On the surface, it seemed like business as usual at the April 24th service at Saint John Will-I-Am Coltrane African Orthodox Church (more commonly known as the Coltrane Church), whose spiritual mission draws from the music and life of the jazz legend. Inside the small, nondescript storefront in San Francisco, where there were no pews but instead chairs arranged in a half circle, a group of the faithful and the downright curious were there to take part in an event that paid respect to both God and Coltrane. The church regards the legendary saxophonist a saint—a reverence symbolized via a large painting hung on a wall, in which Coltrane dons a white robe and halo. In one hand there is, of course, a saxophone; in the other, a scroll with lines from his classic spiritual masterpiece, 1965’s A Love Supreme: “Let us sing all songs to God/To which all praise is due...praise God.”
The service began with a morning meditation to A Love Supreme, followed by a four-hour “global community spiritual celebration” featuring the Coltrane Church's band, which includes co-founder Archbishop Franzo King on saxophone and Pastor Wanika Stephens on bass. Enlivened by drum solos, horn blaring, tap dancing, and singing that lent a certain kind of pageantry, the service was part revival, part jazz concert. During the service, the archbishop spoke of Coltrane's love for humanity and devotion to God, and recalled the Coltrane performance that led to the church's founding nearly 50 years ago. “When we left there, we started studying John Coltrane,” King told the congregation, which was diverse in both age and race. “We started a circle just like this and all we did was listen to the music. And we found out that the spirit of God was in that music.”
This service also marked a bittersweet occasion for the Coltrane Church. As of April 30, the church had to leave 1286 Fillmore Street, its home for roughly a decade. Various media outlets reported that the eviction was due to the church'sunpaid rent to the landlord, the non-profit West Bay Conference Center; meanwhile, the churchclaimed that the landlordhadn't accepted its $1,600/month rent in 2014. “In a perfect world, we would provide that space at no cost,” West Bay Conference said in an earlierstatement. “Unfortunately, however, West Bay operates in the same ruthless economy that has engulfed the entire Fillmore District. The survival costs are staggering, and they continue to grow.” (West Bay head Floyd Trammell did not respond to our requests for further comment.)
The church has faced the threat of eviction before, leaving its Divisadero Street location in 2000 over rent issues and continually fighting off gentrification in the increasingly expensive city ever since. Arecent petition in support of the church drew nearly 4,000 signatures. Better yet, the church raised more $10,000 through anonline pledge campaign, to offset the costs of moving to a temporary location (the nearby St. Cyprian's at 2097 Turk Street, it was recently announced). But if the church wants to stay near the historic Fillmore District (or really, most other SF neighborhoods) in the long-term, this particular struggle is far from over.
Once known as the “Harlem of the West” for its thriving African-American community and jazz clubs, the Fillmore Distinct underwent redevelopment in the 1960s that uprooted the neighborhood’s residents and businesses. In recent years, the Fillmore District has seen the closings of jazz venues such as Rasselas and The Addition (formerly known as Yoshi’s). “It's like kicking a man while he's down,” King said. “It's already been devastating. This community has been wiped out, even the city itself. There's not a large black community now.”
The history of the Coltrane Church starts around the time that the Fillmore District first started changing. On September 18, 1965, King and his wife Marina celebrated their first wedding anniversary by attending a Coltrane performance at San Francisco’s Jazz Workshop. They called what they experienced that night a “sound baptism,” which might appear a stretch to those not familiar with Coltrane’s music. However, in his liner notes for A Love Supreme, Coltrane described the work as “a humble offering to Him. An attempt to say 'THANK YOU GOD through our work.'”
“To start the church,” King said, “that idea came from a statement that Saint John had made, when he said, 'To me, in my estimation, the music is rising into something else and it needs another venue in which to be played.' And the Lord showed me that that venue would be a religious service, as opposed to a gin joint.”
“The Kings began to dig into Coltrane and find out about his own spirituality and his recognition within the jazz community as a spiritual avatar with other jazz musicians,” said Dr. Nicholas L. Baham III, an ethnic studies professor at California State University East Bay, and the author of The Coltrane Church: Apostles of Sound, Agents of Social Justice. “It made perfect sense to select him as that person who was possibly bringing a new spiritual message for the 20th century.”
After Coltrane's death in 1967, the Kings' interest in the saxophonist expanded from hosting listening parties to the formation of an actual movement. Over the years, the group underwent different names and was at one time associated with Coltrane's widow, the pianist Alice Coltrane. In the early ‘80s, the organization joined the African Orthodox Church, which recognized Coltrane as a saint, and the group was renamed the Saint John Will-I-Am Coltrane African Orthodox Church. Since then, the popularity of the church has extended to media coverage (including The New York Times and The Guardian), a 1996 documentary, and a weekly Coltrane radio show hosted by Pastor Stephens.
In his book, Baham describes the concept of what the church practices as “Coltrane Consciousness,” which draws from Coltrane's own way of life as well as his music. “They know that Coltrane was at one point in time a vegetarian, so vegetarianism used to be a very big part of their beliefs,” he said. “They know that Coltrane stated that he didn't believe in war, so that becomes a big piece. Coltrane has got an album on meditation [the posthumously-released Transition]—songs are titled from meditations at different hours. So they actually meditated at those hours. They picked apart everything that Coltrane ever said or represented.”
Musician Jolie Holland has first-hand experience with the Coltrane Church, which she's rallied for on social media amid the eviction battle. Holland first heard about the church sometime around 1991 when, as a 16-year-old at home in Houston, she watched a TV clip about the group. Upon her arrival in San Francisco about six years later, Holland visited the church at its previous home on Divisadero Street. She recalled experiencing a powerful version of “I Am On The Battlefield For My Lord” there, and how it was a revelation for her to hear “the living roots and continuation of American culture in such a high musical environment.”
“Music at the Coltrane Church always has this living character,” she said. “It is real movement through and past the musical elements, aiming for the stars. Those big-box churches sing so-called praise songs, and it sounds like insurance commercials or Hallmark cards to me. At the Coltrane Church you hear and participate in music that expresses the reality of human experience: the freak-out, the redemption, and the yearning.”
Archbishop Franzo King leading the final service at 1286 Fillmore on April 24, 2016. (Photo by David Chiu)
In addition to its work with the underprivileged, the Coltrane Church has been associated with activist movements like the Black Panthers and Occupy San Francisco and, according to Baham, is—or rather, was—one of the last black-owned musical institutions remaining in the Fillmore. “They are an important black community—period—and the city of San Francisco is losing those,” he said. “When you eliminate the Coltrane Church, you're eliminating yet another community that represents that past.”
When asked if John Coltrane's music had provided some form of comfort as the church searches for a permanent home again, King said that they're always leaning on the “anointed sound.” “That's what's gotten us this far in life,” he said. “Whether we're listening to [the music] or playing it, it's what we lean on. John Coltrane said that he had the means and the privilege to make others happy through music, so that's where we find our joy.”
It appeared that joy was exactly what was in the air during that final service. Aside from the very lively jazz performance, the sounds of applause and laughter filled the space. King himself seemed buoyed by the outpouring of support in this trying time. “So we're having growing pains,” he told the congregation. “But we found out that the Coltrane spiritual community has stood up all around this globe—[in] two weeks, 4,000 signatures and testimonies saying, 'hands off of the Saint John Coltrane Church.' I'm moved in a way that makes me want to shout.”