...turn out today, we still have the Giants of San Francisco as our Baseball World Champions! Take your joy from whence ever it may come!
Showing posts with label San Francisco. Show all posts
Showing posts with label San Francisco. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
No Matter How The Elections
...turn out today, we still have the Giants of San Francisco as our Baseball World Champions! Take your joy from whence ever it may come!
Sunday, November 15, 2009
San Francisco PC
Got this beautiful postcard from my friend Rafa on his first visit to San Francisco. I remember mine. It's just one of the most amazing cities in the world.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Monday, January 08, 2007
San Franciscans' Freedom Of Speech
I loved this one!
More than 1,000 people gathered yesterday at Ocean Beach in San Francisco to spell out the message "IMPEACH!"
"America is a great country," said event organizer Brad Newsham. "But President Bush has betrayed our faith. He misled us into a disastrous war, and is trampling on our Constitution. He has to go. Now. I hope Nancy Pelosi is listening today."
Ocean Beach is located in the congressional district of Pelosi, the new speaker of the House.
More than 1,000 people gathered yesterday at Ocean Beach in San Francisco to spell out the message "IMPEACH!"
"America is a great country," said event organizer Brad Newsham. "But President Bush has betrayed our faith. He misled us into a disastrous war, and is trampling on our Constitution. He has to go. Now. I hope Nancy Pelosi is listening today."
Ocean Beach is located in the congressional district of Pelosi, the new speaker of the House.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Pride Parade in San Francisco June 2004
Some images from last year's Pride Parade; The Aztec King & Queen; Members of the MCC Choir; and the Altoids float -- my favorite...curiously refreshing!
San Francisco Prose #2
My second encounter with grace during my vacation last June occurred again on public transportation in San Francisco. This time it was on a street car and invovled a homeless man and a couple with Downs Syndrome.
ALFRED
"God has chosen what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God has chosen what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God has chosen what is mean and despised in the world -- things which are not, to put down things that are;"
~ from the First Epistle to the Corinthians, chapter 1, versus 27 & 28.
On a typically blustery and chilly San Francisco morning, while waiting to board a MUNI street car, I was approached by a lanky black man with salt and pepper close cropped hair and beard and an anxious demeanor. He wanted to know if the street car I was waiting to board would get him down to Powell Street (My running joke is that everyone always asks me for directions when I’m on vacation!) I assured him that it would as the orange tram pulled forward, and we embarked sitting opposite one another. As it turned out, he was selling the little newspapers that the coalition for the homeless produces, the proceeds of which are used to pay for a night in their shelter. The source of his excitement was the fact that he’d made twenty dollars in just an hour, when he’d previously consider himself lucky to make five after two hours of hawking in the financial district downtown. He confided that it was his first foray into the Castro, adding in a softer voice, ‘”because, you know....” and then confessed with childlike excitement, “but the people here really do care!" It was not what he thought it would be like. He commented that the tram we were riding in was different from all the others, and I explained that it was a gift to the city in 1984 from the city of Milan in Italy. The only car from Europe; something I had learned from the plaque above his head the last time I'd ridden this particular street car. The tram jolted to a stop at the next platform, and a young couple with Downs Syndrome (who I later learned were on vacation from Boston) entered; the young man sat next to me, the young woman next to the homeless man. He was telling me about how people always make assumptions about the homeless that aren’t true. How people think he sells the papers to buy drugs, but that the program is really strict, and anyone who screws up gets kicked out. And because the competition is so tight to sell papers, it's impossible to conceal a lapse into alcohol or drugs, because someone else in the program would notice and turn the person in. By now the young couple was also listening with rapt attention. He went on to explain how hard it is when people look at you with these obviously judgmental assumptions. At a pause in his manic testamony, the young woman put her hand on his and looking ernestly into his eyes, said, “I feel your pain.” He froze, just for a moment, their eyes remaining locked on one another as the now crowded tram rumbled on down Market Street toward Embarcadero. And then he replied, “No one ever told me that before. Thank you.” A new sense of humility took hold of him as he began talking about how God is real to him. And God gives him the strength to love people when they act hatefully toward him. This struck a chord within the young woman and she begins to smile and nod along. Encouraged by her reaction, he continued speaking about the joy God's love gives to him until suddenly realizing that we were nearly at the Powell Street stop. Glancing outside the street car, he turned to me and handed me a paper and then one to the young man and another to the young woman saying how they were a gift. He wanted us to have them. And then he rose quickly to leave. The young woman called out after him, “What’s your name?” “Alfred.” he replied with a smile as he stepped away onto Market at Powell. The woman turned back to her companion and said, “I like Alfred.” then with a huge smile exploding upon her face and sending her eyes into glistening half-moons of ecstasy she added, “I LOVE Alfred! And I love you, too!” And though she meant that she loved her husband, I felt really loved at that moment, too. AMEN.
ALFRED
"God has chosen what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God has chosen what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God has chosen what is mean and despised in the world -- things which are not, to put down things that are;"
~ from the First Epistle to the Corinthians, chapter 1, versus 27 & 28.
On a typically blustery and chilly San Francisco morning, while waiting to board a MUNI street car, I was approached by a lanky black man with salt and pepper close cropped hair and beard and an anxious demeanor. He wanted to know if the street car I was waiting to board would get him down to Powell Street (My running joke is that everyone always asks me for directions when I’m on vacation!) I assured him that it would as the orange tram pulled forward, and we embarked sitting opposite one another. As it turned out, he was selling the little newspapers that the coalition for the homeless produces, the proceeds of which are used to pay for a night in their shelter. The source of his excitement was the fact that he’d made twenty dollars in just an hour, when he’d previously consider himself lucky to make five after two hours of hawking in the financial district downtown. He confided that it was his first foray into the Castro, adding in a softer voice, ‘”because, you know....” and then confessed with childlike excitement, “but the people here really do care!" It was not what he thought it would be like. He commented that the tram we were riding in was different from all the others, and I explained that it was a gift to the city in 1984 from the city of Milan in Italy. The only car from Europe; something I had learned from the plaque above his head the last time I'd ridden this particular street car. The tram jolted to a stop at the next platform, and a young couple with Downs Syndrome (who I later learned were on vacation from Boston) entered; the young man sat next to me, the young woman next to the homeless man. He was telling me about how people always make assumptions about the homeless that aren’t true. How people think he sells the papers to buy drugs, but that the program is really strict, and anyone who screws up gets kicked out. And because the competition is so tight to sell papers, it's impossible to conceal a lapse into alcohol or drugs, because someone else in the program would notice and turn the person in. By now the young couple was also listening with rapt attention. He went on to explain how hard it is when people look at you with these obviously judgmental assumptions. At a pause in his manic testamony, the young woman put her hand on his and looking ernestly into his eyes, said, “I feel your pain.” He froze, just for a moment, their eyes remaining locked on one another as the now crowded tram rumbled on down Market Street toward Embarcadero. And then he replied, “No one ever told me that before. Thank you.” A new sense of humility took hold of him as he began talking about how God is real to him. And God gives him the strength to love people when they act hatefully toward him. This struck a chord within the young woman and she begins to smile and nod along. Encouraged by her reaction, he continued speaking about the joy God's love gives to him until suddenly realizing that we were nearly at the Powell Street stop. Glancing outside the street car, he turned to me and handed me a paper and then one to the young man and another to the young woman saying how they were a gift. He wanted us to have them. And then he rose quickly to leave. The young woman called out after him, “What’s your name?” “Alfred.” he replied with a smile as he stepped away onto Market at Powell. The woman turned back to her companion and said, “I like Alfred.” then with a huge smile exploding upon her face and sending her eyes into glistening half-moons of ecstasy she added, “I LOVE Alfred! And I love you, too!” And though she meant that she loved her husband, I felt really loved at that moment, too. AMEN.
Friday, June 17, 2005
San Francisco Prose #1
It was a year ago today that I flew out to San Francisco for a two week vacation. I needed to complete a course for a class I mentored at my church here in DC. I extended my stay beyond the class to spend time with a dear friend there, and to visit museums and events around the annual Gay Pride celebrations. While visiting I used public transportation (BART) on most days to get around. And it was in this venue that I had a couple of really wonderful encounters with strangers. I wrote both up as little prose pieces, and want to share them with you now. The first occurred on the first Sunday morning that I was there. It was the last day of the course that I was taking at a seminary in Berkeley. (As an aside: I have been a Christian since 1979; I am constantly amazed by God and my relationship with God is THE constant in my life. But I ain't no fundievangelical type -- God is so much bigger than that!)
COMANCHE
"Never forget to be hospitable, for by hospitality some have entertained angels unawares."
~ the Catacism to the Hebrews, chapter 13, verse 2
I met a man, while waiting at the BART station at Mission & 16th to open one Sunday morning (or more accurately, he met me). At first, he was quite timid, his features and jet black hair announced Native American blood flowed in his veins. He asked me to help him navigate his way to Berkeley, which is were I was headed, too. It turned out that he was on his way to see his wife and daughter. He’d just spent 18 months in prison and was in a rehab/half-way house whose program uses the garden space of my friend’s church, St. John the Evangelist, for Native American drumming, chanting, and dancing ceremonies twice a week. The program focuses solely on Native Americans who have entered into the wrong sort of relationship with the criminal justice system. It helps them to discover their heritage and find strength in their identity (often, gives them an identity) and a community. He was carrying a drum stick that he had made for his daughter. He was glowing with the innocent joy of a nine-year-old on Christmas morning as he held it gingerly, like a precious artifact. With tender surprise at my interest, he eagerly shared his story with me. He told me that he had discovered in the process of rehab that his ethnic ancestry was Comanche. He told me all about how the program was giving him a new life, and a new way to see life -- to cope with life. How he now realized that his assumptions about the world were all wrong. That once he had thought everyone reacted to pain and disappointment by escaping into drugs and acting out violently, but thanks to the compassion of his parole officer he’d been given this second chance, found a place in this special program, and could see how wrong his thinking about the world had always been. He had an eight grade education but was hoping to work on his GED. I rejoiced in his epiphany and drew him out with questions about his family, about the symbolism of the colors on the drum stick, about his journey into this new found freedom. He filled my heart with light without fading in the slightest. AMEN
COMANCHE
"Never forget to be hospitable, for by hospitality some have entertained angels unawares."
~ the Catacism to the Hebrews, chapter 13, verse 2
I met a man, while waiting at the BART station at Mission & 16th to open one Sunday morning (or more accurately, he met me). At first, he was quite timid, his features and jet black hair announced Native American blood flowed in his veins. He asked me to help him navigate his way to Berkeley, which is were I was headed, too. It turned out that he was on his way to see his wife and daughter. He’d just spent 18 months in prison and was in a rehab/half-way house whose program uses the garden space of my friend’s church, St. John the Evangelist, for Native American drumming, chanting, and dancing ceremonies twice a week. The program focuses solely on Native Americans who have entered into the wrong sort of relationship with the criminal justice system. It helps them to discover their heritage and find strength in their identity (often, gives them an identity) and a community. He was carrying a drum stick that he had made for his daughter. He was glowing with the innocent joy of a nine-year-old on Christmas morning as he held it gingerly, like a precious artifact. With tender surprise at my interest, he eagerly shared his story with me. He told me that he had discovered in the process of rehab that his ethnic ancestry was Comanche. He told me all about how the program was giving him a new life, and a new way to see life -- to cope with life. How he now realized that his assumptions about the world were all wrong. That once he had thought everyone reacted to pain and disappointment by escaping into drugs and acting out violently, but thanks to the compassion of his parole officer he’d been given this second chance, found a place in this special program, and could see how wrong his thinking about the world had always been. He had an eight grade education but was hoping to work on his GED. I rejoiced in his epiphany and drew him out with questions about his family, about the symbolism of the colors on the drum stick, about his journey into this new found freedom. He filled my heart with light without fading in the slightest. AMEN
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