The philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889–1951) admonished his readers at the very end of his early work, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (1922) to “say nothing which cannot be said” about the world or “states of affairs.” However, what could not be said, namely values – indeed, ethics – was “mystical,” a transcendent world of perhaps divine origin. We could not speak of values, insisted Wittgenstein, just show them, do them. Where language ends, then, ethics begins. So, how does a preacher leap into the world of meaning, of truth and of love, from a pulpit given over to mere words? In the poem below, the preacher is the city, and I’m just a scribe. The variety of lifestyles, the uniqueness and unrepeatability of each person contributing to hubbub of the city’s energy and life speaks for itself in another language, the language of dance.

Dancers don’t have to talk to tell you a story about hope and loss, pain and joy. They just do it with their whole being. And a breakdance, like jazz, gives each person a chance to dance it like it is, while everybody supports the dancer’s statement, that is, his or her identity. Yet, there are so many on the streets, who pass us by unknown, who just go by and then are gone. And that’s where Jesus comes in, “the Bible in the City,” even as the “city in the Bible” bore witness as well.

And so, an offering to this witness of dance in the streets, what the “text” of the dancer might be saying to us:

A Breakdance for Jesus: New York on My Mind:

I got no money, and I don’t like dice;
I laugh like hell but I’m not very nice.
There’s nothing much going but there’s too much to say,
On a New York sidewalk on a day like today.

Saw a rat in the subway, said, “Hey, there, yo”
You got promises to keep and places to go.
Just stay in the tunnels, don’t you come up for air.
I got kids to protect in that brownstone over there.”

The fares went up and my Mama can’t walk,
My Papa watches Netflix and refuses to talk.
My wife’s a head waitress at a Wall Street bar,
Unemployed, I’m learning how to play a guitar.

I live in the Dakota overlooking Central Park,
And love to take my dog there when the sky turns dark.
With other dog lovers we chat about our lives
Walking starry eyed paths lit by tipsy fireflies.

We work the ER until 6 am
When the sun goes down, we’ll be doing it again.
We stay up all night dreaming awesome type dreams
Between sirens and horns and occasional screams.

My sister studies medicine, my uncle works the docks
One goes to temple and the other prays in mosques.
I speak three languages, my daughter sings in nine,
And if I make parole this year, I’ll be really doing fine.

I’ve been holing up in subways since I can’t tell you when,
And without a decent shelter I’ll be sleeping there again,
Grand Central is my favorite stop where I get all the news
Read leftover Times while cool kids play the blues.

My shrink lives near the Bronx zoo where we normally hold sessions,
Gorillas, deer, and crocodiles catch most of my confessions.
I want to reinvent myself, avoid a lot of stress,
But that means lots of “do withouts my bank account’s a mess.

I walk by lots of churches but don’t ever go inside,
This religious thing just gets me down. They take you for a ride
By making rules for games that they are never gonna play
And after judging kick you out with “have a lovely day.”

It’s my city setting markers for the ways that I can live,
All that I can ever take and all that I can ever give.
And what we know, within my bones, these feelings that persist
So many are alive here,
So many are alive here, so many are alive here,
Who don’t exist,

Who have a whole lot to give and a whole lot to take,
And always give a sucker a more than even break.
But don’t get scared or shy when you see us,
‘Cause hanging out with our crowd is a man named Jesus.

Not political politicos
But Jesus on the streets,
Not cops, beggars, bankers,
But it’s Jesus on the streets;
Hot shot clergy?
No, it’s Jesus on the streets.
The Governor or Mayor?
No, our Jesus on the streets!

The sidewalk’s his scenario and our turf too, Amen!
The rooftops are his paradise and our heaven too, Amen!
Wherever we are he’s with us, the reverse also is true, too, Amen!
He’s the way of the street, he’s the truth of the street, he’s the life of the street. Amen and Amen!
With him around we don’t look down, but look up straight ahead
For our God’s the God of living things and not the God of the dead. Amen.

About the author

Jill Schaeffer wrote 4 articles for this publication.

Rev. Dr. Jill Schaeffer is a minister member of the Presbytery of New York City and Visiting Associate Professor of Ethics at New York Theological Seminary. She holds a Ph.D. in philosophical theology from the Graduate Theological Union at Berkeley. Dr. Schaeffer served for 13 years overseas with the World Alliance of Reformed Churches and the Reformed Church of France primarily in human rights and as a bi-lingual translator for the Evangelical Community for Apostolic Actions (CEVAA).

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