Taize Prayers

Taize - that little candlelight meditation on Wednesday nights - has started back up, little sweetheart, and I went tonight. I won’t be able to get back to another one for three weeks but that one falls quite wonderfully on your birthday.

Tonight I was asked to read a prayer at the end which was a actually composed by the Dean of Grace Cathedral where your mom and I have gone a couple of times in San Francisco.

It’s so nice just to sit at the back in the peaceful darkness of the sanctuary lit only mostly by candles, quietly sing the chants in my weird harmonies and come forward later to light a candle and say our prayer. It’s an hour of welcome quiet where I can reflect and feel close to you, listen for your guidance and tell you how much I love and long for you. And the gratitude I feel for your having found me.

Find me again, won’t you, my love? Over and over. Forever.

The Sunday After Christmas

Little sweetheart, for the last three years your mom and I have had something of a tradition. We drive down to San Francisco on the Sunday after Christmas, have brunch at The Top of the Mark and then walk across California Street to Grace Cathedral.

The first two years, I think I told you, that amazing art installation, "Graced by Light - The Ribbon Project", by Anne Patterson was there. Last year there was also a really neat Christmas tree that was decorated with white paper that had been folded into little birds and when you got up close you could see that they had people's prayers written on them. I wrote one for you and put it in the branches myself.

This year none of those things were going on but we walked around quietly and looked at the big frescoes painted there. Taken together, they sorta tell the story of California and San Francisco and the church itself. It goes around the entire massive walls on either side. And I'd looked at all of it before but I today I noticed the face of a little girl in a crowd of painted figures. She reminded me so much of you, my little sweetheart, and I felt the tears begin to come.

Later, we sat down near the front. The organist was practicing for the service later that night. He seemed to be working on the tricky bits, starting a phrase and then stopping, the great reverberations echoing throughout the place, bouncing off the high arched ceilings. I recognized one of the works. It was a Christmas song I quite like. It always begins the 9 Lessons and Carols service that the BBC broadcasts each Christmas Eve from Kings College Cambridge. It was Once in Royal David City.

I kinda know the words or at least I kinda think I do kinda. I picked up a hymnal and I noticed they didn't have any titles. But they're all sorted by occasion. Like Easter or Advent or All Soul's. I found the section that was for Christmas and looked through that until I found the song. There's several verses and a couple of them I'm pretty sure are rarely if ever sung. One verse, the fourth, really caught my eye. Remember, little sweetheart, how I told you about that short meditation I was asked to write for Good Friday? It very much reminded me of that:

Verse 4
For He is our lifelong pattern
Daily, when on earth he grew
He was tempted, scorned, rejected
Tears and smiles, like us, He knew
Thus He feels for all our sadness
And He shares in all our gladness

We stayed for a while after. A brass quartet arrived and the organist went through the music with them. We listened to all of the rehearsal, walking up quietly and slipping into the choir stalls. It was really wonderful.

I feel awfully lonely for you, my little sweetheart. Sometimes I really don't think I can bear it. But little moments like this help. When I hear nice music or read something so resonant - I'm glad I began going to those Taize candlelight services back home in NYC - or I see something like that figure in the mural that calls to me and lets me know you're somehow near. Thank you, my little sweetheart. Please, always be with me. With love forever...

On Belief

So, my sweetheart, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about those brief remarks, that “reflection” I wrote for the Good Friday service and posted here shortly thereafter. The reflection itself was meant to be on the short side – they asked me for 250-300 words – so it didn’t get to range at length and into any kind of discussion about personal, evolving belief. But I find myself wanting to wade into that just a bit here and now…

  

You never got to meet him, my love, but I know you remember my talking about a friend of mine, my playwriting mentor, the Founder of NYC’s Ensemble Studio Theatre, the late Curt Dempster. I remember that he told me once that teaching is a very important thing for an artist (maybe everyone, of any profession) to eventually take on because it makes you examine what you truly believe. I think writing is of a similar stripe – it requires that kind of self-inquiry.

I think one of the things that most puts people off religion is a perceived demand that one must accept a set of definitive answers as the price of admission. But I don’t think it has to be like that. Sweetheart, do you remember my telling you about happening upon Grace Catherdral after your Mom and I were at the Top of the Mark the Sunday after Christmas in SF? There’s this great sign at the entrance - an invitation to enter “a place of religious immunity” is how it begins and then goes on to say how they are committed to an “unconditional surrender to the freedom of God to speak in whatever language is understandable”. This little church I’ve been going to here in NYC feels welcoming in that exact way – a recognition and respect for every individual’s journey, to not knowing but to seeking.

So when you read those words of my “reflection” – indeed, when I read them myself, one may well ask: do I believe that God incarnate as human literally walked the earth, was executed and resurrected? I don’t know. But that language is one way, perhaps, of putting words to this idea, this feeling I have and most firmly do believe that we are not alone. That love is enteral. And that through love we will find our way again to those we love when we too pass from what we see and know now, to all we can’t yet but will, as do they - as do you, my little sweetheart - in due time.

There’s a wonderful moment in Penelope Spheeris’s documentary about the late-70’s punkrock scene in LA, “The Decline of Western Civilization”. She’s interviewing Black Flag and she asks the drummer about his rather startling haircut. He answers so softly she has to ask him a second time and he says, quietly, earnestly, “I’m searching.” Quite right…

Love & faith,

Michael 

Boston...

I'm in Boston this week, little sweetheart, and thinking of the time I spent here with you. It's even colder than when we were here, huge snowdrifts piled everywhere. Every time I take the "T" across the Charles I think of how after breakfast with you in your sweet little room where the theatre was putting you up, that I'd get into my running gear and gamely go for a run in the frigid air, circling the river by running along one side to the farthest bridge then back again on the opposite side to the nearest and finally home, nearly frost-over, to you. I thought of you Monday when I arrived and later at the theatre for Opening Night. I remembered how wonderful it was to see you on the stage and how nice to be backstage with you, even taking a nap in your dressing room together. I thought of you Tuesday when I went to see the new Anne Patterson art installation downtown - it's a lot like the beautiful one she did in SF at Grace Cathedral, only instead of using ribbon, she's using long strands of aluminum streamers that hang hundreds of feet above the ground, catching and throwing the natural light everywhere, gleaming. I thought of you as I went looking for clam chowder, somewhat randomly and exactly the way you and I did. Remember, my love? It was so cold that night and we wandered and wandered looking for a place that seemed just right before we finally found a beautiful old pub and settled into a cozy booth together to get warm. We were so hungry we not only had big bowls of delicious chowder but burgers too and even dessert! This trip I found the neatest little place right by the bridge, it's been there almost 90 years. You'd love it, my sweetheart. And I thought of you. I thought of you when I went for a long walk the next day and wound up in a lovely little coffee bar called The Kickstand Cafe (Boston is nearly as bike friendly as Davis, my darling!) and I sat quietly with a coffee and a sandwich and softly heard Bon Iver come on over the sound system. And I cried, my love. I cried so hard for you. My heart was so heavy with missing you today my little sweetheart. And I vow to do better with whatever time may be left of my life. To keep you close to my heart and listen carefully for your guidance. Always be with me, Summer, won't you please? And take me with and to you soon and forever. I love with you with all my heart and soul, my little sweetheart. Love you forever.

Grace...

Your mom and I have started a new tradition, little sweetheart. We go into SF on the Sunday after Christmas and have a day out that I’m going to tell you about now.

There’s a place in Nob Hill that my own mother used to talk about. It’s the restaurant on the highest floor of the Mark Hopkins Hotel – The Top of the Mark. It’s a totally gorgeous spot with big windows all the way round, offering a panoramic view of the city from its vantage point high above the intersection of California and Mason. By night, it’s an upscale music venue, a bit like the Rainbow Room here in New York, I guess. My mom went there with my dad, from what I understand, when we were little and when she heard that I was coming out to San Francisco to work at The Magic (when you and I met, my love), she told me that that was something I absolutely had to do – go to the Top of the Mark. She must’ve told me that a dozen times.

At some point, just a couple years ago, I mentioned this to your mom. And it turns out that she and your dad had gone there, too. She even remembered that they went to see Judy Collins perform.

Anyway, last year when I came out to see your folks at Christmas, your Mom told me that she had learned that on Sundays they have a champagne brunch at The Top of the Mark. And she made a reservation for the two of us (your dad was working). You wouldn’t believe the spread they have! It’s an enormous buffet in the middle of the room, a sort of raised platform that, now that I think of it, is probably the stage, the tables all around the periphery and against the windows that surround the beautiful space. There’s even a pianist softly tinkling away and singing standards. The food is amazing, pretty much everything you can imagine from eggs benedict to fish and foul and French toast, to yogurt parfaits and fresh fruit, bagels and lox, even desserts. And there’s a chef or two on hand ready to slice a nice cut of meat for you and another to whip up any variety of omelet you might like, and, your favorite – waffles! You just pick up a plate and go back as many times as you like, trying a little (or a lot!) of everything. And when you come back to your table, the breathtaking vistas surrounding you, the very nice waiters are filling up your coffee again and/or your glass of champagne (none for me this year because I’m sober again but last year, several glasses.)

It’s just lovely. And that has become a new tradition, my sweetheart. But there’s also a second part to it. One we didn’t plan last year when we set off for your old stomping grounds but something we simply came across before getting back in the car and liked so much we did again this year.

After brunch, we came back down into the lobby of the hotel, looking at the huge beautiful Christmas tree there and then wandered out into the fresh air. A beautiful Northern California day, it seemed like we should at least walk around for a bit before driving back, so we did and we came across Grace Cathedral.

It’s a beautiful and historic gothic structure, full of inspiring art and architecture and extremely welcoming. There are so many wonderful things to tell you about this place, my sweetheart. All around the far walls are paintings of historic scenes in the life of the church and the city. On the floor, as you first enter, is a big labyrinth, a kind of prayer path based on a French monastic tradition, that people are invited to walk and quietly meditate on. The vaulted ceilings and stain glass throw the most beautiful light and shadows everywhere and there are dozens of little alcoves and nooks where one might say or write down a little prayer (as I did for you, for us) or sit quietly in thought. There’s a beautiful pipe organ and in addition to the regular schedule of services, there are any number of musical events planned – there’s almost always music in the chapel or main altar/space. That first time your mom and I visited, just as we were about to leave, a woman was coming through wheeling an enormous harp for a recital later that night. And one of the most striking things about the cathedral that day was an art installation we had the good fortune to come across at the end of its public showing.

Grace Cathedral actually has an annual “Artist in Residence”. How cool is that? The display was/is called Graced With Light – The Ribbon Project and it features hundreds if not thousands of ribbons hanging from the top of the high ceiling, streaming down to just overhead. The artist’s name is Anne Patterson (she lives in New York and I’ve recently been in touch with her, my love) and her vision was to create “a series of light pathways, connecting heaven and earth, manifest as ribbons. The ribbons carry our prayers, dreams and wishes skyward, and, in turn grace streams down the ribbons to us…” They’re all different colors, little sweetheart. She started by hand-assembling the blue ones and hanging them in March 2013. In May and June, hundreds of community members wrote their prayers and hopes and wishes on red ribbons and then in July, she hung those alongside. In October, she added the white ones along with a video projection in collaboration with another artist, Adam Larsen.

Your mom and I just walked around in thrall to its beauty. And the beauty of the idea that people had written their prayers on the ribbons sending them skyward. We read that the installation was only up for another two days so imagine our surprise and delight when, continuing our tradition, we came back this year after post-Christmas brunch at the Top of the Mark to find the beautiful ribbons still hanging!

And that wasn’t all. They added a beautiful Christmas tree in another part of the sanctuary, near the entrance, that looked to be decorated with small white paper birds, but when observed up close were actually hand-written prayers people had penned on white paper and folded into the little bird shapes. Nearby was a table with paper and markers, so I took one up and wrote our prayer on it, my darling, and placed it in the tree with the others.

After that we walked around a bit. There was a young man playing classical guitar near the altar and your mom thought it might be nice to sit up front and listen to him. So, we did for quite a while. Finally, his dad (at least we think it was his dad) came and collected him and we were about to go ourselves, when a nice man in robes invited us to stay for the service. He said if we liked, we could come up and “sit in the choir”. We were down in pews, sort of down front, but he was inviting people to come up much closer – it’s a big church! We were a bit shy and not entirely sure what to do but your Mom was game and me, too – I really wanted to stay.

When we got up close and took a seat in the rows way up by the altar facing in and I got a look at the little program or order of service handbill they gave us, I noticed that where we were sitting, where we’d been invited is called the “quire”. So, it sounds like the word choir and one could even imagine a choir being seated there, but it’s a totally different name. I liked that. Don’t you, my gorgeous girl?

The service was lovely, sweetheart. And everyone was so nice and friendly and I really think your mom enjoyed being there. She kinda didn’t want to leave. Me, either. We sang Angels We Have Heard on High (did I ever tell you that when I was a little boy I thought the part where they go “Glor-o-o-o-o-o, o-o-o-o, o-o-o-o- ria” was “Beau- oh-oh-oh-oh… regard”? I think I’d been watching too many Foghorn Leghorn cartoons…) and we turned and shook hands with everyone, saying “hi” and “peace be with you” when the Passing of the Peace came round. And there was a wonderful quartet of musicians, sweetheart – trumpet, clarinet, piano and a little harmonium! Your mom asked me what that harmonium was. I don’t think I’d ever seen somebody play one before. And the second hymn was that one I like so much from Nine Lessons and Carols – the opening one – Once in Royal David City. I leaned over when I saw it in the program and told your mom, “this is a great song!” and she looked at me and smiled a smile very much like one of your surprised smiles and said “really?” just about exactly the way your little nephew says it. “Really?”

There wasn’t a sermon or anything, just a blessing, which was really nice. And I said our prayer, sweetheart. And then at the end we all sang Go Tell It on The Mountain. I think your mom liked that one best. I always think of it as very closely aligned with the 60’s and Civil Rights – sort of a companion to We Shall Overcome. Ya know?

And, like I said, afterward, we really kind of dawdled. Kinda weren’t in a hurry to get back. It was such a lovely day, full of thoughts and prayers and music… and you, my little sweetheart. I just know it. I could feel you near me. And I know if I just do right, let all the noise around me go, be quiet and get to that deepest place inside me, I will always find you near. And soon, so very soon I pray, I will find you, you will collect me, and we will be together forever in Love and The Beautiful New Place.

Thank you, my sweetheart. I love you, Summer. With all my heart and soul I do. Always be with me. In everything that I do. Don’t go too far away, right, little sweetheart? Love you forever, my love….