Our Arts Week Festival is here!

Hello West End,

One of the things that gave me great comfort when I was called to ministry, was the knowledge that Jesus was also an artist. He wrote in the sand, used colorful metaphors, and more importantly – he was a storyteller. There is an undeniable connection between art and religion (I’ve written about this before here).

Stories have always been with us, and are integral to our lives. This week, we get to see and hear some of the creative stories that some of the members and friends of West End have to tell.

I am so proud to introduce the first official West End Arts Week Festival. Originally designed to feature the 10-minute plays that were created in Beth Linck’s Playwrights Playground class in October, the festival now includes a virtual art studio tour, a poetry workshop, and a film short.

Running from today, January 25th, to Sunday, January 31st, you can expect an eblast everyday letting you know which piece of art is premiering, with handy links taking you right to the show.

There is no shortage of talent here at West End. As a matter of fact, I think you will be surprised to see some unexpected faces as contenders for the Academy Award this year. I hope that you enjoy the creativity you see this week. 

Please also join us for the Artist Talkback on Sunday, January 31st, right after morning worship. You’ll be able to talk directly to the artists about their process. We are all artists in our own way. 

Here’s to discovering new art, new ways of being in communion with each other, new ways of drawing closer to God, together.

Peace,
Pastor Bridget

We join our hearts at the mountaintop

Today we lift up the memory of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and join our hearts with each other in the continuing struggle for racial justice across our country. Dr. King's legacy calls us to share a dream for the day when all may see the mountaintop God has in mind for us. It is also very much our prayer today.

In addition to commemorating Dr. King’s legacy today, we will soon be announcing programming for Black History month that engages our faith with our justice work. Together, all of us at West End are working to make hope visible. That hope comes through the diversity of our congregation, the ways we engage with our community, and the service we offer to the world. That hope is visible in the lives of your children, the voices of our elders, and our church’s commitment to racial justice.

As we think of Dr. King’s legacy and as we anticipate the inauguration of the first woman of color to the office of Vice President, we know that the road to go is still long and difficult. It will be easier if we all go together, and so I ask you: will you join with us in committing to West End? Later this week, you will receive an invitation to make a financial pledge to be fulfilled between now and June 30th to ensure our budgetary goals for this current financial year. These budgetary goals include increased funds for direct services to our community—Tuesday Table's hot meals to go, the free coffee shop on our porch, the Bellclaire Boutique, and maintenance of our community fridge. These goals include our commitment to our staff in the midst of pandemic. These goals include continued support of our partner organizations and to offering assistance to those who need our help. These goals are attainable, sufficient, and hopeful.

Consider the legacy of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and think of the brave people who stood alongside him to march for justice. Think of the young girls who now know that they can be Vice President and hopefully soon even President. Think of the people who rely on us for food and support. Then think of how WE make hope visible and join me in planning to make a pledge later this week.

Be well and God bless,
Pastor Will

In this New Year, speak more bravely

Nine days stand between us and the inauguration of a president who promises to restore dignity and justice to the office of President of our United States. Six days ago the 45th president incited a racist mob's overtaking of the halls of our government and for the first time in our nation's history, the Confederate flag flew in the United States Capital. I can make no excuses for these racist, cowardly, unpatriotic acts: not for the leaders who incited them nor the people who enacted them.

Our faith, however, calls us to the work of reconciliation and of justice for all people. Based on the photos I've seen from Wednesday, there are scores of white folks who need to be called to the defendant side of Lady Justice's scales, and so much more work we as a nation need to do. As so many of us know, the first step to solving a problem is naming a problem. Here goes one attempt.

America is a racist country through and through. While not every American is as racist as every other American; while some Americans are more often the victims than the perpetrators; while many of us—especially people of faith—try hard to unlearn our white supremacy, we must name this fact. Racism is this country's original sin, a sin for which we have never fully repented, a sin that clings too closely to each and every one of us.

What we know, though, is that God is all too willing to forgive our sins if only we ask. In this New Year, I invite us all to speak more bravely of the ways that hold us back, the privilege we cling to that separates us from true freedom, and our hopes for ourselves, our nation, and our world. Of all the untruths I have heard this past week, perhaps the greatest is from those who say last Wednesday's acts of treason "are not who America is." I disagree. The actions of last Wednesday are exactly who America has been for far too long and is still to this day.

In the book of Acts, we hear these words: "Now repent of your sins and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped away." Beloved, take these words to heart. Listen to your heart. I ask this of myself and ask this of you: how can I turn more to God this very day? Are we ready to create a new America, one where freedom and justice for all really means it?

Peace be with you,
Pastor Will

Intentions for the New Year

Every year we decide on a set of goals that we want to accomplish. “This year I’ll try something… do something… be something new.”

There is something about a new year. It’s a gift, a chance for a reset, a do-over. A brand new once in a lifetime guarantee, an offer we can’t refuse. A chance to finally get it right.

The year that is coming feels like none before. We’ve adapted and changed over and over. We’ve held on to beloved traditions, had to let others go, and have learned plenty of new tricks.

At West End Church, one of the ways we continue to adapt is by stepping up our social media game. We hope that you might find us on social media platforms (Facebook, Instagram and Twitter), and interact with us there to help make hope visible to a world that is looking forward to something new next year (show us that you like us, you really like us!). Like, comment and share so others are encouraged to interact as well.

On Twitter, we are especially interested in knowing what resonates with you. What message did you get from the sermon? What phrases or prayers have stayed with you? Tell us (and the world) by tweeting and tagging us, or sending your thoughts to me.

It’s four days until the New Year, and 23 days until a new administration in the White House. If 2020 has taught us anything, it’s that nothing can be taken for granted – not hugs, or voting, or even Zoom links. Let’s make this coming year one that we will not take for granted or ever forget. Let’s hold on a little longer, a little tighter. Let’s run on and see what the end will be.

Pastor Bridget

Let’s make hope visible

This past week, in keeping with tradition, we festooned the exterior of our church building with boughs of evergreens, bright red bows, and a few very festive wreaths. We also hung new banners advertising our free food for all programs to the community and sharing the mission of our church with our neighborhood. We also created a community art project.

Running along the entirety of the West End Avenue fence is a 63-foot long banner emblazoned with 149 bright white stars. The message on the sign is that West End Church makes hope visible, and there are instructions to write your biggest hopes for 2021 onto a star (we’ve put out some Sharpies). The neighborhood, and indeed many of you, have accepted our invitation and the westside of our campus is now filling with hope. If you haven’t walked by, do so. If you want to write a hope, share it with all of us and the community. And if you’re not in NYC or can’t make it to the church building, you can share your hope in an email to Michael.

In this week when hope comes in the form of an innocent child, take time to look around and find your own hope. If you may, allow me also the opportunity to be among the first to wish you a very happy Christmas. May God’s blessing be upon you. May peace and joy settle in your heart.

Be well, beloved,
Pastor Will

We need your photos for Christmas!

As we all prepare for the birth of Christ at home and socially distanced, we walk this journey together.

Send us your photos, and on Christmas Eve we will see ourselves preparing for this night as a backdrop to our music.

Send by

December 13

Send to

pastors@westendchurch.org

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Photos

Nativity
Your home manager or creche or nativity

City
Christmas in the City at night and outside — something on the street or in the park

Preparations
Cookie baking, tree trimming, table setting, show us how you’re making Christmas at home this year

Advent Wreath
Your unlit Advent Wreath

Angel
The Angel on top your Tree (or wherever you put her in your apartment)

Portraits
Your 2020 Family Christmas Portrait! We want to see YOU

Videos

Lighting a candle in a darkened room
Of you/your family, in landscape mode — seriously, no more than 10 seconds!

Advent blessings

With hearts full of thanks, we have now turned our attention to the coming Light of the World. The season of Advent is a season of preparation, and though many of our preparations are very different this year, preparing is still the work of these Advent days. We prepare our hearts for the coming of Christmas and for our greatest hopes to be made visible. We hope for safety, treatment, and cure for COVID-19. We pray for a new government and a return to the dignity of leaders who remember their job is to serve the least among us. We hope and work for racial justice, economic reform, and security for all people.

We also prepare for the more immediate concerns of the season: decorating trees or window sills, crafting or ordering presents for those you love, making tough decisions of to travel or not to travel and to gather or not to gather. There is much we are all preparing.

As you make your Advent preparations, remember that there is a table that has been prepared for you. Try not to get too caught up in your own preparations that you forget the ones who have come to prepare the way of the One still to come. Prepare the way of the Lord. Prepare your hearts and homes. Prepare yourselves and let hope, peace, joy, and love be your guides.

With Advent blessings,
Pastor Will

Give thanks for all things, for God is always doing a new thing

If you’re reading this, you’ve by now noticed that we’ve done a bit of sprucing up. With the help and guidance of many of you, we’ve created a new logo and built a new website to be more dynamic and easier to navigate. This newsletter too has been streamlined to help all of us with overflowing inboxes; here we will get straight to the point. On the website you’ll find every Zoom link, every upcoming event, every worship service; you’ll also find archives of sermons and music playlists. Soon, we’ll be launching a new app so you can quickly access events and your membership information easily from your device. 

With all this change, it’s important to remember that we are still a historic church. Worship Services of the Collegiate Church began in 1624, long before President Lincoln’s 1863 proclamation that the nation would celebrate a day of Thanksgiving each November. While I’m sure our forebearers regularly offered thanks and shared meals with those they loved most, the American Thanksgiving holiday as we now know it is much younger than our church, to say nothing of our faith.

This year, Thanksgiving will be new in many ways for many of us—smaller tables, fewer dishes to clean, Zoom calls as place holders for ever-longer overdue hugs. The thing about tradition, though, is that it adapts to meet us where we are. When it comes to making old things new, there’s always room for a refresh, always time for trying something new to get to what really matters. As you look about your church’s new website and stay with us as we continue launching even more new ways to engage, take a moment to give thanks for the West End forebearers who have brought us to this day. Do something similar as you prepare for Thanksgiving this week, giving thanks for the people and love that have brought you to this day. Give thanks for all things, for God is always doing a new thing.

Happy Thanksgiving,
Pastor Will

“How did you become a minister?”

I get this question a lot. Most of the time I just say, "It's a long story" and leave it at that. Well, here's my long story. 

Throughout my life and various careers, the very last thing I considered doing on God's green Earth, was preaching. I absolutely never thought about becoming a minister, even though I have always loved church. Ever since my grandmother took me to Vacation Bible School when I was 11, I've either sung in the choir or been an usher, or headed up a group or ministry. I had always taken notes during the sermon, and been curious about the Bible. I was an enthusiastic Bible Study participant, and often my questions made people uncomfortable or annoyed. I knew I was searching for something; I just didn’t know what it was. Never in my wildest dreams, did I  imagine that I would be called to preach.

My first clue that something disruptive was happening occurred when I found myself on the #4 bus going past Union Theological Seminary. I had an inexplicable urge to go inside and ask for an application. Well, actually, I felt as if God was saying "If you don't get off this bus and at least go inside, I will crash you into a mountain." I went in, got the application, and gave God a "There, you happy now?" I took the application home and didn't think about it for another two years. My initial resistance was rooted in my feeling that God was giving up on my career as an artist. I had worked steadily as an actor at times, and my plays were receiving attention, but I had not been a huge success - I was neither rich or famous. Being called to ministry, and all that it entailed (going back to school, stepping away from my art, the increased financial burden on an already stretched thin budget, etc.), was the last thing I wanted to do.

I felt betrayed, but more importantly, I felt embarrassed. The world is full of failed actors and sports stars who turn to ministry as a way to hold onto the limelight and a sense of importance.

And then there was the "unveiling." I was embarrassed and worried about what others would think of me. I did not want to be perceived as a religious fanatic, and this decision felt like the pathway to handing out tracks on the street, or preaching on the subway. After I applied and got accepted at Union, I didn't even tell my friends and family for weeks. Even now, people are still surprised when they hear that I'm a minister. 

My calling has been deeply personal and while I am confident in my abilities and gifts, the spiritual wrestling that I did with God over this call was/is intense. But since I am a writer, it has been cathartic to shape this struggle into an artistic piece. My play, "Slide Show: The Evolution of Radical Womanist Theology” originally began as a nostalgic look at my past, but turned into a choreo-play about my relationship with God in general, and my call to ministry specifically. "Slide Show..." has been performed in bits and pieces over the last few years, but I am hoping to have a reading of the entire show soon.

Reflections on the Face of God

The face of God that is the face of each other behind a mask is the face of the ineffable just behind a veil. This is a time of great trial, and it is going to be much longer than what we thought back in the beginning of April. On Sunday March 15th, we did the work of getting every one of us into life boats;  the ship as we knew it was under attack by a strange and deadly enemy. Everyone into the boats, and we did. Over these weeks, we have tied our individual boats together and we have witnessed the sinking of that old ship. Some of us have not made it, but many of us have. Here in our boats, our little zoom windows, our individual quarantines or small family bubbles,  it’s like we’re all in row boats. We’ve tied them together and like a flotilla, socially distanced but together, and together we’re riding these waves. Friends, I fear dry land is not yet in sight. I fear there are more and potentially bigger waves to come. And yet here we all are, masked reflections of the face of God, here on the other side of the Jabbok Ford, and our life has been preserved. These little sometimes lonely boats that we’ve learned to tie to one another have saved our lives, and God is in the strength of the ties that bind us.

Over the coming year, we will build a new ship where all of us will one day gather again in person and yet also in ways not yet known because oh how we’ve grown. The old ship never really fit us all and certainly wouldn’t now;  the inequities of its decks and the divisions it created were discomforts long overdue for discarding. That old ship built over centuries carried the sins of fathers who traded in racism and patriarchy. That old ship had too many decks where people were forced to reside never seeing the light of the sun and was powered by the engines of oppression designed to hold others back in order to get ourselves ahead. If it wasn’t clear in March, nor even at Easter, let us be clear that Pentecostal fire responding to the murder of George Floyd and countless others has sent that ship to depths of the sea. Some of our fellow citizens want it back, want to make that old unjust ship great again. It’s not coming back, nor should we let it;  resurrection is about gaining new life, not about resuscitating what is dead. Wrestling with God through the night we will have a vision for new life. From our row boats, all together, it’s time we build a new ship, a new place, a new world where all be free.

An excerpt from a pandemic sermon.

First Responders

This Easter, John’s Easter, our Easter, is a personal one. We gather only with those closest to us, the ones with whom we have now been gathered for many weeks. Some of us are weeping. Some of us, like Mary, are first responders who put your own safety on the line to care for the sick and dying and dead. Some of us are like the disciples, alternating between adrenaline spikes and crashes. I venture to say all of us know what it feels like to have had something or someone taken away and the confusion and anguish of such strange times.

In the midst of all of this, the tomb that Mary found is still empty. Our church, which we all love, also sits empty. Churches of the faithful all over the world today sit empty. This is not the Easter any of us would have imagined, but how faithful it is. Our churches sit empty as a witness to the empty tomb: “He is not there.”  The promise of this Easter is that Christ will not be contained in a tomb or in a church or anything we humans can fashion. The tomb is empty because we proclaim life, a life that Christ has given and promised, a life that will be abundant and sure. The Gospel of John tells of resurrection that will come in the morning, even when ascension hasn’t yet happened. This is our day. Resurrection is true and assured. God will guide us out of death and into new life for God has done it before and God will do it again and again and again.

This is the resurrection of Jesus Christ, a day for all of us to witness what is empty as a sign not of loss but of life. This is a quieter Easter. We’ll pull out the stops in person some other time soon. But know that in this time, this Easter, Christ has come to you in the most intimate ways, calling your name and telling the promises of God. For I have come to give you life, and life abundant. Christ is not in an empty tomb or an empty church. Christ is risen and lives with each of you. Alleluia. Amen.

An excerpt from Easter Sunday, 2020, at the height of the pandemic in New York City

Observing

When I was in grade school, we observed Martin Luther King Jr. Day with an assembly. I remember the 4th and 5th grade chorus singing “We Shall Overcome.” Our principal—the first African-American head of our public school—would lead us in a moment of silent reflection. We would hear a story of Rosa Parks or watch a film overlaid with “I have a dream.” I’ll confess that I didn’t know what exactly “we” were “overcoming” though I trusted our principal enough to go with the flow. I agreed that everyone should be able to sit wherever they like on the bus, and I really liked the conviction of that man’s voice, that man who had a dream.

Beyond these prescribed observances, MLK Day would come and go, bringing with it a long January weekend but little else. I don’t remember ever observing it in the large, suburban, mono-cultural church of my childhood. We didn’t speak of these things at home; somehow the question of “what did you do in school today” never quite got to “what does it mean to overcome” or “why do you think you sang that song?” Granted, weighty topics for an 8-year-old, but you get my point.

We observed because the calendar and society told us too. We took our day off, we went to an assembly, maybe we went to a special program at the local public library. As a child, I observed the legacy of Dr. King precisely by observing: I stood on the sidelines and watched.

“When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child,” writes Paul in the First Letter to Corinthians, “but now that I am an adult, I have put an end to childish ways.” An adult standing on the sidelines observing another’s struggle for justice is no justice at all, nor will it welcome the reign of God.

This weekend as our nation, our church, and indeed many of our children’s schools “observe” Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I invite you to think about how to get off the sidelines and onto the field. Justice-making is not a spectator sport. Don’t just sit there, take a knee or stand up against oppression. “With this faith,” writes Dr. King, “we will be able to work together, pray together; to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom forever, knowing that we will be free one day. And I say to you my friends, let freedom ring.” 

Let freedom ring. May we help make it so.
Will

A Thanksgiving Season

Thanksgiving is a holiday that is often over before we’ve finished digesting. So quick are we to race up from our tables to bust down doors or haul out the holly that our thanks dissipates into a blur of the past. Here it is the First Sunday in Advent, a season few outside of the church bother to mark. For many, and certainly for all the shop windows and radio stations and television commercials, it’s already Christmas, the most wonderful time of the year.

What if, as an act of faith, we slowed down for a moment. What if we spent a bit of time remembering the blessings of thanks we offered on Thursday and stayed, for just a moment, in this mystical liminal space that Advent affords. In the light of one candle, may we remember our Thanksgivings, and may that holiday color the one of Advent today and the one of Christmas still to come.

If this seems hard, I get it. As a help, perhaps keep this prayer I shared earlier this week to hand. Yes, it’s for Thanksgiving. And yes, it may at first seem as stale now as Thursday’s diner rolls. But keep it close and see what happens. Perhaps our Advent can be a season of Thanksgiving, a time of moving from one holiday of gratitude to one of great joy.

A Thanksgiving Blessing

God of All Ages, we gather this day to give you thanks.
For the love of family and friends,
for the food we eat and the meal we share,
for the hope of a world where all have enough,
bless us, God of Bounty.

For the faith that binds us together,
for the peace we long to see,
for the joy we find in serving one another,
we give you thanks and we ask for your blessing.

All things come from you, to you all things shall go,
and this is your promise:
that in the span of your arms and in the gaze of your eye,
all things are held; all things are seen. 
Fill our hearts with gratitude.
Let this meal of plenty nourish us.
May we give thanks this and every day.

For we pray in the name of the One who has given everything,
who promises life and life abundant for all who seek him. 
In the name of Jesus, Amen.

The 50th Anniversary of The Stonewall Riots

One of the things I love about the book of Psalms is the variety and the volume of metaphors used to describe the unimaginable. The Psalms, after all, were the original hymn book of faith, and many Calvinist religions restricted the singing in worship to the book of Psalms itself well into the last century. Throughout the anthology of 150 Psalms, organized into five sections, the Psalmist offers countless descriptors of God, us, and the relationship between us that defy further explanation. 

In Psalm 104, we find a few of these images that may be help us imagine the unimaginable. God is wrapped in light, as with a garment;  the heavens are stretched out like a tent;  all of nature—water, clouds, wings of the wind, even fire—is in service of God’s glory. What a picture this paints. What a glorious, wonderful, light-filled, multi-colored, flaming, gloriously-clad procession of the heavenly hosts Psalm 104 offers. If you’re going from this place to any combination of the various Marches or Rallies or celebrations of diversity and liberation today, perhaps take these images with you. Take the images of God wrapped in light, a rainbow of light, and riding a chariot of cloud carried by the wings of the wind. If today’s festivities are anything like other year’s festivities, I’m sure you’ll see many a human soul wrapped in little more than light today;  lest we get prudish, I’ll point you to scripture to remind that if it was good enough for God…well then we are all created in that image, aren’t we?

Today, the 50th Anniversary of the Stonewall uprising that is now commonly called Gay Pride, is a good day to remember the diversity and imagination of God, of a God wrapped in light as with a garment. Come to think of it, I’d rather like to see what our more creative queer folk might dream up if given the challenge of creating light-like garments. Imagine what the queens in the House and Ball community might design were Billy Porter to announce “category is…Light.”  Or if RuPaul were to set her drag queens the maxi-challenge task of creating looks “wrapped in pure light.”  Its little secret that the LGBTQ community is known for a heightened aesthetic sense—flag design, perhaps, being our one notable exception—and over the years countless queer folk have taken the Psalm’s invitation to metaphor and imagination as an opportunity to leave behind rigid norms of gender and binary expression. Just like we can all learn from the Psalms, so too can we all learn from queer folk. At today’s events, there’s room enough for all of us.

The Artistic Identity: The Intersection of Art, Spirituality and Social Justice

Who am I? Why am I here? Artists use their gifts to explore these questions and more, but the issue of identity can still be complex. I have struggled with my various identities, like someone dressing for different events: Today I’ll wear the mother outfit; tonight I’ll wear the writer’s hat; tomorrow I’ll be an actor… What about the teacher, friend, political activist? How can I fulfill all of these roles? Can I be more than one at a time?

I realize now that my art, spirituality and desire for social justice are not mutually exclusive. My interests/identities are interdependent, fluid, working together, lending and borrowing as necessary.

My responsibility as an artist is reflected in my social justice outreach efforts, which are in turn an extension of my spiritual practice. Let me explain the “artist’s responsibility” thing. Many years ago, I went to a workshop/lecture featuring Ossie Davis Jr. He talked about many things, but what stood out was this: Art, and in this case he meant acting, should be connected to social justice. His life was an example of this. His work as an actor was intimately tied to his efforts within the Civil Right Movement. He instilled in us the idea that if you’re going to call yourself an artist, then you have a responsibility to advance the cause of social justice.

Whether it’s the Occupy Movements going on across the country or voter registration drives – find an outlet that suits your gifts. It’s your responsibility as an artist. I believe it grounds you, and makes your art that much more creative and fulfilling.

I am no longer surprised at how easily the different parts of my life blend together. My interest in slave narratives finds its way into my discussions with my son on the train, and with my students in the classroom. My passion for social justice (i.e. access to basic services for everyone, providing arts education for young people, helping those who have the least), also dovetails with my spiritual practice. My church is very involved in social justice issues, so I often find myself engaged in conversations about political issues and events, and strategizing, on a Sunday. My poetry has been used as an opening prayer for various church services, so naturally one of my new plays, Leah’par, tells the story of Lucifer’s fall from grace from the perspective of a newly arrived slave on a plantation. The picture of who I am, and what I have to offer – in effect, what I am here for – would be incomplete if even one of these pieces was diminished, lost, or ignored.

The playwright Suzan Lori-Parks said writing is “holding the hand of God.” I hold onto that hand as well, and keep my eyes on the world around me. It is at that crossroads – that intersection of art, social justice and spirituality – that I am most fulfilled. Join me there and let’s change the world.