pulse - South Presbyterian Church

South Presbyterian Church
343 Broadway
Dobbs Ferry, New York 10522
Tele: (914) 693-0473
Fax: (914) 693-7497
E-Mail: [email protected]
PULSE
S
O U T H
C
H U R C H
C
JANUARY 2004
O U R I E R
RESOLUTIONS & REMEMBRANCES
WHAT’S INSIDE
Sewn With Love: The AIDS Quilt
An Inmate Almost Out: A personal letter inside
page 4
page 6
In 2004:
The Midnight Run Turns Twenty
Joe Gilmore reports how it all began
page 3
Louise Rainwater Will Be A Member
of ‘South’ For 50 Years
page 7
Photo: Ray Bagnolo
Greetings
Thanks for the warm feedback to
our first issue in November.
For this second PULSE we got
ourselves a Godsend in Cris Kossow
who is a graphic designer by profession
and who used her talents tirelessly to
give this little publication a competent
professional look.
Dear all of you, please keep your
input and creative contributions coming.
A C HILDREN ’ S S ONG
The 20th Anniversary of The Midnight Run
by Joe Gilmore
Editor
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Stories & Essays
Page
A Childrens’ Song
(How The Midnight Run began) 3
PULSE is slated to be issued 4 to 5
times per year. This time we are grateful
to the following contributors:
Connie Guerrero
Dana Lichty
Richard Davies
Molly Rodriguez
Cathy Talbot
Eric Sweeting
Louise Rainwater
Nelson Castellanos
Joe Gilmore
Bob Hare
Quilt —
Chiggy, Monroe
4
Dear Friends
6
Lifelong
7
Caged Bird
11
Serenity Up High
20
Affection For This Place —
It All Began With An Ending
Beat Reporter At Large —
Film X
Special thanks to Susan De George
for her drumbeat functions, to the all
Perspectives responders and to all others
for the various leads and e-mails.
Food For Thought
Opinions expressed are not necessarily
those of South Presbyterian Church.
Design & Production: Cris Kossow
Sharing Corner: Shavonne Conroy
Editor this issue:
Harry Vetter,
e-mail [email protected]
ph 201-476-1817,
Fax 201-307-1470
2
10
8
Poetics
Oh Powerful Beings
Time Flies
Snowman
22
19
26
Profile:
Eric Sweeting
14
Perspectives Feedback
16
Sharing Corner
26
Something Puzzling
13
eat and who would otherwise be hungry
for some part of that day. If we could
provide a container, they would deliver
the food. (I am, like you, worldly-wise –
I know that some of this soup became,
in this way, supper for the deliverer…
that he humiliation of being fed at
noon and needing an evening meal as
well, led some to feign altruism to disguise
hunger. I know, too, about such a thing
as a hierarchy of needs, and gnawing
hunger is above candor in that hierarchy.)
During that summer of 1983, the South
congregation supplied impressive numbers
of coffee cans, all of which we used in
our effort to join the most generous
attentions of our soup kitchen friends in
feeding the desperate.
In August of this past summer, a friend
brought me a small lapel pin. On it was a
number: 39,000 – the number of the
homeless poor on the streets of our city.
IN THE SUMMER OF 1983, the soup
kitchen of the Broadway Presbyterian
Church on Manhattan’s Upper West
Side was kept open by members and
friends from South Church. During the
academic year, the kitchen was run by
students from Columbia University and
Union Theological Seminary, but, come
summer, students went other places.
The poor did not. Each Wednesday, all
that summer (as in the previous summer),
we arrived at the church basement in
late morning, in time to be ready to
serve at noon. We learned very much
from the poor who met us at those
tables, but one thing in particular is
important for my purpose: the close
attention to each other in the community
of suffering within which they lived.
As people finished their own lunches
and were preparing to leave, they would
very often ask for a container of soup
“to go”. There was someone they knew
who had not been able to get there to
There was then, as there is now,
a conspiracy to keep the poor
as invisible as possible.
On New Year’s Eve of 1983, Metro
North offered free transportation back
from the city, a right-hearted gesture in
the direction of safety and prudence for
some, after an evening of revelry. It also
turned out to be the perfect way to
3
continued on page 21
REMEMBRANCES:
REMEMBRANCES:
MONROE
S O U T H C H U R C H A I D S Q U I LT
Eight names are memorialized on the quilt.
These are some of their stories.
By Cathy Talbot
Chiggy went into the army or not, but
he eventually became an investment
banker, married and had two daughters.
In his forties he came out of the closet,
divorced his wife, quit his job as a
banker and moved to Atlanta. He was
never together with a partner down
there, but had a wonderful time for
several years. The painful part was being
apart from his daughters and dealing
with their feelings about his being gay.
Sadly, this was the 80’s and AIDS
was killing people left and right. After
so few years of being honest about his
sexuality, Chiggy became ill and declined
quickly. Nathalie had stayed close to him
through all those years and she took time
off from work to go to Atlanta and take
care of him.
Chiggy’s parents thought he had
“pneumonia”. Nathalie convinced him
to tell his mother the truth about being
gay and having AIDS. He went ahead
and told her but she had a horrible
reaction. She didn’t accept the news well
even though he was dying, and she said
“your father must never know”. Chiggy
regretted ever having told her who he
really was, and he died with his father
believing what he wanted to believe – that
Chiggy was straight and happened to die
of some unfortunate illness.
Chiggy’s life symbolizes struggle and
bravery to me. He didn’t want to be gay.
As his parents’ only child, he fought it
for years, trying to be who they wanted
him to be. But there came a day when
CHIGGY
By Molly Rodriguez
I
first knew Chiggy when we were in
the Peace Corps in El Salvador back
in the 60’s. His name was Michael,
which in Spanish was Miguel, then
Miggy, then Miggy-Chiggy, then Chiggy.
Most of the young men in our group
had been safe from going to Vietnam
Nam because they were in college. Then,
when they graduated, they dived into the
Peace Corps to obtain another reprieve.
That’s how Chiggy ended up in El
Salvador. He was the handsomest guy,
and my friend Nathalie was in love with
him. She would have married him if only
he’d asked. After Peace Corps was over
she even stopped at his parents’ ranch in
Wyoming just to meet the folks.
After the Peace Corps was over we all
went our separate ways, although we’d
all stayed in touch and get together in a
group every few years. Several of the
men were drafted the minute they came
out of the Corps. I forgot whether
SOUTH CHURCH AIDS QUILT (continued)
MONROE Pohocsucut, a
Native American from the Apache
Nation, was born in Lawton,
Oklahoma. In his freshman year
of high school, he was chosen to
attend a new school on a mountain top in Pennsylvania, called
“Kirkridge”. The founder, John
Oliver Nelson, hoped to provide a
first-class educational experience
for kids who otherwise would have
languished in settings indifferent
to education and to them.
Monroe went back to
Oklahoma to begin college and,
later in his life, finished training
as a hair stylist, while living on
the streets of Manhattan. His first
employment was with an up-scale
salon called “Mr.Joseph’s”; in the
first year there, he met Glenn
Close, and was flown to the
Kennedy compound to prepare
for a family wedding. He was
funny, maddening, exceedingly
generous, alcoholic and gay. He loved all of these things about himself.
He lived big and fast; he died too soon. Much too soon.
Monroe was a friend of mine at South Church, writes Cathy Talbot.
She had met him on the streets through the Midnight Run. He would come
to Church with his scissors and cut her hair. He was studying to be a licensed
hairdresser at the time. Cathy never sewed before nor worked on a quilt.
It was a privilege, she writes, to work on this special AIDS quilt project with
Dianne Cesta's leadership and encouragement.
Look for more stories in the next Pulse issue.
Continued on page 23
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5
RESOLUTIONS
& SECOND CHANCES
REMEMBRANCES:
Dear friends,
LIFELONG
I, along with about 40 other individuals, appeared before the parole board to be
considered for release. Because of the current trend, only 3 were deemed ready. I was
denied parole, but they gave the okay for my deportation. I know I was going to be
deported if I was to be released, so I received what I wanted. Yes, it is a miracle.
And, yes, I’d rather be deported to a land now strange to me than to be denied
parole without a chance for deportation.
After I thanked God and called my mother, I thought about those who had
allowed God to work through them to come to prison to help me grow in spiritual
maturity – people who encouraged me to keep growing, to keep trying to be the
best person that I can be, people like Joe and Rachel, and Susan. (Extra perk: I
don’t have to call them Reverend). I thought how fortunate I am for having met
them and for having them still in my life. It’s redemptive to know that there are
individuals who believe in giving remorseful people a second chance.
And then I also thought of you all. You and I were sort of introduced about four
years ago when you were asked to pray for me and my release – and recently you were
informed of my parole appearance. So I feel a connection with you. Well, if you prayed
for me, or if you thought about praying for me, or if you wished me well – or even if
you just said, “Let there be justice and fairness,” I want to thank you from the bottom
of my heart. I want you to know that your prayers and well-wishes will be well served.
The Prophet Moses was a criminal in the eyes of the Egyptian authorities for having
killed an Egyptian – probably a guard. But God turned the lawbreaker into a law
giver. God turned the outcast into an honorable person. Yes, with God anything is
possible. Amen?
Now, I’m not going to be parting the Caribbean Sea anytime soon – but I’ve
made a vow to make this world a better place for as many people as I can. My
words, when I made this vow, were, “I will always serve your people,” as I’ve
served people here in prison through education and therapeutic programs – or by
just writing a letter for someone in need.
When I was making my vow, I also asked God once again for His forgiveness,
because my conscience will always weigh heavily on me.
Well, I would have wanted to thank you in person, but I hope that you can feel
through these few words the extent of my appreciation for your prayers and well-wishes.
Thank you always. The biggest fight is over, and now I have to pester the immigration
department, so they will actually process this deportation permission – so please continue
to have me in your prayers. Thank you once again, my friends.
By Louise Rainwater
Nelson Castellanos
Over the years, Nelson Castellanos has become well known directly and indirectly to the
congregation. In prison since 1984, Nelson did his Masters in Professional Studies from
6
continued on page 25
Anne was, and still is, an exceptionally
kind and caring person. She would
always introduce herself to new people
at the church coffee hour and do her
best to make them feel welcome. She
would go out of her way to help anyone
who was ill or had other problems. Now
she is confined to a wheelchair, but she
is unfailingly cheerful and is delighted
to have visitors.
Last July, Joe, Mary Ellen Miller and I
helped her celebrate her ninety-ninth
birthday at a party given by her nephew
and his daughter. Joe brought his violin
and accompanied us as we sang Happy
Birthday. I hope to be there this year to
celebrate Anne’s hundredth.
In the forty-nine years that I have
belonged to the church there have been
a good number of others who, like
Anne, have been much more to me than
casual church acquaintances. They have
been very dear and special friends.
This is one of the reasons that I feel
fortunate to be a member of
this congregation.
ONE OF THE FONDEST of my
church memories is about Anne McDowell.
Anne has been in a nursing home for
several years, and there may be quite a
few people at church now who never
knew her. I met her when I joined the
church in 1954. I attended a meeting at
which the new members were presented
to the congregation. As Rev. David
Kendall introduced each one, he gave a
little background information about
that person. When he came to me, he
mentioned that my husband was a
Professor of Physics at Columbia
University and that he was the Director
of Columbia’s Nevis Cyclotron Lab in
Irvington.
After the meeting a nice little lady
came up to me and said, “I know your
husband. I work at Nevis.” It was Anne.
She told me that she prepared the charts
and graphs and other illustrations for
the papers that the professors wrote.
I think she was a draftsman then
and would now be called a
“draftsperson”. We had a nice
chat and when she heard
that I didn’t drive, she
offered to give me a ride
whenever I needed one.
Until I did learn to
drive she took me and
my children to many of
the church activities.
Over the years we became
close friends.
7
FOOD FOR THOUGHT:
FOOD FOR THOUGHT:
TO BE OF USE
This prayer was written and delivered by Jim O’Connor –
one of South Church’s Senior Highs. The occasion was the Dobbs Ferry Community
Thanksgiving Service held at the Dobbs Ferry Lutheran Church.
by Marge Piercy
The people I love best
jump into the work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
UNEMPLOYMENT
Gracious God,
Under your name we gather in unity
to rejoice.
Yet in this time of thanksgiving, let
us not forget those who are
unemployed
as well as those who financially
depend upon them.
Help us to find ways in which we
can provide relief to those
afflicted;
as may those who are unemployed
receive work in their skills of
labor and be rewarded
justly for such.
Bless us all,
Amen
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward
who do what has to be done, again and again.
...
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know that they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
The above was contributed by Lee Elmore
“
”
No work with interest is ever hard.
Henry Ford
8
9
PULSE BEAT REPORTER
AT
LARGE:
R I C H A R D D AV I E S
CAGED BIRD
Film X Is More Than Just Movies.
IT HAPPENED AGAIN.
That familiar lump in my
throat. Tears in my eyes. The
scene in the movie was when
the 13 year old heroine of
"Whale Rider" decided she
didn't want to leave home
after all, and turned back to be
with her troubled grand-father.
I've almost lost it several times
while watching videos with the
kids upstairs.
"Whale Rider", a movie
about a Maori village in New
Zealand and its struggle to
hang on to ancient legends
and traditions is but one example.
"East of Eden", "On the Waterfront", and
"To Kill a Mockingbird" are a few of the
powerful films we've watched and talked
about together in Film X.
The program is now into its second year.
John Xenakis and I pick the movies
and documentaries viewed by 7th-9th
graders. We meet in the small room
next to Joe Gilmore's office upstairs,
while the rest of congregation gathers in
the big room on Sundays downstairs.
Film X, I think, is a success in a
number of ways. First, and most
impressive, are the kids themselves.
They have been up for the challenge.
Every film shown has featured a moral
theme. None that I know have been
"dumbed down". They are not little
kids' movies or trivial in nature.
The response to most has been stirring. The kids are really into this. They
want to come to Film X.
By Dana Lichty
I
Perhaps more than the rest of us, our
children are bombarded by throwaway
mass media. Trash TV, action movies,
the Internet, and violent video games.
The thinking behind Film X is to give
them some ballast: get the kids excited
by the good stuff: some thoughtful, deeply
moving examples of popular culture.
Most film Xers spent years in Church
school - studying the Bible. Now they
are harder to reach. Some don't really
have to go to church.
The intent of Film X, and Jean and
Ernie Howell's excellent adventures for
middle schoolers, is to strengthen and
stimulate the ties that bind our South
Church community.
From what I've seen it really works.
Harry Davies (my 8th grader) has found
a certain comfort in his church friends –
including many adults who are part of
the family at South. There are no cliques
here, I think, and certainly less peer
10
continued on page 24
drive by slowly. I can’t drive fast.
One tire has been replaced by the
spare. Car sitting in the driveway,
tire slowly leaking air. George at the
Texaco station with shimmering black
oil up to his elbows said, “Sure you can
drive it anywhere, just don’t go over 60.”
I am not going 60 as I approach the
overpass that carries cars onto the Triboro
Bridge. In fact, I am going 40 and hoping
he will be there. I have no idea of his
schedule. He seems to be there often in
the morning. If he is there now and it’s
3 in the afternoon, does that mean that
he stays at his post all day?
Do many people notice him? Does
anyone ever stop to talk?
as possible) I want to photograph him
day after day after day and come to
understand his message. Maybe not
understand. Just see him. Yes, that
would be better. Observe, meditate, see.
This artist of the highway has something to say. But I don’t think I will
come to know it by understanding. I
absorb him and his message through my
pores. I am obsessed with him. He has
power over me, I am mesmerized. I think
about him when I am not in the car.
I suggested that my friend Mel, a real
photographer, go and photograph him.
He started asking me all sorts of practical
questions. How do you get there? How
could you get close? Exactly where is
he? Mel wasn’t really interested. He
wasn’t mesmerized by the black man
with the birdcage. I thought he might
get it. But his pores were closed.
Nothing registered.
continued on page 23
He has tipped the chair
back slightly, looking
rather jaunty.
Today he is sitting on an old dinette
chair, no arms, tubed aluminum legs.
He has tipped the chair back slightly,
looking rather jaunty. He is Black,
handsome, young. On his head is a
birdcage. Not on the top of his head.
He has removed the entire bottom of
the cage. His head is inside the spindles
of the large, shiny gold birdcage.
The Caged Bird Sings. He looks
straight ahead, expressionless, oblivious.
I want to stay there all day and study
him. Actually what I want to do is go
there every single day at about 10 a.m.
(Staying out of rush hour as much
11
REMEMBRANCES:
SOMETHING
AFFECTION FOR THIS PLACE –
IT ALL BEGAN WITH AN ENDING
1
2
3
4
PUZZLING
5
6
12
By Bob Hare
IT WAS SEPTEMBER 1988, seven years
before I was to show up here again, as a
pensioner. Joe, a woman minister and I
were leading an event, a celebration of
the life, and in that moment, the death
of a very special woman named Fay.
With many others I shared in her dying
days, then I chose her place of burial,
in Palisades, had managed the funeral
arrangements, delivered the eulogy/sermon,
from the (then) raised pulpit in the
chancel and presided at the grave site.
Fay, like Joe and I, an ordained
Presbyterian clergy, had years earlier
been an Assistant Minister here at SPC,
then became Presbyterianism's first
woman clergy to serve a congregation,
“solo”, as a Pastor, i.e. not as part of a
staff; this at the Presbyterian Church in
Palisades. I had come to the “other”
SPC here along the Hudson,
Scarborough Presbyterian Church. Fay
and I became professional friends. Later,
Fay and her husband moved to Bangor
Maine. Subsequently the marriage
failed. Eventually, Fay returned to this
area, for further graduate study and a
new mission in life. Our friendship was
renewed. As those in South Church
who knew her, will remember Fay was
an amazing and incisive thinker and
writer. Tragically, she contracted cancer.
A courageous battle ensued, but when
winning was clearly no longer in the
offing, planning the way down to the
end became the agenda of living. Fay
had long lost any significant attachment
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to her family of origin in the Southwest,
now was without partner, in a life coming
to a close.
Fay Ellison, which is the married
name she went by, and I became deeply
attached. She asked me, one day, a couple
of months before the end, if I would
become for her “next-of-kin”. And so I
did. In all my life, otherwise, personal
and ministerially professional, I had
never had such an experience as came,
for Fay and me, in those months. I had
never engaged in such a full role in the
phenomenon of life's ebbing to its end,
then managing all the death and grieving
processes. Being a minister is one thing.
Being next-of-kin, and the sole one, is a
mightily different experience. The deepest
point of that experience was here, in the
South Church sanctuary, from which
she had requested that final celebrations
of her take place. And so it was. And
the chancel of our sanctuary is deeply
engrained in my soul.
This place makes me remember Fay
Hollingshead Ellison for whom I was a
“next-of-kin”.
7
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46
ACROSS
1. ‘Industry’ of the fields
10. US airline
12. level
13. what’s even more
frowned upon during
a sermon than 29 down.
14. Swiss Bauhaus artist, Paul
16. license
17. Toronto tower
18. biblical prophet
20. -ing and raving
22. heap
24. politician
25. - ing is believing
26. they come in tens
27. what we are
31. ____ of faith
32. after Christ
34. not available
35. pronoun
37 virgin shrine site
40. positive energy bursts
42. Christmas ____
43. commotion
44. African plant
43
1
1
44
45
47
46. lost in Paris
47. orators
DOWN
1. preposition
2. South Church minister
3. again
4. annoys
5. addict
6. ____ Elliot
7. not a divider
8. fishing utensil
9. TV series
10. US relative
11. Short-lived series, __ of God
15. ____ of Eden
18. biblical source of trouble
in Paradise
19. evergreen shrub
21. necessity
22. pupil advocacy group
23. H+
28. Noah’s life was ____
29. repeated ones are frowned
upon during sermons
30. Mid East state
33. challenges
13
36. coll.: restaurants
37. ____ and brimstone
38. type of wood
39. small island
40. form of to be
41. part of face
42. bathroom tissue
45. alternatively
Please don’t give up too soon
and move to page 22 for answer.
SOMETHING OOPS:
The crossword last time was
something even more puzzling
than intended, since I, aided
by the dreaded typo gremlins,
dropped a couple of lines of
clues. So if you still have
Pulse number 1, missing were:
Down:
5. negative 6. Midnight __
8. The X-Man of Film Ex
10. withdraw 12. degenerative
disease
Very sorry about the goof, HV
PULSE
PROFILE
We don’t mean to pry, just to personalize
our lives a bit. Please answer only what feels
right. Be as detailed or brief as you wish.
care system. In each family one of the
children has significant disabilities so
the problems are complex.
Who: Eric Sweeting
Any recent book you can recommend?
I’m losing my ability to enjoy fiction,
which I don’t really understand because
I was an English major in college and
always loved American fiction. Most
of the reading I do these days is related
to my position on the Hastings Board of
Education. I’m just finishing “Standardized
Minds” about the damage standardized
testing is causing in our schools. And
I’ve been reading the work of Ted Sizer
of the Coalition for Essential Schools.
Where do you live: Hastings-on-Hudson
How long have you been coming to our
church? I think since 1995 or thereabouts.
What about your own “church” history?
Well, I grew up in the Catholic Church,
Sacred Heart parish in Dobbs Ferry, to
be specific. As a child my five brothers
and I attended Mass every Sunday (and
Religious Instruction on Wednesdays).
My mother was very devoted to the
Church, and it was a central feature in
the life of her large Irish family. I always
admired and even envied her devotion
and her conviction, because I couldn’t
quite feel it for myself. As a young man
my father was very motivated politically
and spiritually by the Catholic Worker
Movement. He read and admired Peter
Maurin and Dorothy Day and, like
them, felt that the Church had strayed
far from the teachings of the gospels.
He felt especially let down by the
Church when the hierarchy would not
speak out against the Vietnam War.
There was one time during that era
when a Catholic Bishop was involved
in the christening (think of it) of a
nuclear-powered (and armed) submarine
called the Corpus Christi. This was
more than my father could bear and he
pretty much turned his back on the
Church from then on. But both of my
parents helped form my moral and I
guess religious bearings. Then as a young
adult I was not connected to any religious
institution or community. Kris and I
started searching for a church to join to
help us provide a spiritual home for our
children and also to help us feel more
connected to a community. We also
watched how the Jewish faith and the
community of a synagogue had helped
save close friends of ours during a horrible
tragedy. We began to wonder what it
was that would save us when we needed
it most.
What’s your job? I am originally a Special
Education teacher and I currently work
as the Director of Education at New
Alternatives for Children, a social service
agency in New York that works with
families of children with disabilities.
My work involves advocating with the
New York City Board of Education for
appropriate support services so that
students with severe disabilities can be
included in general education schools
and classes. Another part of my job
involves working on a grant program
with a group of parents in residential
drug treatment who are trying to regain
custody of their children from the foster
14
hippy in high school and college, now
I’m a middle-aged suburban guy. At one
time I was a smoker, at another time I
was a marathon runner. These days I
raise chickens in my backyard. I wonder
what comes next.
What was once important to you but
now isn’t? I guess I’m less competitive
professionally. I’m more comfortable in
my skin.
Do you have a motto? We all made up
mottos in our family one day. Mine was
“Get E-Z Pass”.
Complete the sentence: I wish I were
–more communicative.
Any favorite movie or play or both?
Not recently. I don’t see as many
movies/plays as I’d like.
What’s your sign? Leo
What can refuel you when you’re running
on empty? Walking, views of the
Hudson and the Palisades.
What kind of music is music to your ears?
Years ago Kris introduced my to country music and I’ve come to love it—
odd, I know, in a New York native. I
also love the Irish music on FUV on
Saturday mornings. Perhaps it taps into
something deep in my past.
Do you have a most memorable
moment at South Church? There’s not
one but many. One was a sermon Joe
gave a few years ago about the burning
heart symbol in the stained glass. I
think of it often when I look around
our beautiful room. Another was being
a mentor in the confirmation class.
One of the tasks was to write your
own statement of faith and I certainly
learned more from the exercise than
the young man I was working with.
Another memorable but sad moment
was the memorial service for Leslie
Barton. I remember thinking that, if we
had to do this, at least we got to do it
here. I also love greening the sanctuary
every year with my daughter Emma. It’s
become a true season opener for us.
What are you passionate about? Social
justice issues, living in the Hudson valley,
my garden.
Name a blessing in your life. Certainly
my family. Kris, Kevin and Emma are
like jewels.
What gets your dander up? The state of
affairs in our country today,
Any guilty pleasures? Oh yes, I love
desserts of almost any kind, a good gin
and tonic, afternoon naps.
Is there something no one expects about
you? I’ve had a number of lives. I was a
continued on page 23
15
PERSPECTIVES
FEEDBACK
“
One nation under God –
what does it mean to you?
”
and justice for all. But there is no one
God, which unites us as a nation.
God is a big brand name, no question
about it. But there are many different
sponsors of God, all using God for their
respective agendas.
John Xenakis
Well, “under God” makes me think of
prayer in schools. Can't see that adding
“under God” to the Pledge either
improved or detracted from the well-being
or values of the nation. If we don't have a
national religion, then it shouldn't be
there. However, I think it is quite appropriate to have the patriotism of saluting a
national symbol, the flag. All nations
ought to have that national pride taught
(and then let them work to live up to their
own stated values). I do have to admit, I'm
kind of used to it on our coins, but then
you get to “render unto Caesar.... “
Since I grew up in Pasadena, and California
never had prayer in schools that I know of,
I never could under-stand the big deal.
Our religion is to be practiced in those
family and group places where we practice
it, and state endorsement adds nothing. In
fact, state endorsement takes away.
Grace Braley
Big concepts are difficult …I guess,
Kierkegaard’s retort when he was asked
why he believed there was a God… was,
“I just talked to him.” National concepts are never as meaningful or useable
as world concepts, but if we are only
speaking of this one nation, the USA,
then that phrase, “One nation under
God” means that we are acknowledging
that there is a loving God who is
pleased with us as long as we follow his
teachings as are spiritually revealed in
writings, prayers, poetry: love of God
for man and the big blue earth we have
been given…God has had to be displeased with us so many times in our
history, and with us personally…”under
God” keeps us from despair…like a
good parent who says…”I love you and
will help you to find the way no matter
what your decision, your mistake, your
mean act, your destructive act…I will
not leave you.”
Lee Elmore
Those two extra words spoil the rhythm
of the Pledge in addition to being quite
superfluous. I was mightily annoyed
when they were added, and I never say
them. No lofty principle involved here,
just aesthetics.
Mary Greenly
Of all the phrases in the Pledge of
Allegiance, this is the one I find the
least compelling. I can honestly pledge
my allegiance to this nation, which does
believe and work toward equality, liberty,
“Under God” is utterly superfluous. For
many, of a particular belief formulation,
it is a given. For others, in different
16
asserted as if what it means is, “[USA,
Baby! -- We're THE] one nation under
God -- [the best, the chosen.” What it
means to me, on the other hand, is that
we are, all of us around the globe, bound
together as one people, children of the
same beneficent Creation, blessed by the
miracle of being here, and responsible for
delivering to one another every available
opportunity to experience that miracle as
a blessing. Of course, what that interpretation hinges on is understanding that
“the Republic” that the Pledge of
Allegiance says our flag stands for can't
exist only within America's cartographic
boundaries if we are to achieve the vision
of “one Nation, under God, indivisible,
with Liberty and Justice for All.” “Nation”
in this particular sentence is best translated
as “a people,” not as “nation-state.” And
as to “indivisible” and “for ALL,” there is
no ambiguity about what they mean. So
this is language that points only in one
direction -- to a global human fellowship.
Pier Kooistra
belief systems, it is to impose on them a
phrasing (if they are to join the community
of the nation in reciting a national pledge)
something of no possible meaning to
them, which can't be said with conviction.
It should never have been inserted, should
be swiftly removed. From my vantage
point, my theological holdings, it is utterly
false. If as a nation it were the case that
the ways of God were honored, this
would be a very, very different country.
Obviously, not all would agree. Having us
all say something like that is absurd.
Bob Hare
The thought of “One Nation - Under
God” is frightening to me. It implies
isolation, and fosters the belief that we
are better than everyone else. I prefer,
One World – Under God, One
Universe - Under God. One Galaxy Under God.....
Kathy Pokoik
On the one hand, I don't believe that
God recognizes national boundaries, so
claiming God for our nation is spurious.
It's one humanity under God. On the
other hand, I believe that all nations are
under God, as all things, created and
natural, are under God. So if it could be
“one nation (among all the others) under
God,” I'd be on board. Unfortunately,
I don't think that's the intent of the
people who insist on these things.
Rachel Thompson
The phrase is indicative of the youthfulness of our culture.
David Panozzo
The statement has the same danger as
the slogan about the “Unity and Purity”
of the Presbyterian Church. It puts
unity before openness, inclusivity,
truth, etc. I understand historically how
it was banding together a diverse group
under the common cause they had.
Doing the same thing today might be a
slogan along the lines of “one universe
awake to the sacred”.
Susan De George
First, the tone in which it's said strikes
me far too often as maddeningly selfcongratulatory; it's one of those lines that
I think is usually perverted by American
exceptionalism. Time after time I hear it
17
continued on next page
PERSPECTIVES
F E E D B A C K (continued)
I think of the phrase in the context of
the recent debate on the language, and
the historical context of it being added
to “The Pledge” just after WWII. To
me, it conjures up the image of my
dad, a simple, humble, young father,
going to war for three years, putting his
life on hold and saying goodbye to his
wife and infant daughter, to protect our
American experiment from the assault
of tyranny. The image extends to the
years just after the war, and how those
men came home feeling so grateful to
have survived and for the privileges of
freedom. Freedom to worship any god,
to express any thought, to pursue any
dream. The image extends to me saying
the pledge every day, and really liking
it for the ritual, for the song of it.
Did it really mean “under God” or
“one nation”? Not really, I never
thought about it. But surely the feeling
in it meant “we are grateful”, “we are in
this together” and “it is right to stop
and pay attention to our blessings.”
School prayer - without a doubt.
I still feel that way about it, and if the
language is no longer appropriate
because of a strict interpretation of the
constitution and the proper separation
of church and state, so be it, but it
pains me that the debate itself risks
tarnishing the feelings that this ritual,
this anthem, this prayer, has the power
to conjure up in us.
Walter Stugis
Too ambiguous. One among many
nations under that broadly defined,
decidedly unbearded creature? Or a
nation monolithic, beating with a single
heart? The first would be just fine; the
latter, I fear, is what's meant. But the
idea of 300 million flag-waving people in
lockthink terrifies me. Here's the political equivalent: Garrison Keillor singing
``We're all Republicans now,'' but Tom
DeLay most definitely not getting the
joke. Why not 300 million people under
300 million gods? Shades of moral relativism? Yes, all right, there are absolutes,
but no human has the list.
Hubert Herring
Thanks, all, for a great round of wonderfully thought-through responses to a
weighty issue. It would not have been fair
to edit out any of your sentiments.
Editor
The new question can be just as
heavy and wide-reaching – or personal;
depends on what you make of it:
“It’s a brand-new year. What is
it that you really hope for?”
We’re looking for a capsule reply (much
like the ones this time, ha-ha), even
one-liners are OK, and would love to
feature about a dozen-or-so replies. E-mail
them, fax them, voice mail them to:
[email protected],
fax 201-307-1470, voice 201 476-1817.
And do it quickly, please, before ’04
gets to be in full swing.
One nation under God. Hmmm. God -OK, I guess, if you keep the definition
flexible in the extreme. But “one nation''?
18
Remembrances. What will we remember of the time we live in? What news, if any,
will hold up? The insatiable cable news networks want to make us believe that every
day there’s something monumentally newsworthy that occurs, something of historic
proportions, such as when Bush sneaks into Iraq for two hours or when Michael
Jackson “drives” up in his jet to get arrested. There is a word, Momentaufnahme, which
means snapshot of the moment.
Snapshot October, November oh three. By H. Christopher Vetter
TIME FLIES
What times are these…
At a time when every morning you dread
the news from Iraq of more soldiers dead,
it’s clear that the mission is unaccomplished still.
There’s daily news of suicide bombings that kill
somewhere in the Mid East. And animosity escalates.
Meanwhile back home in these United States
we get bombarded, too. By reality TV,
and a network circus hyping CELEBRITY.
California struggles with fires and fires
its drab, gray governor, but admires
its new action-hero-Gov – who’d’ve thought?
Back east an outspoken New England court
may trigger a conservative revolution,
as Mass. tries to widen the marital institution.
Our President stands against that, quite firm.
But it might help him slide to his second term.
Air Force One sneaks into Baghdad Thanksgiving night,
as thanks to the troops for their no-win fight.
It’s gen’rally a bit strange how our commander-in-chief
who has such a keen eye for a patriotic motif
doesn’t like our flag-draped coffins to be seen,
as, at the bases, they sadly keep rolling them in.
19
myself to be transported, into a world
of fiction – my own or somebody else’s
– as we are carried back to the world
where I grew up.
Lately, on my four or five trips a year
to Frankfurt or Duesseldorf, the tingle
has not been just one of positive energy
to embrace my folks again, but there is
also a definite sprinkling of apprehension
and fear.
That is because my mother has not
been doing well over the years, and I
can’t help wondering how much of her
struggle and deterioration will be evident
this time, when I’ll be vis-à-vis that
sweet face again. Our daily phone conversations are sometimes smooth,
sometimes labored, but often amazingly
crisp and full of sharing, even though
Mutti doesn’t want to dwell on her latest
bouts but instead talk about Marcus
and life in New Jersey.
As I ride the last stretch of autobahn
closing in on my hometown in the hills,
I look down on the valley from the
tallest highway bridge, 350 feet up,
from where I can see the town down
below, and my heart grows wearily sentimental.
Minutes later I let myself in to the
familiar house, climb the stairs and
gently open the door to the flat. My
parents beam and we hug warmly, as I
quietly register whether she looks better
than feared or has sunken in and lost
more weight.
She is nervous which impairs her
speech. The best thing is that for a few
days I’ll be able to lend a hand.
I’ve been praying for a miracle, and
what I get, while there, are a few extra
SERENITY UP HIGH
By H.V.
O
VER the years I must’ve crossed
the Atlantic, back and forth, a couple
hundred times. Flying home to good
old Europe is always something special.
There’s a sweet tingle to see my parents
again. Going over, I’m well resigned
that I won’t catch much shut-eye on the
flight into the night and a new morning.
I usually take writings along, to file on,
puzzle and agonize over, or a captivating
novel to dive into, head first. Time flies
when I’m captive in the bird’s metal hull
for hours upon hours, because I see it as
personal time to muse or to allow
20
We can’t control what fate will hold
in store. But we can live for the day and
work to be decent for the long haul. We
ought to make the best of moments, so
we can feed off them long-term. While
this all sounds suspiciously “platitudinal”,
I think it’ll help me cope, should the
loss occur.
We have a limited time available to
us. Some of us, like my family, have
been blessed with health and a good
string of happiness over decades.
However, on Planet Earth it’s not going
to last forever. That we know.
At the end of my European visit,
when we say our good-byes and
embrace, our eyes moist, I pray that my
memory will allow me to contain the
healthy sweetness of this tender loving
care that has nourished me so well over
my lifetime. And that it can sprout
within me and I’ll be a vessel to pass it
along. There you have it, a miracle of
being human.
Also, I take confidence that there will
be a time that we find peace and serenity
up there.
bites for lunch out of her or a couple of
extra rounds that she’ll zig-zag for me
between kitchen and living room, on
unsteady feet, slumped on her walker,
with me right behind, just in case. This
has become her waning, very sporadic
physical therapy. The pope, Ali, Michael
Fox have not seen miracles yet either, as
far as we can tell.
How dare I pray for a miracle in a case
so hopeless? When there’s no more optimism left, I figure, it’s as good a time as
any to pray, as I also hope and wish for
the wonder of comfort and peace.
How dare I pray
for a miracle?
What gives us strength, my family
finds, are the memories of the good
times together; my parents’ five visits
across the pond, including a first
airplane ride, national parks, viewing
grizzlies and whales, hiking canyons,
enjoying a third grandchild – from me,
who would have thought.
21
PULSE
POETICS
OH POWERFUL BEINGS, WHAT HAVE WE BECOME?
by Consuelo Guerrero
A day like crystal startles my being, IT IS TIME AGAIN TO RUN THE
RACE!
The day begins, unborn moments yet to be – will God visit me…?
I slowly rise to greet the rush, the fallen leaves say hello… and the wind
begins to dream what today will be?
A quick goodbye, a glance of you, one last touch, oh love of mine…It
is time to go as the sunrise gently whistles by… a tune… or two…
A brilliant day! … no time to see… to work… and work… is GOD WITH
ME?
I move so fast, no time to think, THE WORK BEGINS… ! a healing
word… a hopeful moment… an anguished sigh, a phrase with God…
YES!!! my day… SCREAMS LIFE!!!…
A second passed… a thought of you… a quiet moment… I long for you…
The minutes melt before my eyes … as the sun begins to hide… another day
just went by… and where was I… ?
The night jumps in… oh love of mine, the sight of you I now see… the taste
of home… I now exhale and rest my weary soul…
The clock stops… we both smile… our eyes converse… my love… my
friend… the rush has died…
… And God breaks in laughter as She remembers what today was like… !!!
22
MIDNIGHT RUN, continued from page 3
And so, in that winter twenty years
ago, we finally got it, those of us who
were living inside. We could make a
large difference in the smallest of ways
by meeting the poor and refusing the
spurious invisibility; we could inquire
about their well-being and mean it
(“Really – how are you?”); we could
offer the simplest of gifts, a little food,
a change of clothes, the things needed
to care for the body. We did. Every
Tuesday and every Friday.
The frequency was important,
because we quickly learned how life as
a homeless person is an enforced march
to nowhere. Police and merchants, police
and tenants-associations, harassing
passers-by, church types, having denied
access to their bathrooms, annoyed by
the smell of the body’s imperatives, kids,
having had too much to drink, hurling
insults and worse – all of these conspired
to keep the poor on the move. “Not
here, don’t stop here, don’t sit here. No
loitering, no sleeping, no dreaming here.”
Unwelcome in hospitals, unsafe in shelters, unemployable on occasion for lack
of an address, and unkempt for lack
of a washing machine and a dryer, they
wandered. And for twenty years, we
have tried to follow and find them
again. “How are you? Where have you
been?” They have gotten jobs and places
to live, and we have celebrated with
them. They have gotten sick, and we
have visited them. They have been
arrested, and we went to jail. They have
died, and we joined homeless friends in
grieving for them and burying them.
When they have been abandoned at the
make it possible for a small group of
homeless friends to come to South
Church to spend that night and the
next few days, thinking together about
issues facing New York’s homeless poor.
These were people both living on the
streets themselves, and, at the same time,
serving as advocates for all the steps
which might be taken to acknowledge
the humanity of the poor. There was
then, as there is now, a conspiracy to
keep the poor as invisible as possible.
So in the quiet of those few days and
nights, they talked, argued, planned,
laughed, and ate in our kitchen. They
also made coffee and sandwiches and
took them, by train, to Grand Central
Station, where the homeless poor lived
in the corners and the shadows.
Who would know the dangerous
cold better? Or the filth?…
or the loneliness of living as
an invisible human being?
Since the poor had to be careful to
stay out of the way of commuters, those
few forays from South Church into the
night, had to be late – when, at last, the
station was empty except for police and
partygoers trying for home. These were
among the early midnight runs and,
notice – they were done by the poor
themselves, seeing to the needs of others, which they themselves knew up
very, very close. Who, of course, would
know the dangerous cold better? Or the
filth? Or the relentless hunger? Or the
loneliness of living as an invisible
human being?
23
continued on next page
MIDNIGHT RUN, continued from page 23
needed Out There than ever. And we
will be there. The deep questions are
around the plain fact that in the culture
in which we are living and which we are
all helping to shape, those who are the
most vulnerable are more vulnerable
than ever. We have gotten little better at
being “repairers of the breach, the restorers
of the streets to dwell in.”
Irony prevails, therefore. Midnight
Run’s 20th anniversary year marks both
a remarkable success and a deep failure.
“Oh dear, what can the matter be, oh
dear, what can the matter be?”
city morgue, we have said some version
of, “Yes, we knew them and we will join
you in trying to find their families. And if
we fail, we will gather around them at the
end of their history and give thanks for
them and commend them to the One who
remembers every name.”
The stack of blankets we have
distributed would reach the
moon, the clothing pile to the
top of Mount Everest…
In all those years, we have been to the
streets by the thousands. The stack of
blankets we have distributed would
reach the moon, the clothing pile to the
top of Mount Everest, the middle-ofthe-night laughter would make a great
and wonderful chorus. The Midnight
Run Board of Directors includes the
homeless poor; no decisions are made
without them. They help shape the
policies which keep us beside the poor,
handing to them what already belongs
to them as a human right. Our work is
recognized by the interfaith community,
by foundations, by schools of many
sizes and shapes, public and private, by
individuals who have happened on us in
the night, in the shadows.
But here is the thing: the number
39,000 has now been raised to more
than 41,000. No one knows better than
I do how soft all such numbers are, but
the accuracy of the number is quite
beside the point. After all these years,
after all these winters, we are more
Joseph Gilmore is President of the Board
of Directors of Midnight Run.
South Church did its traditional
Christmas on the streets on Christmas
Eve and is scheduled to go to the streets
again on 2/24/4 and 3/26/04.
The Midnight Run website is
midnightrun.org
FILM X, continued from page 10
rivalry than is common at school. We
wish each other well. A simple concept
perhaps, but important.
Sometimes, the numbers of kids who
attend Film X - and other activities for
that matter - are smaller than hoped for.
But I'm glad we try. I think Ernie, Jean,
and Film X are making a difference.
Building a sense of caring, moral
commitment, and love in their lives.
24
CHIGGY, continued from page 4
PROFILE, continued from page 15
he couldn’t stand the deception anymore and he upended his life and the
lives of his wife and daughters so that
he could step forward and begin to
develop his life as he was really meant
to live it. The sad part is that he had
only just begun when he got sick and
died. I’m glad his name can be on the
AIDS quilt so that a part of him can
live on, even if it’s only his name.
What do you like most about SC?
I like the people and the collective sense
of community. I feel like I’m a member
of something that is greater than the
sum of its parts.
Do you have a favorite bible verse?
No. I never remember verses to anything
and I have even more trouble with biblical
language than other writing.
Anything else you’d like to share with us?
No. It took me a while to respond to
this but its really been quite painless.
CAGED BIRD, continued from page 11
I fantasize about a book that has a photo
of the Caged Bird every day for a year. I
want to photograph him every day. Come
here to this place where I am now cruising
by at 40 mph and snap, snap, snap.
Would he notice me? Would he talk
to me?
I don’t know and don’t care. I want
the images of this devotee. Devoted to
something I don’t know or understand.
What is it Wendell Berry says? Treasure
everything we don’t understand, if we
don’t understand it we can’t destroy it.
That quote might be wrong but it
doesn’t matter. The Bird Cage man is
my treasure. He can’t be destroyed by
understanding or traffic or reality.
The Caged Bird Sings to me.
NO LONGER
NELSON, continued from page 6
the New York Theological Seminary. When
SPC started going regularly to Sing Sing in
the course of its prison ministry more people
got to know him. Two years ago, Nelson
went up for parole and South prayed for him
and some members wrote letters on his
behalf. His parole was denied.
Meanwhile he had been transferred to
Otisville Correctional. Going up for parole
again in the fall of 2003, Church in the
World asked for letters of support, and our
ministers asked for prayers.
This time Nelson was “cleared for deportation” by the parole board, which is the closest
a non-US citizen gets to parole being granted.
So now Nelson is waiting to be deported
to Columbia, though his family (parents,
siblings, wife, children) are all in the US,
and he hasn’t been there since he was eight.
It’s not perfect, but it’s freedom.
The struggle is not entirely over. Once
cleared, people can sit for months in jail
awaiting deportation. Also, resources will
need to be lined up, so Nelson will have a
way to support himself once he is down in his
native land. Prayers are therefore still needed.
PUZZLING
25
SPRING =
RENEWAL & REJUVENATION
SNOWMAN
by Thomas Pausch, age 11
Standing cold on a hill in magical happiness
the snowman watches all.
His great whiteness
making milk look grey.
THE SHARING CORNER*
FOR OUR NEXT ISSUE, which should come out around Mid March, we
What a NEAT idea.
especially invite the younger voices in our congregation to participate with poems,
stories & drawings, etc. Everybody else’s contributions – whether youthful-sounding
or not – are of course most welcome, too. After months of wintry assaults
(potentially), won’t we all be ready for spring bursting on the scene?
Our Editor for this important spot,
Shavonne Conroy, [email protected],
is eagerly awaiting your input.
This feature is about lending a hand and community self-help.
Think of it as a “bank” where you can deposit and/or withdraw things you …
…like to do
…or donate
…or have a knack for,
…need help with, etc., etc.
SEE
EE
S
YOU
YOU
IN CHURCH
CHURCH
IN
For free or a reasonable fee.
Think of it as the Needs Exchange And Talent Bank (NEAT Bank), member SPC.
This bank awaits with interest to have some customer traffic shortly.
*formerly the Barter Corner, but we thought ‘sharing’ is more what it’s about.
26
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