While On My Way To Church…

By Scott Kalechstein

"If you have an address book, then you have a ministry!"
-Maryanne Williamson

One day I was on my way to church to give an inspirational talk and weave a few songs into the mix. Having received a license in the mail a week back that claimed I was now an officially ordained minister, I was excited to be giving my first legal sermon. I had been a ministerial outlaw for many years before going straight.

Driving in my car, I noticed what appeared to be a speck of dirt on my clean white pants. When I went to brush it off, somehow it smeared into a dark streak of oil. I looked down at my lap and, as is the custom of spiritually advanced souls such as myself trained in mystical Christianity, I immediately called on Jesus. "Christ Almighty!" I fumed, "How am I going to stand in front of the congregation with my pants smeared like this?!" My frustrations turned from Jesus towards myself, and a critical voice inside me began a smear campaign of his own. "Scott, how stupid of you not to be more careful. When are you going to learn how to pay attention and stop being such a klutz! What are you going to do now? You can't go to church looking like this!"

The inner critic continued his clothes-minded sermon for a few more moments until a kinder and wiser voice took a turn at the pulpit. "Scott, let's take a breath and remember what's really important. You're on the way to church to express inspiration and love. What do you want to focus on, the stain on your pants or the love in your heart? You'll be there in ten minutes. Do you really want to spend it beating yourself up?" I took a breath, re-established my priorities, and dropped the self-criticism. Just like that, without affirmations, therapy, meditation, colonics, or psychic surgery, I dropped it. Those ten minutes were spent in peace, enjoying the drive and reflecting on the ease of my attitudinal adjustment.

I wondered why it had been so easy, almost effortless, to let go of the self-attack. Other times I have struggled for hours with my inner critic, getting down on myself for what I perceived to be my shortcomings. What could I learn from the ease of this experience that could have transfer value to some of my more challenging lessons in self-loving? I realized that I shifted so quickly in that moment because I knew that I was on my way to church, and that it was part of my job description to be clear, lighthearted and loving with the congregation. I knew that self-judgment would be a heavy weight on my shoulders that would interfere with my ability to serve. Self-criticism, I recognized, was off-purpose, a luxury I could not afford to indulge in while preparing my consciousness for my talk. I dropped it instantly because I instantly recognized its lack of value.

Then I had an inquiry that stretched me and excited me and truly disturbed my inner critic, which is always a good thing. "Aren't I always on my way to church? Is there ever a moment or a place where the opportunity to express love doesn't exist? In God's eyes, is speaking to a congregation any more important or holy than speaking with a gas station attendant or smiling at a clerk when she hands me my change? Is there really such a thing as a time when self-attack is not a waste of time?"

Inner criticism is a condition of mind that can make a convincing case for the belief that I deserve to be punished for my shortcomings and that I have little of substance to offer humanity. Each time I make my way out of being in that critical condition, I emerge with a story to tell, a gift of hope for those who are also in need of a turn-around. I re-connect with more love to give and more enthusiasm for living. It is becoming obvious to me that self-criticism paralyzes my heart and accomplishes nothing. Is that the kind of sermon I want to practice while on my way to church? Not!

That day at the service I started my talk by mentioning what I went through in the car. Everybody could identify with how I initially made a big deal about the stain, and people were inspired by how I let it go and the insights I shared about my process. I realized that my sermon was far more effective and more fun because of the stain on my pants and what I did with it.

Perhaps there is more wisdom and happiness to be gained from dealing with stains compassionately than from keeping my pants forever white.

Now, whenever I put myself in on the critical list, I can remember the experience of spontaneous remission in my car. I can say to myself, "Hey, let's wake up! We have a ministry of love here. The entire planet is a church/temple/mosque and all people, including myself, are the congregation. What I say to myself in the pulpit of my mind is simultaneously being broadcast to the world, so let's put the sin, fire, and brimstone away and preach some loving kindness and original innocence."

In every moment I am always faced with the opportunity to choose between focusing my attention on the dark spot on my white pants, the inevitable stumblings I make as an evolving human being, or on my unchanging love-ability. I want to remember that just as the dark spot doesn't alter the fact that my pants are white, my mistakes don't change the fact that I am of the light, and that anytime I transmute self-criticism into self-acceptance I am doing my job and living my purpose as a fumbling, human and perfectly imperfect minister of love.


"Be comfortable but not complacent with your imperfections. Your less evolved areas have a right to be. All your faults and imperfections are already known. They are part of the Divine Plan."

-Emmanuel, from Emmanuel's Book

Rev. Scott Kalechstein, M.D.T. (Modern Day Troubadour) can be found sharing his musical, ministerial, speaking, and healing gifts with churches, conferences, businesses, and individuals around the world. To be placed on Scott's email list, send a hello to scott@scottsongs.com, or visit www.scottsongs.com for more inspiration, laughter, song samples, and information.

A LIGHT IN THE TUNNEL

Portrait of a Subway Swami

By Scott Kalechstein

The first time I met Richard, commonly known as the ‘D' Train Poet, I was riding a Manhattan subway. I noticed him right away. Big, black, and beautiful, he was busy breaking the unwritten but widely adhered to laws of the NYC underground: Mind your own business. Bury your face in a newspaper. And, above all, don't talk to strangers. He approached me with a twinkle in his eye and an irresistible question: "Would you like to see a picture of the next savior of humanity?"

I had no idea what he was up to, but I immediately trusted the warm, lighthearted way about him, and I wanted to play along. "I'd love to!" I said with a smile. He took out a mirror and held it up to my face. "Surprise, you're it!"

‘Not it!' I was twenty years old, out on my own for the first time and struggling to make ends meet, hoping to find a little self-esteem in the process. I was hawking laundry bags on the streets to pay the rent. I felt light years away from being a savior.

Every few months I would run into Richard here and there. For a while I kept my distance. His courageous self-expression held up an uncomfortable mirror and reflected to me how much I was hiding.

One night I was strolling through Greenwich Village smoking pot. I stumbled upon Richard connecting with a collection of teenagers who were sitting on a stoop, captivated by his charisma. As I got closer I heard enough to realize he was using his gifts of poetry and humor to inspire them to stay away from smoking. Just as I started to turn around and quickly walk the other way, he spotted me. I froze. He called me over and gave me a big bear hug as I inconspicuously dropped the joint to the sidewalk and braced myself for his reaction to the pungent cloud of smoke around me. But either his nose or his heart chose not to register the aroma, and he immediately engaged me in the sort of conversation one does their best to avoid when one is stoned.

He asked me what I did for a living. I told him I was in training to become a rebirther. He became animated and excited. "I've been wanting to find out about rebirthing!" he exclaimed. Before I had time to guess what was coming next he had taken a pocket tape recorder out of his briefcase, pressed the record button, and said, "Scott Kalechstein, professional rebirther, on rebirthing." He put the mike up to my mouth, and I managed to sputter out a few sentences on the simple breathing process that had changed my world for the better.

Although he had strong feelings about living a drug-free life, Richard never mentioned the marijuana. He had even stronger feelings about loving and accepting people as they were, and seeing the beauty in them even when they weren't yet seeing it in themselves.

We kept running into each other in odd places, and through it all a friendship emerged. I nicknamed him Swami Subwaynanda, and he liked it. Richard's subway ministry was a big part of his life, and the name fit him.

A spiritual teacher I was studying with at the time warned her students to avoid the subways. She said the vibrations down there were too dense and could be very draining to souls seeking to serve humanity. I was glad that Richard hadn't studied with her.

Anyone who doubts Jesus's prophecy that we would one day do greater works has never seen Richard raise a crowd of people in a subway car from the dead. Once I saw him get almost everyone on the train to chant "More hugging, less mugging!" This was his signature slogan. I started spotting it on window decals and bumper stickers all over the city. Richard, who had once been a police officer, had discovered that he preferred preventing crime with creativity and love to fighting crime with might.

Besides being a blazing light in the tunnels of the city, Richard was also an activist, a gospel singer, a rapper, a minister, a gifted and moving poet, and a great improviser of songs. We shared wonderful times together making up songs in the moment, and he was a big fan of my newly emerging musical career. I was thrilled to have a man twenty years my senior believe in me so enthusiastically.

One tune of mine, Follow Your Heart, was his clear favorite. "That song's meant to be BIG, Scott! The whole world needs to know about that song!" A blatantly cacausian folksinger, I wrote and sung it as a ballad. Richard thought it was more suited for gospel. He performed and recorded it at his church. When he shared the tape with me, it was so full of his heart and soul I could hardly recognize my own song! He had brought it to life, just as he did everything and everyone around him.

Richard was a Christian, and loved Jesus in a big way. He was filled with a sense of purpose, and considered himself a missionary of sorts. But he didn't share his church or his religion; he shared his Spirit. And I had never before met a traditional Christian who so honored everyone else's spiritual and religious points of view. His missionary position, please pardon the pun, was that everybody belonged on top.


When I moved to California in 1990 I didn't keep in touch with Richard. Early in 2003 he found me, through the grace of the Internet. After an email exchange we had a wonderful phone conversation, catching each other up on the too many years we had been out of touch. Feeling like the prodigal son returning, I apologized for how long I had been out of contact. He welcomed me with open arms, and expressed a strong desire to hear the music that had come out of me since leaving N.Y.C. I sent him eight CD's- thirteen years of material he had not heard before.

A few months later Richard's wife phoned to tell me that he had just had a heart attack on a bus and didn't make it. I fought back tears and shock as I listened to her, the life partner of the man that had so deeply mentored and role-modeled magnificence for me. She wanted me to know that he had spoken of me often over the years and had loved me deeply, and also that he had been thoroughly enjoying the music I had sent. I told her how much he had meant to me, that he had infused me with his Spirit in such a way that my life had been forever touched and blessed.

Re-connecting just before his death was such a gift for both of us.

Richard, I will always be grateful for your example of fearless living and loving, as well as the interest you took in me, my talents, and my life. I will always remember you holding that mirror to my face the first time we met. Then I thought you were delightfully crazy, and now I am aspiring to live at your level of passionate insanity. You passed your torch on to me and countless others. Help us hold it high, dear brother, and continue to support us in being the light that we are, the light that you showed me in the mirror, the light in the tunnel. I love you and thank you for your precious gifts to me and to this planet.

"So forget about race, religion, color or creed. More huggin less muggin's what everybody need!"

- Richard Bartee, 1943-2003

For more inspiring information about Richard's life, visit: http://www.nathanielturner.com/onpassingofrichbartee.htm

The scoop on Scott Kalechstein and his music can be found at: http://www.scottsongs.com He can be emailed at scott@scottsongs.com.