The one chair, over there, on the left, is broken and alone, almost the same color as the worn out deck, almost invisible under the leaves, almost part of the natural order of decay. It is separated from the stacks of working chairs: chairs that invite us into the cheery, sun-filled, social space. I remember broken chairs I have seen before, sometimes being fixed by an enterprising owner, sometimes hidden in the back of a garage, often with a leg appearing over the top of dumpster.

That chair in the dumpster I remember clearly, because a man without a home, his name is Joel, was pulling it out. He explained to me that grey afternoon how he was going to use it in his tent at the back of the park--how it would be like a table for him, rather than a chair, how he would sit on a rock and put his writing on the chair, how it would fit just fine in the furthest back corner of the tent, and how his writing would stay dry when it rained. How this chair was just perfect for him.

Broken chairs are, in some way, perfect metaphors for my homeless neighbors, I think to myself that evening, sitting in my warm house, writing on a oak desk, noting all of the furniture around me, lots of furniture, all if it unbroken. Broken chairs are set aside so casually at first, just like the people who so casually are set aside when they cross the line from having to home to not having a home. Joel's last straw, after the crack in his leg from the car accident, and after losing his hourly job when the leg couldn't be properly fixed, and after he was turned down for disability, the thing that broke him was casual and small: the landlord raised the rent. And just like a chair with one leg that is loose and unstable, Joel was set aside, out of our thoughts, off there in the corner, out of sight of all of us with homes.

There are people who have tried to fix Joel, just like there are enterprising chair fixers. Some focus on his drinking, others on getting his disability approved, others on simply trying to get him inside.  Almost no one asks what is wrong with the system that produces so many broken chairs. Can we change the design, can we change the materials, can we test the product before selling it? Almost no one asks what is wrong with the system that produces people without homes. Can we change our definitions, can we change our supports, can we test new ideas before we impose them on the people who live on the streets?
​
Perhaps it is not important that chairs, which are things, end up brushed aside, hidden under the leaves, and then end up in the trash. But it is important that people--real people, people named Joel, and named Anna, and named Butch and named Daryl, real people are brushed aside, hidden, trashed. Real people whose brokenness is disability, whose brokenness is addiction, whose brokenness is mental illness, whose brokenness is simply poverty, these real people are treated as trash, and thrown away with as little thought as we throw away a broken chair.

(Names and details are changed to proctect the privacy of those described here.)

​"Are you saved?"
"Are you born again?"
"Have you accepted Christ as your personal savior?"
            
I hear these questions with dread, making up answers in my head, looking for an out, hoping the questioner hasn't noticed I am clergy and praying he won’t be seated next to me on the plane.
Most good liberals Christians never ask these questions, not of people we don't know, not of people we know, and certainly never of ourselves. What would it mean? What would it signify? What would it explain? We vary on our view of Christ’s identity, and what happens after death, and what is the good news we preach. But we don't vary much in our confidence that being "saved" or "born again" or having a "personal savior" is not the point. We whisper to ourselves "saved from what" and "born to what" and "what is this emphasis on personal?”
And yet as I hear stories from people without homes, people living on the edge, people who have nothing but the backpack they carry, being saved is not that complicated a theology.
Christine cries gratefully every time she tells me the story her husband who beat her so badly she worried about her children, about being hospitalized, about being killed. She shares the vivid details of when Jesus appeared to her, late at night, and told her to get out of the house, out of town, out of any place that she could be found. She travels lightly now; she lost her job, then her emergency shelter, and finally her children to foster care. She is paranoid and afraid of people but she trusts God travels with her, she trusts she will be OK, she knows that Jesus Christ saved her from certain death. "Jesus saved me, Jesus saved my children, and Jesus keeps taking care of me" she insists as she accepts a Dunkin' Donuts card and returns to her hiding space next to the railroad tracks.
Josh’s story of salvation is about drinking, and how Jesus got him to the lowest point, and then got him into the emergency room, and then got him into detox. Josh didn’t stay sober that time, but the second time, or maybe the third, or the fourth or fifth, he stopped drinking for good. “If Jesus didn’t get me sober I’d be dead” he explains simply, without apology, without embarrassment, without doubt.
Andrew also has no doubt, no question, no need for complexity. “I tried drugs to clear my mind, I tried all these medications that didn’t work, I tried suicide, and then finally I tried Jesus and now I’m alive.”
 Daniel is equally clear: “My family kicked me out and I had nothing until I met Sue who took me to church, got me food stamps, and saved my life. Sue is church to me, she is my savior, she is Jesus for me.”
“Jesus saved me” is a common refrain on the streets, in the SROs, at the food programs. This is not some complicated theology about where we are going when we die, whether we’ve been baptized, and is certainly not tied to whether we believe the right things. This is a simple statement of faith “I was going to be crazy, going to be injured, going to be killed, but instead here I am, alive! I am saved.” 

(From 2008. All people's information is changed to protect their privacy.)

For the offering every Sunday Worcester Fellowship has a ceramic vase. We invite everyone to share with one another just after the prayers. Sharing includes "peace" with your neighbor, money in the offering, but also promises for oneself and for each other. Wooden tokens marked with peace, hope, faith, love, confidence, sobriety, prayer, and trust are sitting on the altar.  Anyone can pick up a token and use it as offering.

Will is a steady volunteer who comes every week for set-up and walks with us to hand out sandwiches on Main Street. He always has every pocket stuffed full with collected items, including things he's picked up to hand to someone in the congregation who might need it. He always has a coffee mug in a pocket, a bag, or in his left hand, and nearly always a cigarette in right. When we say "thanks for helping, Will" he always replies "I try!"

I was a little surprised one week to see Will pulling tokens out of the offering after worship. As I watched he found the one he wanted and walked over to Jose, who was sitting on a bench, eating a hard-boiled egg. We had met Jose before, out on the street, but this was his first Sunday at worship. Jose was so high or drunk I was afraid he would fall down during worship, so I was glad he'd found a seat. At the prayers he had sobbed, but he wasn't ready to talk. Now he and Will were talking; I returned to packing up lunch.
Later, as we headed out for street ministry, and Mary and Will had gone ahead, I moved over to sit by Jose. He was clutching his hands to his chest.

"Are you Ok?" I asked.
"Oh yes" he assured me. "Will gave me hope."
"Do you need hope?"
"I needed hope so much. But Will gave me hope. I came to church and Will gave me hope."
"Can you keep the hope up this week?"
"Yes!" Jose opened his hands just a bit, like he was holding in something that might escape. He held them toward me so I could see the little wooden token he held. "Will said I could keep it. He said I could take hope with me. I have hope."
"Can you hold it in your heart?" I asked.
"I have hope in my hands and I have hope in my heart. Thank you."

And so now I have hope, too. In my hands and my heart, I have hope.

(The assignment was to write balanced sentences)

I am just like you. I am completely different than you. This is the dilemma of our theology, the question of our faith. I wonder how to develop my own faith story as truth, as important, as complete, and yet to understand your faith story as honest, as significant, as whole. How do I let you have your story when your story conflicts with mine?

I am a main line, liberal (progressive perhaps), and Christian. You are non-denominational, conservative (fundamentalist even), and Christian. You are a philosophical, new age (Wiccan even) and non-Christian. You are a believer, accepting what you’ve been told, and yet uncertain. You are a non-believer, doubting what you’ve been told, and yet certain. You and I are one. You and I are completely different.

This way we are different was on my mind as I headed out to do ministry with the homeless, with the lonely, in Worcester Massachusetts. I was determined to bring a lunch bag to the hungry, a cooler of cold water to those who thirst. I was determined to share a new reading of scripture, to share good news with the captives; I would be a pastoral presence, a listening ear. I knew that people on the streets would teach me about what they needed, I didn’t know how much they would teach me about theology.

It turns out that I needed a more robust theology; I needed to know more about how God works in the world. My theology didn’t actually grapple with real suffering; my theology was dependent on my easy life. It is not that I haven't had hard times. I have had very hard times. But I have not let the darkness in my life change my pretty answers nor my petty beliefs. I wanted a world that was all good and sweet and happily-every-after, I ignored evil and violence and suffering-to-the-end. I wanted to create a world where love could, and love does, overcome all tribulations.

That confidence in love was the foundation of my call to be in ministry on the streets of Worcester, and that confidence in love continues to carry me forward. And yet that confidence in love was not enough to sustain me in the face of violence: violence by the world on my parishioners, and violence by my parishioners on each other. That confidence in love was not enough to bring to a people who had tried again and again and again and again to find Jesus and God, to find peace and wholeness. I believed I was bringing faith to the streets. The faith I brought was not enough.

I did not bring faith to the streets; I went to the streets and found faith. I adapted and adjusted; I listened and I learned. I went out into the streets of Worcester bringing faith to the faithful and they gave me the gift of robust faith. The people on the streets have changed my beliefs and deepened my faith. They have fed me and freed me.

​They have shown me that we are completely different, and that we are exactly the same.

Eucharist at the start of Worcester Fellowship: Piles of sandwiches. We had worship, and as part of that Eucharist, and then the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, piled high on the folding table that was our altar. People could come and take sandwiches and it was for me, so theologically beautiful, so profound. This pile of plenty for people to come and take. Abundance. My picture of abundance was that pile of sandwiches.

And then time went by. Mary, my co-pastor asked me to help making the sandwiches. I didn’t like that as much! And then we had more and more people, and we never ran out of sandwiches, but people complained that some people were taking too many.

And then people who weren’t taking part in worship would get in line for the sandwiches before communion was over, and the people who were part of worship got upset. We’d created a leadership team and that team was clear: first that we had to stand in line, no just grabbing, and then that we’d have lunch first, then worship, and then, that you couldn’t have seconds until after worship, so that late comers would get a chance to eat.

I have to tell you—I was devastated by this image of rules and by what I saw as the abundance denied.
For me, it was like holding back Bartimaeaus from the healing that Jesus so freely offered. Wait in line we were telling him, hold back, don’t shout so loud.

Except, have you actually looked at this text? Does Jesus take credit for healing Bartimaeus? Here is the story:
Jesus stood still and said, "Call him here." And they called the blind man, saying to him, "Take heart; get up, he is calling you."
So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus.
Then Jesus said to him, "What do you want me to do for you?" The blind man said to him, "My teacher, let me see again."
Jesus said to him, "Go; your faith has made you well."
Immediately he regained his sight and followed Jesus on the way.

“YOUR FAITH HAS MADE YOU WELL” Jesus suggests that the man had the gift that was needed to heal himself. Jesus says “your faith is what has made you well”.

Jesus, on seeing a man who clearly needed healing, doesn’t offer healing, but instead offers a question: what do you need? He trusts the man knows what he needs. And then, he sees again, deeply, into the man, and that he has the faith needed to heal himself. So Jesus notices the ABUNDANCE Of this man’s faith, the abundance of his gift.

And the man responds, not by coming again next week for healing from something else, but instead by becoming a disciple—a follower, a student, of Jesus.

Here is the abundance I could not see at Worcester Fellowship. I could not see that Bob was managing the lunch line. I could not see that Tyler was proud, and had told his mother of all his volunteer work with us. I could not see that WF leadership team was a place that Joe’s voice was taken seriously. I could not see that Mark loved to hand out lunches, and to say hi to each person, many of them by name.

​What I could not see is that the ABUNDANCE of the good news of the Kingdom is not an abundance of stuff: sandwiches or bus passes or socks. The good news of the Kingdom is instead the abundance of human GIFTS. That every person has something to offer to our ministry: if we can just see them, welcome them, love them, share with them, and let them share with us.

 

The advent study at the white steepled church on the town common had that odd sense of being superb and dull at the same time. They have not done study, of the Bible or anything else, in recorded history--or at least not since the fifty's. Adults simply don't do it. So the expectations were low, the education was low, and the attendance was low. 

In fact I expect that some of the older women came simply because I am young and new and they wanted to support me, not because of some interest in Bible study.
 
And those that came knew little of the bible. They didn't know that Matthew and Luke had different Christmas stories, or that there is debate as to Mary's virginity,  or that Jesus has siblings. It isn't that they didn't care about some of the controversies over biblical interpretations, they didn't know there were controversies. So all of what I explained as background was "very interesting". 

I believe I have written elsewhere about one of the younger women (as in middle aged) was upset that in the magnifcat Mary is so negative about the rich. "That is not right" she declared. But many in the group were also completely shocked that it was there in the text.
 
But our study wasn't a study in order to know the deep meaning of the text, or to know the history or to resolve any of these controversies. Our study was about how we feel and how we interact with God. 

So we looked at a text, considered some of the meanings, considered some words that stood out for us, and then did meditation, along with some art, in order to think about the way God spoke to us. 

And people shared hard stories of people they have lost, of what they love and hate about their homes, of how their family used to be these people, but now it is these different people. They laughed and they cried and they spoke timidly of private, hard to bear challenges. Two women were afraid of losing their independence, several were struggling with letting their now teenage children into the world. Some were over busy, others were over alone. The sharing was deep and special. There was a struggle at putting God language on it, but it was filled with the spirit of God.
 
And then Sunday, six or eight or twelve weeks later, one of the women came up to me privately, after worship, but also all of coffee hour was done. "I want to tell you that I am a new person and that is because of you!".
"Because of me?"
"That advent study. I am completely new."
"How are you new?"
"I don't know who I was, but I was crying all the time then, crying about everything. And now I am myself again."
"The new you is the same as the you from before your  husband died?"
"You know I couldn't talk about James, and all I could think about was how I could not go on without him. And now I can remember him, and I still get sad, and I still cry, but then I'm done crying and I enjoy my grand children and I enjoy my life. That changed after the study. I think it is because of you."
 
I told her that it was wonderful, that I was pleased for her, and that it was God, not me, that made the change. And I thanked her for the compliment, that I was glad she felt the study helped. And I asked her to come to the next study.
 
"Oh, I wouldn't miss it!"
Indeed.

So there is a lot of discussion about smoking on the streets. Lots of people talk about quitting, or when they quit sometime earlier, or the comparison of the difficulties of quitting cigarettes to quitting other addictions. At the same time, most of the smokers carry a bag of tobacco and roll their own cigarettes. Most of our regulars don't ask us for cigarettes, but new people often do. Some of volunteers will share--I always watch, the recipient almost always breaks off the filter before lighting up.

There is a great deal of judgement against smoking; especially common is the comment "you can't smoke here! Its church!" Those who do smoke work very hard to keep their smoke to themselves, and to move outside the circle when they light up. Still, passing the peace includes switching which hand is holding the cigarette, and lots of people who volunteer to carry our things first must carefully put out a partially completed cigarette, and store it in a safe pocket before picking up the load.

You actually CAN smoke at our church. In fact, I'm not such a fan of all the criticism of smoking. Sure cigarettes will take weeks off our average life span. If you do get cancer, it will take years off your life. And the people who are coughing uncontrollably between cigarettes must be uncomfortable. I'm allergic to the smoke and have had asthma attacks from being around smokers.

But of all the addictions I see on the streets (and in my life) I'll take smoking any day. The nicotine really DOES help people concentrate. But mostly it is better than crack, and speed, and heroin, and all the other drugs I'm out of touch with, and yes, even better than an addiction to alcohol. Cigarettes may make you sick, but they don't make you angry or violent, or out of control. They don't leave you peeing on the street, or turn you to prostitution, or separate you from your family or your friends.

I told a group at our community meeting last week that I wasn't really opposed to smoking. In fact, I said, if we could get rid of all the other addictions if we would just take up smoking, then I'd take up smoking in a minute.

​There was dead silence. Then Alan lit up another cigarette and smiled. "Don't do it Liz," he said. "I don't think it'll work."

First Reading is from Sing Out: page 47, 5th song, First Stanza, First word: Open… Open my eyes.
Second Reading is page 62, 3rd song, First Stanza, First word: Micheal, row the boat.
Open my eyes, Micheal, row the boat.
The word of Sing Out Publications. Let it be so.
 
Now Sing Out can be a bit dated in language, SO lets look at the word in more contemporary language: Open my eyes, MIKE, row the boat.
Or perhaps more simply: Open Mike.
The scripture today tells us about Open Mike.
Let it be so!
 
Now some of you might have expected a third reading… Many of you I think that the scripture tells us to Open Mike Delaney. But I can assure, that is not in the text. We are NOT to open mike Delaney. We’ll leave that to the doctors!
 
No, all of you here who think that Open Mike is about Mike Delaney have been lead astray by bad preaching.
Open mike is actually about MICROPHONES. Did you know that? A big part of understanding scripture requires that you understand the context. Open Mike is really Open Microphone.
 
Microphone: Phallic object that makes you louder.
 
And that is what Open Mike is about, being louder, getting your voice heard. The scripture today is reminding us that humming in the bedroom is fine, strumming in the kitchen is fine, drumming in the bathroom is fine, singing is the car is fine, as long as your windows are shut. You can sing in the shower, or play your music while you knit or mow the lawn, or pee, or eat (although please not with food in your mouth). But in the end the good book tells us OPEN MIKE. You’ve got to amplify that music and get out in PUBLIC.
 
And because it the good book DOESN’T say OPEN MIKE DELANEY—that means of course that you can be in public in other places than Java Joes in Jamaica Plain. Not that this Open Mike isn’t the best one, of course, but the scripture is telling you to get out in Public, any public and stand up next to a microphone and LET THE MUSIC be heard.
 
Can I hear: “let it be so”
 
Some of you have heard the word and are living the word. Thank you for signing up.
 
But some of you are sitting out there murmuring that your music is ready not ready to be heard—some of you are thinking you don’t have the right gift to share next to a microphone. OF COURSE YOU AREN’T GOOD ENOUGH.
 
Does the scripture saying anything about GOOD open Mike??? NO. These words are calling you to share what you’ve got. Surely you all have heard some less than stellar music at an open mike?
 
As bad as you are, you’ve got to join in. We have heard the words of the good book and they are telling you, begging you, asking you, downright demanding that you get yourself to an Open Mike.
 
So what is a poor musician to do if you are afraid to stand next to a Microphone, afraid to obey the good book and offer your music out loud? Let me tell you a story.
I knew a musician once that was afraid. He died and went to music hell for failing to follow the words of scripture.
 
Hmm. OK, here’s a more encouraging story.
Another group of musicians decided that it would be easier to make music in public if they did it TOGETHER. The good book likes TOGETHER. Why on page 59, song two, first stanza together is the ninth word. On page 238 it’s in the refrain 3 times. On page 261 its in the first song. Together is a good word from the good book.
 
So this nervous group gathered together and called themselves “Safety in Numbers”. They got together, practiced twice, and next thing you know there they were, following the words of scripture by playing at an OPEN MIKE.
This is what the good book is calling you to do.
 
Now I’ll tell you a secret that the members of “Safety in Numbers” may not know. There were a few people who talked a bit behind their back. One or two people called them “two big for the stage” (I think that once there were 28 on the stage) and I’ve heard rumor that they were called “a lot of basses and drum”.  But they followed the word. And that is good.
 
In fact they got good! They got so good they changed their name to “New England Weather”. Now you may be thinking that a name like New England Weather implies something dreary, rainy, grey, drippy, stormy, and wet as New England Weather. It makes you think they’d have songs all about rain and snow and hurricanes. You’d expect a group named New England weather to have songs about the silence of the sea, holes in rivers, flooding of towns, wading in the water. You think: It’s gonna rain today, and immediately it pops into your mind—New England Weather.
 
But it’s not true. In fact there music is so varied that if you wait a few minutes the music will change! New England Weather, this group that finally got together and sang out in public, their music is varied, and bright, just like the weather today. You might wonder how they got so good?
 
Because they followed the word of Sing Out Publications. They listened to the word OPEN MIKE. They came out into public, shared their music. Oh, and because they practiced!
 
All of you here today, listen to the word of scripture: Open Mike. Often!
 
And you too shall be ready to release a CD.

Let it be so.
 

(From 2008 Note that all descriptions of people are changed to protect individuals privacy.)

I'm praying for Serena. I miss her when she doesn't stop by for Outdoor Church.

Serena is among the most helpful of our volunteers. She will hand out bulletins or read one of the readings, she preaches during our open sermon, and prays during prayers of the people, she makes sure everyone gets a sandwich before she takes extra, and looks for gloves for people who don't have them.

Serena and her husband have housing: a rented room in one of Worcester's walk-up apartments. They've been homeless in the past and pray for people who are homeless every week.

A middle aged hispanic woman, her husband looks on adoringly as she goes on and on about how well she is doing staying sober this time. Serena tells us about her collection of figurines, about her job, about the church she attends Sunday mornings, about what she is reading, about her roommates, and who she talked to yesterday, and the day before. She takes one of everything we offer, and returns the favor by bringing us gifts--tracts and pamphlets from other churches, crosses, greeting cards, pens and the advertising tokens. In the year we have known her, Serena has gotten sober 4 or 5 times, the last time for almost 3 months.

Early on she only came to church if she was sober. She'd miss a week and then explain the next that she had had a little problem. We always respond: you are always welcome, no matter what. She smiles, and misses church again two weeks later.

Serena prays for sobriety, for a recovery program that will take someone with mental illness, for something to do at night when her brain is racing, for a re-connection with her 20 year old daughter. She gives praise for a landlord who lets her do chores for pay, for a good afternoon stemming, for how wonderful her daughter is, and her husband, and Mary and I. She preaches on the how wonderful Jesus is, and comes each week with new news about learning to read the bible.

A few weeks ago I met her before worship. She was hollering words I couldn't understand. "What is it?" The police, she said, they are after me. They just keep threatening me. She could barely stand up and her breath was strong with alcohol.

I hugged her as she sobbed. They took my husband. He's no good. They took him and now I'm homeless. Can you believe it? I'm homeless and the police want me.
"I'm heading up to worship, come on up."
"I'm drinking. I can't."
"You are always welcome at worship."

​She continued non-stop until we got up the table, already set-up for worship. She turned to share her story with another frequent participant, and I turned to help Bill practice his reading. When worship started, once again, she was gone.

Easter Sunday Serena came to worship late, disheveled, and drunk. I came around and hugged her, and she sobbed. "I'm glad you came." She cries some more. But she was there. She was there at worship.

I'm praying for Serena.

Worcester Fellowship began having outdoor worship on Easter Sunday, 2007, so in many ways, this Sunday felt like our one year anniversary. Of course, Easter was much later last year, but still!

The day was glorious: brightly sunny, a bit of wind, and warm enough to remove our gloves and hats. We had scarves, gloves and hats in the donation bin, but no one even looked inside to find something. Our visiting musician brought a drum with bright red and blue ribbons on it that snapped about gaily. Worship opened with energizing music and in the announcements bob shared that he may be getting his taxi license on Monday. Mary reminded us that now that it is Easter we can shout Alleluia whenever we want.

And so we alleluia-ed Justin.

As we waited for lunch to arrive, I wondered if we'd have any colored eggs to hand out.

Tall-man-with-hat was back, we hadn't seen him since last fall. It's hard to do worship with him there... he stands next to me and preaches throughout, but it was good to see him and he seemed in good spirits. His first language is Hungarian, I think, and I can't understand anything he says, but he loves to share, and shouted Alleluia throughout our worship. Several times the whole congregation responded with their own Alleluia!

Evan was off to Easter dinner with his family, but sent word that an apartment has come through and he should be moving out of the shelter on Monday. Alleluia again.

Joan looked left and right to see if the guys with her were looking, and then smiled at me as she took a condom from the altar, and a pair of socks, and stuffed them in her pocket. Later she asked if you could have as second condom. I helped her hide a handful and checked to see if we need to buy more. Alleluia!

First Church in Marlborough, Congregational UCC, came up with sandwiches, chips, juice boxes, and raisins, and declared they had brought 4 dozen colored easter eggs! Alleluia!

And then Bob came with another 4 dozen dyed eggs! Alleluia? (How many can we possibly give away?)
Alleluia! I shouted as he tucked them under the table. Oh, he said, I have more in the car. Alleluia??? Yikes. How many eggs can we share?

28 people for worship with a few more added as lunch began. Many preached, and many prayed, and many pulled Mary or I aside to listen to their stories. And then off to streets, Liz and 2 volunteers found a new street with many people who longed for socks, sandwiches, and stories. As we handed out eggs to the men on one corner, a woman driving by hollered, wait, I want eggs, and pulled into the parking lot. I'd like to have eggs for my kids, she smiled. Is six enough? Yes, oh thank you, bless you. Alleluia.
We met Mary and two more volunteers behind the homeless shelter. Mary scooted off to find Rose, whose husband is in jail again, while we offered the last of our eggs and cookies.
In the end we gave away 200 colored Easter eggs. Alleluia!