8:30am sunday
St. John the Baptist Byzantine Catholic Church
1720 Jane Street, Pittsburgh PA 15203
south side flats
Please see post: thirty-ninth visit Feb 20 2011 for more
It began with a desire to personally commemorate Andy Warhol's life (d. Feb 22, 1987), by attending his church. A member of the Door of Hope (21st visit) had told me that this was his family's choice place of worship. But I come to question this after arriving, when I learn that this particular congregation had moved to this building in 1958, well after Andy had moved to NYC. Could she have been referring to the building only, and not the people? Commonly, things are complicated that way in this city. Regardless, it still doesn't seem right to me. Some art historians and critics claim that a visit to Andy Warhol's church leaves one to wonder if he was not influenced by its interior: the repetition of portrait-like images of saints in its elaborate icon screen echos the image-repetition in Warhol's screen print portraits of celebrities. But here this notion is not as apparent as I had expected.
No loss, of course. The building is beautiful and I enjoy the quiet time. (Yes: that is a non-electric chandelier pictured above, fire-powered with real candles—the only known to still be in use in a Byzantine Church in the US.) After the service a young worshiper and her mother asks about my dress. Father Schaefer overhears me telling them about gatherings, just chatting about the project in general, mentioning nothing about my quest for the Warhol church. He offers: "Well if you'd like a double header, you could follow me to my next gig. Just five minutes away." He continues, "It's the church where Andy Warhol was baptised." Bingo. Wrong church, right priest. And I am on my way.
10:30am sunday
Pittsburgh Mennonite Church
2018 South Braddock Ave, Pittsburgh PA 15218
swissvale
I had been looking forward to visiting a Mennonite Church. Often, when my mom mentions that she grew up Church of the Brethren (see 1st visit), she follows that statement with: "Are you familiar with that denomination? It's a little similar to Mennonite."
I don't know what exactly I was expecting... but I was expecting something quite different from the Protestant church in which I was raised in. This church is not so different. I think "Old Order" was what my mother was referring to maybe, and this order was not such. Or maybe things just can't be summed up so simply, because congregations (even within the same denomination) move, evolve, at different paces from one another.
I found this church to be one of the warmest congregations. Before my visit, Pastor Bender left a voice message in response to my initial "warning" call. He would not be preaching that day, and wanted me to know, but wanted to extend a welcome non-the-less.
During the celebration and concerns portion of the service, I introduced myself and mentioned the gist of this project. Immediately at worship's end, the first of several remarkable conversations begin. Aaron I think it was? Just wanting to know more about gatherings. Supportive curiosity. Thank you. I also met Candice. Scott stopped to tell me that he knows of a church in Santa Cruz where the relationship of the ritual of attending service and the ritual of making art is compared directly, united, literally, as a part of their mission, it sounds. He is friends with Pastor Dan there. He asked if I knew of Madeleine L'Engle's book that addresses this same topic. (no, but I did order it, and it's next to my computer as I type this, waiting for a rainy day ...titled "Walking on Water") Anticipation. L'Engle's books were absolutely among my favorite in my childhood. And finally, I met Karin (Karen?) who has been a member for 29 years.
And I received sincere, kind emails from members of this church, the week following this visit. Not to be forgotten.
10:30am (super bowl) sunday
Stanton Heights United Methodist Church
4721 Stanton Ave, Pittsburgh PA 15201
stanton heights
"It's that door. You're right. Go ahead and just use the front door, that one, right there." Observers kindly called to me from the side street. I am hesitating, not necessarily because I am not sure which door to use, but because the door is smeared with blood. The bloody area, slightly higher than my face, amounts to not more than 12 by 12 inches, but that's big enough to render the action unmistakably deliberate. Prints reveal that it was applied directly by a human hand. Still bright red. This church is not in a notably heavy-crime neighborhood.
I take pride in my serendipitous tendency to show up at worship places that happen to be celebrating an anniversary of some sort, a holiday or birthday specific to the congregation, so that I'm able to stay for an after-service celebration, allowing for a rich experience and more time for interaction with congregants. But this time, I serendipitously picked the morning that this church's door happened to be smeared with blood.
I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with Passover. The pastor mentions the blood-smeared door more than once during the service, but you know as much as she and I do at this moment. The police arrive just as I leave the service.
The service: The pastor is the organist. And the electric keyboardist. 24 worshipers in the sanctuary. I recall an acquaintance of mine commenting once on her visit to a church. She is Jewish. She said, "To follow Judaism you have to learn a whole other alphabet and language. Whereas, in the Baptist church I visited, most of the hymns consisted of a repetition of five words. There is something to be said about accessibility." At Stanton Heights, there are hymnals, but they are not opened. Hymns' vocals are led and joined-in. Easy.
It is Super Bowl Sunday. The Steelers are mentioned three times during the service, and are thought of, I'm certain, each and every one of the 34 times that the word "victory" is spoken or sung. Not serendipitously. When I first moved to Pittsburgh one and a half years ago, trying to hone in on the inner workings of this city, questioning the artists' role here, I remember seeing this headline on the front of a local publication: "Pittsburgh: Family, Faith and Football." How do I connect to this? ...and how do I connect to this as an artist? And so gatherings climbs into my studio. (Well, it's not exactly as simple as that, but that's part of it.)
I'm not the only one raising this question. The art exhibition "Whatever It Takes: Steelers Fan Collections, Rituals, and Obsessions," (CMU's Miller Gallery) was slated to close on Jan 30th. See, artists and curators don't always have the 2011 Super Bowl date (Feb 6th) ingrained in our minds, let alone on our calenders at all. But spontaneity can make up for it. The show has been extended a week, and closes today with a Super Bowl party/reception, sponsored by Iron City Brewery. "What the The New York Times describes as 'the Steelers at the intersection of Iron City Beer and Art Basel.'" Just like the traffic intersections here in Pittsburgh: five-spoked and unmarked, tripping me up whenever I'm trying to drive somewhere in a hurry—I'm still trying to figure this out. How do artist's connect to their audience here? Sometimes, that's what art is for: figuring things out. I thank those who are open to my endeavors.
Oh, and here's an update on the running count of
worshipers spotted wearing Steelers garb while worshiping:8 worshipers in blackandyellowblackandyellowblackandyellow
2 worshipers carrying terrible towels
(10 out of the 24 in attendance)
Running Total for the project: 26 (to date)
12 noon mondayMetropolitan Baptist Church
MLK Day observance
22-24 Sampsonian St, Pittsburgh PA 15212north sideIt felt good to spend time focusing on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s life. Ten speakers or so, with hymns between. Children's performances and solos. Community citizenship awards presented. I didn't know that Martin Luther Sr. was born as Michael Sr. and known a such until he changed his and his son's names to MLK Sr. and Jr., in honor of the Protestant leader, after visiting Germany in 1934. Timing can be everything, or can create curiosity, at least. I remember learning about Dr. MLK jr for the first time when I was 6 or so, preluded by the Rosa Parks story. I was in kindergarten on a rug of pea-green shag, just before resting-time—when we would all lie still for a minute. I truly think that it was the first bit of history that I really fully grasped, as much as I could at that age. The kind that made me quite sad as we lay still, but left me wanting to learn more. I also remember the day that someone explained to me what the phrase "different race" meant. That was when I was even younger. I remember noticing the difference from that point on. I remember having no concept of it before that moment. There are some visits during which I have very little interaction with those around me. This is one of them. Maybe that's why I decide to stop into the Sacred Heart of Jesus Store on my way home. (It's only four doors away from where I needed to return a movie.) I am greeted warmly by the two nuns running the spot. "You've never been here? But you are an artist, right? And we have artists in here all day long. You are an artist, aren't you?" "She always can tell," the other chimes."Only, the others are all dressed in black, head to toe. You, in white, think for yourself, I can tell that, too. And that is what artists are really supposed to do." Well, that's what she said.The shop is a hoarder's visual feast. Most items look second hand. Porcelain Marys and Saints, drawings and prints, candles and holders, books topsy-turvy in floor-to-ceiling shelves. Black and gold rosaries to serve the devout all Sunday long. We talk religion, football and art. I am, indeed, in Pittsburgh. So I tell her about gatherings, since I am wearing the dress and all. "Have you been to St. Mary's on Fifth." I know exactly the place, but no. I ask if that is her church. "Oh, I am a true Roamin' Catholic. I go everywhere. I take Holy Communion every day. God knows I need all the help I can get."I'll be teaching a painting class at MICA this semester called "Obsessions." It starts tomorrow. Oh, how I wish I could put her in my car, drive her to Baltimore, and introduce her as our guest speaker.
6pm fridayhosted by Kathryn and Zoeat Kathyrn and Samm's housePittsburghnorth sideStef, a friend of mine and a regular here at Shabbat, suggests that I include this gathering in gatherings. So I contact the hosts and mention my impetus, and the fact that I won't know if I can make it until the last minute. "Oh, it's an informal gathering. Don't worry about RSVPing. If you can come, then we'll see you."This Shabbat happens every other Friday. Those who started it in the early summer of 2010, intended not to continue it once the busy fall began. Now, inches of snow accumulate and it's still going, growing larger every week.
Forty bodies nestle across the living room floor, potluck salad dishes flood the kitchen counters, and wine flows before the liturgy's start. Song: some for listening and some for joining in, live acoustic guitar, readings, poetry and sacred text. Theme: peace. Sweet folded paper programs. Simply but remarkably well designed. Forethought and effort, no doubt. And the Old Testament reading includes Issaiah 11:6, one of the few that especially had meaning to me when I was small, the animal lover that I still am: "The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them." Books on shelves—fiction and poetry by my favorite authors or ones I need to read. The impulse not to pluck one down and leaf through as we talk in groups is tough, but resisted. Then two and two come together: Samm, husband to Kathryn, co-habitant of the home, began as a writer. Poems and short pieces. Then wanting to put images with his writings, he worked in graphic design, then pursued yet another arts field that unites the visual and the word: theatre, and finally (currently) film and video. All of this before his present age of 25. We talked about his long hours in the film and 3-D animation studio. There IS no other way, I am aware from knowing others doing the same, and dabbling a little myself. I mention that an animation student has signed up for my "Obsessions" painting class, no coincidence. We then curved the conversation from obsessive work habits and obsessions in general, back to religion, no coincidence. "I never liked going to church while growing up," Samm says. "The formality of it." Here's a secret: me neither, really. But I do like doing this project; gatherings is a different animal, entirely. He goes on:"So I was kind of surprised to find out that there are a lot of people my age who feel the same. His wife (Kathryn) is studying theology, and he implies she did not have the same formerly-conflicted relationship with religion. Anyway, they decided to start this bi-weekly Shabbat. Informal and social. Before I turn to head home, to run out into our night of swirling white flakes, I ask Stef to sprinkle my dress with red wine and christen the evening's end.
7pm tuesday
New Year Revival Service at
The Pentecostal Temple Church of God in Christ
6300 East Liberty Blvd, Pittsburgh PA 15206
east liberty
At this project's conception, I envisioned a paragraph or so for each blog entry, for each visit. I have been struggling to keep my entries to a more manageable length. No one has time to read all those words. And ah, the time to write them. With my teaching college classes—this semester in town and also one a 4.5 hr weekly commute out (each way)... called "Obsessions" no less... a more efficient streamlining of thought, a more careful honing in on the essentials and healthy self-editing becomes more important. In the direction and name of improvement. We'll see how it goes. (I can hear those who know me saying, "Yeah, right.")
So, I finally found my Pentecostal (see last entry). New Years Revival, indeed. What I failed to put in my little canvas bag as I ran out the door were my dancing shoes. Now, I've been known to enjoy an occasional boogie session, but here it's jubilantly holy, and among this African American congregation radiates an energy of no bounds. And no boundaries between song, sermon, dance, praise and worship. There was literally no pause to the organ's whirling, sighing, tripping of hums the entire service, slipping into the background, then shining forward again. Accompaniment to the readings, sermon (story of healing), and testimony from members, spoken with mic at the alter. Musical notes served as the organist's personal "Amen," in chorus to the attendees. ("SOMEbody ought to say, 'Praise the Lord.'")
The musicians here are skilled. Drums, base, organ guitar and voice, and I'm probably missing something. Sermon blends into Pastor's Mann's spiritual solo. Yes singing, himself. Then from song back to soulfully spoken word. The whole gathering had begun with a gospel solo by the Pastor's wife. I am wondering now if it was she who answered my phone call: "Of course, sweetie, our doors are open to everyone."
"If anyone will come down this aisle, up to this alter and say to me, 'Pastor Mann, I want to join the church today,' I promise you... I swear... I will DANCE." Roaring congregation. The man in front of me turns to ask if I'm a member yet. A moment later, someone else answers the call. Have you seen last year's Alice in Wonderland? Last scene. It exists here in real time. Futterwacken. No fantasy.
Where does this energy come from? Is it stored within and released? Or does it flow through us from elsewhere. I'm talking secular, too. Athletic energy. Energy to share with my students. My insistence on rousing my nieces and nephews to shreeks and cartwheels despite my sisters' protests. Drive. Response. Expression. And the source of the ideas floating around my art studio at home. To wonder.
11am sunday
Agape Christian Missionary Church of Pittsburgh
(formerly Agape Christian Fellowship Church of Pgh)
301 Larimer Avenue, Pittsburgh PA 15206
larimerAgape: Greek for love. Places of worship in Pittsburgh are constantly in flux. Around 1910 - 1940, expanding congregations commonly built bigger gathering-places or moved into bigger spaces. In the past 30 years, shrinking congregations moved again or combined. Throughout gatherings, I have collected stories of several worship places having a history of serving as home to two or more differnt congregations. And beyond this: I recently mentioned to someone that if I attended every single worship place in Pittsburgh (one a week) I'd be exactly 99 when I finished. He answered that I'd be younger than that because toward the end there would no longer be 3000 left. So many empty churches on the South Side. A church is now a residence in Morningside, a Synagogue becomes a school in East Liberty, and two more are now homes, both less than a mile from mine.
So, after my evening with the Christian Scientists on Wednesday, I decide to continue the emphasis of healing and seek out a Pentecostal Church. I locate one via internet, but recognize it as the Presby Church down the street—no longer Pentecostal. I find a second. I drive by to determine service times, and realize that it too, is no longer Pentecostal. I locate a third. Charm, right? Well, upon asking after service today (I had a hunch), I learn it had changed its name and denomination to "Mission," as Pastor Barry's background is in the Alliance Church. (see my 17th visit) No matter. Every visit counts.
This group of African Americans welcomes me with open arms. Literally. A long hug from the tambourinist, a dear woman dressed in black velvet. The current congregation at Agape numbers 15 on a healthy Sunday, I'm told, but this morning there are 8 of us including the clergy, with maybe up to 3 more wandering in by the time service ends. The Pastor's son leads song on keyboard with lyrics overhead-projected. (ah, nostalgia for technology from my childhood) Tambourine accompaniment. A member requests prayer, and is anointed with oil. The sermon: Put a cranker on your thanker. (i.e. express thankfulness more often.) Am I the only one who smiles at this, from my pew?And something I find really interesting: African American Churches (especially in the south) hold services and 1:00am breakfasts on New Years Eve, an event called Watch Night. (On the other hand, churches coming from the European tradition don't embrace the idea of celebrating this secular holiday in the church. Are perhaps critical, even.) What is the meaning behind the tradition of Watch Night? Pastor Barry says that these days, even many African Americans don't know. Answer: The first Watch Night was held on Dec 31, 1862 in order to await the enactment of the Emancipation Proclamation at midnight, Jan 1, 1863. After the service: questions for me. Upon learning that my husband's family is Hindu Pastor Barry says "Oh, that makes me very sad. Very, very sad." As the conversation continues, he implies that he is surprised that I found a minister to marry the two of us because of our families' different faiths. And Pastor Barry asks "Now, I wonder what Hindus think of Christians?" I tell him that it's my understanding that Hindus recognize Christianity (and all other religions) as a valid form of worship. Absolutely—it is one of their primary beliefs, in fact. (see 14th visit, last paragraph). Without any perceivable emotion, he chooses to gently begin a conversation with someone else.
Later Pastor Barry fills me in on the history of this sweet little red-brick building. It is the oldest (originally) Italian church in Pgh. Sorry, Bloomfield. Every Sunday, only Italian was spoken here. Not even that: Mafia headquarters were along this street back in the day. That's his claim. Ten plus years ago the original Italian congregation dropped to 6 members: four over the age of 65 and two twenty-somethings. They offered the church to Barry, who had been ministering in a store-front. The two youngsters from the original Italian congregation are yet currently members of Agape, though not present today. I wish I could have met them.
