Tuesday at Occupy Wall Street, at Zuccotti Park in lower Manhattan, energy seemed to remain strong, boosted by a constant stream of new protesters and curious people, who surround the park and take pictures, observe, and perhaps consider joining the protest. Much more visible now (as I see it) are union members, religiously identifiable people, and seniors, to name a few publics. And the movement is clearly more racially and ethnically diverse than ever. White OWS protesters (like me) were, in my highly unscientific estimation, between half and two-thirds of the total assembled, whereas just a few weeks ago the percentage was much higher. And there were a handful of well-dressed men (and a few women) who, again according to my unscientific estimate (and knowledge of Wall Street dress codes), probably work in finance in the neighborhood who were there, too.  The park, which was definitely outgrowing itself in terms of sanitation and organization during the second and third weeks, is now being kept more orderly and clean; no small task given the thousands of people who participate every day. On Friday night, families with children are invited to spend the night in the park. This Sunday at 3:30, a multi-faith service will be held at OWS.

Here is an excellent video on religious involvement in OWS produced by Odyssey Networks:

I realize now that my earlier comment on some pictures I posted a few days ago was wrong or at least insufficient. In that picture series, I included a picture of a sign that exhorted sharing coats and food and attributed that command to John the Baptist. I suggested then that the sign, because of what seemed like its paraphrasing tone, was a reworking of some statements attributed to Jesus in the Christian scriptures. But as I re-read the Gospel of Luke in recent days, I realized that I should have trusted the sign more. As I encountered a similar sign this week (see picture below) that cited the gospel of Luke chapter three, verse eleven, I realized that indeed the reference to John the Baptist (evidently Jesus’ teacher or mentor according to many biblical scholars) was correct. I had become so accustomed to hearing such commandments to hand over goods as issuing from Jesus, that I had forgotten that Luke 3:11 also has John exhorting his hearers to give away coats and food: “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” John’s speech is “apocalyptic,” sounding tones of radical disclosure that seem (in the narrative) to presage a turning-concluding stage in history (“Even now,” Luke has him say, “the ax is lying at the root of the trees.”) This apocalyptic language fits well with OWS in its attempt to not only demand but also to embody a future-oriented and radically democratic society, and also fits well with the symbols of “ordinary eschatology” I photographed earlier. (I’ve gone back to fix the earlier post to reflect the attribution to John the Baptist.)

On reflection, there may have been something in me that resisted having John rather than Jesus be the one quoted as saying something so theologically valuable for the protest. I don’t know why that was, but now I am fascinated by the decision to make John the Baptist this everyday theological authority in the Sacred Space area. To be sure, images of Jesus (and Mary) are on the altar, but I wonder if others find it interesting that in this improvisational spiritual space in which religious symbols and statements must sit pluralistically, John has his own sign, and as far as I know, Jesus does not (yet). Both figures (as well as Jesus’ mother, Mary, who also has her own pictures and statues at the Community Altar) are portrayed in Christian scriptures as prophetic people, invoking a divine vision and judgment on their social situation. It is easy to imagine any of them at Occupy Wall Street. Much harder to discern is who would be the first to take up drumming and which one would sport the OWS t-shirt first.

Tommy Beaudoin, Hastings-on-Hudson, New York

If you can’t see the pictures yet, click the MORE button below:

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One of the reasons I dig the song “Holy” from A Band Called Pain is its theological fireworkiness without being pedantic or predictable. And also that its psychagogic properties are directly proportional to the volume at which the tune is cranked.

The song seems to speak many wishes at once, and all of them are theological materials. It sings for a healing that uses religious language (“take me to the river”), but who is the addressee? God, a lover, drugs or alcohol, the “midnight sky”? Listen to the verses and imagine different personae there.

Then at the bridge there is the meditative chant, “I don’t wanna meet your maker,” which only thickens the complexity of the address: is that chant a fear of death, evil — or God?

Through it all recurs the cry to “Make me holy / Teach me, show me.”

I do — and I don’t — “wanna meet your maker,” the song seems to say.

Fear and love of What May Lie Beyond (or, “God”) is strangely and surprisingly symmetrical to fear and love of What Is Right Here (or, “World”).

This is the kind of palimpsest-style writing that has kept me in both rock and theology for so many years. Such multiple significations, that splay out ways of holding and redirecting our deep experiences of life, are theological acts. For me, it helps that A Band Called Pain delivers its theology with the dramatic pulse and thwam of hard rock, but we each have our own tolerance for how we like to read, hear, and feel such palimpsests in theology and music.

Tommy Beaudoin, Hastings-on-Hudson, New York