My second sanctuary on the course was the StJohn Coltrane African Orthodox Church, currently located in the Fillmore district of San Francisco. I had passed by a gagillion times while i lived near Alamo Square. A friend had told me about it one day, that he had heard about it and thought it was somewhere in the Fillmore, but not sure where. I had not seen it but could hardly believe it could exist. Really? A John Coltrane church? So i looked for it. Turns out it is part of a big building, looks like just a run-of-the-mill office space from the outside, with a couple poster signs in the windows. Looking in, i could see instruments and chairs and some art on the walls. Yes, there is a church whose patron saint is a famed jazz musician, saxophonist John Coltrane (1926 – 1967). And upon locating it, i quickly moved Coltrane Church to the top of my must-visit list.
As far as i have been able to discover, it is a unique church; no other body of believers has established itself on the basis of the “sound baptism” of Coltrane’s music. However, this church is part of the African Orthodox order of Christianity, an orthodoxy created in protest of the mainstream Catholic church’s failure to be adequately inclusive of black people in its clergy positions. It was the AOC that canonized John Coltrane. Growing up in the South, i really hadn’t thought much about black folk wanting to be Catholic, considering that most black Christians i knew were Baptist. Being hyper aware of my whiteness, and the undeserved but undeniable privilege that comes with that, i felt a distinct sense of nervousness about attending this service. I have been working hard and long on getting over my worries about the perceptions of others, but the hardest place for me is the white thing, where my cultural curiosity could easily be mistaken for racial haughtiness, disrespect, or – well, i could imagine all sorts of negative possibilities.
I note here that i have limited my research of the church for now, trying to focus on my experience of it. There have been many articles, interviews, and some documentary conducted on the SF spiritual body since its establishment in 1971, four years after their saint’s death. Perhaps i will revisit my visit with widened perspective of analysis after receiving this info.
Knowing the place was spatially pretty small, i made sure i arrived 15 minutes earlier than the advertised service start time of 11:45am on Sundays. Again, i made the mistake of imagining that something that captivates my interest must, of course, also be the interest of overflow crowds. Upon entry, my nervousness dissolved as the people at the front glanced my way with a smile. An older man and a younger woman both were wearing clerical garb of black with the recognizable white Roman collar. I grinned back the warmest MegBeam smile and spoke a perky, “hi!”
I found a seat and arranged myself for what would be an hour before the service actually started, 45 minutes after the advertised time. I wondered if maybe the website just hadn’t been updated, but during my observations the man – who i discovered was the Archbishop Franzo King who founded the church with his wife – answered someone else’s question that service starts at 11:45. Was this preparation intended to be part of the service, just not liturgical?
(photo ripped from the SFMOMA interview) Franzo King & Mark Dukes with my favorite of his paintings in the Coltrane Church.
I joyfully spent that hour listening to the conversations of apparent members, watching their interactions, meditating in my own heart, beaming smiles, and gazing into the iconographic artwork of Mark Dukes. My favorite of his pieces there was a sublimely luminescent interpretation of a tree of life, uniting air, water, and earth. That’s the place where my spirituality dances and bows so i dwelt there for the hour. There were also batik pieces of Coltrane’s image and a painting from a famous black/white photo of the musician back in the day. I believe in preparing oneself for enacting a cosmic drama of ritual so i was perfectly content with the wait. No one else from the congregation showed up though until after noon, it seemed, the first one being a fellow visitor, a young woman who in the end was accompanied by two other young women. They described themselves as church hoppers, looking for their spiritual home. I found that intriguing and attempted to engage a bit, but eventually went back to being silent and turning inward, recognizing that that is my preferred method of engaging in gatherings of faith at this place in my journey.
And i pondered their declared quest: searching for a spiritual home. This is very different from my own reasons for being there, since i am there to observe, with no consideration of possible membership. My spiritual path is one that wants to be engaged in every moment, not just ritual moments, and finds renewed energy through meditation, dance, and creative production. Where i am today, i feel i have found my spiritual home inside me. All beings are there already. And though I find it magical to connect spiritually to a community, that usually happens for me when i am creating performance work in collaboration with other artists, especially the music making sort. That sort of home is an oft-shifting space of time and composition.
A few members reached out to me before the service began. One was the woman pastor, Wanika. She gave me a welcoming handshake and commented on how we had on basically the same pants. A man identified himself as the Doorman and someone who had been with the church long enough to be a clergyman (about 40 years) but confessed to being “a halfway soldier”, laughing at his inability to go all the way for the lord. I gently pressed him to discover what was holding him back but to no avail. In my observation of him throughout the service though, he was serving diligently and with great kindness, robustly welcoming people no matter what they looked like or at which point in the service they arrived. Another man reached out to me, to offer an instrument. It seemed throughout the service that this was his job. I had thought about bringing one of my own instruments, as the website had encouraged, but in the end chose the stick of jingle bells offered by the layman.
(also ripped from the SFMOMA blog) One of Mark Dukes icon paintings of the Saint John Coltrane.
Then the service began!!! As promised, the worship was guided by a focused interpretation of Coltrane music and a Catholic liturgy. A deacon waved incense, and there was sitting/standing/call/response. The Archbishop and Pastor had donned robes, as had the elementary-school-aged drummer and the acolyte. Everyone played instruments, their voices as well as man-made instruments. And i joined in with my jingle stick. I was glad i had it. I loved joining in the music making with the elementary-aged drummer, the electric dobro playing pastor, and the saxophone playing archbishop. Those pure music portions were the most spiritually uplifting moments of the service for me. Coltrane Church includes in its mission a search to develop their relationship with god partially through sound as a meditative union. Their sincere, public pursuit of this was joyous for my own being. I often create this sort of sound union experience in my inner-sanctuary that is omnipresent with me. But as seems to be the common draw for religious practitioners, there is something special about seeking that at the same time, in the same place with other human beings. During the musical liturgy, i focused my eyes on the tree paintings and the sun/moon in the Jesus painting.
There were two offering collections. I had brought a little money for that contribution which i gave upon the first plea. But then the surprise second plea came. And of course i had nothing left to give on the second plea, having given it all on the first. Now, i totally understand the need to ask for funding and state your case eloquently. I’ve been involved in lots of fundraising. But i have never felt comfortable with churches begging for funding during worship services. It just doesn’t seem to be appropriate to me, because i know how organized religion has often used its power to manipulate people. I’ve thought a lot about this in the five days since attending the service, and I’ve come to many conclusions, which may be the most important part of my own participation in this service. Many spiritual paths see giving money as an act of worship, and maybe it’s just my own hangups about money that spur my heart to buck when it gets mixed into sanctuary participation. It’s just a personal preference for that money seeking, which has to happen somehow for the work to continue, to happen in a different way, at a different time. All the people i encountered at the church seemed so pure and light-bearing in their faith, i trust them in their methods, even though they are different from mine.
Pastor Wanika delivered a message about protecting our minds, being steadfast and single-purposed in our devotion to our faith. There was lots of soundmaking from the congregation but evidently not enough to satisfy the pastor. When she directly addressed the believers to respond vocally, i didn’t join in, more and more decidedly self-identifying as a non-believer. Which brings me once again to the subject of communion.
The website had said that communion was served only on the first sunday of the month, which i was relieved to discover so i wouldn’t have to confront that debate once again within myself during this much more intimate service. But, as the universe would have it, i couldn’t escape this confrontation. For whatever reason, Pastor Wanika announced they were indeed going to be serving communion that day. Deep breath, Megan, you don’t have to decide this minute. I had turned off my phone/timepiece for the service of course. And escaping into timeless is an important characteristic for my own deeply spiritual experiences. But it was pretty close to the end, after hours of sound-union with the godness, and the pastor’s message, and the archbishop’s commentary on the message. I had considered the possibility that maybe this was the time to partake in the communion, just to explore what that experience might be like in my state of unbelieving. What sort of spiritual act could this sacred meal be for me? Alas, as the members partook, i still just could not bring myself to do anything but sit still in meditation, both in a Christian-prayerlike position and a zen posture, holding the cosmic mudra at my belly. I felt one of the music leaders near me at some point, compelling me to open my eyes. She directly asked me, “Do you want communion?” and the doorman even offered that it was free. No, i smiled, and shook my head, closing my eyes again. Maybe once again, I am too concerned about the impact of my actions on others rather than pursuit of my own spiritual experience. Is this balanced within me or do i need to incorporate more abandon? That moment though I felt completely confident in my decision. I am unequivocally not a believer with y’all in your faith. Your genuine approach is beautiful, and I felt I would mar it with my contradiction. This is probably not possible, but this is where I was that day. One day.
Seats filled and emptied in a tide of worshippers throughout the service. I was moved to a spiritual mountaintop by the experience, despite my outlier belief system, and i am still figuring out what i saw from up there. I was still descending from the clouds when i arrived at work later that day. I want to visit again, when i certainly will bring along an instrument i love to play.
