At the Pantheon of Jazz, a Musical Ministry

SAN FRANCISCO -- A sudden rain barraged the Fillmore District. People were ducking its assault, racing past the church of St. John Coltrane without a glance.

It did not look good for Sunday services. Noon arrived, 12:10, 12:15. The church, no bigger than an average living room, was still nearly empty. It was new to this location, a storefront with mini-blinds and one small sign -- "Coltrane Lives." Maybe worshipers couldn't find it.

But it turns out they did. They made it in, eventually, trickling in wet until the first church ever to claim the late jazz saxophonist as its patron saint was packed. Regulars sat in the front; newcomers sat, and stood, in the back. Erinne Johnson, a young church "Sister of Compassion" in a hooded sweat shirt and jeans, picked up a microphone. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like," she announced, because no doubt there were people who had no idea how long the service might last.

Everyone knew the obvious: The church of St. John Coltrane, officially, the St. John Coltrane African Orthodox Church -- is a house of worship like no other. Known worldwide and written up in tourist guides, it attracts the kind of mixed crowd -- all races, colors, nationalities and creeds -- that most churches cannot even imagine. Not to mention that these days, when Christian rock is big business, a church that plays a jazz virtuoso's tunes as a path to enlightenment doesn't seem so odd -- it seems visionary.

Still, like independent churches all over, this one has struggled to stay alive. The church, which has been providing hot vegetarian meals for the hungry for nearly four decades, has always scraped to get by. In 2000, during the dot-com boom that turned so much of San Francisco into a playground for New Money, the church was forced to move from its tiny storefront near Haight-Ashbury to make way for a cafe. All it could afford was an out-of-the-way spot that almost made people forget it was alive.

Its newest temporary home -- the church has a three-year lease -- is in the heart of the Fillmore, once known as "Harlem West." Jazz and blues clubs took root and flourished here, and though only vestiges of the old neighborhood remain, a big new jazz center is in the works that city officials hope will return the Fillmore District to its old form.

Last Sunday's service was typical: lots of music and listening. "The first part of our service is quiet meditation," said Johnson, as a boombox on the floor played "John Coltrane Live at the Village Vanguard."

The house-band members took their places in front of a seven-foot-tall Byzantine-style painting of Coltrane holding a saxophone with flames coming from it. Bishop Franzo King, in white robes with a fuchsia skullcap and cummerbund, took a seat in front of a conga drum, his soprano sax in hand.

The congregation was alert with anticipation.

King, a former hairdresser who started the church in 1971, has been telling the story of how he had a spiritual experience during a 1965 Coltrane concert in San Francisco. (He was officially ordained a bishop in 1982 by the African Orthodox Church, which also officially acknowledged Coltrane as a saint.) Coltrane, who died in 1967 of liver cancer at age 40, had been a heroin addict, but he had devoted his last 10 years to using his music as an homage to God. King's church tries to do the same -- the liturgy includes two hours of music from Coltrane's late period, with proper due to Coltrane's 1964 "A Love Supreme" album.

About 90 minutes into the service, King rose to deliver the sermon. Tall, thin and youthful-looking, King, 60, blended Catholic prayer with an earnest lesson about finding one's way to God. He also, as always, had to explain to the newbies that the church finds its inspiration in Coltrane's spiritual awakening, as reflected in his music. He noted the prayer and the offering to God in the liner notes of "A Love Supreme."

Children of church members wandered up and down the aisles throughout the service. Musicians slipped in with their trumpets and saxophones. King's wife, Marina, known as the Rev. Mother Marina, led the church choir. His oldest daughter, Wanika Stephens, played the bass. Son Franzo King Jr. performed a tenor saxophone solo.

Other musicians joined the band onstage.

"We wanted to stress to people that we are not here to entertain you," Stephens said later. The mother in her thirties is host of a weekly radio show on the local public station, KPOO, that plays four hours of Coltrane music. "We do know that people are entertained, but we hope they are moved spiritually."

They certainly seem compelled to stay. As the band jammed, the audience stood and clapped. More people slipped in the door. A young man came in with a tambourine. Sister Johnson ushered him in. No, she told him, you're not too late. The band was still jamming. It was nearly 4 p.m.