, if you worked for Phil Spector, who ran a virtual slave plantation operation, you could wind up with someone else's name on your work.

Its also amazing that though several tried, becoming individual stars themselves never seemed to work. The beauty and power of what they did came from the being together. It also involved stepping out, taking risks, being willing to go places they  hadn't been before, and music hasn't been the same since. 

Now bear with me. Our Gospel story seems to be about forgiveness.

Notice Jesus is  eating at the home of a Pharisee. For starters. Someone said you can't confess unless you already know you're forgiven. Who do we have here?  A city woman a sinner, why do we assume her sin was sex? Could it just have easily been  insider trading?

Note it also doesn’t name her Mary Magdalene, although like the story in John wherein Holy Week  Mary Magdalene  does a very similar action, she is named by John. 

So Simon objects. And Jesus says, Simon, I have something to say to you...

Whenever someone says, ...I have something to say to you, you know somethings coming. In response to Jesus’ parable, Simon’s  very reluctant response is prefaced by I suppose....

But here is the key question. Jesus says to her your sins are forgiven. So I have to ask, What exactly does does that mean? We get  all emotional but do we really believe there’s a scorebook that God keeps and we’d be punished  if Jesus didn’t erase all the bad marks? Do we really believe that?

There are many explorations of the complexity of forgiveness. From Simon Wiesenthal’s classic, The Sunflower, where he poses a question and has a widely diverse variety of religious thinkers respond. (http://www.randomhouse.com/book/190370/the-sunflower-by-simon-wiesenthal) to Helen Whitney’s in  depth exploration in her film for PBS. (Which we showed and discussed at West-Park with Helen herself.) (http://video.pbs.org/video/1855833997/)

I recall that in the Jewish tradition, you can't forgive what wasn't done to you, eg, I can’t forgive a Nazi war criminal for the holocaust or my friend Col. Dale for bombing Serbia. (Not that they are the same.)

I think what it is about is  forgiving ourselves. That's the hardest part. It is always  so much easier to forgive someone else than ourselves. Jesus is allowing her to forgive herself. It’s been said many times around our clergy circle, forgiveness is giving up for all time the hope of a different past.

It is the letting go.When we forgive others, it is not reconciliation, It has not restored relationship nor  does it say it’s ok. It only says I let this go, I will not let this that happened to me define  my life or control my life. I will reclaim my life. Likewise, Forgiving yourself allows you to move on. 

At the very  end we get Mary Magdalene  ( who had seven demons-- what was that? How I wish Luke had written that story...), the wife of Herod's steward Chuza, Susannah,  and many others....

They are if you wish, the back up singers....the disciples are upfront in the spotlight, but it is these women, named sand unnamed that  keep the narrative moving forward, and in this there is a metaphor for us...it is we background singers, if we stick together, work out our harmony, our parts, who can make the change happen...

As the sermon, ends, I ask everyone to remember one good story about their fathers. There are stories of baseball, and fishing. Deacon James has a good story about fishing and how eels scared him. Nirka a beautiful story about late nit Cuban sandwiches.( I can almost taste them. )Amberley a story of a birth father and a stepfather.  I remember my father, who turned to teaching because that was his passion. Who said If you follow your heart the money will follow. While my mother shook her head. And as I did with mothers, I ask everyone to name whee theirs  were from. Massachusetts, Ohio, Toronto,Pennsylvania, Puerto Rico, Canton, China; Somerset, Pennsylvania; Managua and Granada and Leon, Nicaragua; Long Island and Jamaica.......all these places, all these fathers present with us now...

The Fathers' Day Hat

I share my hat. I'm a man of many hats. But this one is specail. Though it's beaten up and worn, it's not only the last hat (style) that Roberto Clemente wore. it wa a Father's day present back when my fmuly was young and we all lived in Pittsburgh.

Late in the service, Stephen arrives. He’s been asleep. After we close, we review the minutes of last week’s congregational meeting. Especially the resolution. 

All day long I’m having a back and forth with Gary on the steps. He comes. he goes. It worries me.

Stephen has work to do in the office. i come back for the latest in Sanctuary NYC’s Hear it Out play series. This time a new play by virtual renaissance man, musician. musical theatre writer, director, filmmaker Rod Gailes, Rubin +Booker T  LIVE at the Hard Rock. A story set in the wake of 9/11 but about fatherhood, ambition, male bonding and self-discovery.Still needs work, but powerful writing.  Once again, our walls have been blessed. 

I’m haunted by how hard it is to forgive yourself. 

A strange young man

6/15

See Edward Green and Charlotte on the street. And then newly elected deacon John R. He asks, Pastor, do you need anything, and I say, No, see you tomorrow.

Just a quick breeze through the church. enough time to print out my ceremony for my afternoon wedding. Jay is there keeping watch over things. He’s told  young man, a strange young man to wait for me. 

He asks to speak with me. I check my watch, I have exactly 22 minutes until I’m supposed to meet Katherine. No. I can’t. Well, are you sure? He looks so needy. Yes, this time I’m sure.