Advent III: Life is sad, but beautiful

12/12

Today our neighbors are celebrating El Dia de la Virgen de Guadalupe.

There was no rain as I left our house, but halfway to the church, it was all torrential rain and swirling wind. I stop at Barney Greengrass to shake off the rain and get coffee. I nod to Gary who’s busy taking orders.

As I start to open the doors, I see them move from the other side. It’s Holly, first one there to help set up. As the doors swing open, I see Marty sitting there. I tell him I’m glad to see him, ask how he’s doing. He looks up at me, “Reverend, the wind is whirling wild. You don’t mind if I sit here awhile?” I tell him no and that people will be coming in a little while. To make himself at home.

Back inside, setting up. Another man comes in. Overflowing shopping bags in his hands. Wearing a leather jacket. Under one arm is a boom box wrapped in a black plastic garbage bag. Muffled sounds of Christmas carols make their way out. I can only make out every third word or so of what he says, like “food.” I tell him that we have none. I offer him a bottle of water. He asks for another. “Change.” I empty my pocket, give him what I’ve got. He mumbles something, points to a dime on the floor. I bend over, pick it up, give it to him. “Raincoat.” We don’t have. “Jacket with hood.” I tell him to wait. Go check out our supply. Nothing that works. When I come back to tell him, Holly is giving him directions to St. Paul and St. Andrews down the street where we’ve been for three years. I tell him we’ve got nothing and open the door to see him out, point him to SPSA.

Our folks are slowly gathering. We notice that it is warmer outside where the wind is warm, nearly 50 degrees, than inside where the cold of the week has soaked in and stayed. We light our candles and sing Advent songs.

Today’s passages seem to have the theme of “seeing is believing.” John is in jail and wants to know if Jesus is the one. And Jesus answers in terms of Isaiah, blind seeing, lame walking, lepers cleansed, deaf hearing...And I talk about the beauty of the image but issues with the seeming connection between physical condition and spiritual wholeness. Our need for “people first” language, difference between healing and curing. And I share Barbara Lundblad’s rewrite where the woman who is blind processes with her dog, the deaf man sings with joy in sign, the veteran in a wheel chair prays for all and the girl who cannot speak dances in with the bread.

And I’m surprised when Hope breaks in and says that in this passage she hears something profoundly liberating. That in Jesus there is a way of relating that transcends every condition or circumstance, deeper than everything else. And Andre speaks of Jesus being God in human form and that we see Christ in the face of others and hope to reveal his face to those we meet.

I say that Jesus concludes with the “Good news being preached to the poor.” That the bottom line is do we preach good news to the poor. Especially as we engage in new relationships around us. And I mention the advice attributed to St. Francis of Assisi I used at Melissa’s installation: “Preach often. Use words when necessary.” That this ministry of incarnation is what this season calls us to and that if we are true to that calling, our project will succeed. That our key words are presence, relationship, action. What do we see? What do we hear? What then must we do?

Philip sings “Sleepers Wake” and we sing a Latin American gloria and finish with “Soon and very soon...” Andre says the gloria made him think of the Underground Railroad.

Arcadia is organizing food for next week’s crafts fair. We find the church’s old coffee urn. And miraculously, our old wooden creche set, a gift from Mary. And we’ve found another set of gourds painted as the Three Kings and the Holy Family. Perfect for a Dios de los Tres Reyes Magos celebration in January.

Arcadia sets up the creche. The urns are heading out for cleaning. We go outside where it’s warmer, in the wind. P_____ shows up. She stayed at SPSA this morning. Lessons and carols. The music was beautiful. There was a film crew. I feel a twinge of pain at how full their life has become,how far we have to go. P____ looks at me. “Reverend Brashear, you look sad.” I shrug. "Life is sad. But beautiful,” she says and kisses me on the cheek. We talk about her case. Gary, other attorneys, it’s always confusing. She has appointments. I ask her to give me a call, keep me posted.

At the corner, there’s Pat, a deacon. She’s been waylaid by a knitting issue, preparing for a future grandchild. I remind her about the crafts fair. It’s raining again.

Walking north on Amsterdam, there’s a crowd in front of Saigon Grill. A picket line. There is once again conflict between the Vietnamese owners and the Chinese and Mexican delivery people. The Chinese organizer has a bullhorn, “Boy-cott --Sai-gon- grill...Boy-cott...” And then call and response,

”Que queremos?”

“Justicia!”

“Quando?”

“Ahora!”

I ponder the Chinese workers chanting in Spanish. A little further up, strike breaker delivery guys, also immigrants, sit and smoke, looking anxious.

It’s raining harder.

A Thousand Daily Graces

12/10

The coldest day yet. around 25 degrees. Signs of someone having been sick. Haven’t seen that for awhile. While I’m sweeping, the 11 bus pulls up. A heavyset woman stumbles out the backdoor and falls to the curb. Most people exiting simply step over her and walk on. But very quickly a group of three incredibly diverse people gather around. An African-American businessman in a fine gray wool coat and stylish glasses, a younger working class guy in jeans and a Northface down jacket, an attractive young woman in a pea coat and pullover hat, all bundled against the cold. The young woman takes charge. They help her up, bring her to the steps. She’s very shaken up. I come over to see if I can do anything, but everyone is just checking out the situation. Just a scrape, no bleeding, a bruise quickly appearing. I go in and get water, offer it. After a few minutes, they help her up. She’s still shaken. She wants to go to the Westside Campaign Against Hunger down the street. Together they head down 86th. That’s why I love this city. We take care of each other. We hold together by will, not by force or law. A thousand daily graces we extend to one another to choose to keep it working. Note: we need to have a first aid kit handy.

I’m inside waiting for an electrician who never comes. A husband, wife and young adult daughter come in. They’ve been by many times, never seen the door open. Want to look around. I give them a mini sanctuary tour. Talk about last week’s clean up day. They’re touched by the channukah menorah. I explain our dream of a Centre where all can come and share and grow. Tell them about the upcoming crafts fair. Note: we need to keep a stack of brochures and a donation box handy.

I call our attorney friend for an update on P____’s case. Back outside, I greet Gary Greengrass as he passes on his way to work. There’s a heavyset bearded man in multiple layers and a hoody, in sandals and socks, bumming cigarettes. Across the street, two more Quebecois reinforcements have arrived for the last big push for the peak of tree season. It’s two weeks until Christmas Eve.

imagine

12/6

It’s gray and bitter cold. I have a brand new broom to use after Saturday’s clean up day. The bag of bread that was there on the steps is gone by the time I open the doors. I cross the street. A woman is talking to Francois. She’s got a bag of giant pine cones from California, wonders if he’d like to buy some. She’s got a store around the corner. Good for decorations. He takes one. I ask how the carving’s going. Things have been too busy. Is he keeping warm? He smiles, his cheeks red. “I love the cold,” he says. And I remember he works in the Yukon. We all wish each other well. And back into the cold.

12/8

There is sun. And cold. Not much going on outside. Inside, two hours with an electrician/engineer and a safety architect. Staring down the remains of decades of halfway solutions piled on top of one another like jumbled wires. At some moments, I want to ask myself why I chose to walk down this road. Ask myself if its worth it. Somewhere between romance and reality is a long and daunting journey.

Reflecting on Saturday and these emerging tentative relationships with our former adversaries. On the one hand it is profoundly moving seeing neighbors and others on their hands and knees spending hours to clean our church. On the other, landmarking reduced the value of our property by millions of dollars. (Yes, literally) Landmarking remains a morally complex reality.

There is a real theological case to be made for the meaning of old buildings, what happened there, the lives lived out, witnesses made, the esthetic beauty and shared cultural heritage. A phalanx of “liberal” progressive politicians lined up on that side. At the same time, landmarking can be used as spot zoning and as a means of pushing poor and middle class people out of a neighborhood. And our Upper Westside neighborhood is increasingly one where the middle class can no longer live, increasingly a neighborhood of condos and public housing and nothing in between.

Our opposition to landmarking was based on of principle. Of separation of church and state. Of our inalienable right to define our mission and that buildings were built for the purpose of mission not as ends in themselves. (It’s Aesthetes vs. Modernists all over again.) No wonder my ’80’s predecessor Bob Davidson called a previous landmarks group “idolators of buildings.” That we receive this legacy to the end of furthering mission. Yet at the same time, our exempt properties should not be held sacred only to serve as backdoor opportunities for high end developers.

And if a church has understood its calling to be a community based as opposed to ideological, issue, identity or doctrinally based church, that the church must engage its neighbors. Its health, it’s survival depends on these relationships. Yet those relationships cannot come at the expense of principle and clarity of call and witness. Moral clarity and prophetic witness doesn’t come easy. And every ministry that survives in the public sphere will have its share of collaborations with the powers, of compromise.

Perhaps we can look to the example of the movement to overturn exclusion of lgbt folks from leadership and ordination in the Presbyterian Church. The movement that includes More Light Presbyterians, That All May Freely Serve and the Covenant Network. The last time this issue came to a vote of Presbyteries, the inclusion movement chose strategically to move away from rhetorical debate and into conversations. A thousand conversations. And it was those conversations, not harshly drawn dialectics or polemics that moved the issue closer to passing.

Today, those on the frontline of defending women’s right to choose are exploring and developing similar strategies.

In that light, it is our vision that West-Park and its Centre can be a locus of exploration of this very significant issue, a place where that conversation can take place. Our engagement must be rooted in integrity, not surrendur. And with an eye to conversion.

The architect looks at the Advent wreath with its candles and the Chanukah menorah from last Sunday’s service and says “Hmmm, ecumenical I see..” “Always have been,” I say.

On the street, I always enjoy watching people cross themselves when they pass the church. On days like this I feel the need do it myself. And long for a supply of holy water.

After these hours in the church, the cold has seeped deep into me. It will take awhile to get warm.

Over in Strawberry Fields, people are gathering to commemorate the 30th anniversary of John Lennon’s assassination. With candles and song.

You might say that I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope some day you’ll join us...

12/9

Today on my way from the subway to the church I saw my first Salvation Army bucket. I'd forgotten how much apart of the season they used to be. I'd see them everywhere. But never before on my street. Just the normal rounds. At Barney Greengrass, I check out the family photos I hadn’t noticed before. I remember Gary’s dad Moe who ran the place for so long when I first got here. I remember his seat behind the counter, his card tricks, his sense of humor.

I take the coffee over to Francois. He asks about the church and I tell him about the clean up day. And all the work ahead. He’s selling the giant pine cones brought by shop owner the other day.

Another cold and sunny day.

Advent II

12/5

The first really cold morning. Stop by Barney Greengrass for coffee, thank Gary for his help yesterday. Getting ready for church in our newly clean sanctuary. The left over cleaning supplies up front like an offering. Some people are reluctant to come because of the cold. Andre has not come, I’ll miss his voice. We’ll have to talk about this.

Today is the second Sunday of Advent. It is also Hannukah in our neighborhood. Holly has brought a menorah, talks to our children about the meaning of the different days. We continue to collect food for the food pantry, pennies for the "penny harvest" and pajamas for children. This is the Sunday John the Baptist, that tall steeple preacher’s kid turned rebel, comes. I think of Jim and Tammy Faye Baker’s son Jay in his bar and street ministry in Brooklyn. His story about how the gay community’s ironic relationship to his mother as an icon turned into a real relationship, how they supported her during her cancer. We talk about lions and lambs, baptism, wilderness. If wolves wag their tails, do lambs need to become more lion hearted? Can some of us stop roaring? I think of the American folk paintings by Hicks, the open faced animals, my Quaker cousins. Are we still in the wilderness, or on our way home? Was John the Baptist’s reinvention of the mikveh a rejection of Herod’s greco-roman baths near his temple as a symbol of occupation, collaboration? How are we collaborating? Or becoming liberated? Did Jesus go in as a sign of solidarity? During the service at least four people come in, look around, leave...What would they need to see, hear, to stay? Our people are bundled up against the cold.

Amanda sings her song about rebirth in the ruins she prepared for the event the other night, Juan adding amazing color on his guitar.

What can you give. What do you know.

Come to this place where we can grow.

This body breaks a weary soul.

I came tonight. Full of hope.

Here we are in Ruins.

Something to give. Something to learn.We'll start off

small. And see what works.

We share an Advent communion. Deacon Pat and Elder Holly hold the bread and cup. Philip leads us in “Let us break bread together.” We hold hands and sing “Soon and very soon” and “Halle,halle, hallelujah...” I’m amazed that Nirka continues to come in all the way from Flushing, Queens on public transportation to be here. Samantha shares her clothing designs from her fashion institute classes. P____ continues to worry about her case. How will we continue through Advent in the cold? The people sing "happy birthday" to me. We clean up, lock up, go out into the sun, the cold, together.

Clean Up Day

12/3

My birthday...The first day back with no gates. Get the approval of Popovers as well as Barney Greengrass for the use of their bathroom during our clean up day. Amazing how open the church looks. An older African-American woman comes by and says she was a member years ago. A woman from Buffalo comes in to look around. We’ve begun a “guest book” for those who just “drop in.” Amazing the difference having my office near the front door. As we clean, we reheat some mulled wine from last night. It warms all through in the cold. I go across the street to see Francois and meet his colleague Fernando. There’s a story here I have to get. I give Francois a cup of hot mulled wine. Better than coffee....

12/4

A very long day begins with coffee with Amanda at Joe’s.On the way to the church, we catch up with Gary Greengrass on his way to open for the day’s business. Today’s steps have evidence of someone having spent the night but not here this morning. Today is “clean up day.” The Columbia University Preservation Alumni, Friends of West-Park and Landmarks West! coming together to clean our sanctuary.

Cristiana Pena is the first to arrive to work with us to plan the day. Then team leaders. Jim Nedelka arrives directly from an all night shift at ABC Radio. Coffee and donuts arrive to warm the volunteers soon to come. At 10 o’ clock I give a welcome and we’re ready to roll.

What an amazing array of volunteers from West-Park members to working architects to neighbors. The oldest volunteer is 93 year old Marie from a neighboring building and the youngest my son Dan, a senior at La Guardia High School. He remembers being a two year old and getting his head stuck in the railing of the steps going upstairs. Still not sure how we got him out. Walking through the ruins, he re-experiences years of his life spent here in the sanctuary, the gym..

Hope is staffing the check in table in my office. Sign in and release forms for every volunteer. There are restroom passes for Barney Greengrass, Popovers and SPSA, just in case. My cousin Nancy who works in the city Comptroller’s office arrives. And later my wife Andrea. Marsha is in for the duration of the day.

There ‘s a photographer from Landmarks West! And a reporter and photographer from the Daily News. And Megan Finnegan, the independent journalist who has been tracking this story since summer also arrives to follow me around. The Daily News photographer taking countless photos of everything.

We’re happy to see our City Council member Gale Brewer for the second time this week. Amanda encourages the Daily News reporter to ask Gale about her promised millions that won the landmarks struggle. Just trying to keep things in perspective.

They’re sweeping every floor, cleaning every window and sill, dusting, mopping, cleaning every cushion in the pews and polishing the woodwork. Dan and I go under the stage of the theatre and pull out old advertisements for productions, pieces of an art exhibit by the La Guardia High School Junior studio years ago, including a disturbing collection of small stuffed human figures with no heads, mattresses,chairs, carpets....So we’ll need more than one dumpster and a lot of what needs to go won’t even be touched.

After the lunch break, I lead everyone from the Columbia PA group and the press for a “behind the scenes” tour of the church...I fill them in on the social history of West-Park as well as the struggle. And our commitment to change, to restoration. Ted shares our vision for the Centre...

By the end of the day the sanctuary is absolutely shining,gleaming..we are cold, tired and feeling good. Bottom lines...this is the process we should have started seven years ago, seeking to develop community support, believing that each hour spent by a volunteer translates into a growing sense of investment, of ownership, in the building and the mission carried out there. But you only know what you don’t know when you know it. I suppose we had to go through what we went through to get here. And then as I told the Daily News reporter, all this love is great, but it will take more...money..lots of it and fast ...this congregation must continue to be here for anything else to happen...

An Hour of Ritual Space

12/2

As I get to the church after the Advent lectionary study at Union, John is there waiting for me. It’s a cold morning so we go to Barney Greengrass instead of my office to review budget matters. It’s time to go back to zero and start over. And even that doesn’t begin to resolve the money issues.

I see Deacon James starting to sweep the steps. Already a work crew is assembling at the Church. There’s Amanda and Hope and Hugo. And a work team from Brownstone Restorations under the leadership of Jack Pontes has arranged for a dumpster and come for a day’s worth of work. Our job is to figure out what’s garbage and not...their’s is to get rid of it. There are decades worth of stuff to go through. Boxes of papers that were buried until the water pipes burst and water poured through the church. Jack’s crew is even ready to tackle the pigeon situation, but health concerns make us hesitate on that one.

Floor by floor, room by room, box by box we go through the past. Hopes, dreams, successes, fights, failures, all passing through our fingers’ touch. Bulletins, minutes, architectural drawings, reports, visions, plans, projects done and never done. And more than enough from my own fifteen years here. The most important is kept--the original plans for Joseph Papp’s balcony theatre, the list of contents of the lock box, the first contract to establish the God’s Love We Deliver kitchen, issues of the Peacemonger Press, “Viva 86” fliers from the merger struggle of the early 90‘s.. “keep West-Park alive at 86th and Amsterdam” they say...the mundane heads for the dumpster. And what if anything demands to be shredded?

I’ve waited for this for years. At first Hope, like Marsha before her, is depressed and overwhelmed. But box by box the weight disappears. We’ve got a two part problem...we need to get clear with the Fire Department and in order to do that, we’ve got to get rid of our gates. But Jack doesn’t have his saw. None of the hardware stores around have rental saws. So, I walk across the street to the Belnord to ask Nazim if we can borrow a “saw” saw. He tells me that he and his men will come and do the work themselves.

Meantime I head to the Fire Department. But its the wrong station. Our fire districts are not the same as the police precincts. So I head back to 84th and remember when we sang carols there the Christmas after 9-11. I talk to the chief. Tell him we’ve been gone for three years. He asks why we left. I tell him the short version of the story. He says “So you left voluntarily?” And I say, “yes.” And he asks what’s the capacity. I say around 550. And he says how many are coming? And I say 2-3 dozen. And he says are the exits clear? and I say yes and he says have a good night and I say thanks.

Back at the church, Hope has stories. How Nazim and his crew brought down the gates. And she said, “thank you, you’ve opened the doors to our church again” and Nazim, a devout Muslim, smiled and said , “No, God did.” And how she discovered that two of Jack’s crew were from the Portuguese community of Newark and how they then carried on a conversation in Portuguese. “That’s what I want church to be for me, meeting people, making connections all around what we’re doing together. That’s where I find God,” she says. And I say “That is it. That is it exactly.”

Amanda and I put the final pieces in place for tonight’s event, “An hour of ritual space.” This evening has been her idea, her design. Now to make it real. Marsha shows up to help. Then Hope and Holly. We’ve got Matt’s photographs up, his book, a print to raffle. Hot cider, cheese and crackers in my office. And mulled wine in the sanctuary. It looks open and clean. And people start to come. Church folks, friends from our temporary home at the Methodist Church, the city’s new director of sustainability, our city council member, a student following me for a class, folks from Union Seminary, my pastoral counseling supervisor...just the kind of gathering our proposed Centre is designed to create.

I open the evening. It is historic, in its way. I never thought there’d be a night like this again in this space. Next is northwest architect Bill Tripp. With his photos and his words he talks of the ways we create and live in ritual space whether it’s a home, a living community response to 9-11, a memorial to 9-11 or World War II, a church...how they’re interconnected. Then we introduce Matt, our photographer and then Gale our City Council member. The evening ends with Amanda's song written especially for this occasion. A guitar player she met along the way accompanies her. Yes, this is what I wanted.

The Union people say what better time than Advent to start this journey. I’m thinking that no matter how good this feels, the public, everyone who’s happy about this movement...that’s what someone said this is, a grass roots movement... has to know how desperate the financial realities are..

Our members feel happy, a little amazed. The gates are down. The doors are open. The sanctuary’s empty of garbage, clean. Tonight, after three years, we created ritual space once again.

A Two Umbrella Day

****

Meetings to plan the Columbia University Preservation Alumni work day coming up Saturday. Talking with folks from Landmarks West!, it’s hard to set aside hard feelings from the landmarks struggle. On the one hand, I’m touched by the appreciation by the smallest detail of historic design and its beauty. On the other, I want to know that the beauty of each human being on the steps, each person who worships here is recognized as equally beautiful and important. That’s our struggle, our call.

12/1

Can’t believe it’s December. An umbrella devouring body soaking day. (Lost two umbrellas in the wind) Steps covered with soaked newspapers, like someone seeking shelter from the storm.

We’re joined by a reporter from DNAinfo.com online news service. She follows us around, wanting to see the church, hear its stories. They had given us good coverage last summer. She’s interested in the upcoming clean up day.

It’s colder inside the church than it is outside. Francois has gone somewhere to stay dry. I go to Gary Greengrass to ask permission to use their restrooms on Saturday if need be. “Just aim,” he says.

An older guy has scattered food across the steps, is sprawled out with a 40. “Excuse me sir,” you can’t do that here,” I say. He looks up, “I’m leavin’” And he later does.

More negotiations with neighbors over funds to get the church ready to be reopened again. Given the history of many years, rebuilding trust is a mutual process. Step by step mutually verifiable actions needed. Last details for Saturday’s clean up day being checked out with Cristiana Pena, our Columbia PA rep. She is efficient and organized.

I’m shivering. Time to warm up. The rain continues.