Vicissitude and Amelioration

Vicissitude and Amelioration

We had a morning at Manna House filled with the storminess of the changing season, and an occasional glimmer of sunshine. This isn’t just a weather report, but also a telling of how we did this morning, guests and hosts alike. 

Part of the storminess was that we said good-bye to a faithful volunteer, Ann Marie, who is moving to North Carolina. And this was on top of good-byes from several weeks ago to Jeanne and Jena. Knowing that people coming and going is part of the reality of life doesn’t make it any easier when folks go. We’re grateful for the work these volunteers have done at Manna House. Each in their own way brought joy into the offering of hospitality, and their leaving is an unwelcome change. We miss them.

For our guests, it is another type of change that brings hardship. The current change of seasons, from spring into summer, creates a lot of anxiety and unease. As the temperatures and humidity begin to rise, so do tempers. As the number of mosquitoes and other bugs increases, so do the aggravations. And this change, of course, affects us as hosts at Manna House as well. There are conflicts to be watched and sometimes negotiated, difficult guests to be guided, and occasionally, a guest will be asked to leave for the day.

One of our guests who brings a word or two for definition each day came today with two. “Vicissitudes” was the first word for which Larry wanted a definition. Certainly our guests regularly experience vicissitudes in their lives, struggles that they would rather avoid but must try and get through. Right now it is the vicissitude of this change of seasons, on top of the ongoing insults and injustices they endure. 

Larry’s second word was “ameliorate” and both we and our guests could use some amelioration of the current vicissitudes. As hosts we feel the struggle our guests have, and we hope to be a steady and helpful presence for them in the struggles. We’d like to make things better. We’d like to help folks get through not just this change of seasons, but through being on the streets. A place of sanctuary, a hot shower, a change of clothes, clean and dry socks, hot coffee—those all help. But what we’d really like is homes for those who are experiencing homelessness.

On the porch, there was a little bit of Bible study going on sparked by a guest asking for a “verse for the day.” Kirk shared from 2 Samuel 14:14, “We must all die; we are like water spilled on the ground, which cannot be gathered up. But God will not take away a life; God will devise plans so as not to keep an outcast banished forever from God’s presence.” Vicissitude and amelioration, right there in the Bible verse of the day. 

This Bible verse led to a lively discussion of the Gospel as good news of healing and redemption versus judgment and condemnation. In the midst of that, Larry (not the Larry of words needing definition but another Larry—Larry of the Bible verse), was insistent on sharing a different verse of the day, and one that was not so inspirational: 2 Kings 18:27. I’m guessing it is not a verse often memorized in Vacation Bible Schools. You can look it up.

Across the street from this discussion stood a guest who has been asked to be away from Manna House for a while. He has threatened violence against both guests and volunteers. His anger has been explosive. So, now he’s being excluded by a place that tries to practice inclusion. That’s a hard judgment to swallow, and he’s resisting by standing with a menacing glare for several hours each morning while we are open. Attempts to talk with him, to try and open the door for some reconciliation, have led nowhere. Vicissitude for him, and for us.

I’m not sure how amelioration of this situation is going to take place. We’re trying to live into God’s welcome, and extend that welcome to our guests. It doesn’t always happen. For that we repent, and lean into the grace of God. We trust that God does have a plan to not keep all of us outcasts banished forever from God’s presence.

Bear One Other's Burdens

Bear One Other's Burdens

Odell fell down this morning on the brick walkway that goes into the backyard along the side of the house. He was having a seizure. Thankfully, another guest, a friend of his, caught him as he fell, preventing him from hitting his head on the bricks. A second guest immediately called 911 to request an ambulance. An ambulance did eventually show up, and I can report that Odell is doing fine now.
This is the third time I have seen a guest have a seizure at Manna House. Somehow over the years, I have gained quite a bit of experience with people having seizures. When I taught at St. John’s Preparatory School many years ago, a student of mine, a freshman in high school died in the night from a seizure. In addition to teaching there, I was also a dormitory prefect, and each night this student would come to my room to get his medication before going off to sleep. But medication doesn’t always prevent seizures. About five years or so ago, Donald Bradshaw, who had been a regular guest at Manna House, had a seizure while walking near Methodist Hospital. He died.
When I taught at Kalamazoo College, in the midst of teaching a class on Thomas Aquinas, a student had a seizure. She eventually had to leave school as the seizures became more and more severe.
Last winter, at Manna House, we had just finished singing “Happy Birthday” to a guest when he came up quickly from the couch in the house and then lunged forward and fell onto the floor. He banged his head hard as he fell. A few days later when we talked, he shared that a previous head injury had left him susceptible to seizures. Then we joked that maybe it was my bad singing that had caused the seizure this time.
But seizures themselves are definitely not a joking matter. They are scary in how dangerous they can be, and they are disturbing in how unpredictable they are. It was just a few weeks ago that I came across an article about the number of persons experiencing homelessness who have had serious head injuries. No doubt, a number of those also struggle with seizures.
Odell’s seizure today, and those in the past at Manna House, remind me that so many of our guests carry heavy burdens of physical and/or psychological wounds, and they do so with courage and grace. So I get frustrated and even angry when I hear people make harsh judgments about people on the streets. To me it seems that such judgments reflect a failure in empathy, the ability to enter compassionately into the realities and challenges of another person’s life. There is a saying, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” And St. Paul tells us, “Bear one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2). For Paul the law of Christ is love, an abiding concern for the good of others. We could all use more of love, more of empathy and compassion.
I saw such love today as Odell’s friend caught him as he fell, making sure Odell did not hit his head. I also saw such love as Moses, with his arm raised heavenward, walked toward Odell lying on the ground, and prayed for him as we waited for the ambulance. I learned a lot from my teachers from the streets again today.

Death on the Streets and Death by Executions

Death on the Streets and Death by Executions

When Manna House opened almost nine years ago, I was also engaged in visiting a person on death row at Riverbend Prison just outside of Nashville.  One day I was talking with one of our guests at Manna House and he asked me who I visited on death row.
“Andrew Thomas” was my reply.
“Really? I used to run with him.  I went to school with him. Tell him hello from me.”
And with that the connection between the streets and the death penalty became real for me once again.
I got my start in offering hospitality with persons on the streets with the Open Door Community in Atlanta.  The Open Door, then and now, also offers the hospitality of visitation to those who are on death row.  At the same time, the Open Door works to abolish the death penalty.  The first time I lived at the Open Door I was there for six weeks and during that six weeks the state of Georgia executed four people.
One of those executed was Joseph Mulligan.  He asked the Open Door to do his funeral.  I helped pick up the casket for him (donated by St. Vincent de Paul Society).  And on the day of the funeral held at Jubilee Partners, just outside of Athens, Georgia, I was one of the people who helped carry the casket down a rutted red clay road to a small cemetery.  Also helping with the funeral and carrying the casket were members of the Open Door who had been homeless, along with guests of the Jubilee community, campesinos from Latin America who were at Jubilee because they were fleeing from U.S. trained death squads in their own countries.
Death on the streets as a result of homelessness as social policy in the U.S., and in Latin America as a result of death squads, along with the death penalty as social policy both here and there, all began to come together for me on that day.
Jesus’ statement that “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly” inspires my life.  Hospitality is offering a welcome in which we share abundance in accord with God’s vision for abundant life.  But as both Jesus and the prophets make clear, hospitality that ignores the wider death-dealing structures of social policy is really nothing other than cheap status quo supporting charity.
That people are living on the streets is intimately connected with prisons and executions.  All of these are forces of death.  The death of the streets I have seen many times; especially in this past year as so many guests of Manna House have died.  The death of prisons and executions is gearing up again in Tennessee with ten executions scheduled for this year and the barbaric practice of the electric chair is re-enshrined in state law.
The powers of sin and death need to be confronted with the powers of healing and life.  Hospitality for people on the streets and people who are poor needs to be matched with opposition to the systems of death that produce homelessness, imprisonment, and executions.

Officer Friendly and Tom Henderson

Officer Friendly and Tom Henderson

The morning was well underway. The coffee line on the front porch was finally down to two or three guests. We were set up in the front yard and the house because it was a rather chilly morning, 48 degrees when we opened at 8:00a.m. Sixty or more guests had already been served their first cup of coffee. It was a full house. People were talking, sipping hot coffee, and a few were trying to nap on the couches. Names were being called for showers and for “socks and hygiene.” Some guests had already showered, several were being set up for showers, and a few more were now in the water.
Suddenly a police car came across the center line of Jefferson and pulled in front of Manna House facing the wrong direction. A police officer got out and started walking toward the front gate. My immediate thoughts were, “I sure hope no one is in trouble and I sure hope this police officer isn’t going to try and come onto the property.”
We have a longstanding policy of not letting the police onto the property. It is part of offering sanctuary to our guests. People on the streets sometimes don’t have the most cordial relation with the police. We’ve heard over the years of police harassment, and we’ve seen it for ourselves as well. So, I walked quickly to the gate and out to the officer.
“Can I help you?”
“Do you know Tom Henderson?” [not the actual name]
“No sir.”
“Come here.”
I walked around the police car with the officer. He opened the back door of the police car, and there sat a small white man wearing filthy smelly clothes.
“You don’t know this man?”
“No sir.”
“Well, he was trespassing at Methodist Hospital, and I was called to arrest him. But I don’t think that would do him any good. He needs a shower and a change of clothes. Can he get that here? Would you help him?”
“YES SIR! We sure will.”
With that, the police officer told Tom Henderson, “Don’t go back to Methodist Hospital. I don’t want to see you hanging around near there. Next time I won’t be so friendly.”
Tom Henderson agreed he wouldn’t go back.
I said, “Thank you officer. This is really a wonderful thing you are doing.”
“Uh-huh.”
And with that “Officer Friendly” as I now called him (not his actual name), got back into his police car and off he went.
I helped Tom up the steps. Kathleen took him into the clothing room. Even though the list was completely full, she made room for him to shower. The guests waiting were happy to see him get served. And the able crew of volunteers in clothing room got him set up and then into his shower. Twenty minutes later he appeared back on the porch, freshly showered, with clean and with fresh clothes.
Sometimes God’s graciousness breaks through in a very surprising way. It is like a small flower that grows through a crack in a sidewalk. Pharaoh’s daughter took in the baby Moses. The Samaritan helped the Jewish man robbed and injured on the side of the road. The centurion at the foot of the cross proclaimed, “This truly was the Son of God.” A prosecutor and persecutor came over to the way of Jesus and became a new man named Paul. Officer Friendly didn’t arrest Tom Henderson but brought him to Manna House.

Backpack Man

Backpack Man

Almost from the beginning of Manna House there was a man who came about once a month with a donation of backpacks. He would enter Manna House, quietly drop off his donation, and be off without a word. At some point we talked and we got to know each other’s names. But I didn’t see him regularly enough to remember his name between his visits to make his donation, so he became known at Manna House as “Backpack Man.”
I knew he lived in my neighborhood because I would see him out on walks on Madison or Auburndale or Poplar. We would wave to each other, but he and I seemed to have an understanding that we both preferred to pass quietly.
On Monday, Charles and Inge told me they had seen an obituary in the paper that stated, “in lieu of flowers please make donations to Manna House.” They said it was someone who worked at the library, but they couldn’t remember his name. So, today I got a copy of the obituary in the mail from Charles and Inge. When I saw the picture of the person who died I sadly realized it was “Backpack Man” whose name was Roy Cajero.
It turns out that among other gifts that he generously shared in his life, Mr. Cajero was a librarian and also an excellent photographer. He worked at the library from 1975 until he retired in 2004. You can check out his photography at http://memphisroom.wordpress.com/tag/roy-cajero
Mr. Cajero helped a number of persons experiencing homelessness, and the obituary pointed out that he is remembered for “his immense empathy.” I will remember him for his quiet and faithful support of Manna House; the way he would come and go with barely a word but always with a smile. He just seemed deeply centered and peaceful. Backpack Man, you will be missed.

Jacob's Gift

He told me later he didn’t want me to think he was drawing attention to himself; he just wanted to help some one in need.  When I came to Manna House this morning around 6:30a.m., Jacob was standing near the gate along with six other guests.  They were patiently waiting for me to come and unlock the gate.  Then they would be able to sit on the benches in the front yard and wait some more until the “list” for men’s showers and for “socks and hygiene” would be taken at 7:45a.m.  As I unlocked the gate, I noticed that Jacob was in his stocking feet.  He had gotten shoes from Manna House just last week.

“Where are your shoes Jacob?”

“I gave them to Shirley.”

“Why did you do that?”

“She needed them more than me.”

Shirley doesn’t come to Manna House everyday.  Sometimes she is in the neighborhood but doesn’t come up the street to Manna House.  On some of those days, you can hear her shouting as she walks up and down the sidewalks.  Occasionally we can cajole her into taking a shower.  And almost every time she comes in for a shower she needs shoes.  Her mental illness is so difficult that she has a hard time keeping shoes.  I’d guess there are times when she loses them.  Other times, I’d guess her shoes get stolen, either while she sleeps, or when she gets “jumped.”

Once we opened today we got Jacob another pair of shoes.  He was happy with them.  Later than morning Shirley did come to Manna House briefly for some coffee.  She was pretty calm and Jacob’s shoes looked quite good on her.  Jacob’s gift set the tone for the day, and somehow the old Spiritual got a little closer to reality:

“I’ve got shoes, you’ve got a shoes
All of God’s children got shoes
When I get to Heaven goin’ to put on my shoes
Goin’ to walk all over God’s Heaven.”

            As a guest in the clothing room was picking out clothes prior to going in for a shower, a new volunteer helpfully asked, "What are you looking for in a shirt?"  A finer question indicating respect for the guest's choice could not have been asked.

Among the new guests at Manna House today was a man named “Lazarus.”  I was very pleased when I got to call his name in the backyard for him to come into the house and take his shower.  “Lazarus, come forth!”

            He got up, walked into the house, and changed out of his “burial” clothes, in which there surely was a stench, into some fresh clean clothes.  If he wasn’t quite raised from the death of homelessness, he was at least ready to walk again among the living.

“I’ve got a robe, you’ve got a robe
All of God’s children got a robe
When I get to Heaven goin’ to put on my robe
Goin’ to shout all over God’s Heaven.”

A Few Conversations from Our First Week in the Backyard

A Few Conversations from Our First Week in the Backyard

On Monday we opened the backyard after a long and chilly winter. Spring is definitely here when we gather with guests in there instead of being cramped up in the house with spillover onto the front porch and patios. The backyard at Manna House has picnic tables and comfortable lawn furniture where guests can sit under a canopy of trees. There always seems to be breeze blowing to keep folks cooled on hot days.

On his way out of the backyard on Tuesday, just as we were closing, Charlie asked me, “What do you think it feels like to be dead?”
“I don’t know Charlie. I don’t think we’ll feel the sunshine on our face and hear the wind blowing in the trees.”
“I’m not sure what to expect,” Charlie replied, “but I want to be hopeful.”
“Me too.”

Gary likes to share his understanding of the Gospel. He’s picked up a lot of toxic theology along the way in his life; a great deal of emphasis upon going to hell, a list of sins that will send you there, and a sense that anyone who doesn’t accept his version of Christianity will go to hell. Still, occasionally he comes up with an insight or phrase that isn’t quite so toxic. Today’s phrase was, “a shallow water preacher.” I had never heard that phrase before, so I asked Gary what it meant. He explained, “A shallow water preacher is a preacher who’s not deep enough to get you saved.” I thought about baptism. This would be a preacher who’s not going to get one deep enough into the Gospel to get one fully submerged in the baptismal waters of sharing in the life and death and resurrection of Jesus.

Matt talked with me while he put large amounts of sugar and creamer into his coffee.
“I love these trees” he said looking up to the trees that shade the backyard at Manna House.
“I love these trees, too,” I said, “They sure give us nice shade on a hot day.”
“Did you know trees have three dimensions?”
“No. What do you mean?”
“The first dimension is the roots. They stretch down into the ground, down into our ancestors, reaching back in time to the past, to the wisdom of those who have gone before us.
The second dimension is the trunk. It stands in the present, with us, in our danger and toil. The trunk is solid and easy to see but also more than it appears to be since it has those roots and it also takes us to the third dimension.
The third dimension is the branches that reach up into the sky and touch the heavens, touching up to God, up to the future where we are going. You look up and you get uplifted. You see more than if you just look down or look straight ahead.”
At this I was a bit taken aback. Matt has perhaps said maybe ten words to me in the five or six years that he’s been coming to Manna House. He’s often drunk and has been asked to leave the property. Today he seemed perfectly sober.
“Matt, you do love trees. Thank you, and I see the truth in what you’ve said.”
So Matt told me about the three dimensions again.

A Place of Sanctuary

A homeless transvestite prostitute makes her way slowly up Jefferson from the intersection of Claybrook and Jefferson. She doesn’t look familiar, but later I notice she’s entered the front yard at Manna House. Mike and Robert arrive loudly. Mike is agitated, and both he and Robert cannot seem to speak to each other, or anyone else, without shouting. I can hear them complaining about some real or perceived injustice they suffered at the emergency room at Methodist Hospital. Jacob, meanwhile, is quietly standing on the porch, looking out to the street, with his Bible gently held in his right hand. Down the street, an angry man crosses Jefferson, gesticulating wildly. Nate, tense and silent, walks up the slight incline from Claybrook. He seems filled with a rage he is struggling to contain. Cory arrives with a massive backpack. He looks ready to hike the entire Appalachian Trail. More guests arrive, some on foot, some on bikes. The porch and front yard fill up with guests waiting for Manna House to open.

I can see and hear a great deal as I sit in the house after arriving early at Manna House to plug in the coffee. Most often I stay in the kitchen, sitting on a chair facing east, so I can not only see our guests arriving from that direction, but also enjoy the rising sun. It is a good place to pray, to read, and to write with the percussion of the coffee pots sounding in the background. This morning I happen on Psalm 27. It is a good morning psalm.
The Lord is my light and my salvation—
whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life—
of whom shall I be afraid?
...
One thing I ask from the Lord,
this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the Lord
and to seek God’s presence in God’s temple.
For in the day of trouble
God will keep me safe in God’s dwelling;
God will hide me in the shelter of God’s sacred tent
and set me high upon a rock.

Manna House is a place of refuge, of sanctuary. We seek in our work of hospitality to extend welcome, affirm the dignity of each of our guests, and treat each person with respect. We hope to be the kind of place where guests and volunteers alike find peace, a sense of their goodness and the goodness of life, even in the midst of hard times and grief. As wounded people carrying our own failures and grieving, we seek to share compassion rather than to exert control or mimic the larger society’s exclusion and domination.

I know it is hard to quantify the transformation hospitality brings into our lives as hosts, just as the transformation that might occur in our guests resists measurement. But I see in myself a difference in the quality of my soul in relation to others, to the creation, and to God. I catch glimpses of such transformation in other volunteers and guests as well. There is a sensitivity and awareness of our being together in the mystery which is life and death, and even resurrection. 

Down the street from Manna House, at the intersection of Claybrook and Jefferson, the fragile memorial to Tony Bone, a guest of Manna House who died on Good Friday, still stands in the park: a cross upon which his winter coat is stretched out, and at the base of the cross, a small carefully arranged stack of stuffed animals. 

As we opened today, we prayed with our guests that we might welcome each other to this place with grace, and with a smile on our face. The prayer was answered. We shared a few hours of peace in the backyard, while the usual business of Tuesday at Manna House went on with women’s showers, “socks and soap,” and coffee being served.
I will see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the Lord.

Hospitality is a Two Way Street

Hospitality is a Two Way Street    

Every morning Jerry has a donation to give.  It is almost always in a plastic grocery bag; sometimes he has two or three.  The donation usually has to be thrown away.  The clothes are too dirty and smelly, or they are nothing our guests would find practical to wear (like women’s high heels).  I’m not sure where he gets such a donation, but he offers it every day. 

Jacob helps set out the chairs every morning, and he unfailingly also helps bring the chairs back in at the end of the day.  He also frequently goes through the front yard picking up discarded coffee cups or other trash.  Today he held the cigarette of a guest who went inside to use the bathroom.  Since Jacob doesn’t smoke, his style of holding the cigarette was distinctive to say the least.

Superman (you have to know his last name), likes to sing in the shower.  His voice fills the house.  Thankfully he’s a pretty decent singer.  He is certainly better than the “Manna House Choir” when we sing “Happy Birthday” to one of our guests, like we did today. (He was insistent that we sing today even though his birthday is Sunday).

When names are being called for “socks and hygiene” or for showers, guests are good at nudging the guest whose name has been called to make sure they get where they need to go.

Sometimes I’ll be approached with a question from a new guest about where to go for an ID, or where they might get help with housing, or with getting a bus ticket back home, or getting eyeglasses or teeth fixed.  Quite often I turn the question over to other guests who have a great deal of experience negotiating various agencies around town.  They are invariably helpful with information.

Occasionally, a guest will tell us about another guest who’s in the hospital or has landed in a nursing home, or who’s in jail.  Prayers are requested, or sometimes it is a visit that is needed.  There is a community of concern and compassion.

When someone new to the streets is looking for a place to eat, there’s always a guest or two who volunteers to take the newbie to the Radio Station, the local soup kitchen.

I’ve heard a guest correct another guest who has used foul language, “We don’t do that here.”  Or, “This isn’t that kind of place.”

When showers are going on, guests frequently take care to clean up after themselves when they are done; making sure the shower room is decent for the next guests who are coming in.

When we pray together before opening, guests have lifted up for God’s care and blessing, spouses, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  We have been asked to pray in response to serious illness of various kinds, including heart attacks, kidney failure, and cancer, along with accidents, and on occasion the murder of a relative or friend.  And guests have prayed for those of us who are volunteers, through cancer, family crisis, and other illnesses.

Following my Dad’s death three years ago, upon my return to Manna House, a number of guests asked not only how I was doing, but how my Mom was doing.  One guest has continued to ask about how my Mom is doing right up to the present.

All of this is to say, the guests at Manna House are incredibly hospitable.  Their love, respect, and compassion for us as volunteers is genuine and constant.  I’ve been asked sometimes, “How do you do that work?  With so much need it must be depressing.”  And it is true there is a lot of grief in coming to know and love people who are in such suffering, and who are treated so unjustly.  But it is at least equally true that I experience so much love and acceptance and joy at Manna House that my life would severely diminished if I wasn’t there three mornings a week.