Hospitality and Dirty Hands

On Tuesday morning on my way into Manna House, I ran into Jermaine in the parking lot across the street.  He was banned from Manna House about two weeks ago for fighting with another guest, who was also banned.  He wanted to know when he could come back to Manna House.  I told him that he was to be gone for a month.  He assured me that he and the other guest are again on good terms, and he also told me that he really needs a place to shower and get a change of clothes.  His clothes were indeed dirty.  After a bit more discussion we agreed that May 17th would be the day he could return to Manna House.  This would be about a month since he got into the fight.
Thinking about how Jermaine and his need for a shower, made me think of “dirty hands.”  It is not that his hands are dirty, but that mine are.  Dirty hands in philosophical and theological circles refers to how our hands get “dirty” when we face a moral dilemma, in which to do something right we have at the same time to do something wrong.
Manna House is open to provide hospitality to men and women on the streets and other people in need.  Part of that hospitality is to offer showers and a change of clothes to men like Jermaine, who are in the midst of homelessness.  Given our conviction that it is Christ whom we welcome when we welcome Jermaine, it is only right that we open our doors to him, and invite him in for a shower.
But in order to keep offering showers and hospitality as a whole, we sometimes not only have to ask someone to leave for the day, but tell that person to stay away for a longer period of time.  The right thing—offering hospitality—sometimes requires denying hospitality—which is wrong.
I know some might argue (and do so with some moral depth) that it is not wrong to deny hospitality, that it is not wrong to deny Jermaine a shower.  And on one level I even agree with that argument.  Jermaine has to face the consequences of his bad action and he needs to be held accountable.  We can’t offer hospitality to him or to anyone if we don’t have some order, and fighting certainly violates both the spirit of hospitality and the order needed to offer it.  But faced with Jermaine and his need for a shower and his repentance, and then telling him, “No, you have to wait two more weeks,” there is in my gut and in my heart the sense that continuing to ban him is wrong.
And this reminds me that Manna House is itself both a sacrament—a sign of God’s presence—and a sign of moral failure.  The God’s presence part is easy enough to see:  after all we’re welcoming people with dignity and respect and meeting some basic human needs.  The moral failure part is a little harder to see, but it is there.  Our hospitality is needed because there are people on the streets and people are so poor that they don’t have the resources to take showers, to get a cup of coffee, to have a place where they can relax and rest with friends with a few hours.  The moral failure is that there is homelessness and poverty in this land with all of its abundance and wealth.  And our little hospitality three mornings a week is not fundamentally altering this horrible injustice nor the human suffering that results.  Manna House will not end poverty in Memphis, and not even in the little neighborhood around Claybrook and Jefferson.
Yes, Manna House offers something good to our guests.  But Manna House is also a place in which the hard truth of dirty hands lurks about and occasionally surfaces.  The dirty hands can be personal, like telling Jermaine to stay away for two more weeks even when he needs a shower, and societal, we're still part of a "filthy rotten system" and implicated in its injustices.
I think we keep going, I know I keep going, because of a belief that the love offered, the respect and dignity offered, is more enduring and more powerful than our own failures, than our dirty hands, and that to do little is better than doing nothing.  And even more, I know the truth I have learned over and over again, that the love offered is grounded in God’s love that can redeem even people with dirty hands.

Taking Refuge in the Shadow of God’s Wings

Taking Refuge in the Shadow of God’s Wings

This morning brought thunderstorms with heavy rain, thunder, and lightening.  We opened Manna House early to let guests in from the pouring rain.  Several had been huddled across the street, seeking shelter at the front of a building that has a small overhang.  We were all wet by the time I got the front gate and front door of Manna House open.  As others straggled in they were more than just wet, they were thoroughly soaked. 

I couldn’t help but think of Psalm 57:1, “Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, till the storms of destruction pass by.”

            Our guests from the streets are vulnerable to “storms of destruction,” not only of bad weather, but also job loss, racism, poverty, police harassment, and imprisonment.

            As the morning passed, a number of guests got hot showers and dry clothes, many more got dry socks, and some got dry shoes.  Many of our regular guests never made it to Manna House today.  They had likely made the hard choice to stay in whatever shelter they might have rather than risk getting caught in the rain.

            The weather did clear temporarily by the time we opened at 8a.m., and we were able to set up and serve coffee on the front porch for an hour or so.  Then another storm rolled in and we all retreated into the house for the rest of the morning.  Sitting around, waiting for storms to pass, there were, as usual, a number of conversations about the news of the day.

High on the list of topics was the owner of the Los Angeles Clippers and his racist statements.  “He probably thought he was immune from criticism, having all that money,” John stated, “But he’s finding out different.  He should lose that team now.”

“I couldn’t work for the man, no way, knowing what he said,” said Bill with many shaking their heads in agreement.  

“I don’t know how the NBA players on the Clippers are continuing to work” observed Sam.  To which William quickly responded, “Well, they didn’t work very well last night because they lost.”  Jerry took the conversation to another level when he said, “The NBA, it’s a high priced plantation.” 

At this, the talk about the owner of the Clippers drifted into a discussion of Nathan Bedford Forrest.  A question was raised about when Forrest had died.  A quick internet search revealed that he died in 1877.  A few other details from his life then got shared.  Before the Civil War he had been a slave trader.  He also had some role in the Fort Pillow massacre of African American and white Union soldiers who had been prisoners, as troops under his leadership conducted this slaughter.  And of course his leadership in starting the Ku Klux Klan came up. 

But then I learned something new about Forrest.  After the war, with the slave trade gone, Forrest struggled financially.  After a failed business venture, he spent his final years running a prison work farm on President’s Island, here in Memphis.  "You mean he ran a plantation" said Larry.  

Yes, in essence, Nathan Bedford Forrest’s supervision of a prison work farm meant that he ended his days as a slave holder once again. For after the war, when Reconstruction ended, Southern states moved quickly to pass legislation known as “Black Codes” that had the intent and the effect of restricting the freedom of former slaves, and to force them to work without pay or for extremely low wages.  The central feature of the Black Codes was anti-vagrancy laws which allowed local authorities to arrest freed slaves and commit them to involuntary labor.  In Tennessee, for example, in 1865, as a result of the enforcement of such laws, African Americans went from one fiftieth to one third of the state’s prison population.  

Of course many of these anti-vagrancy laws are still on the books (check out the signs posted around Overton Square that state “No panhandling”), and are still used to imprison/enslave poor people.  As one guest said, “Working in prison for nothing is slavery.”  Another observed, “People shouldn’t be arrested because they are out of work or homeless.”

As often happens in Manna House, people drift in and out of conversations as names get called for showers or “socks and hygiene” or folks just have other places to get to before the morning is over.  I was left thinking again about “storms of destruction” that our guests face, not only the occasional stormy morning, but also the ongoing storms of racism and poverty and imprisonment.  Our guests at Manna House, who have so much first hand experience with these storms, bring a perspective that is very helpful for understanding how our society works.  They are excellent teachers, if we but listen.  

Remembering Tony Bone

Today at Manna House we had a memorial service for our faithful guest Tony Bone.  Tony was killed last Friday, on Good Friday.  So today, at 11:00a.m., we stopped our usual work at Manna House to pray and to remember Tony with our guests. 

The service had begun with Kirk playing “How Great Thou Art” on his saxophone.  Patsy had been insistent that this be the opening song.  In this song there is the powerful love of God known in the creation, and in the cross of Christ, and because of that love, “When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation to take me home what joy shall fill my heart.”  Our prayer was for Tony to have that joy now.

“Gracious God listen to our cry that comes from Claybrook and Jefferson.  We are in mourning; we grieve over the death of Tony. … Take Tony to your side, give him an everlasting home.  Do not remember his sins or his failures.  But in your mercy and love, welcome him, and offer him the hospitality of your presence.  We praise you for the wonder of our life and the gift Tony was in our lives.  We thank you for the faith that proclaims love is stronger than hate and life is stronger than death.  Give us the strength to continue to love as you love, and to welcome others as you welcome us.  Amen.”

Everyone present was invited to remember Tony and how he was a blessing to this neighborhood, to Manna House, and in their own lives.  Patsy recalled that Tony made sure that she was walked safely home at night. 

Moses said that every morning at Manna House, Tony and George A. would get in an argument, half serious and half joking, but always entertaining.  “I’ll miss that” said Moses. 

Mayo shared that Tony always asked him, “What you doing on these streets white man?”  Mayo thought that was a good question. 

Twin spoke of how Tony was kind of rough and tough, and could be quite intimidating.  “Tony never backed down from anyone; he was defiant.  This meant he stood by his friends.”  Another guest said, “He could be mean and he could get angry easily, but that was just Tony and I miss him.” 

Kenny wanted to be clear that Tony wasn’t perfect, that he and Tony got into various forms of business, and Tony was a powerful presence, and he’s sorry Tony’s gone.

David told us about Tony’s steadiness, and he said he didn’t want to focus on the bad stuff Tony did, even though that was part of Tony. Tony was more than the bad stuff. 

Frank remembered that he and Tony spent a long time together in prison.  Tony had his back.

I don’t think I’ve ever been to a more honest memorial service and in the midst of the honesty the love for Tony was palpable.  Guests had waited around for the service and they were eager to share how Tony had been a blessing in their lives, without being sentimental or glossing over Tony’s faults and failures.  I couldn’t help but think about the love God has for Tony and for each one of us, a love that is larger than our sins, our wrongdoing, our stumbles, and how that love was reflected in Tony’s friends today who spoke about him. 

After our shared remembrances of Tony we prayed Psalm 113 together, “You raise the poor from their lowliness; you life the oppressed from the depths.  You give dignity to their lives, a place of honor with all the faithful.” 

Then Kirk played “Jesus Loves Me” which was another request from Patsy.

“Jesus loves me! This I know,
For the Bible tells me so;
Little ones to Him belong;
They are weak, but He is strong.

Jesus loves me! He will stay
Close beside me all the way.”

When all was said and done, Kirk played “When the Saints Going Marching In.”  We are going to miss Tony.

You Need to Check this Place Out

A guest this morning asked me how long I had known him.  I said that I’d known him ever since he started coming to Manna House. 

“But how long is that?  How long has Manna House been open?”

“It will be nine years this fall.”

We talked a bit about how he happened to come to Manna House.  Another guest had told him, “You need to check this place out.”  So he did.

This got me thinking about our “history.”  So here’s a little reflection.

When we first opened we didn’t offer showers, we didn’t even offer socks and hygiene.  We only offered coffee, and occasionally a sweet roll or cookies.  On our first day, Mary Katherine, one of Kathleen’s daughters, stood on our front porch with a sign that said, “Free Coffee” and she loudly proclaimed to every passerby, “Free coffee for sale!”

A few curious folks came in and found the coffee to be hot and strong.  And before long the house was filling up.

In a couple of months we had enough donations to start offering socks, a few travel size hygiene items, and a shirt.  During December, we had some renovations done so that in January we could start offering showers.

We were just a few people who had come together, and then talked with some folks on the streets that we knew to find out what kind of place they would like and find helpful.  Then we got a house, and with the help of some shared resources among us, we opened, and began the incredible journey into offering hospitality.

Our vision of hospitality came from the Catholic Worker Movement of Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin, and the Open Door Community in Atlanta, which stands in the tradition of the Catholic Worker.  We wanted to offer hospitality which respects the dignity of each guest as Christ who comes as the stranger, the hungry, thirsty, naked, sick (Matthew 25:31-46).  Since we were welcoming Christ in the stranger, we did not seek to impose some agenda on our guests, other than to offer them hospitality.  We still don’t.  For us, hospitality is about loving those who come as they are. 

From the beginning, like the Catholic Worker Movement, we were clear that we did not seek and would not accept government funding.  In the spirit of Catholic Worker personalism, we wanted to offer ourselves in loving hospitality, and not become a social service agency or bureaucracy.  We don't ask guests for identification or have them fill our forms.  We just get to know them and they get to know us.  We embraced the Catholic Worker approach of start small and stay small, of “little by little” rather than envisioning or seeking to become some large scale program.  We also take seriously that efficiency is demonic and that too much structure is oppressive.  We like the Christian anarchism of the Catholic Worker.

We take seriously that we are a place of sanctuary, a refuge from the harshness and harassment of the streets.  In that spirit, we have not allowed the police to come and go freely at Manna House since unfortunately our guests have all too frequently experienced the police as problematic in their lives.  In order to have sanctuary, we have also been careful about maintaining boundaries in which we expect guests to be respectful with each other and us.  We’ve asked guests to leave who engage in language or other behaviors that are disrespectful, violent, denigrating or demeaning. 

Like the Catholic Worker, we also see connections between poverty, war, and the way the criminal justice system works.  So we’ve worked with other organizations such as the MidSouth Peace and Justice Center, H.O.P.E., the Workers Interfaith Network, and Tennesseans for Alternatives to the Death Penalty to try and create a world in which it is “easier to be good” (in the words of Peter Maurin).  A few of us have gone to jail in protest of war, or because of our stance in resistance to police harassment of people on the streets.  It is helpful to go to jail; you learn a lot about a society by seeing who is in jail and who isn’t, and how jail works to dehumanize those who are jailed.  You also learn to never serve bologna sandwiches because that is jail food.

Along the way we have made many mistakes, and we have had to painfully learn how to be better at hospitality.  We’ve also prayed together and laughed together and cried together. 

Offering hospitality requires a kind of vulnerability, the willingness to share the hurt of our guests, to get angry at how they are so often treated on the streets, to celebrate their joys with them, and to mourn together when a guest dies.  We’ve done too much of that mourning this past year.

We’re grateful for all of the support along the way in prayers, donations, volunteers.  It really is pretty amazing how it has all worked out so far.

Easter Meditation

Resurrection.  It is implausible, unexpected, surprising, unnerving, revolutionary.  Jesus’ rising was a big middle finger stuck in the face of the Roman Empire that believed crucifixion and death were more powerful than love and life. 

The Gospel of Mark captures that first experience of resurrection quite powerfully: “They were saying to one another, ‘Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance of the tomb?’ Looking up, they saw that the stone had been rolled away, although it was extremely large. Entering the tomb, they saw a young man sitting at the right, wearing a white robe; and they were amazed. And he said to them, ‘Do not be amazed; you are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who has been crucified. He has risen; He is not here; behold, here is the place where they laid Him.  But go, tell His disciples and Peter, ‘He is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see Him, just as He told you.’ They went out and fled from the tomb, for trembling and astonishment had gripped them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid” (Mark 16:3-8).

Resurrection means our lives are challenged to not live in fear of those powers that put people to death for opposing them.

Resurrection means our lives are challenged and graciously empowered to live in love, not hate; inclusion and welcome, not exclusion and rejection; hospitality, not hostility; humility and simplicity, not self-righteousness and self-assertion.

Resurrection means meeting Jesus again in Galilee and going his way, only this time to the cross with him, instead of betraying him and denying him and abandoning him.

And Jesus is crucified today in the poor, the rejected, the ill, the imprisoned, the hungry, the naked.  So resurrection means going to them and being with them, and advocating with them for justice, for the Beloved Community.

Resurrection means living with graciousness, gratitude, love, joy, a sense of humor, openness, compassion.

Resurrection.  It is implausible, unexpected, surprising, unnerving, revolutionary.  

Holy Saturday Meditation and Tony Bone

"Holy Saturday. Death’s reality rests upon this day, before Easter resurrection. This day is like all our days. This day is lived between death and life. We are after the thud of stone rolled to shut the grave and before the hope of life. An uneasy day, anxious, undecided."

When I wrote these words this Saturday morning, I did not know that they would be confirmed in a heartbreaking manner later in the day.  Tony Bone, a regular Manna House guest was killed last night on Good Friday.  He was hit by a car while crossing Jefferson at Claybrook,, one block from Manna House. 

Tony was a regular in the neighborhood.  He could often be found either in the park at the intersection of Claybrook and Jefferson, or across the street in the small parking lot of the “yellow store.”  When I would walk to Manna House to change over laundry or set up the coffee for the next day, he would greet me as I entered the neighborhood, and he would wish me well as I would leave. 

Tony was a tall African American man, with a heavy build, and he walked slowly, with a limp.  He was a looming presence at Manna House.  He had a small circle of close friends, but everyone knew him.  He looked out for those guests that were most vulnerable, making sure no one made fun of them.  He had an easy smile, and I appreciated that he would laugh at my jokes even as he insisted I should “keep my day job.”

Tony himself rarely got on the “socks and hygiene” list or shower list at Manna House.  He just seemed to enjoy the company and the coffee.  And, too, he was likely supporting himself through some less than good forms of business, so he didn’t need much help.  A few weeks ago he had disappeared for a time.  He was in jail.  When he returned to Manna House, Kathleen welcomed him back at the prodigal son.  He wasn’t happy with that designation, and he and Kathleen reconciled when she explained that what she meant was that she had missed him and was simply happy to have him back. 

            As one of our guests said today when she shared the news of Tony’s death, “It is going to be a sad week.”  Indeed it is, Tony’s absence will be felt deeply by volunteers and guests alike. 

Easter holds to an unlikely truth, that death is not the final word, that life is more powerful, and so, too, is love more powerful than hate.  Tony was among those many people would look down upon, even fear and hate.  We got to know him, however, as a loving person, and for that we are thankful.  And in prayer we commend him to God’s love, holding in hope and faith that he is now with God, hanging out on a corner in heaven.

A Good Friday Meditation

"Jesus also, that He might sanctify the people through His own blood, suffered outside the gate. So, let us go out to Him outside the camp, bearing His reproach. For here we do not have a lasting city, but we are seeking the city which is to come" (Hebrews 13:12-14). On this Good Friday, I will reflect on who are the crucified of our time with whom Jesus identifies, and how to be joined with them and him as we keep another world in view in which "every tear is wiped away and death is no more" (Revelation 21:4).  And I will keep in mind that the "blood" of Jesus is his life, not a mere liquid.

Of Football, Maps, Mourning, Mom, and Foot Washing

Robert saw me bending over to pick up a discarded coffee cup at Manna House this morning.
“Not so easy getting down low anymore is it?” he asked.
“Some days are better than others.  But on all days I’m not nearly as flexible as I used to be.”
“Me neither.  I was in the hospital most of yesterday with back spasms.”
“Sorry to hear that Robert.  That’s painful.”
“Years of cement work on top of high school football.  I’m paying the price.”
“Where did you play?”
“Orange Mound, Melrose.  I was a halfback.  Fast and strong.  They could count on me.”

John likes maps.  He always carries a few with him.  He likes to peruse them while he drinks his coffee at Manna House.  He had heard that I was up in Minnesota this past weekend, so he was curious about where in Minnesota I had been.  When I told him “Rochester,” he wanted to know which county.  “Olmsted.”  Then the conversation really took off.
“Is that in the southeastern corner of Minnesota?”
“Yes, about an hour or so southeast of the Twin Cities.”
“Not far from Iowa?”
“About an hour or so.”
“You know those northern counties of Iowa?”
“Not really.”
“Winnebago.  Worth. Mitchell. Howard. Winneshiek.  Allamahee.”
“I really don’t know those counties, John.”
“I study maps.  I just like knowing where things are.”
When I got home, I checked up on the list (which I had written down).  Sure enough, those counties go right across northern Iowa.

We started the day with sad news.  “Dusty” also known as “Charles” has died.  Dusty was a regular guest at Manna House for many years.  When he first started coming he was on crutches.  He only had one leg.  He went everywhere on those crutches, and he went through lots of those rubber tips at the bottom of the crutches.  We’d buy them and just keep on replacing the tips.  June Averyt started working with him and tried to get him into housing.  He’d been on the streets so long he didn’t feel comfortable inside.  So, she agreed that he could stay in a tent in the backyard of where she had housed other folks.  Dusty eventually lost his other leg and so he got around on a motorized wheelchair.  This happened about the same time that he was able to get himself to move into a place to live.  He was still a regular in the neighborhood.  He was well liked.   Along with our guests we took news of his death hard.

Another guest had additional mourning today.  He mother died yesterday of cancer.  He’s now an orphan.  One of thirteen children, Keith is more or less in the middle he said.  Nine are still alive.  The funeral is tomorrow, and Saturday morning she will be laid to rest.  “I have to stay strong for the rest of the family.  They’re taking it pretty hard.  I knew it was coming.  I’ve been going to see her in the hospital and so I’m at peace.”

Every third Thursday, Camille and Ashley head up the Foot Washing and Foot Clinic at Manna House.  Guests sign up in advance for this evening, which includes a meal.  Tonight’s Foot Washing and Clinic happened to fall on Holy Thursday when many Christian churches commemorate the Last Supper, including in John’s Gospel, where Jesus washes the feet of his disciples, telling them, “So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.  For I have set an example for you, that you should do as I have done to you” (John 13:14-14).
 Eight guests had their feet washed by four volunteers, enjoyed a meal prepared and served by two more volunteers, then saw a foot doctor, and in turn were fitted with gently used shoes courtesy of Fleet Feet.  It was a good liturgy.

Grief and the Promise of Life

A guest I’ll call “Tom,” shared a bit about his life with me this past Thursday morning. He moved to Memphis with his family from Milwaukee when he was seven. He’s lived in Memphis ever since. When he was seven, his father died. When he was twelve, his mother died. When he was twenty-four, his grandmother died. He had no other living relatives that could care for him or about him, so he was alone in the world. He did construction work for the next twenty years, until he was hurt on the job and couldn’t work anymore. He said he drank a lot for most of those years, but he has been sober for the past three years. 
Along the way he was married, but his wife left him, and also left him with a lot of debt. “God’s getting me through it; most days. Some days its just hard, but I try not to get focused on the negative. It just makes me bitter and I don’t want to be bitter.”
Through the loss of work and the debt Tom lost his home and now lives in his car. Tom asks me each day for a “word for the day.” But before I could share some Scripture with him today, I got called into the house for a few minutes, and by the time I got back Tom was having a heated argument with another guest. Both were asked to leave. Another guest said to me, “He’s carrying a heavy load and just snapped.” Indeed he does and he did. He’s welcome back Monday. 
With the sun shining and temperatures rising, I got a lot of questions about when we’ll be opening the backyard. Our backyard is like a little park, with picnic tables, plenty of shade from the trees (once they get those leaves back), and a lot more room than the house. Guests can spread out and relax. My answer, “We’ll open the backyard when it is consistently in the 50’s at opening time.” I hope that is soon.
As I was picking up a bit in the front yard later in the morning, a guest asked me if I knew Ethel Sampson. Indeed I did. She was active for many years in our work for abolishing the death penalty. Then she just got a bit too infirm to be out on picket lines or participating in vigils on the front steps of Immaculate Conception Cathedral during the time of an execution.
“How’s she doing?” I asked.
“She died about two years ago.”
“She was a great lady. Always doing something good for other folks.”
“I know. She took me in for quite a while.”
Spring is a strange time. There are signs of new life all around with flowers and trees blooming, and birds building nests. But there are reminders of winter, the cold front that occasionally blows through dropping temperatures, the still bare trees. It is Lent before Easter. Guests carry grief while holding to the promise of life, and we do too.

Preparing for Holy Week

MTS Chapel  4-8-2014                                   Preparing for Holy Week

1 Peter 1:13-21

Therefore, with minds that are alert and fully sober, set your hope on the grace to be brought to you when Jesus Christ is revealed at his coming. As obedient children, do not conform to the evil desires you had when you lived in ignorance. But just as he who called you is holy, so be holy in all you do; for it is written: “Be holy, as I am holy.” Since you call on a Father who judges each person’s work impartially, live out your time as aliens here in reverent fear. For you know that it was not with perishable things such as silver or gold that you were redeemed from the empty way of life handed down to you from your ancestors, but with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or defect. He was chosen before the creation of the world, but was revealed in these last times for your sake. Through him you believe in God, who raised him from the dead and glorified him, and so your faith and hope are in God.

“Be holy as I am holy” writes Peter.  He was drawing upon the injunction in Leviticus 11:44-45, “For I am Yahweh your God, so you must consecrate yourselves and be holy because I am holy. You must not defile yourselves….  For I am Yahweh, who brought you up from the land of Egypt to be your God, so you must be holy because I am holy.”  And also Leviticus 20:26, “You shall be holy to me, for I the Lord am holy and have separated you from the peoples, that you should be mine.”

            But going beyond the Old Testament, Peter is clear that our holiness is predicated upon our being joined to Christ.  The holiness of Christ is what makes us holy as God is holy.  Our holiness must be that of the holiness of Christ who joins our humanity to God’s divinity.  Given these passages from Scripture, and with Holy Week bearing down upon us, it might be helpful to consider what it means to be holy, or how in our humanity we can be joined to God’s divinity.  Holy Week, after all, is when we celebrate our redemption through Jesus Christ, a redemption which practically means our humanity is joined to God’s divinity.  It is in this redemption that we are made holy.

            Peter is clear that our holiness is grounded in the holiness of Christ.  Peter writes, “with minds that are alert and fully sober, set your hope on the grace to be brought to you when Jesus Christ is revealed at his coming. As obedient children, do not conform to the evil desires you had when you lived in ignorance. But just as he who called you is holy, so be holy in all you do.”  Redeemed by Christ, graced by Christ, we are to be holy as Christ as Christ is holy.

            And Peter emphasizes, as does Leviticus, that holiness has an inherently ethical dimension.  Holiness separates us from the world, sets us apart, and sets us on a distinctive way of life.  Jesus not only redeems us by his life, he redeems us in giving us his way of life.  In being disciples of Jesus, we are set us apart as we are set upon a distinctive way of life.

            But we need to be clear, Jesus’ way that sets us apart is not a way of life that sets us upon self-righteousness.  Jesus spends much of his life and teaching undercutting an approach to holiness that makes holiness a method of self-righteousness.  He, in fact, takes particular care to puncture the hardness of heart that typifies self-righteousness. 

He tells one self-righteous group of religious folks, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you” (Mt 21:31).  If you go to a banquet Jesus says, don’t seek the highest place of honor, but rather be humble. 

And Jesus tells the host of a banquet, “When you give a dinner or a banquet, don’t invite your friends and family and relatives and rich neighbors. If you do, they will invite you in return, and you will be paid back. When you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. They cannot pay you back. But God will bless you and reward you when his people rise from death” (Lk 14:10-14).

            Throughout his life, Jesus overturns the usual expectations of who is holy and who is not.  Instead of the professionally holy, such as the Scribes, Pharisees, and Sadducees, Jesus’ list of holy ones would likely include the following:  the woman who anointed his head who was accused of wasting money (Mt 26:6-13), blind people, lepers, children, the Canaanite woma-n whose faith he saluted (Mt 15:21-31), a centurian whose servant was sick (Mt 8:5-13), a Samaritan woman at the well (Jn 4:3ff), a man born blind who is panhandling near the temple (Jn 9:1-41), and finally the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, the imprisoned, all of whom Jesus directly identifies with in Matthew 25:31-46.

            What do all of these holy folks have in common?  If you hang out with them, you will be separated from the usual order of things.  If you offer them hospitality, you will be rejected by the powerful folks who reinforce the status quo.  A fancy term for all of these folks is that they are “the Other,” they are people on the margins. 

            In making this claim, that those considered “the Other” are closest to God, and are most holy, Jesus shows his faithfulness to the God of Israel.  After all, it was the God of Israel who made an enslaved people, God’s chosen people.  God’s holiness continually undercuts notions of holiness that are about superiority or self-righteousness.  God’s holiness rejects the way we typically value other human beings, by their attractiveness or power.  Instead God in God’s holiness values those not considered attractive or powerful.

            I think holy people in the history of Christianity reflect this kind of holiness, a holiness in which being set apart is being set upon a way of life in solidarity with those who are hurting, oppressed, other. 

St. Martin of Tours took his cloak off for a poor man and came to reject participation in the Roman military.  St. Francis kissed and ministered to lepers.  Saints Martin Luther King, Jr. and Fannie Lou Hamer stood with those beat down by Jim Crow and by poverty.  St. Dorothy Day stood with men and women who are homeless, mentally ill, addicted, despised.  St. Cesar Chavez stood with farm workers, many of them immigrants, some of them not “legal.”  St. Andre Trocme stood with the Jews hunted down by Nazis.  St. Dietrich Bonhoeffoer was martyred in his resistance to Hitler.  St. Oscar Romero was martyred because he stood with peasants and those subject to death squads.  Saints Frederick Douglass and Harriet Tubman and Sojourner Truth stood with African American slaves.  The martyrs of Memphis stood with those suffering from Yellow Fever who because of their poverty couldn’t escape the city.

            As we remember Jesus in the Holy Week which is about to begin, we are called to enter into his way of holiness, a way holiness that is set upon a way of love for those who are despised, rejected, neglected, and set upon a way that seeks justice.  Dietrich Bonhoeffer describes this way of love with justice, “[The church's] task is not simply to bind the wounds of the victim beneath the wheel, but also to put a stick in the wheel itself."    

Peter tells his first century follows of Jesus, “you were redeemed from the empty way of life handed down to you from your ancestors … with the precious blood of Christ.” 

That empty way of life was the way of the Roman Empire.  The Roman Empire’s way was a way much like the way of empire today.  Such an imperial way is premised upon powerful domination of others instead of hospitality for others.  Such a way is premised upon criminalizing and exploiting and despising the poor.  Such a way uses violence and war to intimidate and control others.  Such a way creates “vagrant free zones” in downtown Memphis and puts up “no panhandling” signs in Overton Square to criminalize the poor.

            The good news is that in Jesus Christ we have another way, a way of truth and of life.  Jesus sets us upon a way of welcome and inclusion.  Jesus set us upon a way that recognizes the dignity of each person.  Jesus sets us upon a way of peace with justice.  It is the way of Jesus that embraces the Other, embraces those on the margins, and so also embraces us, the broken and sinners of this world.   

So during Holy Week as we remember the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, may we remember the holiness of Jesus, how he was holy, how his holiness makes us holy, and how he sets us upon a way of holiness in which we share life with God who is Other.  

May we meditate upon that call to holiness to be holy as Christ is holy.  In doing this, we might focus our holy week meditation not only on First Peter, but also on the words of the New Testament book of Hebrews, “Jesus also, that He might make the people holy through His own blood [that is His own life], suffered outside the gate. So, let us go out to Him outside the camp [that is to the margins], bearing His reproach. For here we do not have a lasting city, but we are seeking the city which is to come.” 

In that holy city we are joined with those Jesus invited us to invite to the banquet, and in that holy city we thus all sit down together at the welcome table, a welcome table Jesus prepared for us all!

Some Reflections on “Here I Will Stay”

 Carla Piette was a 40-year-old Maryknoll sister who was tragically killed during a flash flood just five months after she arrived in El Salvador in 1980.  She had come in response to a plea for help from Archbishop Oscar Romero.  Romero was murdered (by troops trained at Ft. Columbus, Georgia) the day she arrived in the country.  Before she died, she wrote a poem called “Here I Will Stay.”

“Here I will stay.”  There is a phrase that goes around Catholic Worker circles about committing “for the long haul” in offering hospitality and engaging in works for justice and peace.  Benedictine monks take a vow of “stability” which means to live in a particular monastic community and not go flitting about seeking a better place.  Carla Piette in her poem reflects these Catholic Worker and Benedictine sensibilities.

“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.”

A visitor at Manna House asked me today how long we’ve been open.  It will be nine years this coming September.  We continue to offer hospitality in the Catholic Worker tradition.  With this tradition we emphasize that each guest is to be treated as Christ (see Matthew 25:31-46).  We find God (or God finds us) in our guests.  Catholic Workers also refuse government funding (as we do), do not get paid for offering hospitality (also true of us), are opposed to war and the death penalty and urge the creation of a society in which it is easier to be good (all stances we share), and are quite good at being fools for Christ (we like foolishness). 

“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.”

            We’re not planning on going anywhere.  When we opened we made a commitment to our guests to offer hospitality at Manna House three mornings each week. We’ve found three mornings a week to be sustainable.  When we try to do more (like we do sometimes) we find it wears us down.  An occasional emergency response we can handle for a while, but not for long.

            There is plenty of work to be done each day that we are open.  Despite the official proclamation of a few weeks ago, we don’t see any decline in the numbers of people experiencing homelessness on the streets of Memphis.  There are still plenty of broken and wounded walking the streets.

“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.”

            Though God can be surprising, I don’t see this work here ending any time soon. The “jigsaw puzzle” which is Manna House is where I’m called, with others, to be.  Those Catholic Worker and Benedictine commitments to the long haul are worth attending to. And although I like the Book of Revelation for its unveiling of the pretension of Empire, I don’t see God’s Kingdom coming anytime soon.  I’d be happy to be wrong.  “Come Lord Jesus” (Revelation 22:20).

Love and Limits

Hospitality isn’t all sweetness and light.  Mark came in for a shower at Manna House today.  But he was drunk.  So I had a short conversation with him, and not one that was pleasant for him or for me.

“Mark, we can’t let you shower today.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“I’ve had some, but I’m ok.”

“No.  You’re not ok.  You can’t shower here today.  You’re not steady on your feet.  You could fall in the shower, and that wouldn’t be good for you or for us.”   

“Please.  I’m dirty and I don’t smell very good.”

“Not today.  You need to be sober to shower here.”

“I’m just feeling it some from last night.  I’m ok.”

At this point I remembered some advice from someone, “Never argue with a drunk.”

“Mark, you need to go.  You’re welcome here when you’re sober.”

Mark left and as he did my heart ached for him.  He struggles mightily with alcohol.  He has come to Manna House many times sober.  And when he does he’s a quiet and pleasant person.  Even when he’s not sober he’s still quiet and pleasant; just not very steady on his feet.  And my heart aches because I know that even if there comes a day when Mark seeks help for his alcoholism he’ll find treatment programs are few and far between and often have a long waiting list.

I didn’t want Mark to fall in the shower, like he did once before when he was drunk but had been let into shower.  I also was reflecting Manna House policy.  We try not to allow drunk or high persons in for hospitality.  Our experience is that when people are drunk or high the possibility increases that arguments or even fights will take place.  Manna House seeks to offer sanctuary, a peaceful place for people to be without being hassled by persons whose personalities have been altered by drugs or alcohol.

            So, I said “no” to Mark.  And he went away.  His next opportunity to shower at Manna House will be Monday.  Four more days in the clothes he had on will not be pleasant for him, to say the least.

            Because the hospitality we offer at Manna House is shaped by a conviction of welcoming our guests with love, our saying “no” must be framed by love.  In the Christian tradition there has been a long argument about the nature of Christian love.  Is it self-sacrificing with no regard for one’s own well being?  Or is it self-sacrificing for the sake of building a community of mutual well being?  For us it is the latter.  We accept that the love we try to practice accepts some degree of limits and boundaries.  We accept that we have expectations for each other, guests and volunteers alike, and to violate those expectations has consequences.  Love doesn’t mean anything goes; it means seeking the good of each person so that a community of mutual respect can develop.

            To practice that love means Mark does not get to shower when he shows up drunk.  It means saying “no” with some gentleness and ongoing respect for Mark and his struggle. It also means we’ll continue to offer a shower to Mark and not hold today against him.  He’s welcome on Monday, if he’s sober.   

The Aroma of Christ

“But thanks be to God, who always leads us as captives in Christ’s triumphal procession and uses us to spread the aroma of the knowledge of him everywhere.  For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing” (2 Corinthians 2:14-15).

There is a long tradition in Catholic Worker circles of regarding guests who come for hospitality as Christ.  As Dorothy Day wrote, “The mystery of the poor is this:  That they are Jesus, and what you do for them you do for Him.”  One of the particular wonders of the incarnation, of Jesus as the Son of God become human, is that Jesus like all human beings had an aroma.  In plain language, Jesus could either smell nice or stink, just like you or me.  Dorothy Day also wrote that “If everyone were holy and handsome, with ‘alter Christus’ shining in neon lighting from them, it would be easy to see Christ in everyone.” 

As I reflected this morning on this scripture passage and Dorothy Day’s writings, I was led to consider how hospitality at Manna House presents a plentitude of powerful aromas.  In arriving at Manna House, there is the bracing smell of the morning air, slightly damp, yet inviting with promise of the day to come. This is quickly followed by the inspiring perfume of percolating coffee, and in serving the coffee its smell stays in the air all morning.  I particularly relish the fairground’s smell of the whipped sugar of cotton candy when I open a new twenty-five pound bag of sugar to put into the “sugar bucket” from which sugar containers are filled.  

There is also the acrid incense of cigarette smoke from guests gathered in the yard.  (No smoking is allowed in the house or on the front porch).  Sometimes I catch the faint whiff of alcohol on a guest’s breath.  In the house, some guests carry the smell of dried sweat, which becomes especially pungent as the weather warms. 

From time to time, when doing the laundry, there is the stench of human excrement and urine on the clothes.  The lack of access to bathrooms is made odiferously concrete.  Sorting clothes from the laundry bucket there is often the smell of earth and leaves and twigs from the pants and sweatshirts that have been lived in and slept in on the ground.  Countering those smells is the fragrance of laundry soap and bleach. 

From the shower room there are the fresh scents of soap and shampoo and clean water.  Just outside the shower room there is also the faint trace of body and foot powder and deodorant as guests emerge from taking their showers.  Some guests also add a dash of aftershave or cologne to complete their transformation.

When a guest exchanges their old shoes for a used but slightly newer pair, the stink of old shoes and sweaty feet gives way to the welcome relief of a somewhat cleaner smell from the new shoes. 

Back in the sorting room, as we go through donations, there is the musty smell of clothes that have been in closets or drawers too long.  Or sometimes there is a mysterious whiff that summons the question, “What’s that smell?”

At the end of the day, when bathrooms, and showers, and the kitchen need to be cleaned, the scents of Scrubbing Bubbles, vinegar water, Lysol, toilet cleaner and dish soap all announce their presence.

            Although there are a variety of smells in a morning of offering hospitality, I return finally to Paul’s emphasis which was on the “pleasing aroma of Christ.”  That “pleasing aroma” can certainly be detected in the specific scents of delicious coffee and clean guests coming out of the shower room.  But it is most fully savored in the hospitality offered all morning as our guests share with us the aroma of Christ they bring.