Some biblical support for humility

Did some meditation on this passage as I wrote about humility:

Jesus said to his disciples:

"Ask and it will be given to you;

seek and you will find;

knock and the door will be opened to you.

For everyone who asks, receives; and the one who seeks, finds;

and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.” (Matthew 7:7-8)

But at Manna House
we are not Jesus,
though we try to follow him.

So ask,

and we will give it to you,

if you are on the list for socks and hygiene, or for a shower,

and if we have it.

So seek,

and you will find it.

If we have it to share.

Knock,

and the door will be opened to you

if it is Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday

during our regular hours.

For not everyone who asks, receives.

You have to be on the list.

And not everyone who seeks, finds.

Because we only offer a limited number of services.

And, not everyone who knocks,

will have the door opened.
Unless it is during our regular hours of hospitality.

Humility and Hospitality

“How do you take it?” a guest asked.

He had watched and listened to a verbal tussle I had with another guest. That other guest had not exactly been kind in response to my request that she leave after hurling a string of insults at me.
This really had not been much of a conflict. When insults move to verbal threats of violence that is more disconcerting.
Still, the question lingered, “How do you take it?”
Hospitality is a stern teacher in humility. Either I learn humility or I burn out and quit doing hospitality. Or worse, I quit doing hospitality, but I continue to offer “charity.”   
Humility teaches me that guests come to Manna House already having heard too many “no’s.” I would be frustrated and angry, too, if I was on the streets.
Humility teaches me that this does not mean I am an open target for abuse and disrespect. It does mean I seek to live with an honest assessment of my standing in the world and in relationship to other people.
Humility teaches me that hospitality does not allow someone to continue with behavior that undermines hospitality for everyone else.
Humility also teaches me that I have to accept that I cannot meet every person’s every need. Humility admits limitations in hospitality.
So humility teaches me that hospitality does not end homelessness, or create the institutional changes necessary to end homelessness. And so humility also propels me to join with others to seek those changes so homelessness can end.
Humility also teaches me to listen to guests who complain about the limits to our hospitality.  Sometimes a complaint includes a suggestion about how our practice of hospitality could be improved. Humility helps me go ahead and make the change.
Mostly what humility teaches me is to look for and accept with thanksgiving the incredible gifts the guests at Manna House offer each day. In humility I can acknowledge and celebrate that guests offer me as much (or maybe more) hospitality than I can ever offer them.
If I can learn humility, I can listen and learn a lot about resistance to racism and the strength of African American men and women. This happened a few weeks ago when I stumbled into a discussion about Spike Lee’s talk at the Grammy Awards which honestly named the racism in our society and among so many of our political leaders these days.
If I can learn humility, I will be asked to help a guest fill out a government form to apply for housing because he cannot read.
If I can learn humility, I will be honored when I am asked to cut a guest’s very long fingernails because he cannot do that since he had a stroke.
If I can learn humility, I will be invited to hear stories of loss, of grief, and of miraculous restoration and joy.
If I can learn humility, I can recognize that offering hospitality really means being open to all the hospitality guests offer, their trust, their welcome, their graciousness, and sometimes even their insults.
“How do you take it?” Really only with help from those who teach me humility.

Jesus in the Coffee Line

“Christ of the Breadlines” is a woodcut famous in Catholic Worker circles. There among the people pictured waiting for a meal stands Jesus, identifiable with a halo around his head and clothing from the first century.

            When I entered Manna House this morning after we had shared prayer on the front porch that image popped into my head. I saw the coffee line already formed. Guests were lined up from the front door to the table at the back of the dining room. Seated next to the coffee pot, James was offering each person a “Good morning!” and a cup of coffee. Charles was busy walking up and down the line serving vitamins to whoever wanted one. With their coffee cups filled, guests moved along the table to put in cream and sugar, and then on to find a place to sit.

            The coffee line moved with a steady pace, unhurried, but not slow. After a cold night, a hot cup of coffee helps to warm the insides even as it warms chilled hands. There is usually not much conversation as people stand in line. Conversations begin when guests sit down with their coffee.

            The image of "Christ of the Breadlines” inspired an old song tune to come into my head, “Jesus on the Mainline.” But I changed the lyrics to, “Jesus in the Coffee Line.”

            “Jesus in the coffee line, give him a cup,” I started to sing, repeating that line three times until I added, “Just hand him a cup and fill it up!”

            Then I added another verse,

            “Jesus in the coffee line, sign him up” repeating that line three times until I added, “Just get him a shower and the clothes he wants.”

            I tested the lyrics with a few of the guests. The focus group seemed happy enough that I may have a new song to sing at Manna House. I would not be surprised if another guest or two helps with developing some additional lyrics.

            Behind this version of the song is the ongoing importance of Matthew 25:31-46 for our practice of hospitality at Manna House. Although not on the list of sacraments in any church, I am convinced that Jesus’ words, “Whatever you do unto the least of these you do unto me” initiated what should be called "the sacrament of hospitality." In this sacrament, Jesus is present, and offered to us in the guests who come to Manna House. As with any sacrament, we are called in faith to recognize in the outward sign of our guests, the inward reality of the presence of Christ. And that presence is guaranteed by the Word of Jesus himself.

            So when Patsy tells me yet again that she is headed to the hand doctor, I try to hear in her voice the voice of Jesus who healed people. When I hear that “Shorty” had a heart attack, and I do not know Shorty, I listen to the guest who shares the compassion of Christ in describing how Shorty is doing. When I hear that “Old man Chris was hit by a car and he was knocked clean out of his wheelchair,” I listen to Christ’s judgment when the guest telling me this adds, “Ain’t that cold?”

            Yet I find this faith in the sacramental presence of Christ in our guests is often tested. Certainly not every guest is Christ-like in his or her demeanor. And just as certainly, the routine of offering what might be called the “liturgy of hospitality” can chip away at the sense of the sacredness of the work. Folding piles of laundry every day, or cleaning showers and bathrooms, can become more burden than blessing.

            So finally my faith in Christ's presence cannot depend upon the guests or my thoughts and feelings. Thank God. Faith itself is a gift. Faith stands on the graciousness of God. And in this sacrament of hospitality, for me to see Jesus in the coffee line has to always come back to the gracious promise of Jesus; that he is among the “least of these.” 

           This means I have to sing another verse, one that is closer to the meaning of the original song that made it plain that Jesus listens and heals and saves us. Yes, I can sing, "Jesus in the coffee line, tell him what you want." and sing it three times before I add, "Just stand with him in line and tell him what you want."

Robin Vargas

Robin regularly came to Manna House, mostly for coffee. Like a number of our guests, she had a job. She worked at Jack Pirtles. She made just enough to usually have a place to live. Then she tired of Memphis and moved to another city. She might have become one of the many guests who I get to know, and then disappear, never to be seen or heard from again.

So I was glad when we reconnected on Facebook a few years ago. We became “friends” and I got glimpses into her life away from Memphis. Occasionally we exchanged messages. She wondered how a guest she knew was doing, or she asked, “Whatever happened to….?” She seemed to be doing ok. Life was still hard, but bearable. The move had changed the scenery, but not the grind required to keep a job and a place to live.

Then one day she shared a survey that asked, “What country song was written about your life?” The answer was, “Rodney Atkins, If You’re Going Through Hell.” Why this song? Because “Robin you never give up, no matter how dark your days get. You’ve seen failure, but you’ve never been one to give in or back down in the face of fear. ‘If You’re Going Through Hell’ is a beautiful tribute to your spirit and a reminder that you are always stronger than you believe.”

Robin lived that song. Her son died about two years ago. Then about a year later she was diagnosed with cancer.
“Things go from bad to worse

            You think it can't get worse than that And then they do.”
            Don't slow down if you're scared don't show it,
           You might get out before the devil even knows you're there.


            I've been down to my last match…
            But the good news is there's angels everywhere out on the street
            Holdin' out a hand to pull you back up on your feet…"

Another guest at Manna House remembered Robin as one of those “angels everywhere out on the street.” She wrote, “She was one of the dearest people that I met during my years on the street… She will be very missed.” Indeed she will.

On February 10^th of this year Robin posted, “Hi. I just wanted to say goodbye to all my friends and family. I'm suffering from stage 4 lung cancer, can't barely breath so it won't be long. Just want you to know I love you all. And if you smoke, please, please, quit. God bless you. Going to hospice. They said the way I'm breathing it won't be long.”

She died 9 days later.

From what I knew of Robin’s life, nothing ever seemed to come easy for her. But she had an unconquerable spirit. “Good morning, God bless,” she wrote on Facebook posts. In her note about going to hospice, there is no self-pity. In the midst of her own ills, she shows concern for others, “Just want you to know, I love you all. And if you smoke, please, please, quit.”

             Much like the country song Robin identified with, she had a realism that held onto hope rather than giving in to despair.

“If you're goin' through hell keep on going,

              Much like the country song Robin identified with, she had a realism that held onto hope rather than giving in to despair.

“If you're goin' through hell keep on going,
Don't slow down if you're scared don't show it,
You might get out before the devil even knows you're there.

I've been deep down in that darkness,
I've been down to my last match…

But the good news is there's angels everywhere out on the street
Holdin' out a hand to pull you back up on your feet…

Another guest at Manna House remembered Robin as one of those “angels everywhere out on the street.” She wrote, “She was one of the dearest people that I met during my years on the street… She will be very missed.” Indeed she will.