Father Dan Ade, Dean and Rector and Father Mark Kowalewski, Dean and Rector

St. John’s Cathedral is home to many of The Guibord Center’s events.
That made it a good place to start the filming for Animals, Faith and Compassion, bringing the voices of faith into the conversation. We already knew the rules and protocol of St. John’s. A number of the other sacred sites we were to film in would be new to us. Here we could relax, focus on getting the gear in and setting up the shots.

As acting executive producer and newest crew member, I had the most to learn by far. Joseph Tomas and Aaron Torres formed Jen’s camera crew and lighting team. Having worked with them before, she knew each to have the same sense of artistic excellence that she has. Their painstaking efforts throughout the filming were astounding to witness. Jennifer envisioned each speaker set in a visual fame comprised of the sacred objects and views that were the soul of each site. Using their palette of lights and shadows, angles and sight-lines, they created subtle delights of color, layer-by-layer, for the backgrounds Jennifer required.

It was no easy task. It took great patience as well as diligence and skill. Jennifer and Aaron had scouted every location in the week before we began. Using a device that measured the angle of the sun throughout the days, they noted the best times to arrive at each spot to capture the desired images bathed in just the right natural light.

It took nearly three hours to get everything in place before we could even begin filming. Fr. Dan sat patiently comforting a small dog in his lap through most of an hour. The director’s chair is not a comfortable seat. He was quite gracious.

Finally, finally we were ready and those wonderful words rang out: “Quiet on the set”… “and Action.” Jennifer began speaking. Quietly. Naturally. Dan responded. The dog relaxed. We were rolling. A few moments later, the sound technician’s hand shot up. “Siren.” We waited. Her hand came down. We kept rolling. Her hand came up again as the Metro-link roared by. St. John’s is an urban church. It’s in the middle of downtown Los Angeles. We captured material a few minutes at a time. Soon I forgot the noise and was caught up in Fr. Dan’s conversation. He was talking about the Book of Genesis and St. Paul’s letters. He was talking about scripture from the Bible that I know and love, and that I had somehow skimmed over, not really seen at all, much less considered. It happened often in our two weeks of filming, this phenomenon of discovering an expansive view of the relationship of animals to the very essence of creation that lay hiding plain sight.

Suddenly a loud and unrelenting noise obliterated the moment. It stopped. And then it started again. And then it stopped. And,.. I walked outside. A crew from the City had pulled up and begun sandblasting. There was no stopping them.

While Madison McGaughy is as good at handling the sound equipment as anyone can be, we had no choice but to wait.

Finally the noise cleared long enough to get the footage we needed. Fr. Dan left us with a wonderful Ethiopian story of Mother Mary and a thirsty dog. Our very patient and weary first participant had given us exactly the kind of material that will bring perspective to this conversation.

Since co-Dean and Rector Fr. Mark was there in his office – and had his dog – I asked if he would join us for a few minutes as the day sped on. He did. Both the story of Jack, “the Church Dog” sitting there on his lap and his offerings as a theologian underlined things that his colleague had addressed and shined light on several others.

[Excerpts from these speakers will appear in our new, unfolding section: “Animals across Faith”. See tomorrow’s blog for the first entry.]

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The sun had barely risen when I packed the car with groceries for Day Two of shooting. One of my jobs would be to provide all the meals and a supply of substantial snacks each day. Filming is hard work. There is no time for a leisurely meal. I’d take orders and get the food so we’d never miss a beat.

As it turned out, of the five of us who set out to make a film about animals and compassion, two were vegans, two vegetarians, and one – a sometimes carnivore. What are the odds? In Los Angeles, pretty good, it seems.

So I got on the freeway on a beautiful Saturday morning in February with a trunk full of goodies from Trader Joe’s.I was headed to The California Zoroastrian Center in Westminster, just 40 miles southeast of downtown Los Angeles.

The winged figure high on a plain stucco building surrounded by the three phrases “Good Thoughts”, “Good Words”, “Good Deeds” is what immediately caught my eye. The Persian half-Bull figures on the four columns beneath them erased any doubt. This was definitely The Zoroastrian Center, home to one of the most ancient religions still practiced in the world today. Their numbers may be small but the good they do is remarkable. The Guibord Center’s Zoroastrian Advisor, Maneck Bhujwala, will present the Zarathustri (Zoroastrian) religion this coming June.

Since there was no one in sight, I had a few exquisite minutes to soak in the peacefulness of the quiet grounds. Jennifer, our wise director, had brought us here this early deliberately. The light was soft, magical, just right to capture these images. She knew the unique challenges of filming this faith. Their central image is fire, symbolic of enlightenment, and fire is impossible to photograph in daylight. Soon the rest of the team arrived. As quickly as Joe began photographing the building, Arron began laying out rolls of heavy black plastic sheeting.

I followed our host and speaker for the day, Maneck Bhujwala, up a small flight of stairs, took off my shoes and entered the very simple prayer room where a flame burned before the image of The Prophet Zarathustra. I was instantly reminded of another small sanctuary half a world away, high in the mountains, in the magical city of Safed where it is said that the Kabbalah, the mystical branch of Judaism, was born. In that moment the two rooms with their utter simplicity felt stunningly similar, brimming with the faithfulness of their followers.

I returned to the present as I stepped back into the sunlight to discover that two ladders had arrived. Jen, Joe and Arron were hard at work atop them. They were taping up the windows. Time was an issue. The sun was climbing over the room, which once sealed, would soon get unbearably hot.

Once the room was completely blackened, it was time to bring in our own lighting. Framing for the filming was about to begin, measuring the angles between Maneck, the photo of the Prophet and The Fire. The wind pulled at the plastic as we raced to get everything in place. We re-taped. We closed the door to control the light. The flame danced brightly. The room grew hot. The sun was high now, beating right down on us. We had to open the doors while we broke to eat. The staff offered us tea, food and a place to sit. We ate quickly. Finally, everything was in place. Opening the doors had cooled the room for the moment. Our Sound Tech, Madison, nodded to let us know the last of the sound checks was completed. We were ready to begin.

Jen spoke softly. Maneck replied. His voice, quiet at first, grew stronger. He gathered a rhythm, an authority. And then it happened. For the second day in a row we had to halt everything.

The first series of explosions sounded like ammunition going off in a fire. There was a brief pause and we opened the door. Firecrackers. Loud, very loud. Exploding just over the fence. Not again! We were confused and suddenly it dawned on us. Chinese New Year. “The Year the Dog”.

We found we were in the midst of an Asian community preparing for a parade. They were right next door. The megaphone carried the songs, the music. We looked at one another. There was nothing to do but laugh and wait. We had done all we could to prepare, but ultimately this whole project would be far beyond our control.

Filming is disruptive at best. When The Guibord Center’s Board of Directors and Advisory Council agreed to allow us to film them in their sacred sites, they did so because every one of them was eager to support this initiative. They wanted to do something, whatever they could, to end cruelty to animals. I doubt that any one of them measured the cost, to themselves or to their communities. It was just the right thing to do.

Late in our second day I began to realize what a hassle and disruption this filming was. It takes a great deal of time and care to set up a powerful shot – and just as much time to tear it down step by step and put everything back exactly as it was before we began. And then there is the issue of each piece of equipment that needs to be broken down itself, carried outside and carefully packed to be transported to the next location.

It all takes time, time when a congregation, a community, is displaced from the location that is most intimate and precious to them. In an act of immense graciousness, for a set period of time, they give over the use of their own most tender home to strangers, often strangers who do not speak the language of their faith or practice its tenets.

The California Zoroastrian Center, like most of the places we filmed, is more than a place of worship, it is a place for the community to come together to celebrate those occasions that are special and reflect their faith. The Saturday of our filming was one such occasion. We had arrived early in the morning to black out the windows of the prayer room. We had worked carefully and as quickly as we could around an unexpected pile of concrete blocks near the stairs where it appeared some project was underway. The going was slow.

People started arriving around midday to prepare for a celebration to be held that night. Young people were rehearsing their parts for a performance. Men and women brought in food. They could not get into their prayer room or conduct their activities with abandon because we were still at work late in the afternoon.

The unforeseen Chinese New Year’s Celebration in the parking lot next door had set us back. We’d been racing to catch up ever since. As the shadows grew, more and more people began arriving. The parking lot by the prayer room was filling quickly as we pulled equipment out of the room and laid it on the grass just outside in an effort to return it to the pristine state it was in when we began. Two elderly women tried to climb the stairs to get to their sacred flame and were told they had to wait. They walked over to a bench and sat down quietly.

As others gathered, they began to inquire of one another about what had happened to their “project”. Why had we taken down the concrete wall and left a mess? Why had we not cleaned it up along with the heavy plastic sheeting we were clearing away? There was confusion. Apparently someone had been building a ramp for handicapped folks to use to get up to the prayer room, but unbeknownst to them the project had been cancelled. The pile of blocks we worked around still lay there on the ground right where we found them that morning.

So here we were, thought to be perpetrators of a violation to their space, clearly running late, unintentionally violating our agreement to be gone by 5:00 pm, holding up their prayer and their celebration. And what did they do?

They invited us to stay for dinner, to come and join in their party. They brought us water. Offered tea. Treats. Carefully explained the joyful occasion as some kind of blending of Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day and something else I didn’t quite catch. I confess, I would have been annoyed.

Zarathushtra taught that we are each responsible for our own behavior: to choose good and stay away from that which is evil. The basic formula of the Zoroastrian faith is written high on the entrance of the Center and on the mirror we had seen all day long. “Good Thoughts.” “Good Words.” “Good Deeds.”

Sometimes the things that happen in the in-between moments, the moments of tension and misunderstanding, are the things that offer the greatest lessons. The measure of faith is always how we treat one another.

“The Moment That Said It All”

The dog said it all just in the way he stood there. His face caught in the lights. Standing by his human’s feet.

While the Rabbi and the Director were deeply engaged in getting everything perfect right there in the middle of the Temple, the dog was engaged in simply being present. Animals are like that. They carry a real power in their presence.

Everyone in this room, in this sanctuary, is doing their best to tell the story, to find the words that might change even a single mind, open a single heart to end ignorance and cruelty towards animals.

We are their voices, the ones who can put human words to the value and vulnerability of their existence. Everyone connected to this project feels an urgency to speak on their behalf.

Only the dog is peaceful. He lies at Rabbi Neil’s feet, content simply to be there. The trust between the two is palpable. Neil’s voice is animated. We hear the strength of his soul in every phrase, every story. This is a teacher, a man who clearly cares deeply, who choses his words deliberately.

Like the dog beside him, he, too, is fully present. Engaged. He doesn’t just speak. He watches to see if those he is speaking with are also engaged, listening, with him.

They are a team: this man and his dog. It’s clear. I listen to him speak, weaving a story of the relationship that God intended way back there in the Garden, back in that beginning. As I watch, I am aware that right here before me, right now, I’m witnessing that very dream of relating to one another fully, lovingly, compassionately, that God intended so many thousands of years ago.

The man. The dog. The crew. The camera. We are present, fully present, with one another in listening to and caring about each other.

May we somehow be capturing this on film.

Feeding the Soul in L.A.

It’s easy to miss. The Guru Ram Das Ashram. I’ve lived my whole life in Los Angeles and never known that a gem of a temple is here, just off one of the busiest thoroughfares in the city.

The surprising bonus of this filming project is that we get to discover nearly a dozen beautiful oases of spirituality and welcome just like this – all right here in our neighborhood.

Jennifer, our filmmaker who knows the ashram well, realized that we would need to start filming at dusk to catch the perfect evening light.

I saw immediately that she was right. The large room took on a sweetness and warmth in the soft glow of lamplight. Soothing pastels and the simple paintings that line the walls brought us a sense of calm. Clearly this is a place to let go of all stress the moment you walk through the beautifully carved wood and glass doors.

This sacred center was built by Yogi Bhajan, one of the number of Indian spiritual leaders we can thank for the likes of “yoga”, “meditation”, “karma”, and many other Vedic spiritual teachings and traditions. He brought Kundalini Yoga to this country via Los Angeles in 1968. The Gurdwara opened here in 1972, and has been a busy center for Sikhs and their followers ever since. Prayers, meditations and chanting begin every morning at 3:45 and yogic practices continue throughout the day. Families are raised here. Friends and strangers alike are welcomed with kindness and gracious hospitality.

While most Americans think of Sikhs in terms of the turbans and the curved knives (kirpan) they wear (to protect those in danger – particularly from religious persecution), the rest of the world thinks of and respects the Sikhs’ generosity in their outreach through food. At the Parliament of the World’s Religions (Barcelona, 2004), my colleagues and I were shocked when the Sikhs stepped up and invited over 9,000 of us to join them for meals (langar) three times a day, every day, for over a week. No questions asked. Nothing held back. They didn’t talk about their spirituality, they lived it!

Nirinjan Singh Khalsa met us with a smile. He brings a presence and a heart as strong as the body that carries it. In all the years I have known him, Nirinjan has been unflappable. And utterly dependable. It’s easy to feel peaceful around him.

He is one of the three Sikh leaders on The Guibord Center’s Advisory Council. His colleagues, Jacquie and Ravinder Singh Khalsa, could not join us because they were busy feeding the hungry in Downtown as they do regularly. Nirinjan shares the Sikh understanding of a different kind of nourishment, the nourishment of the soul that comes from experiencing the connectedness of all life. Animals are an essential part of that connectedness that, like the Sikhs themselves, give us strength and nurture our spirituality just by being in their presence.