On the Feast Day of St. Jude, Patron Saint of Lost Causes

On the Feast Day of St. Jude, Patron Saint of Lost Causes

“I don’t like it when people look at me with sarcasm.”  Out of sentences that tumbled into each other without making sense, this one had emerged.  A regular guest at Manna House who struggles mightily with mental illness was becoming increasingly agitated.  His inner pain was in his eyes and that one sentence that stood out with its truth.

Kathleen had tried to sit next to him and talk gently with him.  So many times before, this has worked; but not this morning.  As he sat at a table in the house, his voice grew louder and his words more threatening.  We decided it would be best to ask him to leave before he became even more agitated.

“This is the coffee house” he said over and over again when he eventually stood up after several minutes of Kathleen and I asking him to leave.  Then we formed a kind of moving wall and guided him to the door.  He walked backwards, facing us, as we directed him out of the house toward the front gate.  As he walked, he angrily denounced us, demanded from another volunteer that he be paid the money that he was owed, and then yelled indecipherable phrases into our faces.  Finally he seemed to give in and went across the street.  There for the next thirty minutes or so he stood, staring back at Manna House, before he went off to who knows where.

            When we open on Thursday, this guest will likely be back.  We will welcome him in for coffee once again.  He’s already on the shower list.  He may have a good morning (which is most of the time), which means he is able to make it through the hours that we are open.  But where does he go when Manna House is not open?

            Today is the Feast of St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes.  This guest with mental illness is not a lost cause.  But I’m wondering if our nation that so neglects and brutalizes people who have mental illness is a lost cause.  It is estimated that about one third of people experiencing homelessness struggle with mental illness.  Nationally that means at least 250,000 people who are on the streets have a mental illness.  St. Jude, pray for us!

            Women’s showers had ended about thirty minutes before.  The shower room had already been cleaned.  The morning was winding down.  Ben asked Kathleen if she would talk with a woman who had just arrived and needed a shower.  Kathleen went out and spoke with the woman who was being served some coffee. 

A few minutes later, Kathleen came back into the house with the woman.  Kathleen and Ann proceeded to get the woman ready for a shower.  On Sunday she had been beat up and then raped.  The police had taken her to the Med where she spent time in the emergency room.  Then she was released back to the streets.  No shower, no clean clothes.  Both of her eyes were blackened and she had a gash across her face from where she had been hit. 

            This woman is not a lost cause.  But our nation might be.  A study, “No Safe Place: Sexual Assault in the Lives of Homeless Women” found that “92% of a racially diverse sample of homeless mothers had experienced severe physical and/or sexual violence at some point in their lives, with 43% reporting sexual abuse in childhood and 63% reporting intimate partner violence in adulthood.”  The same study notes, “For homeless women with mental illnesses, rape appears to be a shockingly normative experience.”  St. Jude, pray for us!

            Today, Jesus in his parable of the judgment of the nations would say, “I was mentally ill, and you did not offer welcome and healing.  I was a woman and you raped me and then threw me back to the streets.  I was homeless and you did not offer me a home, not even a free shelter.”  And our nation will say back to him, “When did we see you mentally ill?  When did we see you as a raped woman?  When did we see you homeless?”  And Jesus will say, “as you did it not to one of the least of these, you did it not to me.’ And they will go away into eternal punishment” (see Matthew 25:31-46).  In other words, our nation will be a lost cause.  St. Jude, pray for us!

Vicissitudes and Hope

Vicissitudes and Hope

Larry was back today.  He showed up, as he always does, with a question about a word.  “Vicissitudes” he asked, “what does it mean? Use it in a sentence.” 

“Troubles,” I said, “like ‘Nobody knows the vicissitudes I’ve seen, nobody knows but Jesus.’”

The backyard at Manna House was closed today.  The morning air was too chilly.  Guests’ hands were cold.  So we gathered inside the house, on the front porch, and in the front yard.  These gathering spaces are warmer, though also not quite as expansive as the backyard.  We all had to adjust to the closer quarters. 

Jenina and Lynn, as they brought sugar and creamer out to the front porch (where the coffee line was located), had to walk through a sea of humanity.  Carrying a replacement coffee pot through the crowd required a loud voice to announce, “Hot coffee!  Hot coffee coming through!!”  Kathleen, as she worked the list, had to call names both in the house and in the front yard to find those guests on the list for showers or socks and hygiene.

            Meanwhile there were other small adjustments to be made in the details of hospitality.  When we first opened, we took out a small pot of coffee along with the larger first pot in order to create two coffee lines.  The line at the big pot gets a bit backed up with more people milling around.  With Paul and Kim serving at two coffee lines, and two sugar and creamer stations going the lines weren’t too bad. 

One guest asked about charging his phone.  So Ashley and I ran an extension cord out the front window of the laundry room to plug in a power strip.  This way multiple guests could charge at the same time.   

A few guests had to be gently reminded to not smoke on the front porch.  Thomas who was “working the door” of the clothing room had to make sure only those whose names were called came into the room.  He also had to announce who was coming in for a shower or who was coming in for socks and hygiene.

            Despite the early chill, it didn’t take too long before the sun warmed up the brick patio area in the front yard.  The combination of benches, picnic table, and chairs brought from the house made for plenty of comfortable seating.  Folks took to reading, talking, playing checkers or Scrabble, and a few settled in for a nap.

A man came up onto the porch for coffee.  He was very agitated, and mumbled continuously about people who had done some wrong to him and he was going to get them back.  “I will wreak vengeance upon them; then they shall see!”  He wandered off once he had his coffee, still mumbling threats as he pushed his shopping cart.  As the man walked away, another guest observed, “The devil never rests.  The devil is always busy.”  “Yes,” I agreed, “But God takes a Sabbath, and so should we.” 

            Larry and Moses got into an intense theological discussion.  Was Melchizedek, the mysterious figure who appears in the Old Testament, one and the same person as Christ?  Larry argued that he was; Moses argued that he was not.   Larry emphasized that Melchizedek had no genealogy and was a high priest, while Christ was in the order of Melchizedek.  Moses argued for the uniqueness of the historical figure of Jesus as the incarnate Word of God, and that Melchizedek may be seen as a spiritual forerunner of Christ but was not actually Christ.  I stayed out of this one, but I liked Moses’ line of argument better.

            Not much later, a man like Melchizedek (or was it Christ?) showed up with Kate.  He had come out of no where to appear at Outreach, Housing, and Community (O.H.C.). Kate as part of her work at O.H.C. had brought him over to Manna House.  He was a very quiet man.  His clothes and other belongings had been stolen.  He needed some pants, a shirt, and a few additional items.  When he came into the clothing room he offered a poem that he had written.  The poem told of how as he had walked, the rain had come down upon him, a river of rain, but then at the end he was promised that the sun would come out.  Take hope in the promise, he concluded. 

This afternoon, spurred on by the argument between Larry and Moses, I read the section of Hebrews about Melchizedek in relation to Christ.  Through all the vicissitudes of history, including this morning, along comes Christ, “the introduction of a better hope, through which we approach God” (Hebrews 7:19).

God's Ordinary Graciousness

God’s Ordinary Graciousness

            Hospitality is mostly a rather ordinary practice.  People are welcomed.  Certain services are offered.  Over time we get to know guests and they get to know us.  Today the work of the house included, serving coffee to over a hundred people, offering showers and a change of clothes to ten women guests, offering “socks and soap” to sixty others, and sorting donations.  None of this is particularly difficult or dramatic.  But still as the day went on I found several moments of what might be called “God’s ordinary graciousness.”  There were times that were not all that earth moving but each in its quiet way bespoke of God’s presence.

I was leaving Manna House after the end of the morning.  The house was locked up and the gate closed.  I had just sat down in the driver’s seat in my car which was parked in front of Manna House.  Earlier we had loaded it up with stuff which had been donated and we couldn’t use, so I was taking it off to Goodwill.  A man came by on the sidewalk.  He sometimes comes to Manna House.  He leaned into my open car window on the passenger side.

“Hey Pete, can I get a voucher to the Union Mission?”

Manna House doesn’t regularly have vouchers for the Union Mission, so I was a bit surprised to be asked.  But then I remembered that a few days ago, when I had cleaned out my wallet, that I had found a few vouchers.  I couldn’t remember how I had come to get them.  But now I was delighted that I had them.

“I happen to have a couple.  Here you go!”

I think the guest who had asked was as surprised to get the vouchers as I was surprised to be asked.   He had a big smile and he said his thanks and off he went.  So I say a big thanks to whoever gave me those vouchers.  “I was a stranger and you invited me in” (Matthew 25:36).

Linda Faye doesn’t come by Manna House very often anymore.  She’s got housing.  Still, she likes to wander the streets during the day and I’d see her around the neighborhood, but not at Manna House.  But today she came by to get a few things.  We were done with women’s showers and she didn’t really want a shower anyway.  She just needed a few clothing items.  The beauty of the slowness of Tuesdays is that we can accommodate those who for one reason or another have a hard time working within a system or order of hospitality.  Linda Faye was brought into the clothing room and Anne and Emily set her up just fine.  “I was naked and you clothed me” (Matthew 25:36).

Yesterday George S. returned to Manna House.  We hadn’t seen him for quite a while.  Turns out he had been incarcerated.  He gained a bit of weight while in prison due to bad food (heavy on the starches and carbohydrates) and lack of exercise (most prisons don’t have weight lifting equipment or other exercise opportunities anymore).  Very good to see him again and to know there has been liberation for a captive.  “I have come to proclaim release to the captives” (Luke 14:8).

Our guest who was stabbed and beaten last week and left for dead left the hospital today.  We’re all grateful for the prayers and concern for her.  Friends for Life is getting her into housing and meanwhile is making sure she has a place to stay.  This also makes me think of Outreach, Housing, and Community (O.H.C.) which also does such great work in getting people housed and off the streets.  People are homeless because they don’t have homes.  O.H.C. and Friends for Life get people housed.  “In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you.  I go to prepare a place for you” (John 14:2).

Loving Those We See

One of our guests is in the hospital.  She was brutally beaten and stabbed and left for dead just a block from Manna House.  This guest is an African American transvestite.  We lifted her up in prayer this morning when we opened at Manna House.   We invite others to do the same.   

Our guests who are gay or transgendered are especially vulnerable.   When Manna House first opened we quickly learned that they are harassed and harmed by other persons on the street, by their families, by random attackers, by police officers, and sometimes even excluded, due to their sexuality, from places that are supposed to serve people on the streets. 

We’ve been clear: all are welcome at Manna House.  Denigrating language about someone’s sexuality or dress is not allowed at Manna House.  We have had some guests insist that they would not go into the shower room at the same time as someone who is gay or transvestite.  Our response?  You either shower now while that person is in the shower room or you don’t shower here.

I know that within the broader society and in religious communities, there has been and continues to be quite a struggle over acceptance of LGBTQ people.  As a Christian ethics professor for twenty years, I’m quite familiar with all of the arguments about homosexuality.  The more I have studied the more I have become convinced that on the basis of the Bible, Christian experience and psychology, the traditional condemnations are wrong.    

But until I became involved with Manna House, I didn’t have much ongoing experience with persons who were homosexual or transgendered.  A lot of the arguments I’d cover in class were mostly in my head.  In offering hospitality to persons on the streets, I’ve gotten an education in my heart as well. 

The most painful part of that education is my experience with the suffering of people who are gay, lesbian, or transgendered.  One story stands out.   Several years ago, I had a long conversation with a guest who was an African American, transvestite, drug-addicted prostitute.  In tears she told me of her being kicked out of her family home by her preacher father before she was even 18. 

She ended up on the streets, took drugs to numb her pain, and ended up surviving through prostitution.  She showed me the marks on her wrists from multiple suicide attempts.  She told me she wanted out from the pain of addiction, prostitution, of rejection, of being on the streets.  She just wanted to be accepted for who she is.  Then she took my hands and said through tears, “I need you to pray for me.” 

I was taken aback.  I had never heard such a desperate plea for prayer.  And at this point in my own life I wasn’t all that comfortable with either someone who was transvestite or with that kind of spontaneous prayer.  But I prayed; how could I not?

I prayed that she would experience the truth that she was a child of God, that she would find a home, a place where she would be accepted and loved, and that she could be freed from addiction, and find good work that was not harmful to her.  By the time I was done I was feeling tears on my own face.

I never saw this person again.  I don’t know what has happened to her.  I do know that her request for prayer deepened my own conviction that as Dorothy Day has said, “the only solution is love.”  I’m tired of arguing about homosexuality with hateful bigots, whether in churches or out.  I know how destructive churches and the broader society have been in the lives of those who are LGBTQ, even with the semi-polite arguments about “hating the sin and loving the sinner.”  Those arguments still legitimate hatred and I can’t abide them. 

Our Manna House guest lies in a hospital bed now, stabbed, beaten, and struggling to live because of such hatred.  And she is, tragically, just another one among many.  “Those who say ‘I love God,’ and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen” (1 John 4:20).

1268 War Hospital

“For judgment will be without mercy to anyone who has shown no mercy; mercy triumphs over judgment” (James 2:13).

             This passage has been important in the life of Manna House as it has consistently pointed us to both having boundaries (making judgments), and transcending those boundaries when appropriate (mercy triumphing over judgments).  Hospitality has a rhythm of saying “yes” and saying “no” and only in the practice of hospitality does a wisdom emerge that may keep that rhythm in proper tune.

            This morning was chilly and damp with thick clouds and occasional drizzle.  After I started the coffee, I went back outside to wipe water from last night’s rain off the picnic table in the front yard.  This would create a few more seats for guests waiting for us to open.  A young African American man who I didn’t recognize approached me and asked if he could get a shower today.

            “I stink.  I’ve been on these streets; just out after five years in prison.  I need a shower badly.  I was told I could get one here.”

            I responded first with judgment.  “Today is women’s shower day.  You can sign up today for the next men’s shower day on Thursday.”

            “Man, I really need a shower.”  The disappointment on his face was evident.  So, too, was the pain of rejection.  His eyes hardened, his head went down slightly, his shoulders had sagged.

            Mercy.  Sort of.  “Maybe we can work you in later this morning.  We don’t have that many women on the list for showers.  Sometimes we can make an exception.  I can check and see if this can be done.”  I went back inside the house wondering if this would be possible at all.  Preserving Tuesday for women’s showers is important.  Letting a man shower on a Tuesday could create pressure to let more men shower on future Tuesdays.

            Mercy.  Really.  Kathleen arrived shortly thereafter.  I recounted my conversation about a possible shower.  She quickly urged that we bring the man in first; immediately after we open.  And that is what happened.

            Mercy.  A hot shower and a change of clothes for a recently liberated captive.  Kathleen and Ashleigh, a volunteer with us for a few days from the University of Tennessee at Martin, got the young man set up for his shower.  Twenty minutes later he was still in the shower room.  The water was running. 

            Judgment.  I went into the shower room and said, “We have women waiting to shower.  We need you to finish up soon.”

            “O man, thanks,” the guest responded from within the shower stall, “I’ll be right done.  I haven’t had a shower alone with good hot water in over six years.”

I came later to connect the words from this young black man in the shower stall with the words written this morning by a guest who struggles with mental illness.  He often spends the morning very carefully writing things of which I can’t make sense.  On a piece of paper this morning he put the heading, “1268 War Hospital.”  1268 is the street number for Manna House. 

When our mercy triumphs over judgment at Manna House, it is not simply over our boundaries, but over against larger racist judgments institutionalized in our society.  African Americans constitute nearly 1 million of the total 2.3 people million in prison or jail in the U.S.  Michelle Alexander calls this systemic imprisonment of black men, part of an ongoing white supremacy system, “The New Jim Crow” in a book by the same name. 

In light of these facts, and this report from “1268 War Hospital” this morning, the first part of the passage from James bears repeating, “For judgment will be without mercy to anyone who has shown no mercy.” 

Special Graces

Special Graces

“Each one of you has received a special grace, so, like good stewards responsible for all these different graces of God, put yourselves at the service of others” (1 Peter 4:10).
I went looking for grace in the service of others today while at Manna House.  I didn’t have to look very hard.
Mr. Cash offered this advice while waiting in the living room for his “socks and hygiene.” “For the first fifty years of our lives we focus on living; for the next fifty years we need to focus on dying.”
Otis came in hoping to get on the list for “socks and hygiene.”  Unfortunately it was already full.  “But it’s my birthday” he said, and reached to pull out his wallet to show ID to prove it.
“Otis, you don’t have to prove it” I said, “Here’s a pair of socks, and now let us sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you.”  His gift was to smile and graciously receive our song (and the socks).
It was a day of birthdays.  Antonio beautifully sang “Happy Birthday” to Delle, who turned one today.  Her mother, Jessica, a Memphis Theological Seminary student, was thankful for Antonio’s powerful and melodious voice.
Jessica and Delle offered the gift of hanging out in the backyard and talking with guests (well, Delle mostly gurgled, snorted, and cooed).
Russell and Ralph and Willie and James patiently waited while 22 people showered before them.  Not once did any one of them ask, “Where am I on the list?”
(As the guy “working the list” I can say this patience was greatly appreciated).
Bennie showed off some more of his clothing creations.  The man can flat out make decorative clothing out of scraps of colorful clothe carefully cut and glued to shirts, pants, and even his hat.
Ashley sorted through coats and got them organized for distribution when the cold weather arrives.  Ashley also sorted through donations, carefully keeping what we can use and bagging up the rest to be shared with other organizations.
Noah and Annie graciously served 51 guests (plus a few extra) for “socks and hygiene” and also set up 26 men for showers, helping them select clothing and shoes.
Ben got shoes from the back room and also helped guide guests into the clothing room in an orderly way for showers or socks and hygiene.
Kyra and Emily did laundry (which included quite a pile of clothing from Tuesday to be folded), and Kyra also headed up the cleaning of the shower room and the small bathroom.
Paul served 340 cups of coffee.  He gifted each guest with a greeting and a smile.
Michelle talked with guests, helped with the creamer and sugar, and also helped in the kitchen.
Clyde and Jonas kept the creamer and sugar tables stocked so guests could help themselves to just the right amount of both in their coffee.  John helped as well until he had to leave.
Dave started in the kitchen then handed off to Clyde to wash coffee pots, sugar containers, and whatever other kitchen items needed a good cleaning.
  One of the great things about offering hospitality is that the lines between hosts and guests get graciously blurred.  It was that kind of day, filled with special graces.

The Punk on the Porch and Me

The Punk on the Porch and Me

Usually Tuesday mornings start quietly.  But this morning, shortly after I had arrived to plug in the coffee pots, I heard a man’s voice coming from the front porch.  He was loudly shouting threats and cursing someone.  I hoped it would blow over, as these things usually do, but he kept at it.  So I headed out the front door to put a stop to the threats and curses.  I didn’t know the young man who I found shouting at a woman (who I also did not know).  She was seated on a bench and he was standing over her.  The conflict was apparently over some money that he claimed she owed him.

            Stepping up to him I said, “Enough.  Stop.  It is time for you to go.”  This apparently startled him as he stopped momentarily.  But then he resumed, only now he directed his venom towards me.  Still, for whatever reason, he also began to move off the porch.  With a few more choice words, he went out the gate and down the street.

            I turned back to the woman and a few other guests on the porch and said, “I guess he’s gone for the morning. Not exactly a quiet start to our day.”

            One of the guests observed, “So much for a nap before you all open.  I guess I’m ready for my first cup of coffee now.”

            Meanwhile, another Manna House guest lies in a hospital bed at Methodist Hospital, thirty staples holding his cracked skull together.  He was jumped this past weekend and severely beaten.  He’s conscious, but his speech is slurred and who knows if he will fully recover.

            I went back inside and sat down in the kitchen.  I’m always a bit shaky after such events (thankfully they are rare at Manna House).  I started to reflect on violence, including my own desires to strike back.  I certainly had wanted to beat the crap out of the punk on the front porch. 

            Later in the morning, I shared a passage from the Letter of James with a couple of guests who asked me for the “Word for the day.”

“What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you?  You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. You do not have, because you do not ask.  You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, to spend it on your passions. … Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Therefore whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God (James 4:1-4)

            “Hard words” said one guest.

            “I’ve got a lot of desires warring in me,” said another.

            “Ain’t that the truth” said one more.

            Our discipline at Manna House is to follow Jesus who said, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God” (Mt 5:9).  We seek to offer some sanctuary from the violence of the streets and the violence of our hearts.  It is not easy to confront evil and injustice in ways that do not imitate what is being resisted. But that is what we are called to do (Romans 12:21). 

So in addition to breaking up the occasional fight, stopping the use of denigrating language, and avoiding foul language generally, we also don’t allow the police on to the property.  At the same time we’re clear, that we oppose the death penalty, stand against police harassment and violence, and support the full dignity of every human being no matter race or gender or sexual orientation.

            This commitment leaves plenty within me for repentance, for the complicity I have in what Dorothy Day called this “filthy rotten system” and for my own desires for more stuff and the violence to protect them.  Me and the punk on the porch; we’re not that different.