seventy-seventh visit: Aug 19th 2011 Roman Catholicism

7:00am friday
Epiphany Catholic Church
184 Washington Pl, Pittsburgh PA 15219
downtown, central business district


This week I got an urge to get up really, really early and go to a Friday morning Mass, in a huge, old historic building in a bustling part of town. Those who know me, know this not in line with my normal behavior. But then again, one might raise the same point about this project in its entirety.

Not long ago I learned that Epiphany is no longer holding their 2:30am Saturday night (technically Sunday morning) Mass. (First begun in 1905, dropped in 1991. Began again in Nov 2010, and apparently dropped again.) But they do have a 7am Friday morning Mass.

I went.
Yes, it was really, really early (for me). Yes, the building was huge and old and historic. And gorgeous. Does downtown Pittsburgh ever bustle? Close as I'll get. Craving satisfied.

seventy-sixth visit: Aug 17th 2011 Theravada Buddhism

7:00pm wednesday

Pittsburgh Buddhist Center

111, Route 908, Natrona Heights PA 15065

natrona heights

Theravada Buddhism is the "oldest of the surviving Buddhist traditions." The two resident monks (or Bhantes) at PBC are from Sri Lanka.

This is a story I will tell through snapshots of the people I meet.

Before the meditation, I meet:

Ven. Soorakkulame Pemaratana ("Bhante P")

I phoned him last week. He has offered to coach me a bit on meditation before the session actually begins, as long as I come early. I do. My lesson: sit on a pillow (zafu), cross-legged (lotus-style for the more advanced), back straight, but shoulders relaxed, openness in heart, chin parallel to floor, tips of thumbs touch each other and hands rest at calves, or palms down and hands rest on thighs. That is the physical part. The rest is mental. Two kinds of meditation will occur today: Loving kindness and Breath.

He asks me a few questions about gatherings. Before I get very far, Bhante P interjects: "Art and drawing is a form of meditation." I stop explaining.

I meet Odessa. She says she knows she's seen me here before. (Not possible.) Ends up that she remembers me from a conversation we shared at the Nuin Center, my 12th visit, last paragraph. And I remember her, too.

In the next minute, I meet Joshua, who serves a leadership role in the meditation sessions here and knows a lot about the different forms of Buddhism. He is a former photographer (journalism) and to that end has traveled the world. He says my dress looks steampunk. I can sit with that. Seconds before the session starts, he puts a vase of flowers in my hands saying, "We'll give you the full experience here tonight. Let everyone touch these." (I am to carry the vase past every participant, offering each an opportunity to touch the bottom of the vase, before I ceremoniously place it on the front alter.) He has noticed my camera and also calls on me to photograph the first few minutes of the evening—a short ceremonial acknowledgement of three regulars at PBC who are celebrating birthdays this week.

We chant. Prayers are chanted in the Pali language. Phonetic prayer books are provided to each, with English translations on facing pages. We meditate. Afterwards, we are given an opportunity to talk about our meditation experiences. Two do. One is the youngest in the room, a boy probably ten years old or so. He says this: "Usually, when I meditate, I am a horse at the derby, but this time I was a dog in a meadow. It was really good."

We talk about a principal of Buddhism. Characteristics of the human mind: it wanders, does so alone, dwells in a cave (our body), it is formless. A simple summary: If we learn how to subdue our minds (with awareness), a freedom is achieved. ...basically, how to chill out when we are stressed or worried about things that probably will never happen. Pretty useful skill, I think.

In the end: a blessing ritual involving a string that unites the room. It reminds me of the blessing of the challah, during Sukkot (5th visit, 6th pgh). From one of the Bhantes, each of us receives a sprinkle of blessed water and a yellow string tied around our wrist, similar to the Hindu Diwali observance (14th visit, 5th pgh).

After the meditation, I meet:
A young ceramicist, also a first-timer. She comments that she feels Buddhism is so applicable to current life situations. So far, I cannot argue. I also feel that, in my gatherings experience to date, Buddhism is the strongest example of religion existing as a philosophy.

I also meet Keith, the owner of a new restaurant in the Regent Square neighborhood: Root 174. (If plans hold, Arohan and I will go there in two days.)

And I meet a quiet, gentle man who asks if I've been to Rodef Shalom and Poale Zedeck (yes, both)—where his family once worshiped; experiences there played a huge role in his childhood. He thanks each person for something specific as he leaves; he turns to me and mentions my project.

I had been saving this visit, thinking that (according to my web research) it would be my only Buddhist gathering experience, located 20 miles outside Pittsburgh proper. However, I left today with a list of other meeting groups, including some within Pgh city borders. I am already booked full as far as the remaining 24 visits in this project, but I'll have to adjust and make room.

Interestingly, at the end of this and my last visit, both religious leaders asked if I had been to a mosque yet. They asked in a way to make sure that I don't forget. Refreshing. I have been to one, 7th visit. Been trying since last week to contact another. As 9/11 nears: not forgetting, not forgetting, thank you.

seventy-fifth visit: Aug 15th 2011 Eastern Catholic Orthodoxy (Dormition of the Mother of God)

9:00am monday
Holy Ghost Byzantine Church
(Feast of the Dormition of the Mother of God)
225 Olivia St, McKees Rocks PA 15136
mckees rocks


In the same way that the High Holy Days did not feel complete unless I attended Yom Kippur services, my 68th and 69th visits would not feel complete unless I attended Mass on this day, the Feast of the Dormition of the Mother of God. The day that Mary's great sleep (death) is observed. This day is also known as the Assumption of Mary.

Holy Ghost Byzantine was recommended to me by, Lynn, a member of Door of Hope (21st visit); she attended this church while growing up. "Go there," she said. "It's beautiful."

I go. It is.

During the sermon, I notice that the chandelier (400 pounds-worth) is slowly, but undeniably spinning. I am tired. But I am sure of this.

After services, on her way out, Helen introduces herself and comments on my dress. I explain. "Oh, can I take a minute to look and see?" She asks about some of the different additions. She tells me about an annual Eastern Orthodox pilgrimage that takes place in Uniontown, an hour-and-a-half's drive away, every Labor Day weekend. (I look it up when I get home: one of the largest in North America. Have I mentioned that I would not have as much reason do this project in any other part of the US?) She offers to take me there next time she makes a trip. Says there's a Catholic gift shop the size of a supermarket. She encourages me to say hello to Father Firko, before he leaves the sactuary. "He's always very busy and is sure to slip away any minute, but I'm sure he wants to meet you."

I do. Busy or not, he offers a memorable conversation. Very much in the spirit of gatherings.
About icon painters: they fasted and meditated while working, as their work is considered to be manifestations of messages from the Spirit. And what they do is actually referred to (by church officials) as writing, not painting. (Maybe alluding to the idea of message-communication? Or to the fact that images in churches served as teachings for those who could not read? Or simply the fact that visual art is a language in itself?)

We talk about carry-over from Judaism to Orthodoxy and Catholicism. "You see, the intent was not to destroy the previously-established religion," he says. Elements were carried over, adopted by and preserved in the new faith, the earliest forms of Christianity. This includes the architecture of the sanctuary: a screen separates the large, common space from the space where the most holy objects are kept, echoing the structure of Jewish synagogues at the time. And in this designated space: an Ark in synagogues, here the Tabernacle; a staff in both (Aaron's, which blossomed); even the Eucharist, kept behind the screen, offers metaphorical reference to Judaism.

So often I witness such negative emotions when others have spoken of this phenomenon. Or they simply deny it, emphasizing differences. Why do some see this sharing as bad?

Prompted by the painted murals that surround us, so many winged creatures, we talk about the hierarchy of angels: Seraphims, Cherabims and Archangels. Messengers. All invisible in normal circumstances, but believed to be present in a sanctuary during worship. And to frolic in the chandelier, perhaps?

seventy-fourth visit: Aug 14th 2011 African Methodist Episcopal Christianity

11:00am sunday 

Bethel AME Church 

(first AME Church west of Allegheny Mtns, 

& oldest black congregation in Pittsburgh) 

2720 Webster Ave, Pittsburgh PA 15219

hill district 




I admit that am surprised that I am still discovering things, 74 visits into this project called gatherings. Realized during this visit: part of why I do this is to seek out evidence of passion. Expression of passion. Here in Pittsburgh. The kind that has nothing to do with football. 


Many times I don't find this during my visits. But Bethel AME does not disappoint; at the first AME Church west of Allegheny Mtns, the oldest black congregation in Pittsburgh, passion has not dwindled.

"Something came over me this morning... I said something came over... Can somebody say 'Amen'?" Now I know why I am drawn to call and response. I need to witness passion to feel human. And I can't make art without it. I need to make art to feel human. 



Before the service begins, Chris comes up behind me. "You are Becky? I apologize that the staff and clergy did not get your email yet. I run the website. It was just now forwarded to them." No worries: more my timing than his, my last-minute email. 

It's refreshing (and rather surprising) to find someone who cares so conscientiously about this as to approach me.

And others approach and welcome me, full-heartedly. The sun is not the only emitter of warmth this morning.

Do I fully agree with all that is said this morning? If I said yes, I would not be doing this project. And this project would not mean anything without such moments.

Music is a huge part of the service here. Choir at front alter. Electric organ hums at will. Boy no older than ten years sits behind a drum set. Not just sits. He's pretty amazing. 

Nick Cave began singing in an Anglican church boys' choir. And who else? All of Sly Stone. Otis Redding. My rocking hair-stylist in Portland, at her father's services. She's pretty special, too.

seventy-third visit: Aug 13th 2011 Orthodox Judaism

9:00am saturday
Young Israel of Greater Pittsburgh
5831 Bartlett Street, Pittsburgh PA 15217
squirrel hill south

Upon arriving, I am nervous during the moment that it takes me to find the women's section. But it's just a short moment. A half-hour into the service, the woman in front of me welcomes me and asks: "Are you here for the Bar Mitzvah?" Her name is Marlene. I explain that I did not know there was one. I explain gatherings. Lucky: I had not attended a Bar or Bat Mitzvah since I was 13 or so. Back then there was a long string of many—growing up, about half of my friends were Jewish. None of them Orthodox, though. All of the Bar and Bat Mitzvahs I attended then were formal and took place on Saturday nights in ballrooms rented in hotels. They were a huge part of my early teen social life, a complicated and not always pleasant period of time. It was nice to experience one in fresh perspective.

The sermon: Why do we repeat things? Why are words and phrases sometimes repeated in holy text? For emphasis, perhaps. Or for poetics; sound and rhythm. Final answer: so that the words become your personal שִׁירָה (shee-RAH)—poem or song (the same Hebrew word means both). The Torah is a שִׁירָה (shee-RAH). Psalm.

Another woman in front of me, next to Marlene—Maya—turns to me and whispers that the cantor we are listening to was saved by Schindler; his family's name was on the list. I breathe in reverse for a moment.

At service's end: Kiddush, in a large upstairs room. I exchange greetings with Rabbi Silver in the stairwell on the way up. Marlene comments repeatedly—we are a small group. I have to say that Young Israel of Greater Pgh is much larger than many churches I've attended, for certain. The room is filled with several long tables and a multitude of serving bowls: lachs, pickled and pasta salads, challah, bottled lemonades and teas; delicious.

I sit with Marlene, Ed, Ed's parents and I talk with Maya. She had been attending different synagogues in Pittsburgh before this one. "After living in a country where there is no religion, you work your way through the levels," she explains. Maya grew up in Russia, under laws aimed to render the practice of Judaism impossible.

A speech of gratitude is delivered by the newly-mitsvahed.

Ed says they must go, as the family is having lunch at their home. And might I join them? I answer that I should really return home, too. Goodbyes and they leave the table.

Maya turns to me: you really should go with them; they are really very nice people and would not ask if they did not want the company. With her description, I realize that the meal is as much (or more) a part of observing the Shabbos as the meal my mother would make after church on Sundays.

I catch up and join the ten-minute walk to Marlene and Ed's home. Then Marlene and I run ahead—Ed's homemade challah, inadvertently left in the freezer, needs to be put out to thaw.
At my hosts' home: I am gently reminded that what has been turned on and/or off since sundown on Friday (lights and switches) stays in the same state until sundown tonight. I stir slaw. Put out another place setting. Meet Gladys and Uncle John. Seven of us all together.

I am humbled by the hospitality, but it's come on a day that I'm more tired than usual, (short on sleep for several days) and though I'm known as a quiet person, I'm a little more quiet then usual today. But this is also my way of taking in, being present. I hope that my great appreciation of Ed and Marlene's opening their home is perceived. This afternoon is pretty incredible in the respect that I've never been offered an invitation to Shabbos lunch; perhaps a once in a lifetime opp? Thank you.

First: hand-washing. From the two-handled cup, three spills of water on the right, then left. And no speaking between this and the blessing. Instead: miming and nods. This was my favorite part of Passover, too.
The food is absolutely delicious. Salads in which every ingredient tastes like the purest form of itself. Ed's challah is well-worth the earlier speed-walk-rescue.

Talk: Every time a Hebrew or Yiddish word is spoken, Ed, Marlene or Gladys turns to me and says the English equivalent, with a nod. To the point where we all start laughing.

We discover that Ed's mother's niece lives with her family three blocks from the house in which I grew up in Wyoming, a tiny suburb of Cincinnati, Ohio. This coincidence is pretty remarkable. Her kids attend my same high school, classes of 100 and same swimming pool in the summer. And Ed's Mother (and then Ed) grew up a couple of blocks from where I live now. Ed's mother attended the school we walk our dog past every day. The world is smaller than you'd think.

Marlene hunts for a prayer booklet for me with English translations and the best pictures. The biggest blessing comes after the meal, quietly and to one's self.
... And fruit and homemade meringue cookies: mint and coconut.

Eventually, it's time to go.
One thing I wish I had asked: A life of orthodoxy is not for the passive. It requires a remarkable level of devotion. Every Friday, (after a 40 hour work week), before sunset, two days' worth of work must be completed in the time-span of less than one ... Does Friday night/Saturday feel twice-earned and twice as relaxing? Does this play a role in the way in which one looks forward to Shabbos? (a day away from driving, cooking, writing, photography, spending money, and use of electronic devices)?
I can't say how long the others remain after the meal that day, talking and visiting. To know that this day is set aside for such: Last week I scrambled among three friends (ten emails in more than a day's time) to find an agreeable evening when we were all free to sit together for dinner. Nearly a month out from now.

... At home, I keep a folder of ideas for an upper-level painting class I will be teaching next June. In it I write: "Assignment: Before next class, do something or experience something for the first time." Repeat throughout life's practice.

seventy-second visit: Aug 10th 2011 Mission Christianity, prayer service

7:30pm wednesday
Missionary Temple Ministries
intended: prayer service
238 Penn Circle East, Pittsburgh PA 15206
east liberty


This sweet red brick church is not far from my house. I pass it often. Recently I notice the signage listing "Wednesday 6pm prayer."

Only, in my mind, late this Wed afternoon, while frantically trying to finishing my dress-sewing in response to the previous visit before leaving for this one, I mix up the starting time of this visit (6pm) with that of next Wednesday's Buddhist meditation (7pm). At 7pm, I need a few more minutes to finish sewing, and so it is 7:30 before I pull in at Missionary Temple Ministries... and read the sign again... and realize that I am not just 30 minutes late (in itself, BAD) but instead I am a full hour and a half late. Wanting to avoid being all dressed up and having no where to go, I find the door unlocked and enter, selfishly hoping that the group has a lot of praying to do, and that perhaps things are still going on.

And indeed so, full on. Or so it looks to me.

What I do not know at that time, is that the lettering on the exterior sign has very little to do with indicating the times at which things actually take place at MTM. The sign contains old info. I had arrived at a time when actually no prayer service was scheduled at all. Arriving at 6pm would not have helped, either. But mysteriously, it all works out in the end.

I'll just describe what I experienced.

First, to explain: To me, prayer is simply an expression of hope. I feel that sometimes drawing can be such. And so I enter today with specific intention—to hope for the end of the causes of rioting in London, and to draw. I choose a center pew, third from front.

In the sanctuary:
Is it inappropriate to describe? I had never been to a prayer service. I offer description in answer of my own want of understanding...
2 worshipers kneeling at the alter, elbows on its raised platform, heads bowed.
Plus another turned the opposite direction, back against the alter's supporting wall.
2 others walk along pew aisles, passionately calling praises.
A faint audio recording sounds in the background. I cannot tell if it is completely in English.
A man enters carrying a white towel folded into a small square. Places the folded towel on the ground. Lays his body prone, belly-down, full contact on the carpeted floor. Nestles his face into the towel, nose down, parallel to the floor, and prays.
A young boy plays a Game Boy in a pew to my right.
Once or twice a pray-er speaks in tongues.
Several others enter and join throughout the next 45 minutes.
Worshipers rock in concentration, not unlike the calming movement of worshipers at Orthodox Jewish services I've attended.
A man begins to play an electric keyboard.
And painted in beautiful Gothic lettering on the back walls of the great alter, are the words: "Wir aber predigen den gekreutzigten Christum." (As true with many languages, German words placed in phrases don't always carry their literal meaning, but here's my best guess at a translation: "But we preach [about] Christ on the cross." Or "We preach ?only? about Christ on the cross." (And according to my dictionary, "gekreuzigten" is misspelled... or a different or older form of German, maybe?)

I have no doubt that the present congregation has not a German bone in them, yet this, it seems, was carefully preserved (painted around) when the rest of the room was coated in its current mauve-pink. I could never bear to paint it over, either. A moment of Pittsburgh joy.

As I leave, a kind, kind woman follows and stops me just outside the door. Explains that usually they meet for Bible study at 7:30pm on Wednesdays, but this night was special, and the study-members had decided to open the session with individual prayer. Prayer services are normally only held on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays at 10am and Fridays also at 6pm. Lucky, I am. Or however you choose to explain it.

seventy-first visit: Aug 7th 2011 United Methodist

11:00am sunday

Calvary United Methodist Church

971 Beech Ave, Pittsburgh PA 15233

north side, allegheny west


Here: Outside, gargoyles eye warnings to me from the mismatched spires—one spire soars twice as tall as the other, otherwise the building's facade is symmetrical. Inside, Louis Comfort Tiffany windows. The largest completed by Tiffany at the time. The figures on these windows are astounding. With full turn-of-the-century romance. This church, like the last, is famous, and all of the above is info that I had heard before arriving. Fully confirmed.

I arrive early, with a little time to kill. Take a minute to call a friend on the front steps; a quick hello. I start to photograph. Two people on separate occasions see me shooting the Tiffany windows and say, "You really should come back at 4:30. That's when the sun is at the right spot so that the figures seem to be pulling forward from the window-plane, floating right here in the sanctuary, in our same space." I hope I can, someday.

I love that it's impossible to dial an exposure and correctly capture the values of the entire window. These windows defy reproduction. Must be seen in person. Visual art has a soul that can't be experienced except in its presence.

I settle in for the service. Curiously, the reading is the same as my previous visit (the 8am service at Emmanuel Episcopal), and sermon again is on doubt.

After the service Ellie invites me to lunch, served in the next room. It has been prepared and by children in cooking class: stuffed french toast, egg mini-omelettes, absolutely delicious and even vegetarian, too.

Meanwhile, Bob introduces himself to me. We talk about a lot of things including...
-His take on why congregation sizes are dwindling. Long story short: Immigrants gathered in their churches b/c they missed home and craved the comfort of being with others from their home-country. The next generation was different in this respect and spoke English.)
-Maintenance: The worship-place was symbolic of ethnic pride, and members were more willing to donate personal funds to the maintenance of places of worship rather than spend it on the upkeep of or purchase of a new home for themselves, amongst other things. Priorities changed. Or some feel that the families initially were pressured and convinced to donate to their religious institution, and over time they became less vulnerable to this pressure. "They became smart, began to make more of their own decisions," Bob says.

-He confesses that he chases worship places, too. (see 67th visit, first paragraph) While driving, he will spontaneously pull over, convince his reluctant wife to join him, hop out to see if it's open, run inside, explore.

Phew. Seven visits in nine days. Lately the more I do, the more I want to do. For me, this is normal and expected in art-making. A friend of mine comments that he feels it's also common in religious practice. In my case, which is the source of the drive? Here, making artwork and going to service are the same things; teasing the two apart for an answer is impossible. But truth be told: I never felt this way when I was going to the same place of worship every week.