T Day Menu

We're in Austin, Texas, visiting with Arthur's family, and decided not to have the traditional menu (for the most part).  So here's the offering from Anna, Linda, Patty, Michael, Arthur, Danny, and God-knows who else:

Butterflied leg of lamb marinated in ginger, citrus, rosemary, olive oil, and garlic.
Small Red Potatoes roasted in olive oil and rosemary
Japanese sweet potato with black sesame
Mahogany Rice Pilaf
Traditional Sweet Potatoes with Marshmallow
Asperagus Polanaise
Grated Brussel Sprouts sauteed with bacon, pine nuts, and garlic.
Mrs. Stanberg's Cranberry Sauce with Horseradish and Sour Cream
Spinach Salad
Ambrosia
Cranberry Sauce
Cherry Pie
Apple Pie with Streusel top
Apple Pie with Caramel Walnut top
Pumpkin Pie
Chocolate Cake
Fruit Mold

now football.

Sacrifice

As with many of my pet peeves, there comes a time when you understand what the peevishness is really all about.  It becomes clear and transparent, and you can either give up on your attitude, or become clear about why you object to a behavior or situation.  Such moments of clarity are few and far between, because the reaction to certain things is so immediate that there is no time for introspection and wondering why.  This morning, however, the clarity was immediate and convincing.

We went to the 11:00 Mass at Saint David's Episcopal Church in Austin, Texas.  This is a large church that early on resisted the temptation to build a larger worship facility, and instead kept its historic building and offers multiple services that make the space usuable to a much larger congregation.  It is a carpenter gothic building, with 19th century American glass, and all the naivite that comes with that.  It is a perfectly comfortable space inspite of all the "living room" types of spaces that greet you as you make your way to the church.  The liturgy was Rite II, sung for the most part, with choir, bell choir, and organ.  Perfectly fine.

The usual places where a choir might perform, such as the psalm or gradual, were avoided, and when the choir did sing, at the offertory, they filed out of the choir stalls and lined up at the front chancel steps.  This is always a bad sign - for to me it signals "performance".  When they sing at compline (see photo above) they do it in their stalls.  Now they were all linged up in front of us, a wall between the worshiping congregation and the altar.  They did "Worthy is the Lamb" from "The Messiah"; and it was a good reading, although they could have used a stronger tenor.  Following the lengthy "amen" that ends the piece is when it happened.

There was a brief silence, and then someone up near the pulpit burst into applause.  Some others joined in, but it was not the whole congregation that did so.  Applause in the middle of a service (when we are not offering an acclamation to a newly ordained priest, bishop, or deacon) makes me uncomfortable.  So I sat there, not applauding, and wondering why I have this reaction.  Suddenly, as the priest continued to set the table for the Eucharist, visible behind the choir basking in the congregation's scattered applause, I got it.

This is really all about sacrifice.  The music is offered up, and I think that those offering the music are doing so with the attitude that it is being offered up.  The applause turns the offering, the sacrifice, into a performance, that is suddenly centered on the individuals singing and offering. The relationship of choir and God was set aside, and the focus was only on their singing.  At best the choir was enabling us in our worship rather than entertaining us.  The silence that should have accompanied their gift might have been uncomfortable (our culture abhors silence) but was necessary. 

I must admit I have been greeted with applause, once following a difficult sermon at Trinity Church in San Francisco.  My feelings at the applause were mixed: pleasure, dis-ease, embarassment, and a certain amount of pride.  It was the pleasure and pride that made me feel uncomfortable, and even guilty.  Offering up for others is a difficult thing.  My preference is to greet the sacrifice of others, and my own sacrifices with silence. 

I keep thinking of how God greeted Elijah on Mt. Horeb.  God was not in the mighty wind or the loud noise, but in the still small voice.  As the hymn says, "Let all mortal flesh keep silence..."

A Serious (Righteous) Man

Ok, maybe this wasn't a good movie to see on a Sunday - thereby overloading it with too much religious symbolism.  That, however, seems totally unavoidable.  This movie is inherently religious, that is its humor and delight, and that is the ground from which it grows.  The people who seemed to be enjoying it most were sitting behind us to our right - howling mightily - and later comparing all the religious allusions.  So what's it all about?  And is it as hilarious as a friend described it?  Does it help to be Jewish?

I think that it does help to be Jewish - I'm certain that we missed most of the cultural refrences.  I can't wait to talk about it with my friend who was raised in a Jewish household.  In my conversation with her, I will begin, I think, to understand whether the film was a knee-slapper or merely intellectually and perhaps theologically amusing. 

I so want to slap the template of Job over the script of this film.  It would work,  There are the misfortunes which seem to mount on the principal character, and even though he doesn't lose his children, they are never really there for him.  His wife leaves him for an insufferable widower, and he is left to the dubious advice of three rabbis who do no more for him than did Job's friends.  And then there is that opening scene, the one with the simple farmer and his wife and the (was it really?) dybbuk.  As a twisted form of the court of heaven scene in which Satan asks for a chance to strike at Job, the dybbuk released back out into the world seems to work.  Perhaps it is all about Job.  Or is it David and Bathsheba, or could it be Joseph (or Daniel) the dreamer?  Or is it about a seduced Joseph, or a Solomon trying to decide what grade to give to his Korean student?  All of them work, and there are more to be sure.

Or is it too much to wrest meaning from a Coen film?  Should we let the black humor and absurdity stand on its own, and just enjoy it for what it is?  I think that's the easy way out.  There is just too much material here to decode.  "Serious" in Hebrew is not the same as the word for "righteousness", but it should be.  This film left me wrestling with the main character over the ethics of changing grades, and taking the easy way out.  Was G-d really talking about karma in the commandments, when talking about the sins of the parents visiting the children to the third and fourth generation?  Perhaps the Coens know.

Dinner!

I love the challenge of left-overs.  Well, not everything was a left-over, just the pork roast.  I didn't want, however, just to heat it up - it never resembles its former glory.  Something new had to be done.  Hanging around in the kitchen were some fresh green beans (from our farm subscription) and some not-ripe Anjou pears.  What to do?  One inspiration came from the old Garibaldi's that used to exist on 17th below Potrero Hill.  They used to serve a wonderful green bean dish served with oyster sauce and pork and a little hot oil.  We went back time after time to enjoy that dish.  Now they don't exist any longer and the surviving sibling on Presidio doesn't serve this any longer.

So here's the menu:

Green Beans tossed in a sauce made of minced garlic, a dice of roast pork, a dash of cumin and chili, and about three tablespoons of hoisin sauce.  I forgot the hot oil, but not next time.  The beans were cooked in boiling water for about five minutes and then tossed in the sauce.

This was served with brown rice that had been cooked in beef broth with herbes de Provence.  On top of this I served slices of the Anjou pear that had been grilled on both sides.  The pears were a wonderful complement to the herbed rice.

Arthur said it was a success, and I'm happy! 

Dia de los muertos

I came home on Halloween, after a long meeting, and found that Arthur had set up something that has become a custom in our home - a table for el dia de los muertos, the Day of the Dead.  I was happy to see it - a seemingly more interesting way to observe the days around the 31st of October than bad candy and even worse costumes.  So I sat and looked at it for a while - it would be a good way to focus thoughts as the Christian Year moved from All Saints' Day (1 November) to All Souls' Day (2 November).

What is really delightful is to remember by means of the objects that Arthur has placed there.  Track with me, if you will:

1.  A biography of Gertrude Stein, originally in the library of Arthur's good friend Pat, who died as the result of a heart operation.  We both miss her.  This book and a photograph of a cathedral side aisle keep us always in mind of her.

2.  Behind the book is a photograph of Kevin - a mutual friend, long before Arthur and I knew one another.  Kevin was the chair of Dignity, and had one of the longest funeral services that I have ever attended.  As the speakers dragged on and on, we finally decided to leave.  That funeral may still be going on over on Seventh Avenue.  But that was Kevin, and those were the stories that had accrued to his memory.  One humorous note, the photograph shows Kevin in a motorcycle jacket looking modestly butch.  Up close you can see that he is wearing suit pants.  He had come in to have a formal portrait done, and the photographer thought it would be fun to photograph him with the jacket.  Somehow it captured some of the spectrum that Kevin enjoyed.

3.  Behind the photograph, you can see a candleholder shaped to look like a palm tree.  It is my legacy from my good friend Gerry, who had more china and crystal than most people.  He was Italian, but born in Boston, and his home in the Castro made you think that you had just stepped into a house in the Back Bay.

4.  Leading up the table is a "stream" of black stones.  After a delightful dinner one evening, with my good friend Salvador, I discovered a fine box in front of my door that had been left by him.  Inside was a message from him, thanking me for the evening, and enclosing the black polished stones.  I open the box from time to time and just remember.

5.  Behind the stones is a small, old photograph of Arthur's father's (Arthur II) parents, Arthur I, and Mary Ethel Culbertson.  Arthur knew his grandfather, but his grandmother died in 1946, and so he never knew her.  She was buried in Saint Louis, Missouri, until they decided to put a freeway through - and now we don't know where she is.

6.  Behind the photograph is a painted vase, painted by my father's aunt, Ida.  I apparently met her one time when I was two or so - I've got the picture to prove it.  I don't remember her, however.  I do think of her - my parents both loved her dearly - and remember what a joy she was to them.

7.  Hovering behind the vase with a rose in it, is a series of Japanese dolls, that my Aunt Lola purchased when she was living in occupied Japan.  They were among many treasures that she gave to us, the value of which totally escaped us at the time - we thought they were just toys.  Now, as I look around our house, I find many evidences of her generosity, and of her taste.  Oddly enough, her birthday was on 13 May - the day that was originally celebrated as All Saints' Day.

8.  Behind the dolls is a portrait of my father.  I love this photograph of him in clerics - he is handsome, present, and smiling.  I miss him, and have so many things that I would like to have shared with him.  I remember Dad at the symphony - an appreciation that was given to me when he took my to my first performance at the age of 6, in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

9.  Down from Dad is a wonderful photograph of my friend Tucker.  Tucker and his partner Casey lived across the hall from me on Divisadero, and became wonderful friends.  Tucker was an artist, and a party-giver.  He designed furniture, and decorated a million Christmas trees for businesses in San Francisco.  When he became ill and went into a coma at San Francisco General, Casey and the doctors came to the realization that it was time to discontinue the assisted breathing.  Casey called me and said that they were going to do this at 5:00, and wondered if I could come and offer last rites and prayers.  I said that I would be there.  Gently, Casey explained the situation to the comatose Tucker, saying that he and I would return later.  Casey left the room.  Tucker died fifteen minutes later - always in control.

10.  Down from the picture is a small cup and saucer - highly colored and glazed.  It was given to my mother by her brother Milford, whom we called Jiggs.  Jiggs was a walking comedian - always knowing how to make one smile and laugh.

11.  Up at the top of the table is a glam photograph of Arthur's mother, Pat.  I miss her terribly.  Once when she and Big Art were out here to visit, we went to a restaurant over-looking the Bay in Tiburon.  It was hot, and I slipped off my shoes, under the table.  Later I had to leave to go to the restroom, and couldn't locate my shoes - my feet were surreptitiously flying everywhere under the table trying to find my shoes.  I looked across the table at Pat, who was smiling angelically - she had taken and hidden my shoes.  I remember her when I eat onions (she hated them) or see an image of Our Lady (she loved her).

12.  In front of Pat is a photograph of Betty and O.P.  O.P. was the president of Valparaiso University in Indiana, and I did an intern year with his brother, A.R., in Chicago.  Betty, however, O.P.'s second wife, was our friend.  When I moved back to California, and showed up at St. Francis Lutheran Church in 1982, she saw me, came running over and said, "Michael Hiller, what are you doing in my church?!" When she turned 80, the family all came to San Francisco, and we hosted them all for a festive birthday cocktail party.  Betty loved it.  Later on, Arthur would become her friend, companion, and care-giver.  On her death bed, as she was being treated for circulation problems in her legs with a rather painful apparatus, she looked over to me with disgust and resignation and said, "Michael, this dying is a hard business."

Ah, but Betty - and all of you - this living was great "business" with all of you.  Sometimes Arthur and I will pack lunch, drive down to Colma, and to Olivette Cemetary, and have a picnic with Betty.  As we walk through the graves, having had our lunch with Betty, and encounter so many other saints, I think of Arthur's table and el dia de los muertos.  Resquiescat in pace amici mea.

Angels Unaware

From the Bodemuseum Basilica

I have a date every Sunday morning at 8:00 a.m., (soon to change to 9:00 a.m.) when I celebrate Mass in  Saint Mary's Chapel at Trinity Church.  It is always a small group of people, but it is satisfying.  There is always a sermon, that at times takes on the dimensionality of a discussion.  This morning it was Jeremiah talking about the messianic return of remnant Israel to Jerusalem, a remnant that included social misfits (the blind, the lame, those with child, and those in labor).  The Gospel, from Mark, is a healing story, with Jesus healing the blind Bartimaeus, thus literally ushering in the messianic age that Jeremiah comments on and dreams about.  So we discussed this, and the discussion centered on how difficult it is for some of us (mainly me) to deal with beggars and street people (this in spite of the excellent lesson given me by Fr. James Tramel in Berkeley).  The sermon ended, we confessed the Creed, and said the prayers - praying for ourselves to be more open to the suffering of our fellow human beings.  We shared the peace, and I went to the altar to prepare the gifts.

Ernst Barlach - Der schwebende Engel 

After preparing the gifts, I looked up, ready to intone: "The Lord be with you"...and there he was.  A black man, clothed all in black, with medallions from rosaries and other religious items arrayed on the blackness of his hat and his robe.  He sat in the back and was intense in his taking in the altar and the actions there.  "And also with you" came the reply, as we continued on with the eucharistic canon.  He was there through the whole action, sitting by himself, but not separate - a part - hovering - a bit like Barlach's angel.  It came time for the communion, and I invited him to come and share in the gifts.  He moved up to the altar and received the Body and the Blood, and then remained there for the final prayers.

After the dismissal, we all usually dissolve into banter and news sharing.  And so I introduced myself to this person from the street, who had graced us with his presence.  He smiled and shook my hand.  I asked him, "and what is your name?"  "Israel."  (I was dumstruck - was he the remnant?)  And then he thanked us and left.  As he floated through the door of the chapel, and back out onto the street, I turned to my friend, Michael, and said, "An angel!"  Michael agreed that we had both been given a gift.

William Blake - The Angel of Death

After my coffee at Peet's  (I'm grieving the loss of my Royal Grounds place, just down the street from Trinity), I walked back up the hill in my cassock with the New York Times under my arm, as I do every Sunday morning.  As I rounded the corner onto Gough Street, I caught sight of a great deal of activity in front of the gothic apartment building across the street.  A fire engine and ambulance both had lights flashing, and a small crowd was gathered around firemen kneeling on the ground.  It was then that I realized that they were hovering over a man who had fallen, and were administering CPR.  Five minutes went by, then ten, and then fifteen, and then the man was loaded onto a gurney, and taken away - with no sirens.

Part of me wanted to rush up and anoint - but life was more important, and the anointing of the fireman was more of a salvation at that point.  I stayed to the side, and prayed - for the unknown man, and for the team that was desperately trying to save him.  Soon they were picking up things, equipment, personal belongings, used items, and went away.  Two women remained behind, who did not know the man, but who happened to be there when another angel came to take him away.  Angels of presence, they stayed with him until the end.  I asked if I could help them in any way.  One said, "thank you" and got into her car and drove away, and the other and I looked at one another and began to cry.  

Another angel?  Yes, and more than one.  The firemen, the women, the ambulance staff - these were angels in deed.  I thanked God for them, that in his final moments, this man did not die alone.  And then the thought hit me, as I recalled the tears just recently shed with the blonde woman who had stayed to the end - I was an angel too.

Extraordinary gifts on a Sunday morning

Thursday, 8 October 2009 - The Last Day

Today is a bit somber - for several reasons, not the least of which is that it is raining, and that today is our last day in Berlin.  The mood and the weather all make the choice of seeing the Memorial to the 6 Million Murdered Jews of Europe not only appropriate, but necessary.  The entrance is obvious, but not when you're approaching the memorial from Ehrman Straße, having just come from Unter dem Linden (now called Brandenburg Gate) SBahn Station.  It's interesting, Pariser Platz is all cleaned up from the celebrations of last weekend.  The anchor is gone, and all signs of celebration - clean - swept - leer.  So we have to wait in the rain to enter the museum, a large group waiting in front of us.  The line takes so long due to security below - sad.  We learn nothing, as evidenced by the dolt who serves as the president of Iran.

It takes time for these things, and if we are to learn from the middle east - it takes centuries, millenia, and still we don't get it.  We descend down through the cenotaphs on the surface to see them as indentations in the ceiling above our heads.  This place, along with the program at Judisches Museum, have chosen to educate us one by one.  The Jewish Museum by giving the whole context of the diaspora (although it doesn't explore that completely enough to speak about the whys of the diaspora) and Christian persecution of Jews; and this museum by looking at individuals, their stories, their context, and their fates.  It is engaging and it is sobering.  As I leave the exhibition, I encounter a young German girl, collapsed in the arms of a friend, sobbing.  How much I wanted to sob at that point - I wanted to do something - to react in some kind of public way.  The sorrows of the heart are not all that convincing, the deeds of a life are a little more so.

We emerge from the Museum into a day that has gotten a bit of sun.  We walk over toward Friedrich Straße, exploring some places for lunch (Galeries Lafayette, 260, and Refugium) and finally decide on a place at the Concert Hall in Gendarmenmarkt.  There we talk about our experience at the museum, and the role the Church has played, and the predicament that Christians are in, given this experience.  It is clear that Germany shares this guilt with others France, Poland, Romania, the Netherlands, and others, and it shares its guilt with our own country, that turned its head at times.  A shame on all of us...

After lunch we walk toward St. Hedwig's, walking by the Nolde Museum, the Mendelsohn Haus, and other sights, and suddenly realize that we are at Schinkle's Friderichswerderkirche (Michaelkirche), now a museum to the architect.  It is a wonderful room, completely restored, with wonderful light oak woodwork, and a collection of statuary related to the architect.  I like the altar, a black marble slab with a golden cross - stunning.  I buy a couple of medals, and Arthur a book, and we walk on, past the Bibliotek, and then over the remains of the Palast der Republic. now a green lawn.  Next door they are conducting archaeological studies on the zerstört Schloß.  We walk up to Mariakirche, which is having extensive restorations done, and then over to the Nikolaivierteil which is not very convincing.  The church is closed, undergoing extensive renovations as well.

It's time for coffee and something else, so we walk over to Hackesshermarkt and into the Successonist courts.  We find an interesting company, Golem, who deals in tiles, and talk with them about Bauakademie tiles.  Not to be had apparently - but now something for us to solve.  Finally we have hot chocolate at the Amperman Restaurant, and then go on to look at the Neue Synagogue, somewhat reminiscent of the one in Budapest.

We wander now - getting purposefully lost, and see courtyards and façades that charm us so, until we realize we are in the neighborhood of Friday night's incredible dinner.  We opt for a small Italian restaurant, and then take the SBahn home.  It has been a wonderful vacation, with Arthur.