The tenth day of Christmas: Of angels. And one of the magi.

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The coldest day yet.  Only fifteen degrees when I get to the church.

Jeremy is here to rehearse for this Sunday’s El Dia de los Tres Reyes Magos/Three Kings/Epiphany celebration. We run through We Three Kings and Freddie Half-Pint Jackson’s Early on One Christmas Morn and De Tierra Lejana…it’s fitting that Jeremy’s group is called the Magi…(to read more about Jeremy go to:  http://jeremymage.com/index.html )

Geoffrey comes in from the cold to stay warm in the sanctuary.

Spend much of the day waiting for Cara to be released from the hospital. Typical medical bureaucratic snafus. She finally arrives and I take her to lunch at Popover’s. Yet another institution driven out of business by astronomically increasing rents. For 27 ½ years and as long as I’ve been here, they’ve been the go-to place for business breakfasts and lunches and the occasional dinner, with steaming popovers, Russia beef borscht and Mexican chicken soup my favorites. And as of Sunday after brunch, they’ll be gone. I look for the pen and ink drawing of the street including Barney Greengrass and West-Park, but it’s gone already.

Not too long later, Stephen arrives back from Christmas with his family. Ready to move into a new apartment. And then Dion. Stopping to see if there’s an open mic, but no.  He’s happy to see Cara out of the hospital and we all enjoy visiting together. Dion, underneath his stand up comedian persona, is a genuinely caring person. I’m happy how he migrated from open mic to the church community.

Rachelle has been in and out all day. I was relieved to learn she had spent the night at an orthodox schul in Boro Park. And she’s back again after davening at schul.

Pastor, I broke down and cried in schul tonight.

I hesitate for a moment, but go ahead and say, Why?

There were all these happy young people, all these young people from Israel. And I wondered if I would ever have my happy life back again. I had a happy life. I was a happy young person. Oh there were so many parties…

For a minute, I wondered what she might have looked like, back in the day. And for a moment I could almost see her.

And soon enough I’m hearing about the near fatal car accident on the 59^th street bridge again. How the car coming the opposite way jumped the median. How a voice told her to buckle her seat belt as her car completely flipped over. How the rescue man told her an angel must have intervened.  And when she called him later, his wife said, Oh you’re the angel lady. You must have work to do. When my husband came home today, he kissed me like he never had before. I have met an angel, he said.

I have heard the story before. And now we hear  how another homeless woman at the schul last night told her she had an aura. How people walking down the street stop because they see she radiates something. How she could read palms. Do you read palms, pastor?

No. I don’t know about my aura either.

How when she was even a little girl people asked her for advice. And how she always advised the young girls. And now…

I go through the routine again of possible solutions. And as always, every idea is met by a yes but....  There is nothing I can do if she refuses what is available. But it is still bitter cold. When they were much younger, liberal pastor friends of mine tried welcoming  the homeless poor into their homes. That never turned out well. And I just can’t do that. Can’t take that level of responsibility. Boundaries. But it is still bitter cold. She looks at me intently, will I ever have my beautiful life back? 

And I think, not on this side.

Usually, I feel that reality is so painful, she refuses to look at it. (I never look in mirrors..) But somewhere inside, it's always there.

RL and I help her mini carts out the door. I wish there was an open mic to go to. But instead go up to watch another episode of Leverage with RL. No direct theological message here except for the rare underlying class critique and the gray territory of Nate’s Robin Hood activity.

And it’s even colder out now.

The ninth day of Christmas: As if out of thin air

½

Glad to hear the sound of  flamenco feet again. Then I see Mitchell, the business manager. The Noche dancers are rehearsing again. Performances in Connecticut. Martin stops in to catch up. He’s been preoccupied with his recent run at the Joyce and other pressing issues. But now that it’s clear we’re going to be here awhile, it’s time to talk about the future.

Zeljko appears in my office via Skype. He’s working on a grant to fund our Dream Project film. Wants to draw Sekou into the discussion. Get moving forward on this again. (See the trailer here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLy-EvgEBEA&feature=c4-overview&list=UUtm1-KK9crvRywTCFSPPY_Q ). Still mystifies me how someone can appear in your office from Serbia as if they were just across the street.  (I have a counselor friend who works with a client in China via Skype.)

And just as Zeljko is disappearing from my screen, Angelo, the mysterious artist,

appears as he always does, as if out of thin air. Along with his muy querida amiga, una  artista argentina muy famosa, again. She wants to take pictures of his paintings for an article or show. He wants me to come to un reunion muy importante  Monday night at La casa puebla, the consulate from the Mexican state of  Puebla, to deal with some issues of concern with local authorities. There are so many poblanos in the Upper West Side that the state has to have an official office here. Our neighborhood is like un estadito pueblacito en exilo. When our conversation is complete, he offers me a special bendicion for un prosepero nuevo ano.  And I respond, y tu tambien, igualmente.

Rachelle has been here going through her things again. Brought me a giant Starbucks iced coffee. Please, all I want is just get your things ready to go.  And I am dreading that  it’s not going to happen and on Tuesday we’re just going to have to put them out. Which we will have to do. She must head out into the bitter cold and coming snow. She cannot stay here. Where will she go? The fact that she turns down every offer of assistance and housing does not help me much.

Walking down Amsterdam, I cross RL heading north. Due to the coming storm and falling temperatures, he has decided to cancel tomorrow night’s open mic.  My father habitually watched the weather report every night.  I tend to not worry about the weather. RL’s concerned about safety and an unsecured building. I reluctantly agree.

The eighth day of christmas, new year's day. A new year begins

1/1

The eighth day of Christmas.  New Year’s day. A new year begins. And who are my companions? What happens is symbolic to where we are.

It should be a vacation day. But I am alone and so go to the office to catch up. Why are the lights on? Soon enough Ralph (of ETHEL) emerges. He’s here with a flautist rehearsing for a Friday night gig at the Metropolitan Museum balcony bar. I invite them to move from the chapel to the sanctuary so I can hear them as as I do my work. We spend time sharing appropriately good memories of Christmas Eve.

And of course, soon enough Rachelle appears.

Later in the day, Michel walks in. Used to be a member of  Samir (Leila’s father)’s community chorus. They sang everything from classics to Samir’s original compositions to Christmas carols. He misses that. Hopes that we could do that again. And I would like for that to happen.

Unavoidably, I choose to spend an hour talking with Rachelle. Hear her old stories again. Of her car accident on the bridge and her miraculous angel assisted rescue/salvation. Of her early days as  neighbors of the Nixons and Rockefellers. Her relationship with Donald Trump. How Patty Hearst's grandmother taught her how to dress as a bag lady for self-protection. And now she is one. Of a college roommate descended from Norwegian royalty. Of college day parties and handsome men. And her attention to the homeless. And now she is one. Of her outliving a  terminal diagnoses. And spending her fortune. To help others. 

And how none of those can now help her. Too many lost private numbers. If Tennessee Williams had been a mid century German Jew, she would be a classic Williams character lost in her past, roaming the streets, SUV shopping carts carrying her life. I try to be patient. It could be me. Had one or two critical decisions gone the other way. He used to be a minister, they’d say. 86th and Amsterdam. They say he went to Yale!!! So I try to be more compassionate, understanding.

I walk down to Roosevelt Hospital to visit Cara and back.

RL initiates a conversation into taking seriously the money we’re about to come into. Not a windfall. You worked too hard to call it that. And what it will take to use that money not to survive but to grow. We’re talking  about the same thing here. Time is shorter than you think. A new year is beginning.

The seventh day of Christmas: The day of New Year's eve. Looking back

12/31

The day of New Year’s Eve.

Nancy comes by to pick up the application for the new apartment. This MUST come through. 

Only see RL today as I stop through after an afternoon with my son Nate before an evening with friends.

Looking back on the 10 most significant moments of 2013:

1.    Presbytery approves manse sale (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2013/10/all-holy-i-need.html)

2.   Presbytery disapproves manse sale  (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2013/10/all-holy-i-need.html)

3.   Teddy’s memorial service (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2013/02/teddys-memorial-service.html)

4.   Christmas Eve 2013 (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2013/12/christmas-eve-sign.html)

5.    Our Purisima celebration (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2013/12/quien-causa-tanta-alegria.html

6.   Ethel’s residency 

7.   Bread & Puppet’s residency (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/search?q=bread+and+puppet)

8.   Cara joins the church (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2013/07/july-4th-weekend-reflections-on-nation.html)

9.   Establishment of the regular Friday night open mics (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/search?q=open+mics)

10. Sanctuary NYC holds its final service at West-Park (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2013/11/sunday-reflection-1-maybe-to-be-saved.html)

11.Our Palestine film series (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/search?q=palestine+film+series )

Also Glen’s night of three plays…Regeneration (http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2013/08/regeneration-reading-series-for-power.html) .city council candidates’ forum…(http://west-parkpress.blogspot.com/2013/05/coming-to-candidates-debate.html)

We start the New Year with momentum.Expectation. Hope. And real possibility. The opportunity is there to be fulfilled…

The sixth day of Christmas: We make our own miracles. Or at least most of them

12/30

Nancy comes by to pick up the keys to get some work on the apartment done. I need to go home to see my boys off.

Passing through the sanctuary on the way, out, I see someone asleep in the pews. It is the very strange young woman with the large back pack and larger eyes. I’m sorry, I say, but we’re locking up now and you’ll have to leave.

She looks up at me, repeats Sorry, with the sound of disdain, defeat, sarcasm, desperation…sorry…and begins to gather her things. She starts walking to the front door. Nancy says loudly,It’s locked. And the youg woman keep swalking. Nancy rpeat it again three times. The young woman does a complete silent circuit of the sanctuary and then s back with us. I hold the door open. She looks uo at me and leaves. I see her stopping someone across the street.

When I return, Rachelle is there, going through her things.

RL invite me up to see an episode of  show he’s been wanting me to see before the New Year.  The show is Leverage. Basically a team including an actress/grifter, a sneak thief, a hacker and a hot man headed but the mastermind, a former insurance investigator/detective. He’s called Nate and is played by Timothy Hutton. They plan elaborate cons, on behalf of average folks preyed on by the powerful.

It’s called, the Miracle Job, Season 1, episode 4. (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1290273/) Basically, Nate was a former seminary student and now is drawn in to help his old friend,Father Paul,  an activist priest in an inner city church that is about t be taken over by developers. Torn down. No regard for the neighborhood.  A miracle has to be created. With means justifying the ends. For both priest and mastermind. I enjoy the comparison and connection. And in the end, we do create our own miracles. Or at least most of them.