From Apr. 2nd, 2012. Palm Sunday was on April 1 that year.

The forecast was for rain, and the clouds certainly were dark. It's a first Sunday and that often means low attendance at the Worcester Fellowship lunch line. I was late for morning church and and then late to Worcester Fellowship. All in all, a start that did not prepare me for a wonderful day.

Despite the forecast, the sun was out, the wind was warm, and lots of people were present. We had cheeseburgers for lunch! Both St. John's and St. Andrews brought lots of palms. Several of our "regulars" who had been inside due to rain last week, and cold the week before, and who had this pressure and that to deal with, they were back at Worcester Fellowship. It was like "old-home day". 

We marched to "we are marching in the light of God", parading around the common like the fools that we are. Occupy Worcester folk turned their head and smiled, waiting  for us to finish our song so they could continue to meet. Six folk from our congregation and one youth from Yarmouth, Maine, took part in the reading of the passion story. We had silent prayer after the woman anointed Jesus, and prayers after Peter denied Jesus. And then a delightful reflection on how appropriate it is to look at the passion on April Fools day, how foolish all those actions are, how foolish we all are, to follow this faith, this foolish faith that trusts that no matter what, love wins out.

At the peace I foolishly interrupted the occupy worcester discussion, several folk turned as I whispered and signed "peace". At the Eucharist I foolishly misplaced the bread, but not the love that is communicated in the sharing of the body and blood, the brokenness and the forgiveness. 

And then we handed out Palms at the 701 Main Street shelter, where we were called foolish for confusing public and religious spaces. And we handed out Palms at the hospital atrium, where people grinned at our audacity, and a man wearing a Johnny and sitting in a wheel chair put down his coffee to grab our hands and say thanks.

​The passion story certainly calls for rain and dark clouds. But somehow it was good news this week. Foolishly good news.

See more about worcester fellowship at www.worcesterfellowship.org.

​Is it weird to post my sermon in advance? March 6, 2016.

Luke 10:1-12 After this the Lord appointed seventy (two) others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. 2 He said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. 3 Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. 4 Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. 5 Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!’ 6 And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. 7 Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. 8 Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; 9 cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’ 10 But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, 11 ‘Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.’ 12 I tell you, on that day it will be more tolerable for Sodom than for that town.
 
I love this text, but I must admit I always use it to talk about doing our ministry two by two. Frankly, when I started my outdoor church I was too afraid to go out by myself, so this two by two message seemed really important.
 
And, in fact, it is. Not just the safety in numbers, but we also know “wherever two or more of you are gathered, I am with you”. Two by two is good news.
 
But lately I’ve noticed some other things about this text that are very important to who we are as a church. First of all, do you notice that Jesus doesn’t send them out to start churches? Or to get folk to come to church? Or even to get folk to come to worship or Sunday school or bible study? Nope the people are sent out to “cure the sick and tell them the Kingdom of God has come near you”.
 
That’s it, that’s all. Deal with people’s problems, and say The Kingdom of God has come near.
 
This is clearly not the right-wing evangelical message of “sinners repent!” But it also isn’t the UCC and progressive Christian message of “we should just love each other”. There is changing going on here: curing. And there is this crazy idea that the Kingdom of God has come near you. What on earth could that mean?

Jesus’s message is that the Kingdom of God is at hand. Some of us have gotten this confused with the idea of Heaven—but Jesus is not talking about what happens after we die. And some of us instead imagine a time, as mentioned in the Lord’s Prayer, when God’s work is done on earth, just like it is done in heaven. But this text, and all the other times Jesus’ proclaims this, the Kingdom of God is “at hand” or “nearby” or “right within sight”.
 
For year’s I preached that the Kingdom of God is at hand in a little tiny church that met in a small restaurant. The ceiling was low and when I’d point up, as preachers are inclined to do, I’d point directly at the heat vent. Now the heat in that church rarely worked, and the church was in new England, so we had lots of jokes about the Kingdom of God being there in that not-working heat vent. But one Sunday, just as I reached up toward the vent, and proclaimed that the Kingdom of God is at hand, the heat came on!
 
Indeed, those little things that make us laugh, or feel joy, or feel the love of one another, I think those things are little hints of the Kingdom. In the early church, the community gathered for a potluck, possibly every day. There was enough to eat for everyone, even the poorest of the poor—and that in itself was evidence that the Kingdom of God was indeed already begun. Standard Christian theology is that God’s rule has already started. It’ll be more, it’ll be better, it’ll be everyone, but today our celebration is that it has started.
 
It feels, today, in the United States, in many mainline churches, like it would be audacious to proclaim that we are already feeling the Kingdom of God. Part of that is because our lives are just fine the way they are. We imagine the Kingdom is great, and can't see how to get from fine to great. 

But for people who are struggling out in the world, it would not take much for their life to be a great deal better. I was at a retreat yesterday where someone said their picture of a beautiful community would simply be one where they felt they belonged. Belonging is a great start of the Kingdom that churches can provide, if we are trying to reach people who do not feel like they belong.  For people who have been abused as children, or who are abused now as adults, being in a community where they are safe would be a great improvement. Safety is a great start of the Kingdom that churches can provide. I’ve worked recently in a church that has many parents of kids with mental health challenges. They constantly have to explain, and ask for, basic services their children need. Acceptance and Affirmation of that even kids that act out are Children of God would be a great start of the Kingdom that churches can provide. People who are hungry and lack housing and clothing and education and opportunities are treated as if that means they have no skills, no gifts, no contribution to make to the world. Respect and Appreciation would be a great start of the Kingdom that churches can provide.
 
You may notice that none of the things that bring the Kingdom near seem to be about stuff. And you may notice, as I have failed to notice, time and time again, that in this scripture text, the disciples don’t bring any stuff to give out. It’s actually worse than that, and that is probably why I ignore it, but they are not allowed to even bring the stuff that they need to care for themselves.
 
Essentially, the disciples are sent out to beg for their own needs. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to do that. And yet, what does it mean that Jesus’ asks them to do that?
 
When I started at Worcester Fellowship, I used to worry about whether I had what was needed to give to people. But over time I learned that what homeless people wanted, more than just about anything, was to do something useful for the world. Some of it was simple: there was no reason for me to try to get 5 gallons of hot chocolate out of my car; someone wanted to do that. There was no reason for me to figure out how to set-up the altar table; someone wanted to do that. There was no reason for me to shovel the walkway and chairs; someone wanted to do that. But later it was even more complicated things. When someone needed help finding the shelter, there was a person without a home who could take them there; when someone needed to figure out food stamps, there was a person without food who could work the system; when there was a call for Worcester Fellowship to speak out on youth homelessness, there was a youth without a home who wanted to speak at the state house.
 
It turns out not having stuff doesn’t take away knowledge, or compassion, or helpfulness, and it certainly doesn’t take away the desire to serve one another. But more than that, it turns out that when I stop thinking that I need to have what people need I start to be connected to many people who have many things that other people need. And it turns out that there is no better way to treat people as children of God than to treat people as gifted, helpful, ready to serve. In the end it was my ability to leave behind my purse, my bag, even my sandals, that made me more able to proclaim the Kingdom of God in near.
 
And that is good news.

To see more about Worcester Fellowship go to www.worcesterfellowship.org. This sermon was written as the introduction to my workshop "Mission Goes Where the People Are". For more on that workshop, use the "contact me" page.

Sometimes at Worcester Fellowship our lunch line is just like Church. I hate it for its rigidness, its rules, its “lets keep you in your” place mentality. I love its for its hopefulness, its building of community while we wait, its promise of abundance at the end of the line.
 
As we wait in the park  each Sunday I am impressed that the lunch line works at all. There are people moving into and out of the line, people looking for someone else to take their place in line, people arriving very early, people who arriving very late, the late ones worrying whether there is enough, and asking if they can cut ahead, and begging the line authorities to provide absolution for their lateness, or drunkenness, or disorderliness, and to provide a place further ahead in the line.
 
But as there are no shortcuts to heaven there is no cutting the line. Those who are late must wait behind a hundred or so hungry bodies to see what is the little snippet of the Kingdom today. Is it ham or bologna or tuna or will there be only peanut butter and jelly left when I get to the front? Is today’s message one of hope and abundance or one of despair and less sandwiches than people lined up?
 
“I’m hoping for tuna” Sam who is always a little late, always a little anxious, always in need of lunch for himself and his girlfriend, over there, on the pew-like bench by the fountain, Sam tells me, pointing. He asks as politely as he knows how: “Will there be any f’in, excuse me, any tuna when I get to the front of the line?”
 
Like all those in indoor church who need reassurances before worship starts, these questions drain me of the good news. I’m not a detail person. I don’t know if the Sunday School teachers are ready or the coffee is hot in indoor church, and I don’t know if the tuna will run out in outdoor church. We are here to proclaim release to the captives and I’m stuck in the sheer tediousness of getting started.
 
But before I can check on the tuna there is a fight brewing in front of Sam in the lunch line. Someone is trying to cut the line. An older white man I don’t know says quietly but firmly “hey, don’t cut” and I head toward the problem knowing that while many folk will sulk to the back of the line, others will simply leave if challenged on their place at this altar.
 
And so I was thinking about the order of people at God's altar as I was moving closer, looking up at a very angry young Hispanic man, noticing his hands clenched in his pockets, he was gritting his teeth, pacing a bit, but staying there, close to the front of the line, waiting for me, the authority, with my stole flapping around me. I said, as he expected, “you cannot cut the line.”
And he said his confession, "I haven't eaten in days."
And I refused him absolution, sticking to the agreed upon Levitical Commandment:  "You have to go to the end of the line." 
"Well then I won't eat." He sulked away in despair.
 
Harvey, a regular, and a good line following Christian could not contain his anger at this blatant disregard for the rules. "Why the f** do you always cut the line?" and "Why can't you go to the end of the line?"
 And so the man came back screaming "I'll go anywhere I d*&$ well please" and "why don't you mind your own business".

And so now I am standing between two tall men, holding forth like Moses holding the waters, and saying in my most grown up, deep, calm, and forceful voice: "Stop fighting and do not cut the line." Repeat eight times. 

And the line continues forward, like a prescribed liturgy, without the cutting man, without all those who cannot follow the prescriptions of order and predictability and neatness and beauty.
 
And then an elderly white man behind this whole scene, also very tall, the one who said "hey, you can't cut", the man just ahead of us, with the white shirt and blue stripes, he reaches the food table and takes one of everything without a word, a sandwich, an orange, a bag of chips, a box of juice, and heads back to the end of the line, stopping for just barely a second to hand the entire lunch to the angry Hispanic young man, the one who had tried to cut.

And then the elderly man waits in the line again to get lunch for himself, probably not tuna this time, probably peanut butter and jelly. 
 
And I am reminded once again that this is, indeed, just like Church.

For more on Worcester Fellowship see www.worcesterfellowship.org.

This is from Nov. 11th, 2008

I was eating lunch at an outdoor table with a few friends while visiting in Austin last week when several homeless guys walked by. One stopped a the table next to us and asked if they had any change.

One of my companions turned to our table. "They shouldn't do that." She said.
"Shouldn't do what?"
"They shouldn't ask people who are eating for change."

This is one of the difficulties of this job. "They" aren't "they" anymore. While I probably agree, its probably rude to ask people for money while they eat, it's different to make such a statement when the person asking is Jo, or Jose, or Juan, not "that guy". And the more people I've met, the less I can see "that guy" as "other". I don't know him, but I know others like him. I have people I could call "friend" who ask people--indeed who ask ME, for change.

Many visitors to Worcester Fellowship ask about change. "Should we give people who are asking for money any money?"

One answer is easy. "This ministry is not about giving people money. Worcester Fellowship doesn't give people money."
"But should we, you know, the rest of the time? Should we give people money?"

I've spent a fair amount of time searching for proof that the Bible doesn't ask us to give poor people money. Unfortunately, it does. In proverbs it says "if someone asks you for money, give it to them." Damn. 

"But won't they use it for alcohol, or drugs?"
"Yup, some will. Alcohol, drugs, cigarettes. And also for coffee at Dunkin' Donuts so they can use the bathroom. And phone cards so they can be called for jobs. And a chocolate bar. And a lottery ticket."
The fact is, except for cigarettes and drugs, I've used MY money for all those things, too.

Here is my advice. Decide for yourself about the money. But look the person in the eye when you say "yes" or "no". And ask "how are you today?" And smile. And think of them as "Jo" or "Jose" or "Juan" and not as "them". Maybe say a prayer.

People shouldn't have to ask people who are eating lunch for spare change. That I know for sure!

From Dec. 15th, 2010

We read Micah, chapter 1, in Bible study today. Micah is a prophet writing to his community about hope and about doom. We started by asking the question: is the chapter hope or doom? The clear answer: DOOM. Wow, Micah is predicting suffering and loss for everyone. What a bright and cheery advent message!

We went over some of the setting and noted how similar those times were to today: that the rich have the money and the power, their sense of satisfaction and righteousness. That the poor have, well, that the poor have nothing, their sense of dissatisfaction and hopelessness.  The poor have peace and religion and family and friends, but the rich don't seem to notice that the poor have no way to get ahead, no work, no supports, not enough food, not enough housing. Micah's message is addressed to those in power: your doom is coming. For the wealthy: doom is coming; for the poor: doom is now.

But Bible study at Worcester Fellowship isn't really about tussling with the setting or about understanding the goals of a prophet, and it really isn't about the predicted destruction of Jerusalem. So we explored the question: "have you ever felt a sense of doom?" 

Some days I have the right question!

First we talked about Korea and nuclear war and terrorists. Brian wants to go into the Navy and he's concerned about how the Navy will be involved in a war in Korea. Mark lives with the challenges of paranoia and has to check every floor of his building every evening before he can sleep because of all the news about the threat of terrorists. He describes how media reinforces his fears, even as he knows that his building in Worcester isn't a likely target for terrorism. We heard how Alison worries about her son who is in Iraq, and how much violence Estella saw in her home as a child when her father returned from the war Korea.

And then we moved to the sense of doom we feel in our personal lives. Sandy mentioned how hard it is to have the nights getting longer and longer. Alison described her struggle with depression, Ron how his regular seizures are stealing more and more of his brain. Juan said that his biggest sense of doom comes from his addictions.

There was instant agreement with the doom of addiction and then lots and lots of examples. How you try so hard for days and days and then one day you are late for the food pantry so you don't have food and you get a few bucks and you have another drink. How you try to stay in the house to stay away from others who are using and your mind gets more and more convoluted as you get more and more isolated and you just want to die. How you go to meetings and church and bible study and see your social worker and then your therapist, but then there it is, 2 am and you are awake and you can't remember any of the reasons why you were trying to get sober. And how a long night is followed by waking up in the morning afraid that you won't make it another day.

Brian asked "what is that saying... you know about if you do and if you don't?" 

Alison replied quickly "doomed if you do, doomed if you don't." 

Mark was sure that wasn't right "No, its damned if you do, damned if you don't. Excuse me pastor, sorry." 

There was a pause and the Estella summarized the study.  "I think Micah would say Doomed if you do, doomed if you don't."

Me too.

We had twelve people for Ash Wednesday service. The sky was gray but the weather was pleasant and the sun poked out a bit behind the clouds. Brian brought another deaf friend, and a friend who can sign. Pablo just happened by and decided to stay. We waited until five after 11 to start and were done by 11:20. My worries about being encouraged to leave by the city did not materialize. It was just nice.

Joel 2 and Psalm 51 were both about the ways that God is looking to pull us back, looking for us to return to the fold. We shared stories of God being there, even when we thought that God was not. A story about how we think God has moved away, but really God is there and we have moved. A story about how we can wander further and further from God’s path, and then, when life seems at its worst, can realize that we’ve had God with us all along. A story about how choosing to follow God doesn’t solve anything, and yet it makes everything better.

And we received our ashes and we blessed one another and we were on our way. A small group of us stayed on the common to hand out ashes to those who were passing by. Right away we figured out that it was awkward to offer: it felt pushy in a way we didn’t like to say we had ashes, but there was no other way for folk to know it was available. Next time we’ll bring a sign! But we fell into a routine of asking “do you want ashes for ash Wednesday?” and then smiling and saying have a good day to those who said no.

And a surprising number of people said yes.

There is debate out in the social media as to whether “Ashes to Go” is a short-cut, an inappropriately simplified offering, a giving in to the non-stop motion of the secular world. I agree with the need to ask whether it is a good thing to offer ashes on the forehead without appropriate liturgy, without prior relationship, without the focus on seeping into the season of lent.

Indeed, at least half of the people who received the ashes on Worcester Common took off their hat, accepted the ashes with a quiet amen, and moved on with their life. It was truly “Ashes to Go”.

But the woman at Worcester Common who turned to me and said "Ashes? I haven't had ashes since I was a kid" and then told me about her life since the last time she'd been to church, and how the church had hurt her, and how she was now thinking about God again for the first time in a long time, that woman? When I put ashes on her, she understood what was happening in that ritual as well anyone who had time to sit inside.

And the young man who said "No, thanks" and then came back and said, "Can I change my mind?" and told the story of the fight he'd had last night and how he was ruminating about that when I offered ashes, and realized that he has to get right with God if he thinks he is going to get right with his girl friend. That young man, he understood enough to accept ashes without going inside.

People really told stories. People really cried. People really reacted like this was an unexpected gift, unexpected because they weren’t sure they deserved it, weren’t sure that the church could offer it, weren’t sure that God was with them. And the ashes said “yes, God is here” and “yes, you are deserving” and “yes, the church is in the world with you”.

Yup, it’s a short cut. It’s a short cut to God available to those willing to take it.

[From Feb. 24th, 2012 See more about Worcester Fellowship at www.worcesterfellowship.org]

At Worcester Fellowship's leadership meeting last month our congregation discussed what it means to worship during Lent and named hymns and readings and other changes in our Sunday Liturgy. Then Terence asked "What about Ash Wednesday?"
Mary turned toward him. "I don't know! What do you think about Ash Wednesday?"
"We should have a service. We should have ashes. Churches have ashes on ash Wednesday." Many from the meeting chimed in. 
"What would that look like?"
People shared stories of services they'd been to and reported what they already knew other churches were doing. Mary managed to lead the group to Wednesday morning at 10am, since that is our standard time for "non-sunday" events. She could hear Liz's anxiety in her head "we always get kicked out if we are on the common on any day other than Sunday", and she knew that SHE was busy, so she was promising Liz's time, not her own.

Despite her anxiety, Liz thought it was a good idea. The area is saturated in Catholicism, even for people who were not raised in the tradition, so it is likely that some people would respond to the idea. And if no one came to worship, she could walk up the street offering ashes. "Yup," she said, perhaps a little too strongly, as if convincing herself. "Yes, we'll have a 10 minute service at the common at 10am, and then I'll walk up the street to hand out ashes."

Liz announced this for two Sundays, but did little else to prep for the service. Which is why Tuesday afternoon she was in her back yard standing in a foot of snow, with the grill open and a pan of palms, and a box of matches. 

If you are ever in the Holy Lands, threatened by forest fire, be assured, you can use Palms to protect you from the oncoming heat. They do not burn. Obviously that is not completely true, you've seen the burnt palms at Ash Wednesday services for years. But it is true that a lit Palm will not stay lit. The ashes only burn if there is a heat source aimed directly at them. After an hour of frustration and very wet shoes she brought in the scrapings of ashes and a lot of chunks of partially burnt leaves. "I wonder what paper looks like when it is burned" she asked her partner, Ken.

Luckily, Ken does not sleep much, and finds such challenges interesting. So at 6am the next morning he turned the sad bunch of scraps into half a teaspoon of ashes, using some combination of the oven, the grill, and the stove top. Liz didn't ask for details. He ground the final bit in the spice mortar, and left for work. 

For some reason Liz was concerned that this was sufficient quantity and decided to burn a page of the newspaper. Since her shoes were now dry, she opted for the stove, and lined a frying pan with aluminum foil, dropped in a crumbled piece of newspaper, and a lit match. 

For those of you who don't already know this, newspaper DOES burn easily. With huge flames. Up into the microwave above. Up into the vent, which she had (wisely?) turned on first. Moving quickly, Liz found a lid, plopped it onto the pan, and went to take the battery out of the now blaring smoke detector. She wondered how long she had before the sprinkler system went off.

The paper had burned nicely however, so those ashes where mixed with the palms, and ground with the pestle, re-burned to get rid of still readable news items, and then transferred to two tiny tupperware containers. There were now two teaspoons of ashes!

So prepared, Liz printed off bulletins and readings, and found a stole and raced out to Worcester. She had printed 10 bulletins but promised herself not to be disappointed in the attendance. She found parking at the Library lot and was pleased with herself for being on time. Then she saw Terence across the park, heading up to the plaza where Worcester Fellowship worships and she smiled to herself. This was going to be great!

When she got to the plaza Terence was gone, but Rose assured her he'd be back. The wind made the wait cold, and there was still 10 minutes to start. But Rose and Liz shared stories and then Brian came by and showed off the pictures of his sister's wedding and rambled on and on about how beautiful it had been. At 10:05, Rose tapped Liz on the shoulder and said she was leaving.

"Wait, you have to get ashes." She reached into her plastic bag, past the bulletins, and readings, and the stole, and grabbed the tupperware and opened it. Ashes immediately flew into the wind, into their eyes, into the sky, onto the ground. Finally, holding the lid at an angle over the container, Liz got some on her finger and onto Rose's head and then Brian's.

"Thanks!" They offered and were gone. 

"Ok," liz reassured herself. It's ok. We didn't need a service. "I wonder where Terence is?" Putting on the stole, and her gloves, tying her hat under her chin, and holding the tupperware with the lid firmly on, she headed over toward the bus stop. She asked if anyone wanted ashes? No one replied, and several people moved away from her. Moving on to another stop the bus arrived just as she did. At the street corner she got pulled herself together and asked again "Anyone want ashes for ash wednesday?" Sideways glances and people moving away. 

Walking the next block the voices in her head were louder than before. "Really, why did we think that *I* was the person to do this work?" and "I've never really been good at this part of the ministry" and "I can't keep walking down the street with this stole on" and "why didn't I ask Ellie or Georgeanne or SOMEONE to come do this with me?" and " We know this isn't what I do best!"

She turned toward the library, but then realized that if she took this shortcut she wouldn't even run into any people she KNEW. So she put away the stole and ashes and headed back to the main road, still headed home. "At least I'll get some work done when I get home" she consoled herself.

But there, on the main street was Juan-Louis. "Juan, hi!" Liz walked over quickly. "Do you want ashes?"
"No, but I'm hungry. And I've got an apartment. Look, here is my key."
"That's wonderful!" Liz exclaimed, inwardly feeling huge relief. THIS is her strength, creating deeper connections to people she already knows. Listening to people's lives, helping them make their own next steps.

"I'm hungry, too. Why don't you tell me all about it at Dunkin Donuts?"

(From Mar. 11th, 2011. See more about Worcester Fellowship at www.worcesterfellowship.org)

(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.” 

(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.

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."