Commuting home to Pennsylvania most weekends means that I miss a lot of weekend events that I might otherwise attend - concerts, shows, sports events. I don't mind. It's part of the commitment to preserve and tend my marriage during my three years of divinity school education. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, "God did not call me into ministry to sacrifice my marriage." So, for the most part, going home is good.
However, today I attended Chapel on the Green for the first time and realized that this is something I'd like not to miss, at least not every week. Today marked the third anniversary of this ministry on New Haven's Green. That's three years of Eucharist and lunch every Sunday, rain or snow or sleet notwithstanding (except for hurricanes - there was no chapel on that one Sunday). All are welcome to the rather organized chaos of this worship event, even my dogs and me, and there were many from the divinity school and various New Haven churches, but the majority were those who call the Green their home, every day and every night.
Chapel actually begins with a drum line half an hour before 2:00, and we could hear it blocks away. It was a clear signal that there was something happening on the Green. Boudreau and Satchel strolled first through the Occupy tent area then on toward the gathering behind Trinity Church, meeting and greeting folks along the way who flocked to meet these giant beasts! These furry kids of mine are fabulous ministers - they don't seem to notice that most of the people were dressed in shabby, dirty clothes and many had alcohol-breath that could knock me over, but their tails wagged just as hard for these residents of New Haven's outdoors as they did for the clergy who welcomed them to worship.
Understanding that not everyone is enamored of dogs, large ones in particular, we situated ourselves on the outer edge of the gathering worshippers, but visitors continued to come visit, to pet the dogs, comment on them, envy their warm coats, and laugh as their petting was rewarded with tail wags and smiles (yes, my pups do smile). It was sometimes difficult to hear what was being said by the clergy, but there was no missing the Gospel reading of the Beatitudes from the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:1-11):
When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:
‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
‘Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
‘Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
‘Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
‘Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
‘Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
‘Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.
We were surrounded by the poor in spirit, the mourners, the meek, the persecuted, and the reviled. On this observance of All Saints Day (transferred), the Gospel was brought to life right before our eyes. And each of them had a name. Of course, you say, they have names. But here, we knew their names. Everyone receives a name tag, so when we passed the peace, we could do so while naming each person. These were not nameless, faceless, easily ignored homeless people. They were Mike and Rebecca and John. They were all of us, our brothers and sisters.
Except for the distribution of the sacrament when the clergy walked into the crowd to give the broken body and blood to those gathered around, the Prayers of the People may have been the best part. Episcopalians will know that in most of our churches, we use a fairly uniform liturgy read in prayerful tones by an intercessor. Not here. A man who appeared to be a regular attendee was invited forward to read a brief intercession, and he then invited prayers from the people. And the prayers came. And came some more. Prayers for the addicted. Prayers for those who don't know Jesus. Prayers for their children. The prayers poured forth in a gushing stream as all responded to each one, "Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer." These were truly prayers of the people.
On this special anniversary day, the service was followed by a cookout. Donated socks were free for the taking. Flu shots were offered. People from all walks of life were meeting and greeting each other like old friends. This was the Gospel in action.
I hope to attend Chapel on the Green more times in the future. It is a gift to the whole New Haven community and bears witness to the love of Christ for all people. What a blessing, especially today for the kids and me.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Murder on Edwards Street
A week ago yesterday, there was a shooting death about 100 yards down the street from my apartment. I was on my way to South Carolina and only learned of it from and e-mail from the ubiquitous Chief Ronnell Higgins of the Yale Police. There are a lot of murders annually for a city the size of New Haven - this was the 29th - and they hardly pierce the consciousness of those not directly involved in the victim's life or neighborhood.
The thing that makes this murder on Edwards Street so remarkable is that these things don't happen in East Rock, my section of town. It's a neighborhood of wide, tree-lined streets with beautiful old mansions, many of them subdivided into apartments for students of the university. This violent incident apparently spilled over from somewhere else, a gang fight or groups of rivals, whose cars met on this street in this neighborhood, erupting in a fistfight in the street until someone pulled a gun. When the young men realized that one of them had been shot, they jumped in their cars and sped away, leaving a 23-year-old man to die in the street.
That's the part that has been haunting me. He was left face-down in the street. I've searched the papers and Internet for his name but have not been able to find it. I haven't been able to find any additional information that has been released publicly. So I mourn for a nameless young man who, along with some friends, got into a fight with another group of men and ended up shot, lying in the street with no family or friends around to hold onto him or pray over him as the life drained out of him into the asphalt of Edwards Street.
And it happens in neighborhoods throughout this country with alarming regularity, and I stand convicted of reading about it in the paper or hearing it on the news and remarking about how sad or tragic it is, and then I move on. Yet the killing continues, and, except for family and friends, no one seems to notice or care enough to try to change it. Me included. Until it hits my own street, and my heart now aches for a nameless young man whose life was cut short who undoubtedly left behind a grieving mother and father and siblings and friends who wonder what he was doing on Edwards Street in broad daylight on a beautiful fall afternoon.
I think maybe I'll give Ronnell Higgins a call on Monday and ask him the name of this young man. I know that God knows who he was, but I need a name to attach to this tragedy so that I can continue to pray for him by name as well as for all the other nameless ones who die in the war on our streets. Miserere nobis.
(His name was Kashon Douglas. Thanks to my friend, Lisa, for letting me know. Requiescat in pace, Kashon.)
The thing that makes this murder on Edwards Street so remarkable is that these things don't happen in East Rock, my section of town. It's a neighborhood of wide, tree-lined streets with beautiful old mansions, many of them subdivided into apartments for students of the university. This violent incident apparently spilled over from somewhere else, a gang fight or groups of rivals, whose cars met on this street in this neighborhood, erupting in a fistfight in the street until someone pulled a gun. When the young men realized that one of them had been shot, they jumped in their cars and sped away, leaving a 23-year-old man to die in the street.
That's the part that has been haunting me. He was left face-down in the street. I've searched the papers and Internet for his name but have not been able to find it. I haven't been able to find any additional information that has been released publicly. So I mourn for a nameless young man who, along with some friends, got into a fight with another group of men and ended up shot, lying in the street with no family or friends around to hold onto him or pray over him as the life drained out of him into the asphalt of Edwards Street.
And it happens in neighborhoods throughout this country with alarming regularity, and I stand convicted of reading about it in the paper or hearing it on the news and remarking about how sad or tragic it is, and then I move on. Yet the killing continues, and, except for family and friends, no one seems to notice or care enough to try to change it. Me included. Until it hits my own street, and my heart now aches for a nameless young man whose life was cut short who undoubtedly left behind a grieving mother and father and siblings and friends who wonder what he was doing on Edwards Street in broad daylight on a beautiful fall afternoon.
I think maybe I'll give Ronnell Higgins a call on Monday and ask him the name of this young man. I know that God knows who he was, but I need a name to attach to this tragedy so that I can continue to pray for him by name as well as for all the other nameless ones who die in the war on our streets. Miserere nobis.
(His name was Kashon Douglas. Thanks to my friend, Lisa, for letting me know. Requiescat in pace, Kashon.)
Friday, November 4, 2011
YDS Day of Service
You'd think we'd be all over this at Yale Divinity School, getting out into the community and making ourselves useful to those in need. For those of you not familiar with the divinity school at Yale, we are situated at the top of a hill in the rarefied air that overlooks the rest of the town (literally, when the leaves are off the trees). It's a lovely setting, but it certainly isolates and insulates us from the often-grim reality of life in New Haven. Granted, the study load for a theological education can be daunting, if not often overwhelming. Papers to write, tons of reading to do, classes to attend, discussions to prepare for, Greek or Hebrew grammar to learn - I don't know about everyone else, but I could spend every waking minute of every day doing school work and it still would not be enough time.
The problem with this is that is tends to separate us from the vocation that brought us here in the first place. I can't speak for those getting academic, rather than divinity, degrees, but for those of us heading toward ordained ministry, serving the poor and oppressed is central to our faith. Jesus spent an awful lot of time talking about loving neighbors, and those neighbors are not just the ones living on our block. He told Peter to tend lambs and feed sheep, and he wasn't talking about livestock.
So it should follow, I would think, that those of us preparing for ministry in the church would jump at a ready-made opportunity to volunteer for an afternoon once a semester to go into the community to do some work, visit with some elderly folk, play games with children, whatever our local partner agencies need to have done. And a number of us do. But an even larger number do not. I know that many have unavoidable conflicts, so maybe they participate by supporting us with prayers or by providing some toiletries for the residents of Columbus House, New Haven's largest shelter services provider. I couldn't participate last year, and I understand that the only reason I could this time is because Tim is in the UK so I didn't go home this weekend. I just can't help wondering about all the rest - the ones too busy or overwhelmed or disinterested. What would it take to reach every last one of my fellow students? I wonder.
Happily, I was with a group of five others who painted an apartment at an emergency shelter in the city that had just been vacated by a family with 11 children. I don't know how they all fit, but they did, and the apartment was in need of a fresh coat of paint. We didn't quite finish it, but we made a good dent in the work. The facilities man, Danny, was overjoyed at our work, because it is normally his job to prepare the apartments for new residents. It would have taken him a few days to complete, and he already has the rest of the building in need of his attention. That six of us could accomplish a good chunk of it in four hours was a gift for him, and that, in itself, was quite satisfying even before considering the next family that would need that apartment because they found themselves suddenly homeless. The six of us also benefited simply by the fellowship we shared during the time that we worked together (and enjoyed a pitcher of beer together afterwards as we debriefed!).
Today was a far different experience than my bi-weekly volunteering dates at a temporary shelter for men in recovery from addiction, many of whom have criminal histories. I do employment coaching, mock interviews, résumé preparation, and general cheerleading to encourage the residents as they search for work. It's difficult enough to find a job with a college degree and a good work record, but if you've been in jail and have gaps in your work history, the challenge is huge. However, for each of them that is successful in finding and keeping a job, the easier they make it for the next guy in that situation, so I urge them to see themselves as trailblazers. Anything I can do to help them present themselves in the most compelling light for a potential employer might make it a bit easier for them as they work on their recovery and their housing situation. Do I have time to do this? Not really. Is it worth my time to do it? Without question.
I'm very proud of all of my classmates who came off the hill today to be a part of their New Haven community. It's hard to believe that one of the world's most prestigious universities in one of the wealthiest states in the country is located in one of the poorest cities. Homelessness, poverty, and unemployment plague the most vulnerable residents. My work group discussed the frustration of doing work that simply plugs holes in the dam of seemingly insurmountable obstacles for the residents of this city. Until structural changes are made in the way we address the needs of the poor, all the apartment painting in the world won't provide permanent solutions. But that work is for another day. Today we did the job put before us, and we did it well, reminded anew of our calling and the love we share in Jesus. Thanks be to God.
The problem with this is that is tends to separate us from the vocation that brought us here in the first place. I can't speak for those getting academic, rather than divinity, degrees, but for those of us heading toward ordained ministry, serving the poor and oppressed is central to our faith. Jesus spent an awful lot of time talking about loving neighbors, and those neighbors are not just the ones living on our block. He told Peter to tend lambs and feed sheep, and he wasn't talking about livestock.
So it should follow, I would think, that those of us preparing for ministry in the church would jump at a ready-made opportunity to volunteer for an afternoon once a semester to go into the community to do some work, visit with some elderly folk, play games with children, whatever our local partner agencies need to have done. And a number of us do. But an even larger number do not. I know that many have unavoidable conflicts, so maybe they participate by supporting us with prayers or by providing some toiletries for the residents of Columbus House, New Haven's largest shelter services provider. I couldn't participate last year, and I understand that the only reason I could this time is because Tim is in the UK so I didn't go home this weekend. I just can't help wondering about all the rest - the ones too busy or overwhelmed or disinterested. What would it take to reach every last one of my fellow students? I wonder.
Happily, I was with a group of five others who painted an apartment at an emergency shelter in the city that had just been vacated by a family with 11 children. I don't know how they all fit, but they did, and the apartment was in need of a fresh coat of paint. We didn't quite finish it, but we made a good dent in the work. The facilities man, Danny, was overjoyed at our work, because it is normally his job to prepare the apartments for new residents. It would have taken him a few days to complete, and he already has the rest of the building in need of his attention. That six of us could accomplish a good chunk of it in four hours was a gift for him, and that, in itself, was quite satisfying even before considering the next family that would need that apartment because they found themselves suddenly homeless. The six of us also benefited simply by the fellowship we shared during the time that we worked together (and enjoyed a pitcher of beer together afterwards as we debriefed!).
Today was a far different experience than my bi-weekly volunteering dates at a temporary shelter for men in recovery from addiction, many of whom have criminal histories. I do employment coaching, mock interviews, résumé preparation, and general cheerleading to encourage the residents as they search for work. It's difficult enough to find a job with a college degree and a good work record, but if you've been in jail and have gaps in your work history, the challenge is huge. However, for each of them that is successful in finding and keeping a job, the easier they make it for the next guy in that situation, so I urge them to see themselves as trailblazers. Anything I can do to help them present themselves in the most compelling light for a potential employer might make it a bit easier for them as they work on their recovery and their housing situation. Do I have time to do this? Not really. Is it worth my time to do it? Without question.
I'm very proud of all of my classmates who came off the hill today to be a part of their New Haven community. It's hard to believe that one of the world's most prestigious universities in one of the wealthiest states in the country is located in one of the poorest cities. Homelessness, poverty, and unemployment plague the most vulnerable residents. My work group discussed the frustration of doing work that simply plugs holes in the dam of seemingly insurmountable obstacles for the residents of this city. Until structural changes are made in the way we address the needs of the poor, all the apartment painting in the world won't provide permanent solutions. But that work is for another day. Today we did the job put before us, and we did it well, reminded anew of our calling and the love we share in Jesus. Thanks be to God.
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