We remember

A PRAYER FOR GUIDANCE

Living God, you do not compel us to serve you, but invite us to respond to your love; you do not impose your will upon us, or dictate the course we should take, but instead offer your guidance, giving us sign posts to walk by, yet ultimately leaving the decisions we must make in our own hands; we thank you for this wonderful expression of trust, this freedom to choose and discover for ourselves, and we ask that you will help us to use it wisely, trusting you in return, and seeking so far as we understand it to honour your will. Give us wisdom and courage to make the right decisions, at the right time, in the right place, to the glory of your name. Amen.

~~~

Sovereign God, you turned the darkest of nights to the brightest of days through the resurrection of your Son our Saviour Jesus Christ; Come now into the darkness of our world; into the nighttime of suffering and sickness, doubt and despair; into the shadows of hurt and heartbreak, injustice and evil; into the bleakness of violence and hatred, fear and death. May your new day dawn, and the Light of Christ blaze to your glory, as we share his resurrection life, and rejoice in the victory he has won; in his name we pray. Amen.

~~~

BENEDICTION

God be with you in your going out and in your coming in;
God be with you in your work and in your leisure;
God be with you in life’s hills and in its valleys;
God be with you in company and in solitude;
God be with you in all your pilgrimage and at its end.
And the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, be with you and remain with you always. Amen.



- Prayers from Choral Evensong, Wednesday 1st September, 2001, from St.
Patrick’s Church of Ireland Cathedral, Armagh, held during the 2010 Charles Wood
Summer School.

Round and round and round we go...

So finally tomorrow I will get to go home, just in time for vestry. Meanwhile, I will have been out to California, back to New York City, zipped off to Indianapolis and finally by way of Philly will get back to Vermont.

This little missive is being posted from the hotel lobby... a place where, should I be re-elected as deputy, I may be occupying in 2012 during General Convention!

My brain has been challenged by the past three days of intense meetings on disparate matters — the final Anglican Covenant and what TEC's response might be to it and today, working with a stellar and impressive team of five preparing for a CREDO-Church Pension Group-sponsored program, Strength for the Journey, being offered for the clergy and lay leaders of the Eglise Episcopale d'Haiti. We will meet in Santo Domingo for the simple reason that there is no place in Haiti that can handle the group and because we want them to go to a place where they won't fear the buildings will come down on them and there is running water, electricity and less chaos.

Meanwhile, assorted photos of the past several days...


Remember Trans World Airlines, aka, Toughest Way Across? Their terminal at JFK, NYC was award-winning but hopelessly antiquated as the security measures kicked in -- the pods were never designed to be blocked off; hence, there were no places to sit or eat because they were in the open main part (that you see). The original building was lovely in its own right — we took my sister there in the 1960s for her to fly off to Spain. But by the late 1980s, 1988 to be exact when I flew to Spain, the place was cramped and dingy. When Jet Blue put up their new terminal, rather than tear the TWA building down, they simply surrounded it. One sees the old building as one walks from the main Jet Blue terminal to the Air Train (finally!!!! Yes, there is public transportation from downtown Manhattan to JFK).

'
The old stomping grounds in NYC, the General Theological Seminary, have also changed greatly. The old front building, which was falling apart, was torn down in 2008, and a new condo building built in its place. If you have $2.5M you can buy a two-BR condo that looks over the Close. I think the penthouse apartment is $4M. Seminarians can no longer enter from Ninth Avenue; they must walk halfway down 21st Street to get in a side gate. This is a huge change to the 'hood (and the seminary took a lot of flack from the Chelsea Preservation folks).


The back end of the Close, on Tenth Avenue, is a lot spiffier than in my days. It used to be that the faculty parking garage was off Tenth — a dismal affair. The dorm, Eigenbrodt on the left and faculty apartments on the right, looked over a somewhat decayed neighbourhood. Chelsea has gentrified and Eigenbrodt is now a fancy hotel, called the Tutu Center. (It also serves as a meeting place.)


The old rail tracks on an elevated line have been converted into the Highline and it is a very pleasant walk. From it, one sees the seminary and the Empire State Building. This past Sunday was a gorgeous night and walking up there was a polyglot experience.


From above ground tracks, one descends down into the subway, a noisy but eminently practical means of transportation. This photo is from my old station, 23rd on Eighth.


Times Square is a lot better than it used to be though it is just as crowded. To get to Grand Central Station from Eighth, one has to wander up and down long corridors until one arrives at the Shuttle that runs between 42nd Street and Grand Central.


And then one arrives at Grand Central (GCT), spared by the 1960s wrecking ball that took down Penn Station. When GCT was restored a decade or so ago, they uncovered the constellations on the ceiling of the main room. I love this station for its size (it also is the main headquarters in Planet of the Apes). It is hard to believe that my father went in and out of this place twice a day for nearly thirty years.


The white onyx clock is the largest onyx clock in the world (that is, the faces are the largest), if I remember correctly. It is worth a pretty penny.


Little did we realise that four out of the six people on the D020 Task Force are Mac users. It was a mini Mac-convention on the third floor of 815.

Here endeth your mini-tour of NYC.

Wonders never cease

Who would believe that I can sit in a cramped airplane but at least have the luxury of free wifi and satellite radio to entertain me? Such small luxuries make up for the flight leaving 1h40 late which makes arrival in my next port (Indianapolis — I am going in the wrong direction from home) a bit more arduous for the hour.

The D020 Task Force finished up its work today. Y'all will see the questions and study guide we produced sometime this summer.

Meanwhile, there was enough time to go to the noontime Eucharist at the Episcopal Church Center. Only seven of us showed up but it was good to put all my travelling around and work into perspective.


There are some wonderful icons and a copy (?) of a 14th-century Madonna and Son in the chapel. As always, I left a candle burning.







It is hard going to 815 nowadays because there are so few people there. The building is designed for a large workforce and no longer does our church have that staffing. I can hear certain deputies saying we should ditch 815 in NYC (I could quote their words because the argument never changes) and while the corporate model is of a bygone era, the emptiness signifies people who lost their jobs, people who were faithful in their duties.

My first trip to 815 was in 1991 with a class on church polity with Dr Pamela Darling. It was a great course, learning about General Convention and all the ins-and-outs from someone who was the President of the House of Deputies, Pamela Chinnis' right hand. The big treat at the end of the semester was trekking across town from General to 815, touring the whole building, meeting the various officers at the different desks and spending some time with the then-Presiding Bishop, Ed Browning.

Memory lane... later, some photos of NYC scenes, the subway, Grand Central Station and the newly opened Highline, a pedestrian walk up on an elevated set of railroad tracks that run down the west side.

Right now I feel the plane dropping altitude in arrival to IND so I will post this before I have to shut down the computer.

A quiet day at 815 Second Avenue

So, while the D020 Task Force of Executive Council tries to work upstairs there is a loud protest going on outside.

Go to Jim Simon's blog to see a video of this protest — it is a large group of Hassadim protesting the destruction of a cemetery in Jerusalem.

Eight years later...

A reminder of Saint Paul's Chapel that served as the ground zero for relief efforts. This is a video I posted back in April 2008.

+

And here is a description of my visit there in December 2001 that I sent to my family.

Monday at Ground Zero
17 December 2001
Three months later

The first thing I saw when I came up from the Fulton Street subway station, pointing west, was the charred remnant of what once was WTC 5. Blacker than black, yet with light coming through the open floors, it remains the only above-ground remains of the WTC complex. My mind had a hard time computing that it used to look dwarfed by WTC 1 and 2. As Mother will attest, what helps make this all real is the smell—there is nothing like wet, old burnt matter. I can’t really describe it other than it is distinctive and unpleasant.

I had never really paid attention to the WTC towers when they were there—all the countless times I had gone to the Seamen's Church Institute headquarters I never really looked up—because I knew ‘they would always be there.’ Instead, the Saint Margaret’s House (for low-income elderly residents) seemed tall and it is maybe 15 stories. And where there used to be this huge presence looming overhead, all there is is air space.

In an odd juxtaposition, shooting star Christmas lights framed the unreal scene of the destruction of lower Manhattan. Beyond the remains of WTC 5, across the plaza, clearly stands Four Liberty Plaza building, covered with black netting, with plywood in the windows that were shattered. The Winter Gardens, which Mother photographed, look like the burnt-out hulk of a blimp. It would appear that the structure is being dismantled. Likewise, the building Mother photographed with beams and such hanging out of it, has been stripped of its outer layers. When I walked down a side street, and was able to glimpse inside the fence, the facade of another building on the south side of the plaza (which I haven’t had the chance to identify yet) looked as though it had been impaled by a gigantic Christmas tree.

Saint Paul’s fence is covered top to bottom with t-shirts on which people have written the names of those who have died, prayers, photographs of the missing, flags, photographs of WTC in its glory—every imaginable expression of human grief possible. The block-long fence has become a shrine for New Yorkers, and visitors alike. The crowd was four-deep when I went by; there are saw horses up to keep people on the sidewalk and out of the flow of traffic of Broadway.

Police officers guard the perimeter of the site. With a chaplain who is working at the site, I got down one block closer, but at the end of the block there are ten-foot high plywood walls that screen off the activity going on inside. It made sense to stand up on Broadway with everyone else because Broadway is the highest point. When we were leaving at night, after all the lights had been turned on to flood the site with white light, I could see a big back hoe dumping debris into a waiting dump truck.

Security was very tight because earlier on Monday, the excavators had found a buried fire truck, pushed four stories below ground by the impact of falling debris from the collapse of the towers. Almost all of the equipment on site is heavy equipment and so they had to send out for lighter equipment to uncover (gingerly) the crushed truck. Needless to say, all were hoping there would be some remains to identify.

We spent two hours inside Saint Paul’s Chapel, which is closed to the public and open only to rescue workers (as they are still being called). This church, which is the oldest functioning building in NYC, where George Washington worshipped, which used to operate mostly as a museum and concert hall, has discovered a new and vital ministry: it is the place where all the workers—firefighters, police officers, crane operators, construction workers, steel workers, on and on, can gather quietly to eat, rest, sleep, get a massage, or pick up any manner of items ranging from eye drops to cough drops to new shoes or t-shirts. Everything in that church has been donated.

Strung from pillar to pillar are garlands of peace cranes made out of colored origami paper. Every single possible inch of flat surface has been covered with notes from people of all ages from around the world. The notes are addressed to the rescue workers. Near the doorway was a note from a Dutch woman. On the back of the pew in front of me, the cards read words like, ‘Get well.’ ‘We hope you feel better.’ ‘We love you.’ ‘Our thoughts are with you.’ ‘Good luck.’ ‘Keep your spirits up.’ ‘Your help is one in a million.’ ‘Thank you, crane operators.’

Kirby, age 7, wrote, ‘Dear Rescue Worker: Don’t give up on hope because I’l [sic] be praying for you.’ Danny, another seven year-old, wrote, ‘Dear rescue worker: Thanks for trying your best and trying to save a lot of people.’ I can just imagine these children in elementary school, out in the middle of the United States, being asked to write letters to unknown firefighters or EMTs. What does hope mean for a seven year-old?

It was so moving to see all these notes, written with such love and care, with all their misspellings and grammatical inconsistencies, covering the walls, pews, book racks, lectern, pulpi and pillars of Saint Paul’s. Not only that, these notes are still being written. They did not just arrive the week of September 11th. On the floor close to the pew where I sat was a xerox box filled to overflowing with yet more cards and notes.

Likewise, there were two boxes of paper angels and butterflies that some school children had made, with a sign that read, ‘Free, please take one.’ Everything in the church is for the rescue workers—it would be unthinkable for anyone else to take what has been given to those working at the Pit.

Hanging from the balcony (upstairs is where toilet paper and paper towels are stored), was a long vertical banner with a painting of the Statue of Liberty, a dove of peace, and the words, ‘Oklahoma loves you.’ Nearby two huge flags, made of out paper, with cut-outs of hands in white and red paper to make the stripes, covered the balcony.

A big pile of blankets and fleece comforters sits at the end of each pew. On top of it, for each pew, is a stuffed animal of some sorts—a rabbit, a teddy bear. Rescue workers can come into Saint Paul’s, stretch out on a pew and take a nap. Over to one side of the church are mattresses with blankets and bright colored sheets for those who really need to sleep.

We were there at the change of shifts (5.00 PM). A stream of weary fire fighters, police officers, and construction workers quietly came in to get something to eat, and to hang out. While there is more laughter than in the early days, the workers clearly are exhausted. Jean [from SCI] talked with a fire fighter who had just been made a chief, sworn in just five days after the collapse of the towers. He said that he didn’t feel as though he should be a chief, that he was elevated to that position because they are desperate. He knows in his head that he did pass the qualifying exams—his heart hasn’t accepted it. Marriages are suffering terribly because of the disaster—the fire fighters and police put in a twelve-hour shift, hang out a while in Saint Paul’s and then go out to volunteer for another twelve hours. Jean described many looking haggard and gaunt, as though they had come out of prison camps.

As I had brought water from the River Jordan, in the hopes that I could sprinkle it in the graveyard or some place close to Ground Zero, a chaplain who took an interest in this wish, got me a hard hat and we set off in a futile attempt to get any closer than Saint Paul’s. Someone had written in magic marker on my hard hat, ‘We love you!’ The hats simply said, ‘Clergy.’

When it was clear we couldn’t get anywhere, having walked a quarter of the way around the perimeter, we went back to the chapel and I was introduced to someone who might be able to let me out the back door into the cemetery where I could sprinkle the water. He dearly wanted to help but cryptically said that the graveyard had become ‘a battlefield’ so neither of us could go out there. I don’t know if the battle is between the FBI, the City of New York, Trinity Parish (who owns the chapel and graveyard) or what. In any event, I had to leave the water with Jean with her promise that someday she would do what I couldn’t do.

It is unclear what Trinity Parish is going to do in the long-term about the ministry at Saint Paul’s. What is clear is that there still is a very deep need for pastoral presence and caring for those who have been working so hard at such a Herculean task. Not only does the church need to support pastoral presence at Saint Paul’s but it also needs to support this ministry at Fresh Kills where those sorting through the debris are finding body parts.

We left Saint Paul’s after two hours inside its holy, calming space, an amalgam of popular shrine and church (underneath all the notes and cards are a pulpit, Advent wreath, and the things one would normally find in a church), and stepped back out into the glare of the lights. The crowds were still there, looking at the memorials and photographs on the fence. And in the background to this strange tableau, we still smelled the residual smoke from a fire that still has not gone out and still saw the remains of what had once been such a busy place.

By the time we joined the rush hour crowd at the Fulton Street Subway, I could pretend that life in New York was back to normal. But my heart knows otherwise....

Photos from my new toy

So here's what I captured with my iPhone this week. I drove down to my parents in Connecticut, spent the night, took MetroNorth into New York City, went to a meeting at 815, landed on a meeting of the CSW with the US delegation, took the train back out and then drove back up to Vermont. It was a whirlwind trip. And then last night, I took some sillies of Young Guy because I couldn't find my regular camera. Lastly, there is a photo of my office.


My father's cat now sits in front of the fireplace, waiting for him to make a fire. Then she settles down on her Iranian carpet and enjoys the fire. She will turn 19 this week.


She is thin but actually in better health than a year ago at this time.


After my meeting (which was very helpful), I went to the noonday eucharist that is held every day in the Chapel of Christ the Lord. It has been completely redone since 2006 when I last really stuck my nose in there. It now is oriented toward the stained glass windows on Second Avenue (facing due east) rather than facing the south wall. The cross behind the table/altar is one that has been used at General Convention, made at Cooke's Forge in Weare, NH. Likewise, the stoop at the entrance is the one we use at General Convention, made at Simon Pearce, Quichee, Vermont.


The credence table is to the right of the altar. The icons come from Presiding Bishop Frank Griswold's time.


I like the juxtaposition between the Ethiopian processional cross and the replica of a Romaneseque Madonna and Child from Chartres, France. My candle burns in sand that resides in a bowl from Ethiopia.


Back at my parents', I had to take this photo of one of their stone walls, covered in wonderfully goopy snow.


Back in Vermont, I took this photo of a mandela of peace, Saint Francis and Tigger, just given to me by a parishioner.


I was trying out a borrowed LED projector. When the image of a vista from the Camino de Santiago went up on the wall, Young Guy just couldn't figure out what it was so he had to investigate by jumping up on the antique French secretary (verboten).


He momentarily stopped trying to figure it out.

Things I never thought I'd see in the news

... a sinking airplane drifting down the Hudson River.

Thank goodness everyone is mostly OK.

What is interesting is that Shrub's last address to the nation doesn't even make it 'above the fold'; you have to scroll down past the initial screen to see anything about it.

THAT catastrophe is soon, soon over. But how long will it take for us to dig out, restore our image and heal?

More later... it has been a busy week. I no longer quite have the life of leisure I used to have and so blogging has suffered exponentially.

Last NYC for a while

[grabbing a photo from April the last time I was here because this go-round I didn't have my camera]

The meeting ended early enough for me to hop on the Lexington Avenue subway and head downtown to City Hall and the Brooklyn Bridge. I walked to the midpoint but since it was a bit breezy and therefore a bit chilly I didn't go all the way over to Brooklyn. Just for yuks, I sat on one of the benches close to the halfway point and looked back at the Chrysler and Empire State buildings. Despite the cool weather, there were lots and lots of people out for a stroll. Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge is simply one of those things I have to do when I am in NYC; it's almost a holy place. Could it be because a great-uncle once worked on it changing its light bulbs?

Then I walked down Park Row, popping into J&R music world to get a little salsa and cumbia music, before crossing Broadway to Saint Paul's Chapel. I had thought of lighting a candle but there were none to be lit and the place was an utter zoo. I forgot that it probably would be since it's Saturday and I haven't been there on a weekend. It was too chaotic with all these people milling around that I couldn't pray there so I simply crossed it and left by way of the graveyard.

Then back on the E train up to 23rd Street to wander over to Chelsea Square to see what's going on with the seminary construction. The old building on Ninth Avenue is gone and the new one is going up. They're at the concrete floor stage. The name of the forthcoming edifice is so pretentious (as they want it to be) but also off-putting: Chelsea Enclave. Oh please. It will be strange for future seminarians to confront that as they enter the Close. Anyway, the 'hood still contains a few relics from my time: the Ha Ha grocers, the Moonstruck Diner and a few other joints but there are more upscale restaurants there than in my time.

Since it was warmer on the West Side inland, I walked up to the zoo that is called Penn Station and waited in the waiting area for my train, the Ethan Allen. Too bad I had to bail in Albany because the train comes up to Rutland. But I couldn't catch it on the way down.

Now it's time to close up shop so as to be alert (? si se puede) for my third Sunday at Trinity, my second track-race type Sunday.

A little more NYC

So, after burning the brain gears in an all-day meeting, wordsmithing blue book reports and resolutions, nine of the commission took off by foot to Second Avenue and Elaine's restaurant. Evidently this is a long-time literary spot where authors of all sorts would go to hang out. The restaurant interior has bookshelves high above the tables with the diners' books and there are then lots of posters of their publications and advertisements for parties at Elaine's.

The menu is mostly Italian so I broke my fast of not eating veal and had veal marsala. It was very good. The place was a bit noisy and therefore it was hard to follow the conversation (as well as being at a round table with eight others) but it was good to be out and enjoy the conversations close to me.

When we left after 11.00, the place was just cranking up with Friday night goers. The increase of people that late reminded me of Spain. What a difference from Vermont where the kitchen in most restaurants closes at 9.00.

I could have used a walk twice as long as the actual one (from 89th up to 95th and 2nd over to basically 5th) because I still am quite satiated and not ready to go to bed yet even though it is well past midnight.

Tomorrow night's dinner will be pretzels on the train (!).

A walk in the 'hood

Once again I am back at the House of the Redeemer on E95th Street. Last year I stayed in the upper corner room that has three (!) windows. This time I am in the room just next to it. The room is just as hot as ever.

During our break I went out for a short walk. It's a nice day today and I need some fresh air. What fascinates me is that if you go over to Park Avenue, you can see where Metro North trains enter the tunnel that goes to Grand Central Station. For all the years I have ridden the train into and out of the city from Connecticut, I always wondered what was above ground. Nothing exceptional, just a neighbourhood but it is fun to see Carnegie Hill and its buildings. It's a typical NYC neighbourhood with its drugstores, pizzerias, news stands, delis, restaurants, apartments.

I have to laugh: just up the block there is a SUV with Vermont plates. From the amount of bird guano and leaves on the windshield it is clear that the vehicle has not budged from its parking spot in quite some time. Moreover, it is clear that the car does not reside in Vermont but in NYC. No wonder the license plates are whipping through the alphabet (when I got my plates in 1992, we were still in the AAA111 scheme of things; now we are up to EM?H or something like that).

Shortly, back to work in the grand library of the house... if only the plastic chairs were as elegant as the surroundings; they are torture to sit on for any length of time.

Times Square Shuttle chaos

I surely walked by this Ecuadoran/Peruvian/Colombian playing his churrango (should have bought the beautiful one I saw in Quito in February, sigh) in Times Square this evening.

When you walk from the A, C, E train over on Eighth Avenue to Times Square, you're going two long city blocks underground through a maze with a gazillion people and musicians everywhere so you can't hear what is on your iPod.

The Times Square Shuttle that then gets you over to Grand Central finally is at the end of a walk that takes you down a corridor, down another corridor to the left that rises and then goes steeply down and then you have to hike up two flights of stairs (I don't remember this interchange from ten years ago; they've done something different). You get to the top, go down some stairs and then back up again. Now if you were to have gone down another flight of stairs before going back up the first time, you'd land on the 7 tracks and from there you can get an escalator that takes you all the way to the top. Finally, two more steps and you are at the curving platform for the shuttle. I don't see how someone who can't walk can get around Times Square; it seems pretty hopeless. From the description I have just given you, just picture that Escher drawing with all the stairs. (Relativity — for some reason, right now I can't get it to load).

You're always sweaty by the time you've schlepped your way two long blocks. Then it's stuff yourself into a crowded subway car (it's rush hour after all), and go the short distance to Grand Central. Then it's more fighting and horsing your way through the crowds to get to the 4, 5, and 6 lines (Lexington Avenue) to go uptown to arrive at 96th Street.

Two more long blocks walking and finally you're at House of the Redeemer. Then four more flights up and you're in your little maid's quarter room with its lorgnon window where you shall further roast because the heating system here is 'mature' and can't be regulated.

Yes, I have arrived for the Standing Commission on Anglican and International Peace with Justice Concerns. They are all off working on blue book reports so I took an hour-long CPG survey on clergy life and am now finishing the day.

It always amazes me that within five hours (this time by driving to Albany and taking the train in) I can go from rural Vermont to the mayhem of NYC (which I love having gone to seminary downtown in Chelsea). The train ride along the Hudson is always nice though today it was raining so hard I couldn't see all that much. It also gave me time to read the reports for this meeting. Even better, the train has outlets so I could plug in the computer and iPod and travel in comfort (computer, phone and music for the entire trip, not minus the first and last twenty minutes of travel).

The new 'province' made the top left column of today's New York Times. I guess Bob Duncan finally got to be what he has always wanted to be, an archbishop. Ça louche.

Let there be light again

July 20, 2008, The New York Times
Scrubbed of Smoke and Grime, a Sanctuary Sparkles Again
By DAVID W. DUNLAP

“Oh, my God,” is not an entirely inappropriate reaction.

An exclamation of some kind is almost inevitable on seeing the nave of the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine for the first time in two years. After a $16.5 million cleaning and restoration, the 248-foot-long nave — the monumental aisle leading from the sanctuary’s main entrance — has a surprising clarity, crispness and lightness, qualities that had been sullied by pollution, smoke and even those swinging censers over the years.

“Some people joke that we may have used too much incense,” said the Very Rev. Dr. James A. Kowalski, dean of the cathedral, the seat of the Episcopal Diocese of New York.

What one remembered as a gloomy expanse of gray now seems more like a forest of lavender, as the grime-free granite and limestone columns are washed in light filtered through newly sparkling stained-glass windows.

The nave will open to the public on Monday. The next day, the first pieces of the cathedral’s great organ are scheduled to arrive by truck from Warrensburg, Mo., where they have been cleaned and restored. The crossing at the center of the cathedral will be closed to permit reinstallation of the organ.

Then, on Nov. 30 — the 67th anniversary of the nave’s dedication — the entire cathedral will be rededicated, bringing a triumphant end to a grim chapter of its history that began Dec. 18, 2001, when a five-alarm fire swept through the north transept. To some, the idea of a well-loved cathedral burning a week before Christmas seemed almost too much to bear, coming so soon after the destruction of the World Trade Center and the crash of American Airlines Flight 587 in Belle Harbor, Queens, in which 265 people died.

The organ was silenced at that time because the cathedral feared that any attempt to play it without a thorough cleaning of the fire damage would only worsen its condition.

During the cleaning of the nave, which required an enormous network of scaffolding, a tunnel-like walkway was built along the central aisle to allow the public to walk through the space without risk of injury. It cut off access from the side aisles and features like the Firemen’s Memorial.

“I miss the firefighters coming in for that memorial,” Dean Kowalski said. “After 9/11, hardly a day would go by when you wouldn’t see firefighters from New York and other parts of the country making a pilgrimage to that. You forget how important these things are to people.”

When told that an early visitor to the newly resplendent nave had invoked God’s name in astonishment, Dean Kowalski laughed.

“Well, you know, I like hearing that,” he said. “If we can give you anything close to a religious experience, we must be doing something right.”

+

I first went to Saint John the Divine in about 1970 when even less of it was completed than now. I remember the huge tapestries hanging from the incomplete south and north transepts where there should have been rose windows. And I just remember how HUGE the place was.

Skip ahead twenty years to my attending the Saint Francis mass in October 1990, where I was seated behind a woman with a cat on a leash/harness, a nearby parrot and across the aisle two firemen with their house dalmation... and a gazillion other critters. And somewhere in seminary I went to someone's ordination held up in the chancel which easily seats 150 people.

It's an amazing space and yet still unfinished (as was the National Cathedral in 1983 when I first went there). It shall probably always be that way.