I am a child of God

The last time I saw him he was being taken away by the Crisis Intervention Team of the Memphis Police Department. He was put in the back of a police car at the corner of Claybrook and Jefferson; half a block from Manna House. That was about three years ago. But here he was crossing the street in front of me as I turned from Cleveland onto Jefferson on Monday morning as I drove to Manna House. It was like seeing a ghost. He seemed to glide across the street, and then when I looked back he was gone. Until he showed up at Manna House an hour later right before we opened.

                He did not stay long on Monday. I got a chance to say “hi” to him and that was about it. He seemed tentative about being back, hesitant to enter into any conversation with anybody.

                But this Tuesday morning as the crowd thinned out in the back yard, he approached me with his story.

                “I was in prison for two years I think. Then Lakeside. Then a halfway house. Then Lakeside. Then a halfway house. Then I left. The food was bad. They didn't treat me right. I just walked away.”

                “You on the streets again?” I asked.

                “I am. I don’t want to be, but I am. I got no other place to go.”

                “How are you doing? You feeling ok?”

                “They tell me I have thyroid cancer. Isn’t that a kick?” Then he told me he doesn’t want any treatment. He’s ready to die. He doesn’t want to have surgery or radiation or chemotherapy or anything.

                “I’m going on my own terms; my way.” Next time I see him I might encourage him to consider a different route. I did a little reading and thyroid cancer sounds quite treatable. Then again, the way our conversation proceeded I wonder how much he is in touch with reality. He wandered off into a monologue about finding precious stones in various places around Midtown. I listened as long as I could then excused myself to do some work.

                I went down the driveway and ran into another guest. He was very agitated.

                “They don’t respect me. My life doesn’t matter. I don’t need to be treated like that. That man shouldn’t disrespect me. I’m human too. I’m a man too.”

                I picked up that he had been rather roughly told to leave from somewhere. I could not make out the reason, but I could guess he had not cooperated with some rule and that he had not left gently. He got some coffee, sat at a picnic table by himself, and kept muttering about how he should be treated.

                I always feel a bit inadequate relating to guests like these. I’m not trained in psychology or psychiatry. The few books I have read about mental illness and homelessness have given me some insight into the depth of the interior struggles, the lack of societal support, and the need for better mental health care. I know that listening, being calm, and responding with a steady voice are all helpful. I also know that though those do not sound like much, I find it emotionally draining to keep doing these things.   

                But both of these guests were telling me something important. I had to listen carefully and let their presence and their words sink in through my thick head and heart.

                “I am a human being,” each of them said. “I am a child of God. I am more than what I struggle with. I am more than whatever it is about me that scares you or you do not understand. I want you to welcome me. I want you to listen. I want you to care. I want you to recognize that God is at work in me.”

                And so I turned later to read and to let this truth sink in, “In the hands of God every one of us is infinitely worthy; in the mind and heart of God, each of us is of eternal value. And no matter what the odds, no matter what influence, illness, or evil threatens, God struggles for our healing and salvation” (Craig Rennebohm, Souls in the Hands of a Tender God, page 43).

Happy Birthday as Lament

Happy Birthday as Lament

Today was a guest’s birthday. As is our tradition at Manna House, we sang “Happy Birthday” very loudly and as off key as possible. Another guest had tipped us off to this guest’s birthday. The tipster knew that this rather curmudgeonly guest would be both delighted and consternated by the attention. And he was. He could not help himself. By the end of the song he was smiling.

            Shortly after the song, I was standing in the backyard near where both of these guests were seated, and the tipster asked for “the Word of the day.”

            Since we had just sung “Happy Birthday,” I selected Luke 2:8-14, “In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom God favors!’”

            “I’m no Jesus,” the curmudgeonly guest observed at the end of the reading. “No angels announced my birth.”

            “I bet your parents were happy though,” responded another sitting nearby. “You weren’t so crabby right from the start.”

            “Maybe so,” the curmudgeon reluctantly conceded, “Maybe so.”

            “Even Jesus’ birth was terrifying, at least at first” another added. “Those angels had to calm everyone down.”

            “He sure came with a lot of hope,” said another, “And that’s what I’m taking from this Word today.”

            I often wonder about the way in which each of our guests entered the world. Were they welcomed with love and celebration, or was there rejection and despair? Were they born into poverty or somewhat better circumstances? Did they grow up with hope and promise? Or did they grow up with shattered dreams? Over the years I have gleaned from guests that most started in poverty. Many were raised in surroundings that offered little support, and many experienced neglect and abuse. For most, any joy there might have been at their birth quickly gave way to harsh impoverishment.

            I learned today the story of a young guest. He was given crack when he was just a child of eight by his mother’s “clients” as she prostituted herself to feed her own crack addiction. His upbringing was more “slaughter of the innocents” (Matthew 2:16-18) than the initial joy of Jesus’ birth. What hope can he ever have? He has been on the streets since he was a teen. He is a difficult person to be around, and we struggle to offer him welcome.

            Later in the morning, Kirk pointed me to an article by Soong-Chan Rah in Sojourners on lamentation. “Lament is not the passive acceptance of tragedy. Lament is not weakly assenting to the status quo. Lament is not simply the expression of sorrow in order to assuage feelings of guilt and the burden of responsibility.” Lament involves listening, sitting with the reality of suffering, refusing easy answers, but also not giving in to injustice. Lament resists by its very cry of complaint. - See more at: https://sojo.net/magazine/septemberoctober-2015/no-easy-road-freedom#sthash.NqQV7NJI.dpuf

            In the Gospels, from the birth story of Jesus to the slaughter of the innocents, “Happy Birthday” becomes lamentation. Angelic song gives way to “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children.” In the backyard at Manna House both joy and lamentation are present. And maybe our off-key and loud singing bring together the angels and Rachel weeping for her children, refusing to be consoled.

Seeing the Light

Seeing the Light

When I was in fourth grade I got my first pair of glasses. They were black plastic frames and clunky. I endured teasing from classmates who called me “Four Eyes.” And of course I broke them. Duct tape held them together at the bridge and the temples. In junior high I got a pair of glasses that were made of some indestructible plastic and were perhaps the most hideous glasses ever made. I still have that frame. It never broke despite my best efforts.

I should have been more grateful to even have glasses. Without glasses I certainly could not see very well. In fact, the world was a blur without them. I wondered sometimes what it must have been like for people with bad eyesight who had lived in a time without eyeglasses. I was always fascinated by the stories in the Gospel when Jesus would heal a blind person. Seems like a mighty fine thing for Jesus to do given how difficult it is to go through life with impaired vision if you’ve don’t have glasses.

A few weeks ago at Manna House an organization called VSP offered a mobile eye clinic for our guests. A local eye doctor (Dr. Schaeffer) partnered with VSP to do eye exams. For some of the guests, they got glasses that very day. Many others, however, had to wait for their glasses since their prescriptions were more complicated, typically bifocals or trifocals.

Today I had the honor of handing out glasses that have now arrived. Fourteen guests got glasses and there are more on the way. Guests carefully took their new glasses out of the cases and tried them on. I asked them if I could take their pictures as they put on their glasses (see the post earlier today on Manna House Memphis). Most were excited to get their pictures taken so that they could immediately see how they looked in their new glasses. All were quite happy with their new glasses.

“So that’s what you look like!” one guest said to me as he laughed, “You’re uglier than I thought.”

            “I can read the newspaper and books again,” said another guest, “and I can see far away.”

            “O man, the world’s back in focus! No more headaches!” a guests said with a smile.

            “This is my first pair of glasses in four years,” a guest said, “I never thought I’d get to see clearly.”

            The King James Version of the Bible says in Proverbs 29:18, “Where there is no vision, the people perish.” Of course this vision is not the literal ability to see, but rather the ability to receive God’s Word. Still the metaphor works because of the importance of literally seeing. Vision is so crucial for living. In the Gospel stories of Jesus’ healing of the blind, those who could not see supported themselves by panhandling near the Temple (John 9) or along the side of the road (Luke 18:25). Blindness was often viewed as a punishment from God; a view Jesus firmly rejected (John 9:3).

            The glasses today, like Jesus’ healing of those who were visually impaired, are signs of God’s graciousness. The world became slightly more lovely in those delightful moments as guests put on their new glasses. Joy broke through as they came to see with renewed clarity.

                Jesus when he healed a man born blind spoke of how he came to be the light of the world (John 9:5). Hank Williams drew on that Gospel image as he sang,

“Just like a blind man I wandered along,
Worries and fears I claimed for my own.
Then like the blind man that God gave back his sight,
Praise the Lord I saw the light.

I saw the light, I saw the light,
No more darkness, no more night.
Now I'm so happy no sorrow in sight,
Praise the Lord I saw the light.”

This morning we all got to see a bit of that light.

Hospital Visitation

Hospital Visitation

Kathleen and I went up to visit Freddie this past weekend. He has been at the Med for several weeks now. He remains in intensive care. We’ve been asking and continue to ask for prayers for him as he struggles to recover from a very serious spinal injury sustained in a fall.

When Manna House started, I never imagined that I would be doing hospital visits like the pastor of a small church. But over the nearly ten years we have been open, hospital visits have become an all too regular feature of our work of hospitality. Some guests fall ill, seriously ill, as poverty grinds them down. Some get hit by cars as they negotiate the city streets. Some are done in by violence, swift and brutal. Some, like Freddie, have a horrible accident. Whatever the reason, word comes to Manna House via the news of the streets that a guest is in the hospital and off we go to visit.

I’m grateful that in Kathleen I have a good partner in making these visits. They would be too difficult for me to do alone. The difficulty includes the physical exertions of finding parking and getting up to a room, but more there is the spiritual challenge of being with those who are suffering.

Jesus taught that when we visit the sick we visit him, just as when we offer hospitality to the stranger we are welcoming him (Matthew 25:31-46). But how do we see Jesus in a guest who is terribly broken and barely alive in a hospital bed? How is Christ present in those we visit in the hospital?

When I read Monday morning from Edith Stein (whose feast day it was) I saw another identification between Jesus and the guests we visit in the hospital. “Do you want to be totally united to the Crucified? If you are serious about this, you will be present, by the power of his Cross, at every front, at every place of sorrow, bringing to those who suffer, healing and salvation.”

When I stand next to the hospital bed of a person I love, and I know that person is there because of a life of poverty and suffering, I readily recognize I am at the foot of the Cross of Christ. At this place of sorrow, I pray for healing and salvation for the person who I have come to visit. I certainly cannot bring either healing or salvation. But I deeply hope for both.

To have that hope does not take away my sense of emptiness and helplessness, rather it affirms that it is that very emptiness and helplessness which makes room for God. There is nothing that I can offer except my prayers and my presence. I simply stand at the bedside asking for God’s blessing upon the person who is broken and ill.

Visiting accepts that there are no easy answers in the face of the Cross; just as there are no easy answers in the face of human suffering and death, especially when those are caused by human injustice. There is only the hard response of reaching out with compassion, of standing with those who suffer. To visit is thus a moment of great grace, but not the cheap grace of easy answers. Rather it is, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer called it, the costly grace shared with us by Christ in the cross. 

Welcome Back to the Shit

Welcome Back to the Shit

Kathleen and I were gone last week to Minnesota to vacation with my family.  Monday morning at Manna House, a guest greeted me with a wry smile and said, “Welcome back to the shit.”

            The temperature was already in the 90’s. The humidity was syrupy thick. Guests arrived sweaty, tired, and mosquito bitten after trying to sleep out on the streets.

“I can always put on more blankets in winter,” a guest said, “but in the summer I’m down to my skin. There’s nothing more to take off.”

Said another, “The mosquitos are bad, real bad. Swarms of ‘em. The heat’s bad; they ‘re worse.”

But the weather and the bugs that make up the shit are not the worst of it. Conversation Tuesday morning turned to police harassment. For the first hour we were open a cop car was parked across the street from Manna House. It faced directly into the backyard.

“Why’s he over there?” a guest wanted to know.

“Just trying to intimidate us and make us feel watched,” another responded.

“Like they do when they order you to take off your backpack and then dump all the contents on the ground,” said another.

“I don’t even carry a backpack anymore, a guest responded. “It ain’t worth it. Cops on me all the time, ‘What’s in there?’ I got tired of it.”

Another guest took a different approach. “Cop did that to me once. He dumped out my backpack and I walked away. He ordered me to pick up all that stuff.  I told him, ‘You’re the one who dumped it out. You pick it up.’ I kept walking.”

We all laughed at this story, and this made me think that the guest who greeted me had a wry smile. This laughter and his smile are the power of resistance to the shit. The shit does not define him or any of our guests. Sometimes they're just not going to take anymore shit. They are in the shit but they are not shit. They are human beings made in the image of God.

This is how hospitality resists the shit. Hospitality welcomes guests with respect and dignity. Hospitality offers sanctuary. Hospitality has another world in view, one in which there is justice that reflects human dignity. And that is why hospitality must lead into work for justice. These days that justice work in Memphis means standing with current and former guests of Manna House at City Hall to call again for a Civilian Law Enforcement Review Board. It also means demanding justice for Darrius Stewart, shot and killed by a Memphis police officer.

The prophet Isaiah called Israel out on its shit and in doing so also lived into the laughter and wry smile of God: “On this mountain God will remove the veil of mourning that covers the peoples. The web that is woven over all nations will be destroyed.  Death will be no more. The Holy One will wipe away every tear. God’s people will be freed from shame. This is the solemn promise” (Isaiah 25:6-9). 

Lord in Your Mercy

Lord in your mercy

“Hey Pete! What’s the Word for the day?” I cannot remember how this tradition started. But it is a favorite part of my mornings at Manna House.

A guest will come up to me and ask for the “Word for the day.” I take out my pocket sized New Testament with Psalms and Proverbs and share a short scripture reading.

Most of the time I just open up the Bible and read whatever presents itself. Sometimes I will share a passage I have come across in my own prayer time. On occasion, I will pick a passage that seems appropriate to an issue affecting Manna House guests.

The guests who ask for the “Word for the day” and those around in hearing distance bring to their listening a careful and prayerful reverence. Heads slightly bow down, eyes show concentration, and when the reading is over some say “Amen” or simply shake their heads in agreement.

Some days the sharing of the “Word for the day” leads to a brief Bible study in which we reflect on what the passage means for us; other days we just share the scripture and continue on without discussion.

            Today’s “Word for the day” presented itself as I opened my Bible. Maybe the Holy Spirit had something to do with the selection. There certainly was a strong breeze blowing through the trees. I don’t read Jude very often. It is such a short book that it doesn’t even have chapters. I noted this lack of chapters, as most guests want to know chapter and verse, and a few will write those down for further study.

“But you, beloved, build yourselves up on your most holy faith; pray in the Holy Spirit; keep yourselves in the love of God; look forward to the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ that leads to eternal life. And have mercy on some who are wavering” Jude 20-22

“I like that last part, ‘have mercy on some who are wavering.’ I need to remember that today. Lots of shaky people out here wavering. We all need mercy.”

“Faith is a gift and a work. What a gift! God is good.”

“All real prayer is in the Holy Spirit. The Spirit gives us the words.”

“Gotta keep loving, even when I don’t wanna.”

“Can’t save myself. Gonna lean into God. Lord have mercy.”

“This is a hard life. I hope for mercy when I waver and hope I can share that mercy with others.”

I try to remember what guests say and write it down when I step away. They have a strong faith, a holy faith, tried and tested through many struggles, and I learn much them. When I waver, I remember the mercy the guests of Manna House so faithfully offer to each other and to us. And I remember the mercy of God that runs through those mercies, sustaining us in mercy. Who doesn’t waver in life? Who can live without needing mercy?

We prayed at the opening of the day for a volunteer who just had surgery for breast cancer. A few guests fell asleep in the chairs in the backyard. One guest hurried off to a job interview. Another was back after being gone for the last six months. He told me he had lost fifty pounds. I asked him how he did it and how I might lose some weight. He told me, “Put one foot in front of the other and keep going.” Kirk did haircuts and there was plenty of barbershop banter. Coffee was served. Showers and “socks and hygiene” were offered. Guests were patient (for the most part) as they waited for their names to be called. We all enjoyed the cooler weather, the wind, and a cloudy sky.

At the end of the morning we finally got to the bottom of a rumor about a guest who had fallen and broken his back. Kathleen and I went to the Med/Region One. Lord in your mercy.

Jesus was a Panhandler... and homeless too!

Jesus was a Panhandler… and homeless too!

I wore a t-shirt to Manna House Tuesday that says, “Jesus was a Panhandler.” One of the guests who saw my shirt said, “And he was homeless, too.” Then he quoted the scripture in which Jesus said, "Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20).

I was wearing this t-shirt because as of July 1, 2015 a more aggressive policing policy is in effect regarding panhandling. Because of this law, panhandlers are now more likely to be arrested.

When I give talks at churches about Manna House I’m often asked whether or not to give money to panhandlers. My response, “Yes, if you want to. No, if you don’t want to. But whatever you do or don’t do, treat the person with respect. And remember, you’re giving a gift and gifts don’t have strings attached.” I had a guest at Manna House who was a regular panhandler tell me, “I’m not upset with people if they don’t give. That’s their call. Just don’t be mean.”

I suppose for Christians, panhandling presents something of a moral dilemma. Jesus said, “Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you” (Matthew 5:42), and he identified with people in need (Matthew 25:31-46). But then downtown merchants, political leaders, and even a few clergy say, “If you give to panhandlers you’re just enabling drug abuse or alcoholism or laziness.” The new law certainly presumes panhandlers are bad people who should be arrested. It is quite detailed in all of the ways panhandlers can violate the law.

I think most people’s discomfort around panhandlers is that panhandlers are visible and sometimes verbal reminders that our society is messed up. If I’m making a quick trip to the grocery store or drug store, I don’t want to be confronted by some poor person asking me for money. If I’m downtown enjoying myself, going out for dinner and drinks, I don’t want to feel like I am that well dressed and well fed rich guy in the Bible who went to hell because poor Lazarus didn’t even get the scraps from my table (Luke 16:19-31).

This is why Overton Square has no panhandling signs up, and why the downtown area is basically a “no panhandling zone.” Poverty is a real downer when you’re trying to party. Bums asking for money are a buzz kill.

I get that some panhandlers are more than just a reminder of poverty. Some are unpleasant people. And some might just be poor and not homeless. Some certainly tell tall tales when they make their “ask.” I get that panhandling is not a solution to homelessness. What I don’t get is the stupidity of people who say you can make a good living panhandling. If someone really believes this, they should try doing it for a living and see how that goes.

 I also don’t get that anti-panhandling laws are a solution to homelessness. It is important to keep in mind the origin of anti-panhandling laws. They go back to the “black codes” following the end of Reconstruction. All sorts of anti-vagrancy laws were passed to reassert white control over blacks. “Slavery by another name” was facilitated by the arresting of black men and sentencing them to hard labor. Today race still plays a role in the enforcement of these laws. Who is more likely to be deemed “threatening” to white people, a black man panhandling or a white man panhandling?

These anti-panhandling laws are a poor response to poverty and homelessness. In the absence of housing or even shelter, we pass laws stigmatizing those who stand and ask for money. Anti-panhandling laws do exactly nothing to help end homelessness or poverty.

When I wear my “Jesus was a panhandler” t-shirt, I want to remind myself (and others) to evaluate all public policy from the perspective of those in poverty. I also want to express some solidarity with panhandlers, even the unpleasant ones. Their very unpleasantness might just be my salvation. As Paul reminds me, God chose to be and to speak through Someone who wasn’t exactly respectable. “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are, so that no one might boast in the presence of God” (1 Corinthians 1:27-28). If that rich guy who couldn’t be bothered by Lazarus had thought of this, he might not have gone to that gated community where there are no panhandlers called “Hell.”