Conversation from this morning at Manna House where we opened early because it was 23 degrees at 6:46a.m.
Me: "It sure is cold this morning."
Robert Lee (a guest): "It's a cold world."
When we pray as we open, we hold hands because we know "the only chain that we can stand is the chain of hand in hand." In the winter I can feel the cold hands of those who have spent the night on the streets. Our guests can feel my warm hands as I have spent the night in a warm bed in a warm house (even though I keep my thermostat set at 61 degrees).
After we pray we begin to serve coffee, and those cold hands warm up quickly when put around a cup of hot coffee.
Today was Thursday, so it was a men's shower day. Thanks to our new "on-demand" hot water heater, every man who showered had hot water. Thanks to donors, every man who showered was able to put on clothes that will help to keep him warm. Joseph even got a very fine coat, not technicolor, but still one that would protect him from the cold. Keith got some shoes so his feet will stay warm (his old ones had big holes where the cold seeped in). Hats, gloves, scarves, blankets--all went out today to our guests who came in chilled.
We did all this with warm hearts of welcome, inviting people to stay in the warmth of the house.
"Little by little" Dorothy Day used to say. Little by little we seek to take the edge off this cold world.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Monday, February 24, 2014
Accepting Limits
Accepting Limits
When I came to Manna House this morning at 6:45a.m. , I had to make a decision. The temperature was hovering right around 32
degrees. There were already eight guests
waiting, lined up on the sidewalk and standing along the fence, and I’m sure
most of them had spent the night outside.
For the past few weeks, when the temperatures were in the 20’s, as soon
as one of us who come early to plug in the coffee would arrive, we would open Manna
House. To make people wait until our
usual opening time of 8:00a.m. did not
seem right when the temperatures were so cold.
But this morning, with the temperature barely above or just at freezing,
I had to decide, would I open early or not.
I decided
not to open early. And perhaps this
decision is like a lot of decisions at Manna House when we face great need with
our limited humanity. Such decisions may
not be right, but they are the decisions we have to make. You can’t be in the work of offering
hospitality to people on the streets without getting your hands dirty in this
way. Somewhere along the way, those of
us who do this work for the long haul face our limitations and realize our
energy, our love, and our patience are not endless.
This
morning I was too tired, physically, emotionally, and spiritually to open the
doors at 6:45a.m. I needed the next 45 minutes, before other volunteers
arrived, and before the lists for the showers, for socks and hygiene, and Room
in the Inn would be taken, to prepare myself for the
morning’s work of hospitality.
I needed time to read, to pray, and
to reflect. I needed time to experience
something of God’s hospitality for me before I could offer hospitality to
anyone else. I needed to prepare some
soul space for offering hospitality.
When I decided not to open, I felt my finitude in my physical, emotional
and spiritual limitations, and I felt my fallibility in wondering whether I
made the right decision to not open early.
In some ways this is yet again the question of
boundaries in the work of hospitality.
When do we say “no” and when do we say “yes”? How can we be consistent and committed for
the long haul and practice sustainable hospitality? For three weeks we opened early during the
coldest weather. But we can’t open early
all of time. We would get worn down,
exhausted, and unable to keep offering hospitality.
In the end
as I prayed, I took some solace as I remembered even Jesus had to recognize his
limits and take some time for quiet and prayer. “In the morning, while it was still very dark,
Jesus got up and went to a deserted place and prayed there” (Mark 1:35), and, “But Jesus
often withdrew to lonely places and prayed” (Luke 5:16) (and see also Matthew
14:13).
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Maggots, Excrement, and Blood June 14, 2007
Maggots, Excrement,
and Blood June 14, 2007
What kind of society is so disdainful of people in need that
man who is poor, a double amputee, and who has AIDS lives on the streets? Such a man came to Manna House today. He was pushed up the ramp to our porch and a
few of our guests asked me if he could get a shower. My first response was that the list for
showers was full, but then the smell from this man told me that he needed a
shower right away. Two of our guests
helped me lift him in his wheelchair up over the stoop at our front door. As we did, I noticed drops of some kind of
liquid coming from under his chair.
A few
minutes later, as Ashley and I tried to lift this man into the showers, I found
out where the drops were coming from. His
backside was covered with a foul combination of excrement, urine, blood, and
maggots. He told us he had come to Manna
House hoping we could give him a shower, and get him cleaned up enough that he
could return to the streets. I thought
initially we might be able to rinse off the filth covering him and get him into
a shower. But it quickly became evident
that he needed medical attention. Just
one attempt to rinse him off while he still sat in his wheelchair left the
shower room floor covered with a smelly mess and several of us gagging.
Kathleen called an ambulance. Once the paramedics arrived and they were
told of the situation they said he needed to be cleaned up before they would
take him to the hospital. His care, they
said, would be better if he came without so much filth on him. Each of these three paramedics was
compassionate, generous, and professional.
They and Kathleen came up with a plan by which he could be moved from
his wheelchair into the shower. His
clothing was gently removed and he was eased onto a small plastic chair in the
shower stall. This movement left him
shaking from pain, as his skin broke open further from the maggots eating him. The smell was so intense even one of the
paramedics struggled to keep her composure.
After he
was rinsed off, the paramedics lifted him onto a stretcher, and then they began
to negotiate the turns out of the house.
As he was being wheeled out the front door several of us assured him
that we were glad he had come to Manna House, that we would be keeping him in
our prayers, and that we would come to visit him in the hospital. He was soon in the ambulance and on his way
to the Med.
Then the
cleanup began. The porch, the living
room, and the clothing room—all had a trail of liquid from his chair. The shower room was the worst; the floor was
covered with the maggots and the crud that had covered this man. As we cleaned, the intensity of what had
taken place began to sink into my heart.
I have
heard the story of St. Francis embracing a leper, overcoming his repulsion to
share God’s love. I have heard the
stories of Jesus stopping to heal a woman who had been bleeding for twelve
years, and stopping to heal lepers, the blind, and the paralyzed. Now somehow it seemed that I was in those
stories. I wondered if Francis had
gagged at the smell, or Jesus had been repulsed by the ugliness of
illness. I know I had gagged and had been
repulsed. I also know God spoke to me
about just going forward and doing what needed to be done to care for this man
who had come to Manna House.
I am also
left angry and frustrated. I know
TennCare has been cut. I know how public
hospitals like the Med bear the brunt of care for the poor and their funding is
cut and cut and cut. I wish President
Bush and Governor Bredeson would have seen what I saw this morning and smelled
what I smelled. I also wish they would
have been in our shower room to meet this man who through the humiliation of
strangers caring for him, seeing him in this way, remained patient and dignified
and forgiving of our attempts at care. I
also wish everyone who speaks disdainfully of the poor, of people on the
streets, and who do not give a damn about people suffering for lack of health
care and housing would have been there.
Maybe standing together confronted with the smell of excrement and
rotting flesh we together could come up with a way to care for people in
need. Maybe standing there together we
would take to heart Jesus’ words that our humanity is at stake in whether or
not we feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, give drink to the thirsty, and
visit the prisoner and the sick. Maybe
we might even get angry enough to demand the changes we all need to live
together as a compassionate and just society.
"Here I Will Stay" by Carla Piette
Here I Will Stay
The Lord has guided me,
dropping me here
at a time and place in history
to search for and find him.
Not somewhere else.
But here.
And so here I will stay until
I have found that broken Lord
in all his forms
and all his various pieces,
until I have bound up all his
wounds
and covered his whole body,
his people,
with the rich oil of gladness.
And when that has been done,
he will up and drop me again,
either into his promised kingdom
or into the midst
of another jigsaw puzzle of
his broken body,
his hurting people.
Carla Piette, M.M.
The 40-year-old Maryknoll sister was tragically killed during a flash flood just five months after arriving El Salvador— an answer to a plea for help from Archbishop Oscar Romero. Ironically, Romero was murdered the day she arrived in the country.
The Lord has guided me,
dropping me here
at a time and place in history
to search for and find him.
Not somewhere else.
But here.
And so here I will stay until
I have found that broken Lord
in all his forms
and all his various pieces,
until I have bound up all his
wounds
and covered his whole body,
his people,
with the rich oil of gladness.
And when that has been done,
he will up and drop me again,
either into his promised kingdom
or into the midst
of another jigsaw puzzle of
his broken body,
his hurting people.
Carla Piette, M.M.
The 40-year-old Maryknoll sister was tragically killed during a flash flood just five months after arriving El Salvador— an answer to a plea for help from Archbishop Oscar Romero. Ironically, Romero was murdered the day she arrived in the country.
Lamentation
Lamentation
Our guests at Manna House rarely complain. In fact, regular volunteers and those who come to help just for a time or two, often note the hopefulness of our guests. “They always talk about how they are blessed.” “They smile so much.” “They laugh so easily.” “They never complain about the weather, but just say they are happy to be alive.” These observations reflect the truth about guests at Manna House. Our guests rarely voice a “woe is me.”
But it is also true that this isn’t the whole story. Our guests face many hardships, and a life of poverty and being on the streets take their toll. Our guests are much more vulnerable to illness, accident, violence, and death that those with a more physically comfortable and secure life. In the past months we have lost to death, Leroy, Michael, Earl, Sarah, Roosevelt, Frank, Carol, probably Rick, and now Willie.
Last week, I happened into some conversations with a few guests about the suffering they face. What they shared went beyond the usual challenges of finding a place that is warm and safe to stay, getting a shower, getting healthy food to eat (plenty of soup kitchens serve food, but most places serve food guaranteed to create high blood pressure, high blood sugar, and fat).
One guest told of how after months of trying he still can’t find any work. Some said the bitter cold was getting them down. One shared that when he had come in the house he was stiff and almost frozen. Another pointed out that he’s got deteriorating hips, a leg that alternates between numbness and burning pain, and on top of that seizures, that he has been told will eventually kill him. “I guess I have a lot of complaints,” he concluded.
I responded, “Doesn’t sound like complaints to me; sounds like lamentation.”
“What’s lamentation?” several said at the same time.
“Divinely inspired bitching,” I stated, “it’s in the Bible.”
“Really?”
“Yes, there’s a whole book called Lamentations.”
“Read me some.”
At that I got out my phone, got my “on-line” Bible up and going, and began to read from Lamentations chapter three.
“I am the man who has seen affliction by the rod of the Lord’s wrath. God has driven me away and made me walk in darkness rather than light; indeed, God has turned God’s hand against me again and again, all day long. God has made my skin and my flesh grow old and has broken my bones. God has besieged me and surrounded me with bitterness and hardship. God has made me dwell in darkness like those long dead. God has walled me in so I cannot escape; God has weighed me down with chains. Even when I call out or cry for help, God shuts out my prayer. God has barred my way with blocks of stone; God has made my paths crooked.”
“That’s me,” said the guest who had worried that he was complaining too much.
“Me too,” several others agreed.
I offered that this is an honest book. It doesn’t let God off the hook for the suffering that is going on. The question raised is not, “Where is God in the midst of such suffering?” Lamentations goes further and ponders, “Why is God doing this to me?”
The guest said, “I’m going to have to read more from this book.”
And with that our conversation ended.
I’ve been thinking about this conversation; mulling it over. I remembered that I asked a guest once how he was doing. His response was, “I’m lower than whale shit.”
I kept reading in Lamentations 3, and the author keeps on going, like our guests keep on going. As well aware as they are of their vulnerability and suffering, they have a faith like the faith expressed in the Book of Lamentations. It is an honest faith, not afraid to put to God some hard questions.
Only this kind of faith that boldly states the reality of the suffering, the reality that even God seems opposed to the person who is suffering, can hold on in the midst of suffering.
The author of lamentations continues, “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’ The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.”
Our guests do not accept their suffering as God’s will. They know their lives and the world are not as they should be. All of them carry deep grief from loss of family, jobs, home, health. They feel the injustices, and get not only sad but angry. Their keeping on is not resignation; it is rather a faithful resistance to suffering as incompatible finally with God’s will.
Our guests at Manna House rarely complain. In fact, regular volunteers and those who come to help just for a time or two, often note the hopefulness of our guests. “They always talk about how they are blessed.” “They smile so much.” “They laugh so easily.” “They never complain about the weather, but just say they are happy to be alive.” These observations reflect the truth about guests at Manna House. Our guests rarely voice a “woe is me.”
But it is also true that this isn’t the whole story. Our guests face many hardships, and a life of poverty and being on the streets take their toll. Our guests are much more vulnerable to illness, accident, violence, and death that those with a more physically comfortable and secure life. In the past months we have lost to death, Leroy, Michael, Earl, Sarah, Roosevelt, Frank, Carol, probably Rick, and now Willie.
Last week, I happened into some conversations with a few guests about the suffering they face. What they shared went beyond the usual challenges of finding a place that is warm and safe to stay, getting a shower, getting healthy food to eat (plenty of soup kitchens serve food, but most places serve food guaranteed to create high blood pressure, high blood sugar, and fat).
One guest told of how after months of trying he still can’t find any work. Some said the bitter cold was getting them down. One shared that when he had come in the house he was stiff and almost frozen. Another pointed out that he’s got deteriorating hips, a leg that alternates between numbness and burning pain, and on top of that seizures, that he has been told will eventually kill him. “I guess I have a lot of complaints,” he concluded.
I responded, “Doesn’t sound like complaints to me; sounds like lamentation.”
“What’s lamentation?” several said at the same time.
“Divinely inspired bitching,” I stated, “it’s in the Bible.”
“Really?”
“Yes, there’s a whole book called Lamentations.”
“Read me some.”
At that I got out my phone, got my “on-line” Bible up and going, and began to read from Lamentations chapter three.
“I am the man who has seen affliction by the rod of the Lord’s wrath. God has driven me away and made me walk in darkness rather than light; indeed, God has turned God’s hand against me again and again, all day long. God has made my skin and my flesh grow old and has broken my bones. God has besieged me and surrounded me with bitterness and hardship. God has made me dwell in darkness like those long dead. God has walled me in so I cannot escape; God has weighed me down with chains. Even when I call out or cry for help, God shuts out my prayer. God has barred my way with blocks of stone; God has made my paths crooked.”
“That’s me,” said the guest who had worried that he was complaining too much.
“Me too,” several others agreed.
I offered that this is an honest book. It doesn’t let God off the hook for the suffering that is going on. The question raised is not, “Where is God in the midst of such suffering?” Lamentations goes further and ponders, “Why is God doing this to me?”
The guest said, “I’m going to have to read more from this book.”
And with that our conversation ended.
I’ve been thinking about this conversation; mulling it over. I remembered that I asked a guest once how he was doing. His response was, “I’m lower than whale shit.”
I kept reading in Lamentations 3, and the author keeps on going, like our guests keep on going. As well aware as they are of their vulnerability and suffering, they have a faith like the faith expressed in the Book of Lamentations. It is an honest faith, not afraid to put to God some hard questions.
Only this kind of faith that boldly states the reality of the suffering, the reality that even God seems opposed to the person who is suffering, can hold on in the midst of suffering.
The author of lamentations continues, “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’ The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.”
Our guests do not accept their suffering as God’s will. They know their lives and the world are not as they should be. All of them carry deep grief from loss of family, jobs, home, health. They feel the injustices, and get not only sad but angry. Their keeping on is not resignation; it is rather a faithful resistance to suffering as incompatible finally with God’s will.
Jesus' Promises to Be With Us
esus made a few promises to his disciples about when they would experience his presence after he was gone from this earth. And generally churches and Christians are pretty good about addressing two of those promises.
Jesus promised that he would be present in prayer since he said, “when two or three are gathered in my name, I will be there among them” (Mt 18:19-20).
Jesus also promised that he would be present when disciples gathered to share in what is now called “The Lord’s Supper” or “Eucharist.” He gave rather explicit instructions to “do this in memory of me” (Matthew 26:26-28, Mark 14:22-24, Luke 22:19, 1 Corinthians 11:24). Additionally, there is the famous Gospel story of two disciples on the road to Emmaus after Jesus’ execution. These disciples encountered the risen Jesus when they broke bread with him (Luke 24:28-32).
Finally, and just as explicitly, Jesus promised that he would be present whenever his disciples serve the poor (Mt 25:31-46). In fact, Jesus directly identifies with the poor, “for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me” (Mt 25:35-36).
Now here is what is wonderful. The churches that are participating in Room in the Inn (thank you Lisa Anderson), welcoming people who are experiencing homelessness in for a meal, and a safe, warm and hospitable place to stay are actually being blessed by the presence of Jesus. In each guest coming for food, drink, clothing, and care, in each stranger welcomed in this way, Jesus is present.
What is also wonderful is that there is a church called "Grace Place" that is right in the women's prison here in Memphis, meeting Jesus in those incarcerated. Diane Harrison is providing leadership for that church.
Now here is what is surprising, how so many churches in Memphis apparently don’t care to meet Jesus in the poor and imprisoned.
Now here is what is NOT surprising, that the first witnesses to Jesus' resurrection were women, and that it is two women ministers who are leading the efforts in this city to be with the resurrected Jesus in the poor and imprisoned.
Jesus promised that he would be present in prayer since he said, “when two or three are gathered in my name, I will be there among them” (Mt 18:19-20).
Jesus also promised that he would be present when disciples gathered to share in what is now called “The Lord’s Supper” or “Eucharist.” He gave rather explicit instructions to “do this in memory of me” (Matthew 26:26-28, Mark 14:22-24, Luke 22:19, 1 Corinthians 11:24). Additionally, there is the famous Gospel story of two disciples on the road to Emmaus after Jesus’ execution. These disciples encountered the risen Jesus when they broke bread with him (Luke 24:28-32).
Finally, and just as explicitly, Jesus promised that he would be present whenever his disciples serve the poor (Mt 25:31-46). In fact, Jesus directly identifies with the poor, “for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me” (Mt 25:35-36).
Now here is what is wonderful. The churches that are participating in Room in the Inn (thank you Lisa Anderson), welcoming people who are experiencing homelessness in for a meal, and a safe, warm and hospitable place to stay are actually being blessed by the presence of Jesus. In each guest coming for food, drink, clothing, and care, in each stranger welcomed in this way, Jesus is present.
What is also wonderful is that there is a church called "Grace Place" that is right in the women's prison here in Memphis, meeting Jesus in those incarcerated. Diane Harrison is providing leadership for that church.
Now here is what is surprising, how so many churches in Memphis apparently don’t care to meet Jesus in the poor and imprisoned.
Now here is what is NOT surprising, that the first witnesses to Jesus' resurrection were women, and that it is two women ministers who are leading the efforts in this city to be with the resurrected Jesus in the poor and imprisoned.
Monday, February 10, 2014
"They Took My Clothes and God Saw It"
“They took my clothes and God saw it!”
“They took my clothes and God saw it!” was the anguished cry of a guest I’ll call “Charlie,” who came into the clothing room at Manna House this morning. Charlie had arrived in ill-fitting long underwear (no pants), shoes with no socks, a very light long sleeve shirt, no hat and no gloves. The temperature was 26 degrees.
We had not seen Charlie at Manna House for the past several weeks.
He told us where he had been and what had happened. The police had picked him up and taken him to the Memphis Mental Health Institute (MMHI). From there, for the past few weeks he had been under the “care” of two more different organizations, both supposedly to help him with his mental illness. Yesterday it was determined that he was stable enough to be let go.
So, this morning he was discharged and put out onto the streets. But without the clothes Charlie had owned. He had protested but he was told they didn’t know or care what had happened to his “trash.” And this finally culminated in Charlie’s cry, “They took my clothes and God saw it!” He wanted them to know that if no one else saw what they had done, God at least had, and there would be an accounting.
Who else is there to bear witness against those who would cast a man out into the streets on a cold winter’s morning without proper dress? Who else would care? Charlie’s cry was one of frustration, desperation, and prophetic judgment. “They took my clothes and God saw it!”
Yesterday’s reading in the Christian lectionary (the list of Scriptures for each Sunday of the year) included words from another prophet, one named “Isaiah.” Isaiah took the Israelite nation to task for its religious hypocrisy. The Israelite nation had nice religious services, but it also had horrible injustice in which the poor were despised and exploited. Isaiah told them, “Look you fast only to quarrel and to fight and to strike one another with a wicked fist. Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high” (Is 58:4).
Isaiah spoke to the people of what God wants. “Is not this the fast that I choose, to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? It is not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?” (Isaiah 58:6-7)
The volunteers in the clothing room at Manna House made sure Charlie was given the clothes he needed to make it on the streets in this cold weather: socks, some long underwear that fit properly, pants, an undershirt, a long sleeve shirt, a sweatshirt, a coat, a hat, and gloves. He was able to leave with clothes that fit and that would keep him warm.
But Charlie’s cry still echoes, “They took my clothes and God saw it.” We live in a time and place in which the poor are denigrated and denied their dignity as human beings. Witness the cutting of food stamps while the largest military budget in the world goes forward. Witness the Governor of Tennessee refusing federal dollars for healthcare for the poor because he wants to gain political points for opposing “Obamacare.” Witness, Charlie, stripped of his clothes and turned out into the cold. Witness the very few churches willing to open to their doors to welcome homeless people in for the night in the midst of freezing temperatures.
Isaiah was right and he remains right, “See the Lord’s hand is not too short to save, nor God’s ear too dull to hear. Rather, your iniquities have been barriers between you and your God, and your sins have hidden God’s face from you so that God does not hear… We wait for justice, but there is none; for salvation, but it is far from us” (Isaiah 59:1-2, 11). “They took my clothes and God saw it!”
“They took my clothes and God saw it!” was the anguished cry of a guest I’ll call “Charlie,” who came into the clothing room at Manna House this morning. Charlie had arrived in ill-fitting long underwear (no pants), shoes with no socks, a very light long sleeve shirt, no hat and no gloves. The temperature was 26 degrees.
We had not seen Charlie at Manna House for the past several weeks.
He told us where he had been and what had happened. The police had picked him up and taken him to the Memphis Mental Health Institute (MMHI). From there, for the past few weeks he had been under the “care” of two more different organizations, both supposedly to help him with his mental illness. Yesterday it was determined that he was stable enough to be let go.
So, this morning he was discharged and put out onto the streets. But without the clothes Charlie had owned. He had protested but he was told they didn’t know or care what had happened to his “trash.” And this finally culminated in Charlie’s cry, “They took my clothes and God saw it!” He wanted them to know that if no one else saw what they had done, God at least had, and there would be an accounting.
Who else is there to bear witness against those who would cast a man out into the streets on a cold winter’s morning without proper dress? Who else would care? Charlie’s cry was one of frustration, desperation, and prophetic judgment. “They took my clothes and God saw it!”
Yesterday’s reading in the Christian lectionary (the list of Scriptures for each Sunday of the year) included words from another prophet, one named “Isaiah.” Isaiah took the Israelite nation to task for its religious hypocrisy. The Israelite nation had nice religious services, but it also had horrible injustice in which the poor were despised and exploited. Isaiah told them, “Look you fast only to quarrel and to fight and to strike one another with a wicked fist. Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high” (Is 58:4).
Isaiah spoke to the people of what God wants. “Is not this the fast that I choose, to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? It is not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?” (Isaiah 58:6-7)
The volunteers in the clothing room at Manna House made sure Charlie was given the clothes he needed to make it on the streets in this cold weather: socks, some long underwear that fit properly, pants, an undershirt, a long sleeve shirt, a sweatshirt, a coat, a hat, and gloves. He was able to leave with clothes that fit and that would keep him warm.
But Charlie’s cry still echoes, “They took my clothes and God saw it.” We live in a time and place in which the poor are denigrated and denied their dignity as human beings. Witness the cutting of food stamps while the largest military budget in the world goes forward. Witness the Governor of Tennessee refusing federal dollars for healthcare for the poor because he wants to gain political points for opposing “Obamacare.” Witness, Charlie, stripped of his clothes and turned out into the cold. Witness the very few churches willing to open to their doors to welcome homeless people in for the night in the midst of freezing temperatures.
Isaiah was right and he remains right, “See the Lord’s hand is not too short to save, nor God’s ear too dull to hear. Rather, your iniquities have been barriers between you and your God, and your sins have hidden God’s face from you so that God does not hear… We wait for justice, but there is none; for salvation, but it is far from us” (Isaiah 59:1-2, 11). “They took my clothes and God saw it!”
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Hospitality and Saying "No"
Sometimes when we are offering hospitality we have to tell a guest “no” in response to a request. It is11:14am (we close at 11:30am) and
a man walks in asking for a shower on a Tuesday (which is women’s shower day)
and he is told “no.” Fifty-one people have been served “socks and hygiene” and
a guest walks in and wants socks and hygiene items. The guest is told “no.” A
woman asks for a shower and a change of clothes on a Monday or a Thursday,
which are the days we do men’s showers, and so she is told “no.” Someone walks
into the house wanting a cup of coffee but it is 11:23am and so it is past “last
call.” This guest is told “no.”
Occasionally a guest will ask for a “special favor” just for him or her, maybe it is a coat on a day we don’t offer coats, or seconds on a meal when we don’t have enough for seconds for everyone, or perhaps a ride or maybe some money. For those kind of whispered special requests the answer is “no.” We say “no” to all sorts of requests.
Of course we find it difficult to say “no” so often. We want to help, or we wouldn’t be at Manna House. We want to meet pressing needs. We want the people we serve to be happy. We don’t want anyone to suffer from lack of needs being met.
But to keep practicing hospitality we have to say “no” because we have to recognize our limits in terms of time, resources, and energy. We can’t do it all. We’re human beings, not gods. We’re finite and frail. We cannot meet every need of every person who asks. We need rest and renewal. We need Sabbath.
Saying “no” also means we recognize the importance of boundaries in practicing hospitality. In order for hospitality to be practiced there has to be a place into which people can consistently be welcomed. There have to be boundaries of days and hours open (and closed), boundaries of expectations of respect for each other’s dignity as human beings, and boundaries as to how we have discerned with each other as volunteers and as guests the best way to offer hospitality as far as we know for now.
In light of our limits and the necessity of boundaries, we have to honestly admit we might have some less than noble reasons lurking inside of us when we desire to say “yes” to every request. If we say “yes” we will be liked, appreciated, and have our egos stroked. Saying “yes” can give a feeling of power, of “doing something”, of saving another person from the need.
So finally it is important to see that all of the answers of “no” make possible the enduring “yes” of offering hospitality. This hospitality is grounded in our humanity and God’s graciousness. This hospitality affirms the dignity of each person, guests and volunteers alike. This hospitality starts small and stays small so as to be on a human scale. This hospitality places persons above efficiency. This hospitality seeks to be consistent and ongoing, so people who have so much contingency and chaos in their lives, can depend upon a regular welcome and recognition of their dignity as human beings.
Sometimes when we are offering hospitality we have to tell a guest “no” in response to a request. It is
Occasionally a guest will ask for a “special favor” just for him or her, maybe it is a coat on a day we don’t offer coats, or seconds on a meal when we don’t have enough for seconds for everyone, or perhaps a ride or maybe some money. For those kind of whispered special requests the answer is “no.” We say “no” to all sorts of requests.
Of course we find it difficult to say “no” so often. We want to help, or we wouldn’t be at Manna House. We want to meet pressing needs. We want the people we serve to be happy. We don’t want anyone to suffer from lack of needs being met.
But to keep practicing hospitality we have to say “no” because we have to recognize our limits in terms of time, resources, and energy. We can’t do it all. We’re human beings, not gods. We’re finite and frail. We cannot meet every need of every person who asks. We need rest and renewal. We need Sabbath.
Saying “no” also means we recognize the importance of boundaries in practicing hospitality. In order for hospitality to be practiced there has to be a place into which people can consistently be welcomed. There have to be boundaries of days and hours open (and closed), boundaries of expectations of respect for each other’s dignity as human beings, and boundaries as to how we have discerned with each other as volunteers and as guests the best way to offer hospitality as far as we know for now.
In light of our limits and the necessity of boundaries, we have to honestly admit we might have some less than noble reasons lurking inside of us when we desire to say “yes” to every request. If we say “yes” we will be liked, appreciated, and have our egos stroked. Saying “yes” can give a feeling of power, of “doing something”, of saving another person from the need.
So finally it is important to see that all of the answers of “no” make possible the enduring “yes” of offering hospitality. This hospitality is grounded in our humanity and God’s graciousness. This hospitality affirms the dignity of each person, guests and volunteers alike. This hospitality starts small and stays small so as to be on a human scale. This hospitality places persons above efficiency. This hospitality seeks to be consistent and ongoing, so people who have so much contingency and chaos in their lives, can depend upon a regular welcome and recognition of their dignity as human beings.
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