Different local, same union: Interfaith is not a strategy, it's a way of life

1/17

Large bundles of cardboard boxes flattened and bound with string. Some open, torn, laid flat in the north doorway. Did someone come here seeking shelter? In this 20 degree weather? And was taken by the police to St. Luke’s? Sometimes I feel like an urban version of a tracker, looking at clues to see what might have taken place while I was gone. What I’d see if there was a video camera recording 24/7.

Today, Steven is returning with more of his Woodshed Collective members. And John is bringing a director friend. It’s late afternoon and gathering dark as I lead the tour, beginning in the scariest part, the basement. As we go up and down back staircases to surprise arrivals in different rooms, the theatre folks have the delight of kids in a haunted house or on a scavenger hunt.  As we look at the semi-ruins of the chapel, one member says, “you’d normally have to pay a lot of money to get something to look like this.” We finish the tour. They will continue  to thjnk about “immersive possibilities.” John says to his director, “what could you do with a place like this?” She says, “What couldn’t you do.”

Earlier today I joined in  our annual neighborhood Martin Luther King, Jr Day march for peace. This year’s theme is “economic justice.”  Including a call for support of a bill to provide paid sick leave for city employees. As we march the streets , with police escort, going in and out of five houses of worship, pausing at each for a reflection, a song, an act, we weave a reality throughout the neighborhood. This  is a perfect example of what Bill Tripp spoke of in his presentation on Ritual Space. We have turned our neighborhood into living, breathing ritual space.

Walking from Holy Name to 2nd Presbyterian, I’m  joined by an older woman. She says to me, “I know you, you don’t know me,” her nam e is Ulla. She’s one of  the amazing group of septuagenarian/octogenarian committed members of Peace Action. She speaks of her many years of activity at West-Park. Wants to know if we’re finally saved from being torn down. So I have to slowly explain the realities  of landmarking.  She talks  about having  come to the Crafts Fair/Music Festival, how much it meant to her to be back inside after all these years. How beautiful and alive  it looked. She asks where the money will come from to fix things. And I say, “people just like you’." And she laughs. And then  I  say, seriously. And describe our step by step process.  

At the next stop, I’m disturbed when the pastor, after describing what an inclusive and multicultural place the school at her church was,  asks us to conclude  by singing “We are climbing Jacob’s ladder, bearers of the cross.” Well bearers instead of soldiers certainly demilitarizes the old hymn. But doesn’t make it inclusive.

Out on the street, I join my friend Father Duffel,and Lutheran pastors Elise and Heidi. Good solid organizers all. Leaders in working for rights for homeless and for their issues. They share my concerns about inclusiveness. At the Franciscan church, the friar spoke of the God we call God, Allah, Adonai, Dios....Our Presbyterian hosts were Christocentric. That can’t feel welcoming when what you’ve come to attend is an interfaith witness.

I thought back to Thursday night’s event again. The imam calling us to King’s vision of ecumenicity. Rabbi Potasnik of the New York City Board of Rabbis said that we were in  “different locals, but all part if the same union.” Later, I spoke with my friend Rabbi Michael Feinberg of The Religion Labor coalition.  He shared with me his disappointment with certain leaders of this event. “I’m used to people who live interfaith as a way of life. Not see it as a strategic tactic. When they had a preservice ‘prayer huddle,’ I thought of joining in just to be there, but it felt like it wasn’t for me. I’m getting too old for this...”

Elise speaks of how one of our rabbi colleagues finds much of what we do not inclusive. FatherJohn and Pastor Heidi are in agreement. I talk about last Thursday and say, “interfaith is not a strategy, it’s a way of life.” We agree we have to make that more understood. On King Day, 2011, we should be further along than this. 

They want to know  about what we’re up to. Elise came to our Crafts Fair/Music Festival and was very moved to see life coming again. I talk about how we’re not looking for a real estate deal anymore, that it’s a new process. Hard for some to understand. How we tried to rebuild for rebirth but now know we must be reborn to rebuild.

I watch the line  of people winding its way through the streets connecting  our houses  of worship. The kind of ritual space Bill Tripp described for us goes beyond any particular tradition, is by its very nature inclusive. The immersive theatre experience being imagined by Woodshed, how it works, is yet another expression of Ritual Space.  That's the vision of the  Centre we are seeking to bring into being. A place for artists, activists, companion travelers of all kinds. This can be  our part of the emerging Beloved Community we can take responsibility to build.

Martin Luther King, Jr. Sunday 2011: We shall overcome someday

1/16

This is the Sunday we commemorate the birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  Jim and Holly are the first to arrive to help set up, as usual. Then our musicians. Juan has brought a small space heater. There’s  Philip and then Amy.  As cold as it is, I joke that later that afternoon, over 60,000 people will sit outside in colder weather watching  a football game. (Of course a few beers help.)

During the time with children, Deacon Pat asks what would Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. think of today? She recalled her pride, her tears when Obama was elected. There has been change, but...

That indeed is the question before us today.  

There is much on my mind as I think about that question:

*  The shock waves that continue to flow out from the shooting in Tucson. How the President's words reminded us of the HOPE he inspired as he ran his campaign. Would these words touch anybody, change anybody not already committed to civility in the public arena?  I wrestle with the current level of divisiveness, our continuing  fascination with guns. And how we deal with the mentally ill. And the fact that families of victims and accused need support and prayer.

• Our clergy meeting in Wednesday when we talked about the new shelter for 200 men.  The city’s need to find shelter for burgeoning numbers of homeless. The new profit opportunity for the illegal hotel owners to sign shelter contracts with the city. Yes, shelter is needed in this cold. But what we really need are permanent affordable housing apartments to better weave the fabric of our community. 

Hope asks: so if they’re paying $100 a night for shelter, why not let the men stay there permanently? Have enough services available to help the residents  transition back to work? Back to neighborhood life? Wouldn’t that make sense?

• And i ‘m thinking about the city wide rally for the Living Wage we went to Thursday night at Convent Avenue Baptist Church.  Reminding us that Dr. KIng’s last mission was to join the fight  for a living wage for sanitation workers in Memphis. The statistics are disturbing: the citywide unemployment rate is 9.1% and the unemployment rate for people of color is three times that, around 28%. Only 2.3% of city contracts go to companies owned by people of color.  And worst of all, 30% of the children in this city live in poverty.  What would Dr. KIng say?

What’s being asked for is pretty small:  $10 an hour with benefits, $11.50 without. As I overheard at the bar at Gabriela’s while waiting for my take out pollo con mole poblano, “In New York City you have to be middle class just to be poor.” And its inappropriate for a billionaire mayor to talk about letting  the market decide when these companies receive subsidies  from city taxes. Certainly the Los Angeles experience seems to show that employment actually increases with a living wage, not decrease it.

In the words of Dr. James Forbes, Pastor Emeritus of the Riverside Church and Director of the Healing  of the Nations Foundation, we have to learn how to tangibilitize our  values. From the verb tangibilitate : to  make tangible, real, concrete our values.

* And it was one year ago that the Landmarks Commission voted to designate West-Park as a landmark. The commissoner said he would do “everything in his power.” That was a year ago. Councilmember Brewer said that she could  and would raise $20 million. Subcommittee Chair Landner was convinced help would come. Committee Chair Comrie promised we would  “be all right.” That was eight months ago. So what do we do now? What do we have  to do to make our story public? Hold these offocials accountable? 

* And two wars that seem to go on with n en din sight wit mainly children  the poor and people of color dying. 

Dr. King had,as spoken by the prophet Isaiah, a mouth “like a sharp sword.” We need like he did, that experience of precision, disappointment, failure that comes with the prophetic call. The feeling that all our work has been in vain. Dr. King knew depression a swell. How do we move beyond that? 

Part of it comes in understanding that Isaiah makes clear that this call is universal, not just for “Jacob” and certainly not just for Christians. Imam Talib reminded us that Dr. King called us to set aside our prejudices and join together in a truly ecumenical movement, in sense of worldwide household. That means full acceptance of all, even those whose experiences lead them to question or reject faith, all who join together in good will. To that we have the challenge of being  universal without being unitarian. To maintain the uniqueness of our witness even as we reject triumphalism. 

The Psalmist speaks from a place of depression as well. Many of us have been there. Even Dr. King. What doe it mean to sing a new song? What is new? Are we ready to embrace it? Brave enough to sing it?  God gave us “an open ear.”  To hear what? The voice of God? The voice of those around us? Is there a difference? Yes, Dr. King was rooted in the African-American Christian experience, but he grew to a universal vision.

On Saturday, I saw the movie “Red Shirley.” His interviews with his 100 year old aunt, a refugee from Poland who became a union organizer in the garment workers Union. How as a Yiddish speaker she had to speak to Italians. How today its Latinos and African-Americans but still the same union. She was at the theatre in person after the movie. Spoke of  her sadness at the passing of the day when society, young people had a shared sense of social right and wrong. What realities were simply unacceptable. What does it take to live a life of commitment? To raise our children so they will have that innate sense?

I show the congregation my bracelet. the one with basta! on it. I say, 'Basta de que? Basta de todo...de guerra, injusticio, politicos que dice muco y hace nada....si, basta de todo...enough of it all..."

When asked where he was staying, Jesus told his disciples “come and see.” Yes, come and see. He is staying with the immigrants, the mournng in Arizona, the unemployed, the children in poverty...he is staying there....Walter Breuggeman said that the “Jesus event”shows God “eagerly invested” in the world. We are inheritors not of certainty, but a continuing struggle to know God and follow Jesus and to seek to understand what that might mean.  How our seemingly small witness can move from ineffectiveness to global impact. We are called to a deep openess to what might happen. 

We cannot live in 1968 or any other era or time than our own. We must resist the appropriation of Martin Luther King, Jr for any self-serving purpose, the ritualization, the holidayzation of the day. We must begin  by being ultimately present in this moment with everything we have. 

That’s what we talked about.  Philip sang “How Great Thou Art,” recalling the Thursday night service. P____came to the candle, praying for her case. We spoke of the next day’s march. of the week ahead. And held hands as we  sang our Halle, halle, halle, hallelujah and “We shall overcome...” with everything that lies ahead, inside and outside our doors...

Deep in our hearts, we do believe, that we shall overcome some day.

Our window is small

1/14

So what would be the story behind one surgical glove? Makes you wonder...

Today’s breakfast with my attorney. Slowly he moves from skeptic to ally as he begins to understand the vision. That we’re not talking about a real estate deal, but a process. And he begins to see why people  would be excited about the vision. But he’s right about the strategy to move ahead, beyond a dream.  That we have an opportunity to move our presbytery beyond its internecine battles to a place of moving forward. That we are in a context of a dying mainstream tradition with new life happening around the edges and that we have to be able to make clear that this is not just one more attempt for little West-Park to keep hanging on, but about something that’s bigger than West-Park, something that could be a model. That would need research, input from around the country. I know the people who could do that, who are doing it. Our window is small. Voices other than ours have to see the hope and lift it up before a preoccupied body. We need to be able to describe it with clarity. David against Goliath is not enough. We’ve said from the start that this is not about our small congregation but maintaining a place, an opportunity for reformed presence and witness in the center of the Upper West Side. There is no crowd  of traditional Presbyterians out there looking for a church. We need to somehow be able to engage those who are “spiritual but not religious.” Those who have been hurt, burned by the church or pushed out. (Like the West-Park of the ’80’s was, only in a new day.) An opportunity to move the church away from its self-absorbed irrelevance to living authentic presence. “Lunatic fringe with a strategic plan,” as Rick says. Not an easy task. With allies, we maybe can do it, he says. But without, sisyphusian at least, improbable at best. Only with allies do we have a  chance.

Waiting for a response from our city council member? Will she respond? if not, what then? I stop by her neighborhood office on my way home to see if i can set up a meeting.

There's a story to be told

1/13

“Hey boricua!”

Passing the projects, a burly latino guy in Northface yells at me. In my winter jacket, baseball hat, sunglasses.

“Hey, you Spanish, right?” I ignore him and keep walking.

“You Chinese?” I keep walking. A woman is passing.

“Hey, mami, that’s my father,” he yells at her. “He look Dominican, no?”

So I’ve covered three ethno-cultural groups in one block. 

The keys are still on the steps. And a mini bottle of tequila.

Ted and I stop into Barney Greengrass  for coffee and to await our appointment with Norm Bleckner. A friend of his from the 92nd Street Y stops by. We talk about what we’re up to, the upcoming 100th anniversary celebration. Ted asks her if she’d like to be on the committee. And she actually seems interested.  Something about the vision intrigues her. 

Norm meets us in the church. He creates displays and museum exhibits. He came to the house party at Ted and Mim’s. The vision moved him.  He’s here to talk about setting up an archival exhibit for West-Park. An interpretive exhibit. Something people can see when they walk in. Something to see the impact of the church on social history. Another of Amanda’s ideas coming to life. 

I show him the memorials to Lewis C. Bales and the Rev. David R. Downer. Their inherent mystery. The Spanish names on the World War II plaque. There must have been Latinos here before the creation of La Iglesia Presbiteriana de West-Park. We stand in the sanctuary, I tell the stories. Then give him the tour, stories as I go.

“There’s a story here. You have to tell it,” he says. “It intersects with the story of our neighborhood, the city. People forget. They have to know. I want to do this.”

There’s work to be done. Gathering our paper archives. The proclamation from the city on the 25th anniversary of the More Light movement. West-Park’s pioneering in the gay marriage movement. The history book from the 150th anniversary. Online photos. Architectural plans. T-shirts, sweatshirts, artifacts from the work groups that came through after 9-11. The catalogue of all the windows. The Tiffany contract. The Kilburn contract. The agreement with God’s Love We Deliver. Hours of work ahead. He sees an old 48 star flag in the session room. Old sets of tarnished communion ware. “All of this, we can use all of this..” he says. 

There’s a story to be told.

Not as bad as expected

1/12

The snow was not as bad as expected.


One year ago, the Landmarks Commission voted to designate West-Park as a landmark. It felt like a crushing defeat, even though the appearance before City Council would be months in the future.  Amanda came in for the hearing. Holly, Hugo, and Hope were all there as well. Following the vote, I stood side by side with our city commissioner Gale Brewer as we spoke to the press and she promised her support. I asked her what exactly she would she do. Then the  staff of Landmarks Commissioner Tierney called me in to his office to pledge his support. Again, I asked exactly what it was he would do. It was a painful morning....


 An early morning check-in showed that this time the scaffolding had protected the walkway.  Chuck Mac Donald, my shoveling buddy from the blizzard, is waiting for me at the church. We help a guy whose car has been buried by city snowplows dig out. One final push and he’s on his way.

We don’t have to get out the old snow blower, shovels will handle today’s work.  I get the steps clear and then we tackle the sidewalks and the treacherous street crossings. Chuck finishes with clearing a path through the bus stop. I notice the shelter is gone. Not sure when that happened. A solid hour of shoveling and we’re done. 

In the bowels of the church, we discovered old bags of salt. We carry them upstairs to salt the walks and steps. Walking down the street, spreading  salt by hand, I feel like an old time farmer sewing seeds. Chuck examines the walks. “A work of art,” he says. Shovelers tend to say things like that when they’re done. Having done my share, I agree. 


Putting the shovels away, Chuck notices the two marble plaques embedded in the sanctuary narthex wall. One on each side of the doors. Both young pastors. Lewis C. Bales from the 1840's and the other David R. Downer. Both died in their thirties. Bales in San Francisco. And Downer's has a strange inscription: "....he terminated his ministry and his life on..." Why word it that way?  Chuck wonders if there are any abolitionist connections here.  I wonder why these two? Which former church were they in? Who demanded that they be placed prominently  in the new church? Why? I google both names, find no information. A project for someone. We also notice that there's a World War II plaque but no World War I. Mysteries continue.

We go back outside. I shake hands with Chuck, say “thanks.” “No” he says, “Thank you. I feel good doing this. Next time I’ll just put you on my list. I’ll be here. See if you can find a gas can for that  blower.”  And we shake hands once more as he takes off. 

Though I had made phone calls and sent e-mails to build a snow alert strategy, Andrea is right, I didn’t close the deal. Need to make sure everything is in place for the next time. Now. 


Marty checks out the newly cleaned steps and considers sitting down. I greet him. Ask how he's doing. He eyes me warily. "Oh, it's you father."  Then walks on down the street. He's been pretty non-social recently. I wonder what's  going on with him.

I hear my name and look up. Coming around the corner looking esqimoesque in a fur lined hooded snow jacket and furry boots is my neighbor Lutheran pastor Elise Brown. Our neighborhood clergy gathered at her church this morning to discuss a new community issue. There’s a shelter for 200 men opening two blocks down the street from her. 

Here’s the situation:  our Upper Westside neighborhood once had 60,000 SRO units, the lowest rung of affordable housing. Most built in the post World War II boom years. First, thousands were converted into market rate apartments. Then, more recently, old SRO’s were converted into illegal tourist hotels. Now that the state has vowed action to shut them down,owners are turning to the newest profit field, sheltering the homeless. With a newly burgeoning homeless population, the intention of closing the shelter at Bellevue, and the overall dearth of available housing stock, the city is paying $100 a night per homeless person. This shelter is just the beginning.

It’s a tough moral spot for clergy. No one wants to deny temporary shelter to those who need it, especially in the cold. No clergy wants to seem an ally to the growing sense of NIMBYism in a greatly gentrified neighborhood. Yet the placement of 200 socially vulnerable men on one residential block is unfair to both the neighborhood and the men themselves.  The community needs to be in on these plans at the front end, not once there’s a fait acompli.

In the bigger picture, what we desperately need is to turn the units into permanent affordable housing units. Units that would help weave an economically diverse community fabric. Something  to slow the hastening bifurcation of the neighborhood into only rich and very poor. A dichotomy that cannot be healthy. We decide to seek a negotiation to make this shelter work as well as possible. And develop a strategy to move units into the affordable housing market. I leave the meeting early to tend to my shoveling. At lunch, I’m reminded that my colleagues have people to take care of that. 

The day finishes with a visit from Steven Squibb of the Woodshed Theatre Company, known for their  production  of “Twelve Ophelias” in the empty Mc Carren Park swimming pool in Brooklyn. He’s interested in the building for an immersive theatrical experience. In room after raw room his eyes light with imagination and ideas. We cover every inch of sanctuary and church house. He’s amazed by the beauty of the sanctuary, the acoustics and the remains of the upstairs Papp theatre.  We head to Barney Greengrass for coffee and a discussion of possibilities.  My hope always is that when creative people, like the musicians and craftspeople at our December  fair and festival, see the space, new ideas will spark and new visions become real. New energy to flow.


I start to think about his planned production. Different scenes of the same play going on in different spaces. Audiences wandering from space to space. Interacting. Piecing together their own understanding of the production. And i begin to wonder about the liturgical possibilities of this  model. 

Not as bad as expected. A good day.

The city holds it's breath

1/11

Amazing how much trash can accumulate in one day. Windswept. Wind blown on the steps, against the doors.  A coffee cup. The usual cigarette butts and matches. A plastic bag of magazines.  One glove.  And a key on a string. Hmmm. Wonder where that came  from. What the key opens. What the story is.  I decide to hang it in easy sight, just in case. 

The morning’s breakfast meeting  tells us we’ve got enough money to make to through the quarter.  Keep Presbytery off our back. More time  to develop a plan.  And a challenge grant that will triple our funds if we can only raise them.  The boiler issue teeters on the brink of falling back into the black hole of insurance adjustors hell. Can’t let that happen.

An older good Presbyterian woman was among the dead in Tucson.

The city holds it’s breath, waiting for snow. 

A new week has begun

1/10

Sunny and cold. I showed up a day early for a breakfast. Better that than a day late. Street conversations: my neighbor Sharif, still working on his plans for the so-called “Ground Zero mosque.” They’ve been out of the news lately, which he says is a good thing. Making progress quietly. He invites me to the weekly open houses at his office. I’ll have to go and check that out. Our Presbytery Social Witness Council has taken actions in their support. Eleanor: their holiday season. The amazing creativity of her amazing daughter Isabel. Her preparations for an upcoming Israeli-American Jewish study retreat on the gospel of Luke. The very kind of activities the Centre dreams of sponsoring. I must find a way to get her involved, soon.

The steps themselves are quiet. An empty box of chocolates. An empty cigarette pack. Food containers and an empty apple sauce jar. Someone had a meal. A woman approaches and asks how to get inside, to where the rooms are. I ask why. She’s looking for an OA group. We used to have those, back in the day. She pulls out a green flier. OK, it’s SPSA she’s looking for. Probably the group that used to meet at West-Park. I direct her two blocks down the street. She thanks me and goes that way. A Latino guy in a Northface jacket approaches. Wishes me good morning. Happy New Year. Taps on the scaffolding. “Met-al?” he asks. “ Yes, why?” ‘Met-al? garbage? Any met-al?” ‘No,” I say. And he’s on his way.

Yesterday at Barney Greengrass. Pushing my way through the crowd waiting for brunch to pay for my coffee. I see Gary’s calendar with the long bearded Lubbavitcher rebbes. “Good calendar, Gary, “ I say. “That’s my ZZ-Top calendar,” he says with his smile.

It’s very cold. What can I do this week to get the heat back on? I’m thinking of my friends in Arizona, the e-mails I need to write. 86th Street is looking pretty scruffy. I’ll have to deal with that tomorrow. Time to get the week planned and underway. A new week has begun.