March 25th, 2011
Rachel Pollak is the Community Coordinator at St. Lydia’s. This is an excerpt from the weekly update she sends to the community.
I saw Jesus at least twice this week. The first time was on Monday night, at the end of one of the worst days I’ve had in a very long time. For a million reasons the details of which I will spare you, I was basically at the end of my reserves of well being or hope. And on the basis of a rationale that I will never be able to account for, I decided that it would be a good idea to spend the evening finishing a rather complicated printing project I started a while ago. Having gone to a fancy paper store earlier in the day to buy exactly the right amount of the nicest paper I could afford, I set out to do my printing on a copy machine. Now, as a not-inexperienced printmaker, I know full well that one needs to have at the ready at least one third more paper than the number of finished, high quality prints one wants to end up with, because of obvious well-known hard facts about probability and human error. But at 8 PM on Monday evening, that was neither here nor there. And of course, the copy machine was not set up to handle paper of the 80 lb. weight that I had chosen, so I was only able to make about half my copies. So then I went to Staples. And I begged them to finish the printing, which, after a long wait, they did. And then I needed them cut, but that Staples closed at 9, so they sent me to another Staples that closed at 11. And the guy at the second Staples listened carefully to my instructions, and then proceeded to make cuts that I had in no way asked for, and chopped about a third of my prints in half and ruined them, completely, forever. And then I gathered everything up and went outside to Union Square and for ten minutes cried miserably in the cold about how miserable everything had managed to become.
But then I realized that the second Staples guy had ruined the paper I had bought, and that if he were a reasonable guy I might be able to convince him to at least reprint them on Staples paper to replace the ones he’d ruined. Fat chance right? We still live in New York City right? That’s what I was thinking. But I had to try, so I cleaned myself up, walked back in there, and very politely and pathetically made my request. And suddenly, Jesus appeared. Maybe he’d been standing in front of me that whole time–maybe Jesus chopped my prints in half in order to teach me that I need him. But either way, suddenly, Jesus, wearing a corporate-issue polo shirt embroidered with the Staples logo and looking chubby, stubbly and totally non-Jesus-like, turned it all around for me. Not only did he re-print everything for me at no charge, he made all the cuts I needed in exactly the right way–I mean he was so painstaking about it with this plastic ruler he pulled out of his pocket that I had to pull out a book and read to pass the time while he finished. And he only charged me about a fifth of what he should have for doing it, bringing me back under budget, under deadline and back into the fold of the living. I didn’t deserve it all–every choice I made leadning up to that point should reasonably have lead to failure, frustration and pathetic loserdom on all counts. But for no reason at all, he saved me from that and gave me another chance at being human.
The second time was last night coming home from babysitting on the N train. There was a guy sitting across from me who looked seriously busted, as only a person who has no home and lives on trains in New York City can look. Crazy, long, fly-away grey hair with a big bald spot that someone in a more stable situation in life, say behind a desk at the IRS, would probably comb over. Grubby tennis shoes, baggy, dirty, navy blue work pants, and a red, white (grey actually) and navy blue warm-up jacket that could probably have been worn by one of the larger male Russian gymnasts in the 80’s, but by now was ragged and oily. But the thing was, Jesus was sitting next to him. And he looked exactly like him. There were two of him! They must be brothers, because they had the same hands, swollen from exposure but with the same non-threatening loose grip on the weekly newspapers they were both reading and occasionally elbowing each other and reading out loud from, “Dude, he stole my car. Dude, he stole my car!” They were even wearing exactly the same clothes, except that Jesus/his brother was wearing a striped polo shirt like referees do and had a trimmer, more Bob Vila-type beard instead of his brother’s Moses model. One seemed like he was struggling a little harder, the one with longer hair–when they got up to get out when I did, he was really leaning on Jesus/his brother and having a hard time walking. Jesus/his brother was like, “Jack, you’re on me. Jack, you’re on me I want to stand up.” But the thing was, they were ok. They had each other. If I had seen only one of them, I would have had a broken heart, and I did have a broken heart as I do whenever I see someone who has to live in this impossible city without even a place to rest and keep stuff and eat and generally recharge their ammunition for the daily battle of Me Vs. NYC that we all have to fight. But they were leaning against each other on the bench as we rode, in a way so that you could tell they didn’t even know they were doing it, had been leaning against each other, like a tree you’ve lived next to your whole life, for their whole lives. And I knew that they were Jesus for each other, and that Jesus was the tree, and that just like Jack, I’ve been living next to it for my whole life.
March 25th, 2011
I recently made some calendars to send as gifts to the generous souls who support our ministry as donors. And I made extra so Lydians can enjoy them too! They’ll be on the Welcome Table, and for a suggested donation of $10, you can have one of these versatile and, if I do say so, attractive calendars to help you keep track of the liturgical seasons.
March 25th, 2011
Baked Eggs in Tomato-Parmesan Sauce
Source: Everyday Food, a few mods by Heather
Serves: 4
Time: 40 minutes total
1 tablespoon olive oil
4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon crushed dried rosemary
2 cans (15 ounces each) diced tomatoes in juice
1 can (15 ounces) crushed tomatoes
1/4 cup grated Parmesan
Coarse salt and ground pepper
8 large eggs
- Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Set four 12-ounce ovenproof bowls or ramekins on a large rimmed baking sheet.
- In a large saucepan, heat oil over medium. Add garlic and rosemary; cook, stirring, until garlic is golden, about 2 minutes. Add diced tomatoes (with juice), crushed tomatoes, and 2 tablespoons Parmesan; bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer, and cook, stirring occasionally, until slightly thickened, 2 to 4 minutes. Season tomato sauce with salt and pepper.
- Divide tomato sauce among bowls, reserving 1 cup. Crack 2 eggs into each bowl. Dividing evenly, top with reserved sauce and 2 tablespoons Parmesan. Bake until egg whites are just opaque (yolks should still be soft), 24 to 28 minutes, rotating halfway through.
Notes: You can use a 9×13 baking dish instead, if you don’t want to do plated servings. For Lydia’s, we do it in enormous baking trays. Serve with a ladle. The two kinds of tomatoes are nice for texture, but you can just as easily use only one or the other. I usually serve this with crusty bread for scooping up the runny yolks and sauce.
Pesto Salad
Source: Heather
Serves: 6
Time: 10 minutes total
1 bag baby spinach
10 ounces frozen peas
4–5 tablespoons prepared basil pesto
Toasted pignoli (pine nuts) (optional)
Parmesan, grated (optional)
- In a pot of boiling water, cook peas for 1-2 minutes. Drain and immediately cool with cold water from the tap.
- In a bowl, combine peas, spinach, and pesto. Add additional salt if necessary. Serve topped with toasted pignoli and grated Parmesan if desired.
Note: Also great with addition of cooked, cooled bowtie pasta (will require additional pesto).
These recipes serve 4–6; here’s a link to instructions for cooking this dish at Lydia’s, for 30+.
—Prepared by Heather at St. Lydia’s on March 13
March 25th, 2011
IN name of the Holy Spirit of grace,
In name of the Father of the City of peace,
In name of Jesus who took death off us,
Oh! in name of the Three who shield us in every need,
If well thou hast found us to-night,
Seven times better mayest thou leave us without harm,
Thou bright white Moon of the seasons,
Bright white Moon of the seasons.
–Read by Jen at St. Lydia’s on March 20. Click here for more information about the source of this Celtic prayer.
March 23rd, 2011
by Wallace Stevens
Is it Ulysses that approaches from the east,
The interminable adventurer? The trees are mended.
That winter is washed away. Someone is moving
On the horizon and lifting himself up above it.
A form of fire approaches the cretonnes of Penelope,
Whose mere savage presence awakens the world in which she dwells.
She has composed, so long, a self with which to welcome him,
Companion to his self for her, which she imagined,
Two in a deep-founded sheltering, friend and dear friend.
The trees had been mended, as an essential exercise
In an inhuman meditation, larger than her own.
No winds like dogs watched over her at night.
She wanted nothing he could not bring her by coming alone.
She wanted no fetchings. His arms would be her necklace
And her belt, the final fortune of their desire.
But was it Ulysses? Or was it only the warmth of the sun
On her pillow? The thought kept beating in her like her heart.
The two kept beating together. It was only day.
It was Ulysses and it was not. Yet they had met,
Friend and dear friend and a planet’s encouragement.
The barbarous strength within her would never fail.
She would talk a little to herself as she combed her hair,
Repeating his name with its patient syllables,
Never forgetting him that kept coming constantly so near.
–Read by Kathleen at St. Lydia’s on March 13
March 23rd, 2011
You who let yourselves feel: enter the breathing
…that is more than your own.
Let it brush your cheeks
as it divides and rejoins behind you.
Blessed ones, whole ones,
you where the heart begins:
You are the bow that shoots the arrows
and you are the target.
Fear not the pain. Let its weight fall back
into the earth;
for heavy are the mountains, heavy the seas.
The trees you planted in childhood have grown too heavy.
You cannot bring them along.
Give yourselves to the air, to what you cannot hold.
–Read by Denise at St. Lydia’s on March 6
March 22nd, 2011
Read Emily’s latest sermon, “Lacking Having Less” at her blog, Sit and Eat.
March 15th, 2011
Read Emily’s latest sermon, “Say It Openly” on her blog, Sit and Eat.
March 7th, 2011
Read Emily’s latest sermon, “Tied and Released” on her blog, Sit and Eat.
March 3rd, 2011
by Arthur Rimbaud
Translated from the French by Louise Varése
If I’ve a taste, its not alone
For the earth and stones,
Rocks, coal, iron, air,
That’s my daily fare.
Turn my hungers, hungers browse
On the field of sound,
Suck up bindweed’s gay venom
Along the ground.
Eat the pebbles that one breaks,
Churches’ old stones;
Gravel of ancient deluge taste,
And loaves scattered in grey brakes.
*
Howling underneath the leaves
The wolf spits out the lovely plumes
Of his feast of fowls:
Like him I am consumed.
Salads and fruits
Await but the picking;
But violets are the food
Of spiders in the thicket.
Let me sleep! Let me seethe
at the altars of Solomon.
Broth run over the rust
and mix with the Cedron.
–Read at St. Lydia’s on February 27
