Come All You Who Are Thirsty

I occasionally like to paraphrase Scripture. The word for the day was Isaiah 55:1, “Come all you who are thirsty, come to the waters for coffee and showers; and you who have no money come, enjoy the free coffee! Come buy showers, clothes, socks, and hygiene items without money and without cost!”

            Or as a very young volunteer shouted from our front porch twelve years ago when we first opened, “Free coffee for sale!”

            This is God’s economy, where there is more than enough for everybody, if we share. It runs completely counter to most, if not all, human economies, where there is not enough for everybody. And since there is not enough for everybody, we must incessantly compete with one another, and hoard against shortages in order to survive.

            It is hard for both guests and volunteers, including myself, to believe in God’s economy, even as we share hospitality premised upon that economy. Manna House could not exist without people sharing their presence and their goods. Without donors who give from their abundance, we could not offer hospitality to the hundred plus people who show up every day that we are open. And although Manna House did not participate in “Giving Tuesday,” we certainly do rely completely upon donations to stay open, and to share freely coffee, showers, and clothing, and on Monday nights, a meal.

            Yet, that freedom in God’s economy, that free giving, is challenged by the gods of not enough. These gods of not enough urge us to prioritize control over compassion, and domination over the dignity of each person.

            I see the worship of the gods of not enough in the current tax bill being proposed by the ruling party in Washington, D.C. I see this worship of the gods of not enough in the fear and even loathing of immigrants and any who are defined as “other”—Muslims, African Americans, Native Americans, LGBTQ people, and people in poverty. The gods of not enough encourage a vision of scarcity, of fighting over a shrinking pie. These gods love when we get possessed by possessiveness, and we become more concerned about what is mine, rather than recognizing the divine call to share what we have been given by God—life, and every good gift we have.

            So it was that a guest at Manna House erupted in anger and a volley of foul language accusing two other guests of stealing her cigarettes. Years of not having enough, of being denied the basic necessities of life, of scraping and struggling to survive, burst forth in a cry from the heart of betrayal and loss and grief. There was no consoling of her, no reasoning that could reach her, no words of comfort that could pierce her sense of loss. Not even another guest’s offering to her of some cigarettes could calm her. She finally left, vowing revenge upon those whom she accused of the theft; both of whom denied any role in the matter.

            So it is when as a volunteer I fear being taken advantage of by a guest who comes in asking for a coat or shoes (two of the more desired items these days). So it is when I fear I am being too soft in adding a fifty-second person to the “socks and hygiene” list when we normally are to take only fifty-one.

            So it is when twenty people are arrested at a Memphis business and taken away because of the Trump administration’s crackdown on “illegals”—that is undocumented immigrants. So it is when fake videos of “evil Muslims” are spread by a president who plays upon fears and divisions.

            The gods of not enough are gathering more adherents, and the God of Jesus Christ who urges us to see God in “the least of these” is mocked, denied, crucified.

            I have to hold to the Word of that God, a Word that affirms there is plenty, that God is a God of abundance and not scarcity, of grace and not harsh judgment. Better yet, I have to be held by that Word, transformed, and gifted to see that I am invited, that we are invited, to a feast, free and without charge. “Come all you who are thirsty.”

            

“The gifts and call of God are irrevocable” (Romans 11:29)

Two weeks ago, I got word that William Hogan, a long time guest at Manna House, and friend of Door of Hope, died of a heart attack. His funeral was this past Saturday. William was a gentle soul who came faithfully to Manna House for coffee, rarely said a word, and whose lightness of being lifted spirits simply by his presence. His death was unexpected, and I will miss seeing him, not only at Manna House, but walking around Midtown, which he constantly did.

                This past Saturday I went with Kathleen to help with Room in the Inn. A video is shown to guests before they leave for the various churches that will host them. The video is a bit dated. As I watched, I suddenly saw Twin, a Manna House guest who died two years ago. My heart hurt. As big of a pain in the ass as he could be, I miss him.

                Seeing Twin so shortly after William’s death made me think about so many of our guests who have died. I miss Gregory’s wit and smile. I miss Donald in the chair in the corner of the Manna House living room arguing about the Dallas Cowboys. I miss Abe’s amiable curmudgeonly comments. I miss Mark D. sitting quietly reading on the front porch waiting for us to open. I miss Sarah, and her one legged and then no legged humor. I miss Eleana, and the way she said to Kathleen, “Hey lady!” I miss Tyler, Toney, Willie, and on and on.

                Death at Manna House is all too frequent. In the twelve years we have been open, well over one hundred guests have died. And those are only the ones we know of; others simply disappear and we are never sure of their fate. William was fifty eight years old when he died. Quite young, but not so young when fifty is the average age of death for homeless persons.

                Meanwhile, for the past several months, I have been working with other Board Members of Outreach, Housing, and Community (OHC) to bring this organization to a close. There’s grief in realizing that an organization that did so much good in helping people to move from the streets into housing has died from lack of resources. And the grief is compounded by knowing June Averyt was the founder and chief inspiration of OHC, and there’s no doubt she would have kept it going. But she died nearly two years ago.  

                All this death conspires with the season and the liturgical calendar to keep death daily before my eyes.  Mortality is in the air as leaves and temperatures start to fall, albeit slowly here in the South, and winter draws near. In the liturgical year, the Feast of All Souls on November 2^nd called people of the Christian faith to commemorate of all of those who have died, “the faithfully departed.” And this followed All Saints’ Day, which remembered all the saints, known and unknown. The Church recognizes the need at this time of year to connect us spiritually with the waning light and growing cold by bringing into our hearts those who have died.

                Death is in the air, but so, too, in those feasts of faith, is the Manna House word for the day, “The gifts and call of God are irrevocable” (Romans 11:2). Paul had a faith deeply shaped by resurrection, by his experience of the risen Christ. Jesus died maligned and damned by the powers that be, much like Manna House guests are crucified by life on the streets. But this horrible reality is not the last word about their lives, God’s gifts and call in their lives are not defeated by death.

                I think this is why, when we have a memorial service at Manna House for a guest who has died, we tell stories, and we sometimes begin with this question, “How was the life of our friend a blessing to us at Manna House and to this neighborhood?”

                Despite the harsh realities of the streets and in the lives of our guests, they persist in being blessings to us and to each other. They resist the powers of death. They show how the gifts and call of God are irrevocable. Or as one guest frequently tells me, stating his resistance, “I’m standing up; not covered up. I’m up at Manna House; not locked up. It is a good day.”