Changed Forever

My mom, my friend, my first love, my mentor, my shero died. Memories are all that is left. I cannot call her; I cannot hear her voice. I cannot call her to tell her something funny or something sad; something great or something bad. And who…who will IM me during Cardinal baseball games or tell me when TCU is playing? I am not sure how someone so ALIVE could pass from this life. She was not old. She was ok with dying; she was just not tired of living.

Even while recognizing the smallness of my imagination, I am overwhelmed by the death of life as I understand it. Even in my understanding that death is a natural part of life and belief that she is “in a better place” my heart is broken, feeling almost beyond repair.

Yet I know it will mend. The anger will lose its edge and eventually subside. While the missing her will never go away, I do know that it will become less urgent. Even now in the midst of all the raw emotions, I feel the change. I am altered forever. A vital piece of me is gone, evaporated, poof, leaving behind a gaping hole that demands to be filled. That hole…and what fills it…will be a legacy to my momma.

God is good all the time even when I have a few harsh words to say about it all. And I am thankful.

I look around at so many surrounding me and I know the ones who have what I had…and I recognize the ones who don’t. The empathy that comes from those who have experienced the same tearing pain is palpable and acts as a balm.

That gaping hole demands attention. It must be filled.

It was with that understanding that I read Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori’s Advent message:

What is it you wait for this year? Is it an opportunity to meet the surprising around you? Is it an opportunity to reflect on what is most needed in your heart and in the world around you? How are you going to wait for that gift? Are you going to wait actively? Engaged? Honing your desire? Stoking the passion within you for that dream? Are you going to wait for a dream that will bless the whole world?

I want to meet the surprising. I know it is all around me. I don’t want to get caught up in the tedious minutia that controls the few moments left to me. I want to actively wait to be engaged in those things most needed by my heart and in the world around me. I want my desire honed and my passion stoked.

I want to be a part of something that blesses the whole world.

I cannot lose this sharp edge of pain. I do not want to once again accept complacency as a norm. My heart burns with the fire of change and my head has to be aware of all the precious moments lost.

My precious son, my beloved Deb, the bonds that were made between myself, my sister and my daughter as our hearts wept bitter tears…my knowing that even as I turned into the pain rather than to God that God was with me always and only stroked my turned back….these are the world around me.

My discernment, my future in the church, my writing – these are my passions and a vital part of my dream.

These things I turn toward. These things will be my legacy to my momma, my friend, my first love, my mentor, my shero.

http://episcopaldigitalnetwork.com/ens/2012/11/28/presiding-bishop-on-advent-what-is-it-that-you-are-most-waiting-for/ 

Happy Birthday, Woody.

Fear the Girl for the Woman She Will Be

I work each day with girls -- 5 - 15 or so...400+ at this particular time. If someone had told me even 6 months ago that I would be working in the midst of a bunch of noisy females, I would have actively denied the idea and laughed in their faces. Yet, here I am...in love, in combat, in active engagement with a bunch of girls, only one third of whom I know their names.

I pray that I am able to live into the motto to “inspire girls to be strong, smart and bold.” I can only hope to be a model of these basic ideas.

Girls are a challenge. If they are strong, they are labeled with ugly epithets. If they are smart, they are called awkward or nerdy. if they are bold, they are considered problematic or unmanageable, or “uppity”. God forbid.

I am constantly amazed by their love and willingness to share that love. I am amazed at the tenacity of their character. I am absolutely defied by their deliberate and contrived aloofness.

They are full of love, hate, trust, distrust, faith, fear. They are a mixture of such strength and weakness, stamina and apathy, and all the things that contradict these things.

They are noisy...and yet, at times so quiet as to defy sound. There is no room so quiet as one full of girls listening.

How can they be such riddles?

They are amazing and funny; heart wrenchingly beautiful and tragic; profound and simple; pure and complex all at the same time. At any given age, they are a chemical nightmare and miracle. They are a future and an end. They are a promise, a fulfillment; too often they are thought of as a curse.

They have the weight of the world upon their shoulders. And we expect them to live into it.

We rail at their rebellion. We attempt to subdue them into submission. We try to break them down so that we can rebuild them into our own idea of what they should be.

We expect them to be strong but feed them McDonald’s, candy and sodas thinking that this gives them joy....or keeps them quiet.

We think they are adorable when they mimic TV/ movie stars/pop stars, Princess Barbie dolls. We applaud them and laugh when they purse their lips and sway their hips and look so adult....until they begin to look adult. Then we tell them to stop acting like a slut or worse; we tell them that if they don’t stop, they will get what they “ask” for.

Girls. So much potential. So much power. So many gifts.

No wonder they scare the world into trying to keep them ‘in their place’.

If you want to support a group who is “inspiring girls to be Strong, Smart and Bold, support Girls Incorporated. http://www.girlsinc.org/index.html or check out Girls Incorporated of St. Louis at http://www.girlsincstl.org/modules/content/index.php?id=32 of “like” us at https://www.facebook.com/girlsincstl.

Mark October 11, 2012 as the International Day of the Girl. Remember our girls on that day. Think of the women leaders that they will grow to be...if we continue to live into the motto of inspiring them to be Strong, Smart and Bold.

Rhythms

I am like the tide. My emotions come in and go out, in and out...like a pulse...like a breath...like all God-things...in  rhythmic order.

Just like the tide, sometimes the waves are soft, lapping, comforting. Other times, the tide of emotion crashes in on me, threatening my existence. But the sea always calms, always...always.

I think of lullabies and the rhythmic tones that lull a baby into calm. I hear the music of Taizé that allows me to find that center point. I count all the blessings in my life until I run out of numbers or time. 


I am a part of all that has been, all that is, and all that will be. Death was conquered by Jesus. Thoughts of Death will not stop any of the rhythms of life. Life will go on...like a pulse...like a breath...like all God-things...in rhythmic order. 

All things are relative

Frio River Canyon

I am afraid sometimes. I am afraid I will never again swim in the Blanco river...or the Frio. Or see the Carribean or Paris...France, that is, not Texas. I am afraid that I will never snow ski again.

And then I get a call that tells me that Mom wants to talk to us all in the evening...together...at the same time.

Then I am afraid for real. Terrified even.

And the reason for fear is very real. Mom was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia. It was not what the doctor expected. The markers indicated Myelodysplastic Syndrome or Lupus. Neither of these were good but the other sounded far scarier.

Now, a day and a half later, I have gone from extreme sorrow to expecting miracles of healing.

Crazier things have happened.

RIght now, I am praying...even though it might look like I am typing. But really, for sure, I am praying. My sister and mom are at the doctor’s office. They just met with her regular medical doctor. Now they are waiting to consult with the oncologist who wants to rush her to the hospital and begin aggressive treatment on her right now.

I am praying that Mom will feel the arms of the Holy Spirit wrapping around her, giving her hope, filling her up with love. I am praying that her blood is being renewed, restored right now as I pray and type.

I am praying that all the powerful prayers will continue.

And I am giving thanks to God for all the precious people in my life who live in love and walk in hope.

I am less afraid of not being able to see places and things that I have loved in my life. I am hopeful that all things, regardless of how difficult things might seem, will be well.

Janet McKenzie's Jesus of the People

"the inside like the outside"

When you are able to make two become one, the inside like the outside, and the outside like the inside, the higher like the lower, so that a man is no longer male, and a woman, female, but male and female become a single whole. When you are able to fashion an eye to replace an eye, and form a hand in place of a hand, or a foot for foot, making one image supercede another - then you will enter in [the kingdom]. 

Jesus

Gospel of Thomas (Legion 22) 

I am not sure why I am still a lurker on the House of Bishops & Deputies listserv. Possibly, it is because the level of conversation, while often uninteresting, has not been offensive in any way. Maybe I stay because of those occasional gems that are placed out there for all to view. Maybe I stay to be in the know. 

But as it begins to near General Convention, the level of rhetoric has ramped up several notches. The discourse over the Anglican Covenant is the subject of a good deal of conversation. Some of it is irritated; some angry; some of it disturbed. 

I vacillate on whether to be done with the listserv. I remain unsure as to what I will do.

Meanwhile, I wish we could all just read and pray over the words of Jesus in the Gospel of Thomas...without discussing the idea of canonical status...just read the words. What if Jesus meant exactly this?

Sooner rather than later

It’s been so long since I blogged that I am not sure how to begin. It’s not writer’s block…it’s just that there is so much, so many things. It is all smushed up in my head – I think my brain is constipated.

For one, I have a new job that is very demanding time-wise. Not only time intense but taxing. It wears me out so that I am just numb when I get home. Plus, I write better in the morning and I like to use that early morning for reading...when I can get my lazy butt up out of the bed in time.

In addition, a teenager in the house. Good God…help us. Have I said before that I am too old for this? Well, I am too old for this. Too damn old.

I could write about birth control, unjust war, taxes, self-indulgent misogynistic politicians and others but, good grief, I am so tired of having to hear them all much less invite them into my head. They make my stomach hurt and my eyes bulge. I am even tired of all the funny people who ridicule them. To laugh at something so hateful is, I am sure, cathartic, but it is terribly sick and pathetic. I suppose that we laugh so as not to cry…or scream…or something far worse.

I admire the work that has been done and is being done for LGBT people everywhere. I especially admire the Growing American Youth group here in St. Louis. But Lord have mercy…when will people stop worrying about this stuff? And if the answer is never…well, I am already a little down so please tell me soon rather than never.

And then there is the CHURCH. I use all capitals rather than one or none because…well, just because I want to. That is what it is to me right now…CHURCH. It is a big deal but not necessarily a good big deal. I suppose I am just trying to find a place for me within it. And I am kind of tired of trying to do that also. I have not been rejected but it is certainly difficult to get off of the damn sidelines. And I have to say, I am VERY tired of that.

I think Lindy may have the right idea. Do something good far away from what and who you know. It's harder now, though...that teenager is no longer home-schoolable...at least not by me.

And all of this is miniscule when compared to the wondering of why I left it all– family, home, grandkids – especially grandkids who are entering into adolescence and have great need of grandma love and hugs and grandbaby I haven't even yet seen – to come to this, this unknown, this unknowing, this pretense.

See? This is why I have not written. It all sounds like a Whine Blog – I would much rather be blogging about an awesome wine we drank the other evening – a Chevalier de Bayard – oh my gosh – it was so beautiful. What a luxury to taste something like that. What a privilege.

Ok, so maybe I need to blog to just let all this crap out. A brain cleansing, if I may.

So this is a new beginning. Perhaps it will loosen the crammed in, held tight anxieties that have kept me from the written word.

We will see.

Meanwhile, Mark…this one’s for you. J

Occupying Saint Louis in the Cardinal Nation or Politics and Baseball

Today is the day that the Lord has made; I am rejoicing and conflicted.

As with a good portion of St. Louisans, I am worn out but elated with the St. Louis Cardinals win in the sixth game of the World Series last night. Because of their win, the Series is tied again by the Texas Rangers and the aforementioned Cardinals. The Cards have a new nickname, “Cardiac Cards” due, in great measure, to the fact that they basically lost the game and almost the series to the Rangers. Score lagging, error prone, bats only hitting to infield causing double plays…not a good combination to win against a World Series team…which the Texas Rangers definitely are.

Regardless…at the last moment with two strikes and two outs in the 9^th inning, the Cardinals pulled out of a loss and into a tie and extra innings. Then behind. Then again – so close to losing the 2011 World Series, they tied the game up. In the 11^th hour … well, not really, it was actually the 11^th inning, they finally, unexpectedly and many might say undeservedly, won. Had the Cardinals played throughout the game as they did in the last three innings, there would be no question of deservedness.

Regardless, as a result of the crazy and dramatic win, the St. Louis Cardinals, with their new nickname, will host the Texas Rangers in the very last game of this year’s World Series. There will be a winner tonight. It will be done. Who it will be will be determined by the 9^th inning…or the 11^th…or, let us say, at the end.

So, what is the conflict? Not between the Cardinals and Rangers…although I have had several moments and actually quite a few more last night when I thought the Rangers deserved to win the World Series. But no. That is not it.

My partner Debbie had a meeting last night at the Cathedral so our son and I decided to walk down to Kiener Plaza to see up close and personal how OccupyStL has expanded since the first time I was down there. Since that one time, I have only followed and supported through Facebook.

It was 6:30 in the evening, sixth game of the World Series. There were people everywhere! At Kiener Plaza, a few blocks from Busch Stadium, within the plaza itself, there was quite a bit of activity within the ring of tents that lined the area. Yet on the sidewalks briskly walking toward the stadium, were those in a hurry to get to their seats prior to that first pitch.

Tucker and I stopped to speak to a couple of the OccupyStL group…a young man and an older woman who were handing out info flyers. The young man said he wasn’t staying at the plaza because he had a job but that he came in the evenings and on weekends. He said he had been there since near the beginning. The woman appeared less likely to have a job…or a home other than the one there in the plaza. She was very enthusiastic in her support of OccupyStL and seemed to be a part of and very well informed as to all that was going on. As much as anything, she seemed hopeful that what was happening was a good thing and that as a result, good would come from what they were doing.

The young man and I talked about the lack of police presence at Kiener. We talked about the frightful scene at Occupy Oakland that had happened earlier. I wondered aloud if the St. Louis police were staying away from Kiener Plaza because of the World Series in town. He said he thought they were hoping that all the protesters would go away as the temperatures fell and that they were just waiting for winter. He said with great pride and a good deal of hope that “we” (the protesters) were not going anywhere. And I believed him.

Drawn by the lure of lights and all those things that have drawn generations of people of all ages to the sound of a baseball game, Tucker and I continued to wander towards the sight and sound of something as American as rebellion...Baseball. We paused outside of Mike Shannon’s on the corner just across from the Stadium. A big screen television was blaring in the outside bar; a woman in a kiosk was selling beer, people were standing around drinking, talking, laughing…hoping…

Still, the lights and roar of the crowd drew us closer until we were standing outside the wrought-iron fence that separated those who had and those who wanted.

All along the way, we were stopped by one or another who wanted us to buy or give. One guy stopped Tucker, handed him an American flag pin and then wanted a donation. I told him I had no money…which was truth. Tucker gave him the seventy-five cents he had in his pocket and the guy told him, “Well, you can keep the pin anyway” as though Tucker had not given him the correct “donation”. Later he said, as we passed a buy playing a guitar with a tip jar near his case, “I should have saved the change to give to this guy.”

One couple that passed us answered Tuck’s question of how they got their tickets and how much did these cost with a quick, “a friend and face value”. Tucker asked what was face value and the guy told him $250 each. A couple of comments were tossed out of how much the tickets would cost for the 7^th game IF there was a 7^th game.

It is a definite that the stadium will be filled tonight with people who paid exorbitant amounts for a chance to be a part of this historic season as a Cardinal (with their 10 previous WS wins) or a Ranger (second time to the series and a very good chance of winning their 1^st WS) team wins.

Baseball, a game so many have loved and revered as a part of the American dream, thrives with its philanthropic millionaire players blasting homerun balls into the upper tiers of mega-dollar stadiums filled with affluent and, at minimum, very lucky attendees. Meanwhile, down the street, testifying against the corporate greed that has so rocked and rolled our world that the homeless and those who have chosen to be away from home, the toothless and the pediatric orthodontic white gleaming smiles of young adults, the dreadlocks and the balding, the dirty from the inability to wash and the dirt taken on in penance, have all mixed together in one voice, here and across the nation to say, “It’s gone too far.”

I am drawn to the voices speaking out in the midst of the injustice in the chaos of the day and in the silence of the night, turning their lives upside down for a chance to be seen and hopefully heard…for a chance to be a part of a change for the good. And I am drawn like a moth to the bright lights and the roar of the crowd and the allure of all that is baseball. I am drawn to and filled by the hope that comes from both. 

I believe the hope will outweigh the conflict. Well I know that the Occupy spaces across the nation hold within them the power to bring about the changes that are so needed in our world…a chance to adjust the imbalance created by our legislature and our courts…created in large part by our own lack of action…our silence that allowed this imbalance to over tilt to one side.

We are the Occupy forces whether we realize it or not. We are them. They are us. Homeless or not; teeth in place bright and shiny or not; by choice or by circumstance…we are them. They are us.

We are a part of the American Dream, be it politics or baseball. Regardless of whether we have the money to buy a World Series ticket or even a cheap seat ticket during the regular season; even if we are one of the ones who have the dollars to philanthropically give to the charity or cause of our choice whether it be hundreds of thousands or simply seventy five cents…we are a part of the American Dream.

It is time for us to live into that idea that politics are a part of that dream and that if we, the 99%, are missing from that mix, the dream is not being fulfilled. Regardless of our place in life, we have a responsibility to be an active part of the system.

As I walked by the young man and the woman as we headed back to the Cathedral, I told them thank you. It’s not enough but it is a beginning. Hope lives. 

Hopeville, Saint Louis, MO, USA

During the Great Depression, my grandmother and grandfather were a newly married couple. Their first home together was in a Tent City in northwest Tarrant County Texas in the area of where Eagle Mountain Reservoir would eventually be as the dam was completed and the reservoir began to fill up. My grandfather was one of the lucky ones working for the Civilian Conservation Corps. He had a job and they had a home, albeit a tent. Plus, they had a community.

Our friend, Connie, called Saturday morning and said, “Barbi, you have to come out here and see this. We are in Hopeville, the tent city.” So, Debbie, Tucker and I jumped in the car and went there.

What is community but a diverse group of people pulled together by a common thread. That is Hopeville.

Connie had been told to talk to “Big Mama” before she walked into the community. So, she asked for Big Mama. She was told that Big Mama was in the shower and would be out soon.

Shower? In a tent city?

Well, why not, indeed? When we used to camp a lot, we had one of those black water bags with a shower hose attached. Fill it up, let it sit in the sun for a while and a nice warm shower c ould be had even out in the woods. So, why not in Hopeville? I have no idea what their shower looked like but I do know that “necessity is the mother of invention.”

Picturesque it was not. There were many rickety looking structures, fraying tarps and tall weeds all around the area. But if one looked deeper, there were tents raised on platforms to keep them out of any rainwater runoff. There was a popup camper and a few more tents hidden away in the woods with front porches and areas to sit and enjoy the company of neighbors or the quiet of the evening…at least as quiet as it can be in the city.

There was the communal area where meals are shared if one had a desire to do so. There were port-a-potties set off from the “homes”. There is even a mail box set up on 1^st Street and a USPS vehicle delivered mail while we were there.

The Saturday morning of our visit, a local preacher had come by to share a prayer, a scripture and a blessing before the breakfast. The smell of sausage, onions and hashbrowns cooking filled the air. Eggs had been brought by Connie and her husband. We came empty handed…not knowing what was expected or what was needed.

So, we just listened and looked. And asked a few questions.

Big Mama used to work in Social Services, mostly with people who had mental health issues. She was laid off and ended up losing her home. She is now the “Major” of Hopeville. One guy is the Constable type person, making certain that things don’t get out of hand and that order is kept. One couple had been in Hopeville in the past but had just returned two months ago. He was trained as a chef at Cordon Bleu Culinary School. He started work at the age of 15 as a grill cook. He supervised the cooking for the morning meal.

Away from the main crowd was a young couple. I don’t know their intentions but it seemed obvious that they had a purpose and were about to set off to accomplish that which they had planned. Not that much different than many other young couples on any given Saturday morning.

It occurred to me at the moment of watching them, rather naively, I might add, that just because one does not have a stationary building overhead does not mean that one is “home” less. A home is where one’s heart is, so the saying goes.

As the young woman walked past us after getting her breakfast, she told us thank you…as if we had done something other than just BE in their space. She and her male companion got in their car and left to do whatever it was they had planned.

Although I do know that being homeless can and does create anxiety, stress and fear which can lead to disorders associated with mental illness, I will venture to say that there are many other reasons for homelessness other than mental health.I didn’t meet anyone in Hopeville that had any more evidence of mental illnesses than those of us visiting. There was laughter, good natured ribbing, one grouchy old guy, sassy young people, some aloof, many sort of wary, some singing, some shouting orders… there was even a dog chasing a cat. Everyone seemed to very normal. (whatever the heck that is…) Perhaps ordinary is a better word to use. Everyone seemed ordinary.

There are many opinions about Hopeville and whether or not it should be allowed to remain a viable community. Larry Rice and the New Life Evangelistic Center believe that the tent city is a better alternative than living on the streets. Lord knows, NLEC is full to capacity at any given time. As I have seen, the city seems full of people with no homes looking for some sort of space they can claim as their own. The area surrounding Centenary Methodist Church and St. Patrick’s Center always have people milling about.

I have to say that I agree with the thought that a community that has tent shelter is safer than little or no community living in an alcove of a building or behind a dumpster in the alley. In my three and a half years in the city, homelessness seems far more of a problem now than before. There are definitely more women and children on the streets now than there were three years ago.

Yet, I also realize that a tent city, subsidized or merely allowed to exist, could be seen as creating a new and different problem and that a more permanent solution needs to be created. I do, however, question the motives of some. I was told by a few of the residents that Lumiére Place Casino does not like them living so near for fear it will hurt business.

In January, 2011, the City of St. Louis established rules that allowed the residents of Hopeville to stay if they did not harm themselves or others or any property. The City banned “drugs, criminal activity and drunkenness.” (Aren’t these rules everywhere??) Propane cookers/heaters and safely contained fires could be used for cooking and heating. Now, we were told, there is a new eviction date – December 2011.

Is a Tent City the best place for these people to live? Well, surely no, one might immediately claim. Perhaps the reasoning would include that they do not own the property. Or that it is unsafe. Or that the winters are far too cold to thrive in a tent. Or maybe people are just idyllic and believe everyone should have a home. I can see the merit in all but I especially like that last one. I believe that also.

However, it is disingenuous to say that we contribute to the problem by allowing the people to live in tents in the city. Or that by giving people blankets and coats and food we compound the problem because it keeps them from going into the shelters where they would be better for them. I love it when we so easily determine what is best and better for other people. How kind of us!

We would like to think that everyone has a place to get out of the extreme weather and to be safe. We especially love the thought that if a person is homeless, they choose to be shelter-less – to live outside of the rules required to get inside the shelter. It is justified reasoning – the reason doesn’t have to be real; it only has to justify the actions…or non action.

Is Hopeville a place I would want to live? No, not really. But then, I can guaran-damn-tee that I would rather live in a tent behind the levee wall than to live in an alcove of a building in the middle of the city. I can also see a great deal of personal autonomy living in a community with community made rules rather than in a shelter run by people trying to do good by ensuring that others follow every rule.

Do-gooders are sometimes the bane of a good deed.

Meanwhile, as we have this discussion, there are people who do not qualify for one of the empty beds in the city shelters. Then there are people who do not wish to have one of the empty beds because they feel they are perfectly capable of providing that on their own. Regardless of those who want or don’t want one of the beds or whether those of us who have beds feel they are or are not worthy of said bed, the common statement I heard in Hopeville is the same one I hear from those who walk through the Cathedral…

…they all just want a job. 

Falling Off of the Edge

Homelessness is a problem in any big city in any given economic climate. When times get tough, homelessness gets worse. It’s a fact. Numbers are not needed to prove it; one only has to spend a little time to see it.

Saint Louis is no different.

When we think of homeless people, how many times do drugs and alcohol pop into our minds as the cause of homelessness? I cannot recall the number of times I have heard the statement that some people ‘choose to be homeless.’ It is easy to think that, I suppose. After all, what might the average person do to keep from being homeless? Surely I would never allow that to happen, right?

And then there are those pesky runaways. “Troubled” kids – that just means kids that cause trouble, to their parents, to the schools to the police.

Did you know that the National Network for Youth puts the number of “disconnect, unaccompanied and/or homeless youth in our country” at 2.5 million? That’s a whole lot of mothers’ babies all alone in this world doing whatever they have to do to survive. That’s two million five hundred thousand children and youth whose chances of being productive citizens in the future lessen dramatically every day they are disconnected, unaccompanied and/or homeless.

What if we thought about homelessness differently? What about these “excuses” for homelessness:

An abused woman with children running from a violent partner/spouse…

A recently discharged veteran, disabled, not yet receiving benefits…

A family living too close to the economic edge, falls off due to a crisis such as injury or sickness…

A senior citizen living on a fixed income that is far too fixed and no support system in place…

Children abused and/or neglected by parent/step-parent…

Children sexually abused by family member or family friend.

Uninsured, under-employed, have to choose between medicine and rent…or food and rent…or any number of other things and rent…

Me losing my job and my partner losing her job in the near future, times are tough, we are both in our 50’s…

All these explanations sound a lot more reasonable than someone choosing to be homeless. I have never heard a child answer, “a homeless person” when asked what she or he wants to be when they grow up.

The only thing separating me and “them” is a small puff of wind.

Working upstairs at the Episcopal Cathedral in downtown Saint Louis, I had forgotten the number of people who walk through the first floor hallways on a daily basis to get a drink of water, use the facilities, or just to sit in the Nave seeking a modicum of shelter from the streets. Back on the first floor now, I am only there a couple of weekdays each week now but I am still amazed at the people who come in seeking help.

Many are looking for “the lady in the bookstore.” That lady would be Debbie, my partner. Word on the street is that she will help with incidentals like snack foods, toiletries and sometimes socks and such. We have a small “emergency” closet church where we store pop-top foods, crackers, fruit cups/snacks, toothpaste and brushes, deodorant, etc. Being in the Bookstore on the ground floor of the Cathedral, she is often the first person that sees or is seen by those seeking help.

There was a woman and her little girl that came seeking help not long ago. Their time was up at New Life Evangelical Center, a non-profit church center downtown that provides help for those who are homeless. The woman and her child had been there as long as the rules allowed so they were on the streets. She was trying to get into one of the shelters for women and children but had been told by them that there was no room. She wanted a suitcase, pillows and shoes for her little girl. A call went out for help and three people promptly responded with the requested items.

A couple of weeks ago, as I walked from one office to the next, I saw a young couple standing in the hallway. They had a little boy with them. They were hot and sweaty, tired and looking lost. I asked if I could help them. They said they had been told to come to the church to find “the lady in the bookstore.”

The couple was from Colorado. Out of a job, his grandmother in Saint Louis County had bought them bus tickets to bring them to St. Louis so he could find a job. She told them they could live with her for two weeks. They had been there three weeks and at the end of that day, they had to leave her house. Their little baby was with her for the day. Hoping to find a place to stay for the night, they still had to return to pick up the baby.

At a board meeting the other day, I heard an oft repeated statement:  there are plenty of beds for “the homeless” in Saint Louis. Well, that’s all good and fine if one is comforted by numbers. 200 homeless; 200 beds (small random number to show a point). Comforting, right?

No.

Because the fact is that just because the beds are there doesn’t mean that those who need them are allowed to sleep in them. There are rules and regulations deciding who can and who cannot use the different facilities.

Rules help keep community safe. But it is a fact: the street is not a safe place for women and children.

To stay in many of the shelters, one must have proof of identity. There is also the residency restriction. One must be able to prove they are a legal resident of Saint Louis to stay in a homeless shelter in Saint Louis. If a couple wants to stay together, it won’t be possible in most places. If a father wants to stay with his wife and children, it isn’t possible. If a woman and her children just lost their home but are not actually abused and running scared, it is far more difficult for them to find those elusive beds.

These are just a few of the details of why those beds are not filled at night but the nooks and crannies of the streets are.

This is just the beginning, I think, of things I have to write about this subject. We have a problem and somehow we have to figure out what needs to be done.

While talking to the people who THINK they understand the problem is an important part of understanding, talking to the people who are actually living within the problem, hearing the whys and hows of what brought them to the point and what they believe will help them – that is where we have to get serious. There has to be the recognition that those who are without a “home” to live in are no different than you or me. They are people who found themselves, suddenly or otherwise, without the basic need of shelter. We cannot superimpose our perceived understanding as a solution.

Just as with any alleged problem, the solution is often a state of mind. Even more often, the solution to the problem often involves simply removing the offending sight from the eyes of the offended.

Out of sight; out of mind. That type of solution has to eliminated. 

Lavish, Economy, Radical = Love

Market personified

 I shudder hearing the market made into a person, aka "We will see if the markets like (don't like) the latest news" or "How will the market react?" It as if we have bowed down and offered our destiny and our serenity to the "market."

The market does serve very useful functions. It creates wealth and capital, funds retirement plans etc.... However it is a man-made creation and as such is fallible. Period. It is not a person. It is certainly not God. It is not a relationship. It is not love, or connection. It is a man-made creation and as such is fallible. 

Chuck Blair

I get a “daily communique” every morning from Emergent Village which “is a growing, generative friendship among missional Christians seeking to love our world in the Spirit of Jesus Christ.” In our ever growing economic catastrophe, this one seemed relevant to many recent conversations.  

Strangely, their statement of intent seems oxymoronic to much of what is ongoing today. Many people talk about “mission.” More talk about money…or rather, the lack of it.

I told someone the other day – actually, I told several someones because I was fairly irritated – that I have never been in a parish that didn’t have money problems…AND I have never been in any parish that walked fully in faith.

I am quite clear about the need for money in this world we live in today. I am facing my own possible financial crisis in its ugly face as I write.

I know that salaries have to be paid, clergy pension funds filled, health insurance premiums met and then there are those pesky little things like electric, water and gas. Then there is the monster so many live with, the huge, antiquated buildings that require constant maintenance at normally high prices.

So what difference would it make to a parish assembled for worship if there was no water? Or lights other than candles? Or heat or cool? Or for that matter…clergy?

Yes, there would be many who would complain. But would it prevent the Holy Spirit from being present? Would it change the liturgy? Would fewer voices be raised in song?

In fact, with no utilities, there might be no need for a stewardship committee. Rather than a bunch of people getting up in front of the gathered and telling their personal stories of why they give, the need would already be evident.

Or, if some of the money saved from paying the numerous bills that so often seem antithetical to the idea of a faith experience were to be set aside for when that young couple with the two little children looking for work and a safe place to lay their head for the night…something right about here comes to mind to remind me about strangers…welcoming…if someone asks for your cloak give them your shirt as well…

Somehow suggesting that they walk on over to New Life Evangelistic Center just doesn’t taste the same in my mouth.

Money. It’s all about money.

We talk about God and bow down under the burden of money.

So many predict that the “church” is dying. In many cases, that is a hard point to argue.

We talk about what we can lop off with as little damage as possible so that the body doesn’t bleed to death. Yet how long can the body last with only a head?

The adage says that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Thinking of the church as a business is a good intention. But is it? Can it be a business? Can we continue to think first in terms of break down, get rid of, unnecessary, not needed, not breaking even…Free.

This thing that we do is not free. It costs but those costs are not necessarily in dollars. The gospel on Sunday, August 28 was about picking up the cross and following Jesus. That is not a burden. That is the way to life. But when we pick up that cross and follow, other things have to be set down. I think worrying about money is one of those things that has to be set down.

I had the great privilege of watching faith in action this weekend. I spent time with Becca Stevens and two women, Katrina and Sheila, of the community of Magdalene and Thistle Farms. If you do not know of the Rev. Becca Stevens or the Women of Magdalene, I urge you to do so. They are phenomenal gifts from God just waiting to share their love and life with all who are looking for a chance to dance a new dance.

Here are some of the things I brought home with me.

To heal it we have to first deal with it. – name it and own it.

We are called to get our hands dirty. – we cannot dictate from on high, we have to be involved.

We are not called to change the world; we are called to love the world.  – with our love, change is brought about. If we try to change things, we have a tendency to dictate what change is needed. We don’t often really know what that is.

Love heals. It is lavish, economical and it is radical. AND it will always bear fruit.

To worry is a waste of time. We cannot get weary – take a little time to rest and then go do good, do more rather than less. There is no time to be tired and no time to worry.

We need to stand on new ground, understanding that it is Holy.

Little girls do not dream of being prostitutes, addicts or being victims of rape.

“You can’t be willing to die for something if you are not willing to live for it.”

Worthiness is another word Becca used. We gauge UNworthiness on a daily basis. Is that person worthy of a handout? ‘He/she will probably just use it for drugs or cigarettes or booze.’ Boom. Unworthy. ‘They will just sell their bus passes for drugs or cigarettes or booze.’ Boom. Unworthy. ‘We don’t give them money when they come into our building because they can get what they need from other places in town that are in that business.’ Boom. Unworthy.

Determining UNworthiness is just not our job. Declaring all people as children of God worthy is.

Nowhere in any of Becca’s, Katrina’s or Sheila’s talk, was the matter of money discussed in relationship to worthiness. Rather, they spoke of Lavish, Lavish love. It costs nothing to manufacture. It is brand new every time it is given away. It is radical because it goes to the very root of Scripture – Love one another. Help one another. Don’t give leftovers – give what is on your back, give new, they said. Because everyone is worthy of that.

A woman or girl child on the streets is in serious danger of being raped, not once or twice but repeatedly. It doesn’t matter if a man is with them or not. They are in danger.

The questions we have to ponder seriously and intentionally are what are we spending money on? If it is not lavish, economical and Radical, maybe we need to cut it out.