Light and Darkness on a Grey Morning

Light and Darkness on a Grey Morning

The Christmas season with its emphasis upon the Light shining in the darkness continues through Epiphany on January 6^th.   But on this Monday morning, after Christmas, cold and grey and damp, I was in a dark mood as we gathered for prayer on the front porch at Manna House. 

Thanksgiving and Christmas are past.  We know with our guests that this means the end of special meals and special events for people on the streets.  It is back to business as usual, which is the darkness of suspicion and fear, “Bathrooms for Customers Only,” “No Panhandling,” “No Loitering,” “Get a Job!”  “You Lazy Bum!”  “Crackhead!”  “Crazy Motherf*&^$(#!”  No more Hallmark TV Specials about the magic of Christmas in which a homeless person is wonderfully swept up into a new home.

There were other reasons for the sense of darkness.  Kathleen would be leaving later to be with Camille, one of our long term volunteers who is having another round of chemotherapy.  Pasty shared that she is still living in the dark, waiting as she says, for “her lights to get cut on.”  And everyone’s hearts were heavy for Ron and Samantha and their little new born Ronaldis, who is in intensive care at Le Bonheur.  Long time guests of Manna House, but recently housed, they had welcomed Ronaldis into the world the week before Christmas.  But now his poor little lungs aren’t working well and things are unclear, grey.

I also noted a few new names on the “banned list” for Room in the Inn, and then heard about the tensions that led to a fight.  Both combatants were remorseful but still edgy around each other.  Their moods, like my mood on this morning, were dark.

            So we prayed, as we do each morning when we open.  We held each other’s hands.  Some of us had hands still warm from being inside or slightly warm from having gloves.  Some of us had hands icy cold from being outside with no gloves.  We prayed for Ronaldis, for Camille, and all family members and friends and people who are sick, for lights to get “cut on,” for people to get housing and jobs, and to be treated with respect.  And, of course we ended with prayer for the coffee to be hot, the sugar to be sweet, and the creamer to take all life’s bitterness away. 

            Somehow the prayer created a path for the flickering candle of Christmas Light.  And so guests streamed into the warm house where hot coffee was being served.  Though the line was long, there was great patience.  Guests loaded the coffee with plenty of sweet sugar and added creamer as well, and maybe that took some of life’s bitterness away.

            One guest found the far end of a couch, sat down, put his head back, and fell promptly and peacefully asleep.  Byron, working the list, began calling names for showers and for socks and hygiene.  Soon the clothing room was filled with activity as guests came in for one or the other purpose.  There were conversations about sports and politics and family and the minutia of daily life.  There was even some occasional laughter.  Moods lightened, and so did mine.

Outside, though, the day remained grey and cold.  Later in the morning, loud and threatening words were exchanged between two guests.  Eventually, wiser heads separated them.  One guest told them, “Don’t disrespect the Manna House that way.”  Light and darkness were contending, with neither clearly winning, a grey day.

The Church traditionally observes the Feast of Holy Innocents on December 28^th.  This Feast commemorates the children that King Herod slaughtered in his quest to kill the infant Jesus.  The Christmas Light of “O Holy Night” and “Silent Night” is quickly confronted by the darkness, by the powers of sin and death.  This Holy Innocents is a feast that puts that cross right next to the crèche.  Sentimentality is swept aside for something more sustaining, the voice of one crying in the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord.”   What is this way?   Maybe it is something like living in and sharing with each other the warmth of the Light in the cold and the grey, and even in the darkness.  It seemed to be on this morning.

It is never too late

It is no use to say that we are born two thousand years too late to give room to Christ. Nor will those who live at the end of the world have been born too late. Christ is always with us, always asking for room in our hearts. But now it is with the voice of our contemporaries that he speaks… with the heart of anyone in need that he longs for shelter. And giving shelter or food to anyone who asks for it, or needs it, is giving it to Christ.  Dorothy Day, The Catholic Worker (December 1945)

         At Manna House, Christ does come to us in the stranger’s guise, as Jesus promised, “Whatever you do to the least of these you do unto me” (Matthew 25:36-41).

         Christ came this morning at Manna House in Robert Lee singing Christmas carols by himself on the couch.  He was irrepressible.  I’ll never forget his tears from three years ago when he consoled me about the death of my Dad.

         Christ came this morning in Eric J., who is always ready with a word about his momma, or how he’s blessed to be alive.

         Christ came this morning in Michael who ever so gently and quietly asked if he could get a pair of socks even though he knew the list was full.  Byron graciously obliged him.

         Christ came this morning in Michael who asked me to pray for him as he was feeling woozy and his arm felt funny.  I told him I’d pray for him but also that he needed to get to the emergency room.  He promised me he would.

         Christ came this morning in Bob who brought sad news from the streets of a prostitute who sometimes came to Manna House, who was killed.  Bob said, “She had a big heart, she loved so many, Jesus loved her.”

         I could add more names and stories.  It was a typical morning at Manna House; nothing special happened, except Christ came through the door again and again.

         Here’s my plea, aimed particularly at Christians and their churches, please open your hearts and your doors to Christ who is on the streets.  Room in the Inn needs your help.  You could offer shelter to 12 people one night a week or once a month.  Contact Lisa Anderson.  901-246-8052.  You will experience the joy of serving Christ.  Jesus himself guarantees it.

Black Lives Matter at Manna House

“I was walking down the sidewalk,” George told me, “when the police drove up along side of me.  I wasn’t doing anything; just walking.”  George has been a guest with us at Manna House for a long time.  He’s a mild mannered, bespectacled, slender African American man in his early forties.  He has also been on and off the streets over the years.  Work is sporadic and doesn’t pay that well and housing is expensive.

“They told me to stop.  So I did.  Then I put my hands up in the air and said, ‘Hands up!  Don’t shoot!’  The cop who got out of the car said to me, ‘That shit’s annoying,’ and then he handcuffed me.”

“Did they arrest you George?”

“Nah, they were just mad because I said, ‘Hands up!  Don’t shoot!’  They had to let me go.  I hadn’t done anything.”

As George told me this story a small crowd had gathered around us.  There was a lot of laughter.  I heard him tell the story several more times through the course of the morning.  Each time heads shook with approval and mirth.

“You showed ‘em.  You’re not gonna take that anymore” one guest said.

Another observed, “I gotta hand it to you George.  You make me want to do the same.”

            I keep learning from our guests at Manna House, about courage, persistence, and the subversion of hatred through humor.  When I heard George’s story this morning, I thought about Miguel de La Torre, a Christian ethicist who has written about an “ethics para joder.”  The phrase “para joder” means “to screw with” as in to mess with the system.  George was doing some “para joder” when he said “Hands up!  Don’t shoot!” in response to the cops stopping him.  A homeless man doesn’t have much power when faced with the police harassing him, but he found a creative way to screw with the system, or as St. Paul put it, to “not be overcome by evil but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:21).

            Later, Valerie Bridgeman, a womanist theologian and friend, shared a James Baldwin quotation that he wrote in 1960.  “The white policeman” Baldwin stated, “finds himself at the very center of the revolution now occurring in the world.  He is not prepared for it—naturally, nobody is—and, what is possibly more to the point, he is exposed, as few white people are, to anguish of the black people around him…  One day, to everyone’s astonishment, someone drops a match in the powder keg and everything blows up.  Before the dust has settled or the blood congealed, editorials, speeches, and civil-rights commissions are loud in the land, demanding to know what happened.  What happened is that Negroes want to be treated like humans.”

            George when he said, “Hands up.  Don’t shoot.” wanted to be treated like a human.  He didn’t want to be stopped on the street just because he’s a Black man and homeless.  His life as a Black man matters.  It is a simple message really, much like what the Sanitation workers on strike in Memphis in 1968 said with their signs, “I Am a Man.”

            Jesus said, “Black life matters” when he identified with those in his society who were oppressed (Matthew 25:31-46).  St. Paul did the same when he urged the Corinthian disciples of Jesus to be especially concerned to treat with dignity and respect those members of the Body of Christ treated as less honorable (1 Corinthians 12:12-27).

            We try to say the same when we welcome our guests to Manna House each morning.  When we practice hospitality, we honor those systemically rejected as dishonorable, we welcome those pushed to the margins, and we affirm “the least of these” as being the very presence of Christ in our lives.  We’re engaged in a mustard seed effort to move toward a Beloved Community in which because Black lives matter, all lives matter.  I’m grateful to George for his “para joder” of “Hands Up.  Don’t Shoot” which witnessed to that Beloved Community.

Miracle(s) on Jefferson Street?

Miracle(s) on Jefferson Street?

The last man to shower today was a big man; we’ll call him “Charles.”  He had waited patiently through the twenty-three previous men who had showered, and through the sixty-three people who got “socks and hygiene.” (We take fifty-one names for “socks and hygiene,” but we also have the “Manna House Guarantee” that if you arrive before 8:30am, you can still get on the list).  Finally, Charles was called to come in for his shower.  As with everyone who showers, he got a complete change of clothes.  He turned in his old clothes to be laundered and put back on the shelves; it is a “clothing library.” 

When Charles finished his shower and got dressed, Lynn and Helen got him a hat.  But they were stymied when they looked for gloves big enough to fit his massive hands.  At the end of the day, the gloves remaining were one size fits all, which meant not big enough for Charles.  Everyone was feeling frustrated.  Then “Wayne” came back to the clothing room.  He had gotten gloves earlier in the morning.  Now he was wondering if there might be a smaller sized pair since the ones he had were too big.  What Kathleen called, “the miracle of the gloves” was underway.  The gloves too big for Wayne fit Charles perfectly.   Meanwhile, Wayne was smitten by some mittens.  He liked that they looked like boxing gloves.  Smiles all around.

While this was going on “Linda” started to tell me that she believes in angels.  One day, when she was in high school, she and her little brother got off the bus to walk home.  There was a tremendous rainstorm.  And her little brother fell into a culvert and was swept away by the rushing waters.  He was gone in a flash.  Hours later, when all hope was gone, a man appeared at their front door, with her little brother.  He was soaking wet and they hurried him into the house.  In the commotion and joy it was a few minutes before they sought to return their attention to the man who had brought back the little boy.  He was gone.  “This was in a small town,” Linda said, “everyone knew everyone.  But no one knew who that man was; no one had seen him before and no one ever saw him again.”  Her little brother simply said, “He pulled me out of the water.” 

“Yes, I believe in angels” Linda said, “and miracles too.”

On this past Monday night at Claybrook and Jefferson, one block from Manna House, a drug dealer started to beat up a woman.  Others broke up the struggle and sent the drug dealer running.  Today the woman showed up at Manna House.  Still bruised, “Suzy” works the streets and struggles with her drug addiction.  Like so many women on the streets, she has a long history of violence being done to her, that’s how she started out on the streets, running away from violence.

Today Suzy needed shoes.  Her shoes were torn, with worn out soles.  I found her a pair of shoes, actually some nice boots.  I wasn’t sure if they would fit because she needed a woman’s 10 or 10½ and I could only find a men’s 9.  “Give these a try,” I said, “I sure hope they will work for you.” 

But she hesitated to try them on.  “I don’t want to take these shoes off in front of you.  My feet stink real bad.”

“Don’t worry,” I responded, “I don’t have much of a sense of smell.  I won’t even notice. It’s ok.”  So, she took off her shoes to reveal some very dirty socks.  We got her some clean socks.  The boots fit perfectly.  Maybe this was the miracle of the boots.

Another guest came in the house.  He had on no coat, no hat, no gloves, and horribly worn out shoes.  He told us, “I fell down, and when I came to, all my stuff was gone.”  He was holding his arm.  “I think I hurt it pretty bad.”

Kathleen and Clyde had a look at his arm.  “It’s probably broken,” they agreed.  “You need to get to the hospital.”  But before he left we set him up with a coat, hat, gloves, and shoes.  Thanks to generous donors, we had everything he needed.  I call this the miracle that happens when people share.

As the day ended, “Roy” asked me if I could pray for him.  Roy told me, “I’m not feeling very well, not in my body and not in my head.”

“I’ll pray for you Roy, but maybe Moses can too.”  Moses was standing near us at the door.  They left together, and I saw them on the front porch a few minutes later.  Moses had his hands on Roy’s shoulders, and both of them had their heads bent in prayer.  For the next few days, I’ll be praying for Roy as well.  Maybe another miracle will happen.  I’ll ask Roy on Monday how he’s feeling.

Apocalyptic and Advent and a Change is Gonna Come

Apocalyptic and Advent and A Change is Gonna Come

Apocalyptic and Advent go hand in hand.  So, I was quite pleased this morning when a Jehovah’s Witness came to Manna House, and asked if she could pass out tracts.  On the cover of “The Watchtower” was the question “Is Satan Real?”

            Providentially, some of us had just been sharing with each other the “Word of the Day” from First Peter, “The end of all things is near; therefore be serious and discipline yourselves for the sake of your prayers. Above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins. Be hospitable to one another without complaining” (1 Peter 4:7-9). 

Is Satan real?  No guest doubted the existence of Satan.  “Look around” one said, “there’s plenty of evidence for Satan.”  And no guest doubted that the way things are needs to come to an end.  “This world is hardly fit to live in.” The reign of Satan needs to be replaced with the Reign of God. “I’m sure ready for something different.”

Apocalyptic, like Advent, is radical stuff; both proclaim the coming of the Lord who has a very different world in view than the current world. How do we get ready to welcome God into this world and into our lives?  First Peter makes it plain, “maintain constant love for one another.  Be hospitable to one another without complaining.”

            Apocalyptic, like Advent, is not complicated (though religious folks are sometimes good at complicating both).  A good Advent song is Sam Cooke’s “A Change is Gonna Come.”  Listen at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOYuhLNwh3A

            When I looked around at Manna House this morning, I could hear this song echoing among the guests.  Homelessness is rooted in poverty, in the way in which our economy is organized to help “the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.”

I was born by the river in a little tent
Oh and just like the river I've been running ever since
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will

            Religious people who want to preserve the ways things are have turned apocalyptic into a bus schedule for the end of the world.  This keeps apocalyptic safely removed from judgment about the present as it promises “a pie in the sky when you die.”  But Sam Cooke keeps apocalyptic real.

It's been too hard living but I'm afraid to die
'Cause I don't know what's up there beyond the sky
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will

            Our guests know the realities of exclusion based upon race and class, upon appearances and money and social status.  They know how the police and the courts and the jails are arrayed against them.  Apocalyptic unveils the present order.  It tears away the veneer of respectability and established power, and boldly names the system for what it is, “Satanic.”  In apocalyptic there isn’t a lot of grey; its black and white.

I go to the movie
And I go downtown

Somebody keep telling me, "Don't hang around"
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will

Our guests know how the world is organized.  They know the system is corrupt, unjust, racist, horribly sinful and in need of redemption.  Homelessness doesn’t exist in the Reign of God.  Homelessness, like the killing of black men and women in the streets of the United States, reveals the way things are as evil, reflecting the powers of sin and death.
Then I go to my brother
And I say, "Brother, help me please"
But he winds up knockin' me
Back down on my knees
            And our guests know hope, they know the way things are is not the way things are supposed to be.  They know the Christmas message of Love overcoming Hate and Life overcoming Death.  In true Advent and Apocalyptic spirit, they are resilient resisters to the status quo.

Oh there been times that I thought I couldn't last for long
But now I think I'm able to carry on
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will.

"Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last." (Mark 15:37).

"Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last." (Mark 15:37).

This was our “word for the day” at Manna House this morning, the day after a Grand Jury in New York failed to indict the police officer who killed Eric Garner.  The “crime” Mr. Garner was engaged in when confronted by New York City police officers is one familiar to many of our guests at Manna House.  Mr. Garner was selling individual cigarettes from a pack.  It is a low level form of entrepreneurship.  You buy a pack of cigarettes and then sell each cigarette for 25 cents or so.  This way you make a few bucks.

A police officer put Mr. Garner in a chokehold, despite such chokeholds being against New York Police Department policy.  Mr. Garner repeatedly said, “I can’t breathe.”  Then he passed out, and died.

"Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last." (Mark 15:37).

Guests at Manna House are familiar with police harassment.  One reported how the police stopped him a few weeks back as he walked along Claybrook, one block from Manna House.  “They told me to take my hands out of my pockets.  I asked why?  They said, ‘We want to see what’s in your pockets.’  I said, ‘My hands are in my pockets.’  And then I showed them my hands.  They keep after you and keep after you.  It’s frustrating.”

We don’t have children at Manna House very often.  But today, there were three children who came with their mothers.  These women are not homeless, but come for the coffee and socializing and a few items.  While waiting for “socks and hygiene” the mothers, both African American, sat with their children, and listened in on the conversation about the “Word of the Day.”  One held her four-year old boy closely and said, “All this scares me for my child. I just don’t know.  I just don’t know.  How will I keep him safe?”

“Jesus died like that man did,” said another guest, “the police got him.”

“I guess we’ll just have to walk around with our hands up,” said a guest as he raised his hands.

“Even then I don’t know if we’d be safe,” yet another guest responded.

Then one who had been quiet offered, “I don’t even know what to say anymore.  It just needs to stop.” 

Said another as he shook his head, “It is hard enough to survive out here without worrying about this too.”

I could hear in the voices of these guests their pain, anguish, weariness, and sadness.

Christians are in the season of Advent.  A spiritual writer, Br. Robert L’Esperance writes, “Advent is a time to look for “desert places”: the place of solitude, the place of true silence in which we can become fully awake to our sin and God’s forgiving grace which alone can heal it.”

If white people would listen more carefully, and drop the defensive judgments and rationalizations that try to explain away the deaths of African Americans at the hands of police officers, then an important first step would be taken toward the work of racial justice.  I find Manna House to be a good place to listen, to consider the Word of the Day in light of the events of the day, and to learn from those who see from below.  Dietrich Bonhoeffer urged no less when he wrote from prison, “There remains an experience of incomparable value. We have for once learnt to see the great events of world history from below, from the perspective of the outcast, the suspects, the maltreated, the powerless, the oppressed, the reviled – in short, from the perspective of those who suffer.”