Making instruments from garbage

3/19

Jack Kerouac bobblehead santo

A musician walks in. Drummer. Part of Justin’s band at the last open mic Amanda did. Fell in love with the place. Especially the chapel. He’s just finished recording an album with a group called A Brief view of the Hudson. 

                                                     A brief view of the Hudson

His real work is photography. He wants to do shootings in the chapel. Looking for subjects to sit for portraits. He’d love to shoot the dancers. For free.

He’s from Scotland. I tell him about my visits to Micah when he lived there. And how Micah was detained at the border for suspicion of attempting to enter the country with the intention of committing music. We go back to the chapel. Look at the word BLOOD seemingly coming through. I so want to see the rest of that quote. While I still can. 

RL comes in. With concerns about Chrisimodo, as he calls him. To count in RL’s book, he has to have given you a name. He asks about my Jack Kerouac bobble head. I tell him and he tells me about an early novel under the name John Kerouac. And I recall the enormous single paper roll on which he typed On the Road and the fantasy baseball game he created, as if it were a whole world to live in. Detailed descriptions of make believe games with well developed player characters..So Jack remains on my desk. His twin counterpart on my old friend Jack’s desk. 

Stephen and I put up signs for Theatre Dzieci’s upcoming Passion Play, this Sunday at West-Park at 11. And then we continue our search for the lost organ connection. Another box with AB on the outside gets us one step closer. But still not there.

I finish the day with RL and Poet Tim, who’s got a fresh new haircut. Getting closer to a real official opening of his studio. Tim shares an amazing video of children making instruments from garbage. The Land Fillharmonic Orchestra. There’s a metaphor there.

                                                               The Landfillharmonic

The arrest and trial of Jesus, Part 2: Some thoughts on Guatemala

Sunday’s  New York Times reported Rios Montt of Guatemala finally going on trial for genocide. While specifically charged with the deaths of some 1700 Ixill people, some 200,000 mainly indigenous people were killed during the ’80’s under Montt. Another 45,000 missing. Nearly all indigenous people.

I remember meeting Montt, el viejo they called him. His kindly grandfatherly demeanor, his born again piety. And I remember meeting with missionaries, the radio turned loud to foil listening devices. Meeting terrorized Mayans, stories of whole villages disappearing.

And a visit to El Verbo, the church Montt was associated with. Behind barbed wire fences. Barking German shepherds. Their representative in a black leather jacket, sunglasses. You must remember, he said, For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world...(Ephesians 6:12). And then we understood. The murdered poor were not even human but demon possessed legions of darkness.

We understood that whereas in most of Central America, the struggle was class-based, Guatemala had a particularly race based reality. The Reagan administration knew of the genocide and denied it. 

We took this truth to our Presbyterian General Assembly in 1983 in Atlanta as part of our comprehensive Central America policy report. And in a late night session, conservatives produced missionaries who allied their work to the Ladino population to testify to Montt’s evangelical faith, to amend our report to pray for him, to prevent an even worse loss of life. That he needed our support. I was enraged. We couldn’t get to a mic. Our missionary friends who worked with los indigenos were prevented from speaking. The amendment passed.

Later , over a late night meal, one of the conservative evangelical leaders kept questioning me. Finally he said why can’t you support our brother in Christ? I rose, drew back my fist. A friend pulled me back. I walked away.

From a  distance I heard, What’s wrong with him? And a friend replied, maybe he’s just seen too many decapitated bodies.  

Thirty years later, vindication. But there is no joy in that. even if an apology from Montt’s North American Christian supporters would be forthcoming. Especially to the people of Guatemala. Which will not happen. 

The point is, the trial of Jesus, the humiliation, the torture, has never ended. It just goes on....

Outside, wet snow is falling. Soli asks me how long its been going on. Dos horas y media, mas o menos, I reply.  John walks Hope to a cab. Cara walks me to the corner...

The arrest and trial of Jesus, part 1

3/18

Visited by Ann, Michelle and Graham, three representatives of a production?installation performance? called the Ascent. Having had a trial run at a Brooklyn warehouse, they’re ready for a bigger go. It involves brain waves and hoists and I’m not sure what else. They examine every inch of the church.Ann had been here for the Tenant, felt this would be the perfect place. The possible loss of control over much of the church house makes me bite my lip. We’ll see what they propose. 

Stephen takes them on a tour of the premises while he leaves behind a young man he has just met, Alexander. Dressed a bit, well, Victorian. But intrigued by our organ, anxious to volunteer. Fresh from  Mexico City. A composer with lots of ideas. Letting the space speak to him. Wanting others to discover the space as he did on his search for me. As I listen to him play, I realize that he can actually read music. So many who play here do so wonderfully, but but by ear and  feel. 

Almost time for the Center board meeting. The weather is starting to go bad. We get caught up with where we are in our negotiations. Ted lays out financial realities moving forward. We turn to a discussion of programming for the first time in months. There is a glimmer of light flickering. 

Tonight’s Bible study covers the arrest and trial of Jesus. (Mark 14:43-15:21) We notice a number of things:

• Jesus is betrayed by an intimate act: a kiss
• a bystander attacks a slave with a sword. This means there were more there than the disciples and that they had come armed, expecting a uprising
• Jesus does not criticize the bystander, only those who seize him. They come under cover of night and seize him with excessive force when they could have picked him up anytime in the temple
• There is a strange cameo by a young man in white linen who winds up naked. Is this about vulnerability? Exposure? Keep an eye on this character

Trail before the Sanhedrin:

• It’s improper from the get go. It’s Passover. It’s night. These officials should be at home. They cannot do anything legal at night. 
• They’ve lined up false witnesses, but they can’t agree. 
• His saying that he would destroy the Temple in three days and rebuild it with his own hand is a political issue, not a religious issue. It threatens the whole power system of the temple. They are right to perceive it as a threat. So would most of Jerusalem, even all the workers employed in Herod’s building projects, including the temple. Almost everyone has a stake in the existing system.
• Jesus’ silence connects with the image of the suffering servant in Isaiah
• The chief priest’s question about  Jesus saying that he is the Messiah, even Son of God, is not in itself blasphemous. Any king or royal pretender could claim this.
• Jesus answers in terms of being the Human One, the One who comes to judge. Now the line has been crossed. He has condemned himself by his own words. 
• Still the Sanhedrin only has the power allowed it by Rome. They cannot exercise capital punishment without Roman consent. Jesus will not be stoned to death but crucified.
• The soldiers mock Jesus, taunting him (see Palm 22). Telling him to prophesy. Their actions are an enactment of prophesy.
• Everyone has fled. The discipleship project has collapsed.

In between is Peter’s denial. He must have remembered his promise and followed at a distance. But he gives in to fear. His accent, from Galilee, gives him away. So he denies. Denies. And vehemently denies. The cock crows. he cries. Mark draws us to him. Wants us to feel that. The rock has crumbled.

Trial before Pilate:

• No record of Passover amnesties.But all kind of prisoner exchanges, deals. 
• Pilate questions him about being an ethnic leader, King of the Jews, not king of  Israel. And all Jesus says is You said it. All kinds of charges. No plea bargaining. (Too late for that.) The silence of Jesus amazes Pilate.
• He offers the crowd a choice between Jesus and Barabbas (Son of the father.) Barabbas is a guerrilla assassin, a terrorist.A threat to Rome, not the Temple. The Barabbas movement is restorationist, not transformational.
• The chief priests stir up the crowd. The crowd calls out for Barabbas. And to crucify Jesus. The language is like that of demon possession. Perhaps it’s just what happens in a crowd when mob mentality takes over. Perhaps as Marsha says, they want the devil they know, not this strange one whose disciples have all deserted him. At this point Jesus is completely, absolutely alone. 
• It’s not the crowd, the Jews, who do Jesus in. Pilate is at every turn completely in control. With the collaboration of the Temple establishment who will do everything they can to keep their privilege. In the Roman colonial system, to  sentence Jesus to crucifixion is to brand him an insurrectionist. 
• A second mocking scene. Jesus stripped naked. Exposed. Humiliated. Twice. Carried out by lower level colonial occupying soldiers. Like lower level police who have to be the front line. It’s festival time. More angry people around. Tensions high. They take their frustrations out on Jesus.

And so it is. An age old story. So many things come  to mind. 

• Guantanamo. Abu Ghraib. 
• We think of the dirty war in Argentina. Rabbi Marshall Meyer, who later rebirthed our neighbor B’Nai Jeshurun, demanding information on los desaparecidos, the disappeared ones. And when no answer came, stripping naked in the police office. Weren’t you scared? People later asked. I was scared shitless, he replied. But he did it.

I’m willing to keep an open mind on the new pope, Francis. He is a Jesuit. St. Francis is a good model. I’m willing to believe that he did not actually aide the junta in Argentina. And that maybe he even helped people behind the scenes. But he never raised a voice. Stood naked in front of power. We’ll see. 

Hope asks why Marshall’s story isn’t more widely known. I ask,how many remember Andrew Goodman, who lived next door? Only half the people around the table know. Cara wasn’t even born. Andrew who lived next door. Went to Mississippi in 1964 with the Freedom Riders to work for voting rights. Along with Schwerner and Cheney, arrested then virtually turned over by the police to the Klan. Who lynched them. And today, 49 years later, the Goodman Foundation has to fight all over again to protect the voting rights Andrew died for as Republicans seek to turn back the clock. The trial continues.

Fifth Sunday in Lent: Green eyes, just like Eva Gardner

3/17

Stephen, Kimberley and Andre

St. Parick’s Day. The doors are open. Stephen is waiting. On the way to 85 Copy, I run into Marty.  Happy St.Patrick’s Day, Marty. He looks up. Recognizes me. It takes a minute. 

So Reverend. Did you say a special mass for the holiday? It’s a sad day. or is it a happy day? My father was a reverend, I see you’re wearing green. My mother had green eyes, just like Eva Gardner. That’s why he married her.

Because of the green eyes?

No, she was a good cook. But when he got mad at here, he’d just stare. Right in those green eyes. 

You have a good day, OK? And he nods. 

On the way back from the copy shop, an Orthodox Jew in his black hat and beard is taking to him. And do you have matzoh? And grape juice? When are you going to get it?

I walk past. Back to church. Anna and puppy are guarding my office. When I go to set the sanctuary, she goes out to sweep the steps. I set the table with Lenten purple. Lay down my purple Guatemalan stole. Then, just for today, add my green stole. St. Patrick’s Day.

Kimberley is leading today. Stephen has learned the music and is playing the piano. And Andre has arrived to sing and lead the music. Her reflection is on the story in John where Lazarus has just been raised. A dinner is going on. Mary perfumes his feet with expensive pure nard.  And Judas, called a thief by John, complains.

Her main focus is living in the moment. How even in the shadow of the looming cross, we need to feel the joy of the moment. Allow it to fill us. Share it with each other. Celebrate in the midst of sorrow. Appreciate the people around us, now. We know not what tomorrow brings. But we are here, together, now. 

Her reflection was well thought out. Theologically coherent. Filled with touchstones of people’s lives. And seasoned with a collection of quoted from a broad variety of sources true to her Unitarian self.

Andre does a reprise of Come by here, my Lord. I say that it began with the slaves, was taken to Africa by missionaries and brought back around by Pete Seeger. Remember its role in Glen’s play, Dem Dahk Days Down South.( http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2012/07/it-just-doesnt-work.html )And Glen tells us his assistant Victoria has been accepted into the graduate program at NYU.  And Kimberley leads us in a rousing Shout for joy,  brightening our Lent.

Tracy has sent pastries from Joe Bar. Jamie has brought coffee. We take time to enjoy each other. Get to know Ashley, our visitor. 

Time to get the Session together. Review where we are negotiationswise. 

I’m loaded down with boxes for packing. Jame hails a cab.

I’m remembering last year. The Occupy action. Tying together the deeper meaning of St. Patrick’s, finishing at the Irish famine memorial. (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2012/03/twentyfirst-day-of-lent-st-patricks-day.html) Then the next night, our celebration of el fiesta del San Patricio, with the Buskers, Joe and Pat and KT. And Carlos and his norteno band of Mexican workers. As we lifted up el batalon San Patricio, the immigrant draftees who decided they were on the wrong side and refused to fire on Mexicans. It’s good to remember. (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2012/03/fourth-sunday-in-lent-vivan-los-san.html )

Que viva el batalon San Patricio. Presente!

Glen and Don

Hope, Stephen and Arcadia

Andre and Cara

That is worth some money

3/15

Kimberley and Kristen are waiting when I arrive. Kristen is one of our long standing artist friends. She is a singer-songwriter Union Seminary theological students. She was part of Amanda’s women’s singer-songwriters concert back i the Bridge concert series. And performed in our second Balcony Music Festival. And when I was in Berlin, did her own showcase concert at West-Park with her folk chamber group, Songs in the Key of Redemption.  

Krisren Leigh at West-Park

She looks around the office. Smiles. Laughs. Says I love this place. She’s brought the video of her concert. Wants to do a DVD with interviews of key Center people. We talk about the emergent church. And our mutual dislike of contemporary Christian music in all its saccharine didacticism. The church of transformation deserves music of transformation. I talk about my affection for the theology of Rubem Alves, from Brazil,  the former liberation theologian, now transformation theologian. His concept of Warrior, poet, priest. 

St. Cecilia

Kristen is off to Portland. That damned city again                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              PDX.  I tell her she’s got to talk to Amanda while she’s there. Who helped conceive and birth the center. Who knows its soul center. Kristen is looking for St.Cecilia. She brought her along and then left her at her concert. I found her, thought she was well, a bit disturbing, quasi s&m like. But then I heard her story, how they tried to behead her and she sang for three days and became the patron saint of musicians.

And I think of Paul Simon an the lyrics of his song, The Coast:

A family of musicians took shelter for the night 

In the little harbor church of st. cecilia 

Two guitars, bata, bass drum and tambourine 

Rose of jericho and bougainvillea 

This is a lonely life 

Sorrows everywhere you turn 

And that's worth something 

When you think about it 

That's worth some money 

That's worth something 

When you think about it 

                                                      The Coast

I return St. Cecilia to Kristen. Both seem happy with the reunion.

Anna is rousting el borracho. I notice he’s got a rather fancy looking IPhone. What’s up with that? Anna says, Don’t you know? The drug pushers use him as a drop off point.

Stephen on the other hand, posits that drug dealers wouldn’t leave valuable drugs or large sums of money with a drunk man. I will not pass judgment on what I know not of. 

Friends from the Trilingual School are back. They’re still interested.But I have to tell them that wan’t really talk. But I connect them with Martin. Need a back up plan, just in case. 

Nancy and Bob at the opening

Nancy has come to go for a beer at the B and talk real estate. She and Cara are deep in conversation. We go to the B then return for Berik and Leila’s latest New York Realism exhibit opening: Fantasy of Dream and Allegory. They’re back from a successful show in Montreal. As usual, the artists span the globe. 

Artist David Pullman and Cara

Soon I must leave to see Melisa’s play, Pit, about the 1984 Welsh miners  strike. It’s colder than I expected. 

                                                          Kristen Leigh sings

That was then

3/14

The West 80’s Neighborhood Association has come with a three part agenda. First: make all arrangements for a May candidates forum at West-Park. Our Council member Gale Brewer is being term-limited out of office. After many long years of it’s being Gale’s office, someone else must now be elected and that relationship will be important to us. Gale’s aide Jesse is with us.

Next they want to look at Bill’s proposal for a tower light installation. Reflecting both a new dawn, a new birth, and referencing  our role as the birthplace of the More Light Movement for lgbtq inclusion at every level. We’re surprised that our neighbors are favorably impressed and see the lights as a new beacon, a sign of hope, a plus for the neighborhood. 

Third: they want to know about our plans. We tell them things are still in negotiation. They are supportive. Want to see life here. Vitality. Egress may be an issue. They agree to help work on easements.

One of the members of the group visiting us is on the board of the Andrew Goodman Foundation. Andrew was one of the three Freedom Riders murdered by the Ku Klux Klan outside of Philadelphia, Mississippi in the summer of 1964. He grew up next door to West-Park. I met his mother once at a community meeting. They were classic examples of what the Upper West Side once was. Our new neighbor moved into the Goodman home. learned the history. Felt she had an obligation to carry it on. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_Goodman)  It is important these stories not be lost.

Andrew Goodman

As we finish, Cara and Nicole are at the piano. Trying to recapture some of what Amanda and Cara had created. It takes awhile to get the synergy. Nicole is one of Jeremy’s back up singers but has a voice worth following on her own.

I see the door open and in  from the cold comes Isis, back from Oklahoma. El Borracho is in the back of the church, cell phone in hand. I speak to him and he leaves. Soon, I am watching as Dzieci works methodically through the Passion Play they will be performing at West-Park on Palm Sunday. I’ve seen their finished products, but never their process. Kimberley is observing, enthralled to see Grotowski/ Brook  theatre theory embodied and carried out. I’m watching the Yeshua character, with tallis, entoning the Hebrew blessings. 

Jamie comes in and sits down beside me. Soon will be time for the Public Hearing. We learned to treat them with caution seven years ago in another life when we brought a proposal for housing their way. And the night I was accused of being responsible for the death of Arthur Cafiero while the committee chair said nothing. That was then. Tonight should be different. 

It is logistically impossible to fight animals smaller than your feet

3/13

Anna and puppy are standing outside the church when I arrive. Borracho is asleep on the steps. She points. I walk over. Wake him up. Mi hermano, no es permiso a dormirse aqui duriente el dia. He looks up at me. Me siento mucho, pero se ncesita irse immediamente. Anna nods. Better make sure he’s not holding for someone, she says. I’ve got to go to a meeting. I’m going for coffee, keep an eye on him, OK? 

Jeremy comes in. We need to get  a new external hard drive so that he can transfer Zeljko’s raw interviews for our records. 

Stephen digging deeper into the organ issue, spreading his contacts wider.

Leila is here to start to set up for Friday night’s art opening.

3/14

When I arrive at the church, Danielle has been desperately calling me. The crazy gray bearded man with  a cowboy hat is playing the piano in the sanctuary. Sunglasses on. Has just scolded some of Martin’s dancers for smoking outside the church.

I walk into the sanctuary. So, what’s up? 

Ah, pastor, I have come to see you...what follows is one of the most amazing unbroken seven minutes raps I have ever heard. It includes international apocalyptic conspiracies, health tips, organic food recipes, a strategy including first warthogs and then pigs released into Syria, snakes, blood, blood in the air too heavy for airplane windshield wipers, references to the pilot of the universe, our role as children of the greater Israel...

Danielle’s favorite line: It is logistically impossible to fight insects smaller than your feet. 

Every sentence is complete and grammatically correct but every one stranger than the next, randomly collated, paranoid and grandiose. I am stupefied and unsure how to get him to stop.

..Pastor, your church is noted for being on the side of the just. You knew me before I came in here. I am watching out for you. I just kicked two smoke offenders out of here for you....

Wait, I have to tell you, that’s not your job, that’s our job, you can’t be doing that.

He smiles, winks. But you know, right? I was here before you knew it and you know it. This is a job of utmost importance. The stakes are very high. It’s no time for rabbits. In their holes. And alligators? It’s pigs into Syria, I tell you. We can supply the farmers. The Holy One of Israel, the Pilot, is not happy with us, let me tell you. It all goes back to when  we let the pyramids crumble. They must be rebuilt. We’ve got to let President Obama know.... 

I can tell you are on a mission of utmost importance. I say. You  have no time to lose. You have to get this word out.....immediately.

He looks at me. Smiles. I can see you’ve got the point. I need to be on my way. If we wore cowboy hats, we’d tap into that great American spirit.  ( I wish RL were here..)I see I’ve got two new believers.  New members of my army. With you two, we can begin to reclaim, repopulate the earth. And he looks at Danielle and I. But I don’t need to spell that out.

The world needs to hear this, I say. You must be on your way...

So I walk out with him. Martin and two flamenceras outside, smoking. The only thing you should smoke is Mother Nature, he yells at them. You are being poisoned, duped. You are tools. Field strip those soldiers and swallow the butts, you’ll never smoke em again. Then he tips his hat and is on his way. 

Martin looks at me. So do you know that guy? I look at him. I thought maybe he was a new tenant. And I look again. Then Martin and I trade lines from Peter Graves in the movie Airplane:

 Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit drinking. 

 Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit smoking. 

 Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue. 

Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit amphetamines 

The day must go on.