Thou Preparest A Table Before Me...

This verse from Psalm 23 kept going through my mind this past Friday as ten of us gathered to share a meal for the first meeting of "The Women of Eat, Pray, Love."

The idea for the group was born during a meal together while several women from The Welcome Church

gathered around another table--at The Olive Garden---following the movie "Eat, Pray, Love."

As most of us know, there is something so powerful about gathering around the table. Sadly, however, not everyone gets invited to the table. This is especially true for anyone experiencing homelessness.

Thanks to the generous people of Kate's Place and Project H.O.M.E., we were given a lovely space for four hours of respite to cook and share a monthly meal together.

Our first meal, prepared by R. was three courses of vegetarian Indian cuisine. Though I am not sure what the dishes were called, we were treated to a marvelous blend of rice, spinach, peppers, shallots, lentils, mango chutney, and spices whose names I can't pronounce. There was Naan, homemade apple butter, tapioca with brown sugar glaze, and rich, dark chocolate (a food group of its own!)

The table was set with various collections of tableware from my home, from Marilyn's grandmother, from Fran, Elisabeth, and a gorgeous tie-dyed piece of material lent to us by Sparkler.

Again I think of the psalm..."Thou preparest a table before me in the face of my enemies..."

As we sat together to eat, pray, and yes, loving one another, I thought about how we were gathered this night...in the face of homelessness, and uncertainty, in the face of poverty and illness, in the face of loneliness and fear...yet here we were with our cups running over.

Surely, goodness and mercy will follow us all the days of our lives...wherever we are...dwelling in the heart of the LORD forever.

The Other Side of Logan

When I arrived early at Logan Circle last Sunday, there was a disturbing sight---two men were fighting only feet away from where we do our monthly service of Holy Communion. A young priest, standing outside of the Cathedral that was our Church on Logan neighbor, called the police. The cops came and the fight was broken up---for awhile. After the police left, the fight escalated, this time with broken branches being used as weapons. Again the police were called to the scene. Meanwhile, folks were beginning to gather for the first outdoor rehearsal of our new choir. Others, who regularly hung out or slept in the Circle were drawn to the fight and police activity like flies to honey.

In the midst of the chaos, I asked Waverly Alston, our choir director, to start the rehearsal.
Our one soprano had not arrived yet, so I covered her part. Not easy with my alto voice. As we began to sing, I moved around the Circle asking others to help me out. Soon we had several more joining us in song. I then went over to a group of onlookers to the fight and asked a simple question.

"Don't you want people to know that other things happen here besides fighting?"

Heads nodded and slowly folks moved from the fight scene to the circle of singers. Waverly had us singing and swaying in four-part harmony, "God has done marvelous things...praise the LORD!"

Our choir moved into the circle that was now our worshipping congregation. Together we sang,
young and less young, some of us in clerical collars, some in stained tee shirts, sopranos and altos, tenors and one with a rich baritone voice, we sang three songs, as we were fed by Scripture and later the Bread of Life.

Afterwards, we shared socks and stories and cookies and cold drinks. Our choir had made its debut in the park!

Later I learned that one person had given up a day's work to sing with us; another, with degenertaive joint disease had walk over a mile to be there...and several others. had given up their lunch.

I am thinking of ordering tee shirts for our Welcome Church choir, something bright and practical for our outdoor worship. One choir member, my alto sidekick, thinks we should have robes. Whatever we wear, we are truly a work in progress.

Afterwards, it wasn't the fight that people were talking about; rather, it was the joy we experienced in praising God together on a glorious Fall day in the park.

God, indeed, has done marvelous things...praise the Lord, indeed!

We Have A Choir!

"We have a choir!"

That's the cry that went up today as eight of us gathered for our first choir rehearsal in the sanctuary of Lutheran Church of the Holy Communion.

"We have a choir!"

Waverly was a little late in arriving. Not wanting to lose the group's momentum I had us line up, clap and move together. Of course, I was the only one who couldn't clap and move at the same time. Paul stepped out and taught us a spiritual, a type of call and response that had deep clapping with a slow stomp of the foot in between. The sound had the rhythm of a chain gang, a sacred sound repeated over and over as we sang the words, "A little while longer...a little while longer." Suffering and hope through the power of song.

When Waverly arrived I asked if he would teach a song that he had once taught us at St. Michael's, a round done in four part harmony with the words, "God has done Marvelous things, praise the Lord!"

Lavonne was our soprano, lovely voice on pitch, picking up her part right away.

Sydney and I were the altos. We needed, well, let's say a little help. Bill, originally, a tenor, came over to join the altos. Sydney, petite and barely coming up to my shoulder, swayed with me
as we struggled to stay on course. Bill, Italian, Catholic,and not very used to singing in church, jumped right into the part.

Our tenor was Paul-- rich, full voice singing along with Waverly, whose voice alone could fill the sanctuary.

Carl, the inspiration for our choir, and Larry were our baritones. Carl had sung professionally with a group in the 70's as had a number of folks in the Welcome Church.

In fifteen minutes we had learned our parts and began singing in harmony.

I watched as faces exuded joy and bodies moved. Our voices became big, even in this sanctaury that could hold seven hundred; and at the end of the hour we raised our arms and shouted, "We have a choir!"

The Welcome Church Singers.

We have a choir!!!

The sound of addiction, recovery, homelessness, abuse, incarceration, loneliness, struggle, and hope.

We have a choir, indeed!!!

Welcome Home Kits

A.G. is 48 years old. After living by the river bank for six years, the city took down the tarp tent he called home. He then moved his gear underneath one of the bridges where he lived the past year. Through the combined efforts of the Outreach Coordination Center and Pathways to Housing, Mr. G. now has a place of his own.

A.K., who is 46 years old, has a similar story. He has lived on or near the Parkway since 1999---not in one of the lush highrise buildings, but up against a wall where the youth study used to be.
Again, thanks to the good folks at Outreach and Pathways, Mr.K. is currently awaiting an apartment which he should have in a few weeks.

So...what can you do to help these folks as they transition into their new homes?

Welcome them with the basics as listed below...and send a note inviting them into your congregation, or at the very least, wishing them well in their new home. You know how to do this...anyone who is a friend of The Welcome Church cherishes hospitality. You might even want to send along a tin of home baked cookies as you wuold do with any new neighbor. And do feel free to contact me with questions or information about dropping off a completed kit.

What to include? Here's a basic list:
dishes (plates, bowls, mugs, glasses)
utensils
pots/pans
dish towels/cloths
bath towels/wash cloths
bed linens (full)
pillows
toiletries
shower curtain/liners
bathroom accessories
waste baskets
ice cube trays
plastic food storage containers

extras: microwave and vacuum cleaner (many of the apts folks get have wall to wall)
radio or some kind of "box" for music (Quiet is often a big adjustment)

my email: vclittle@verizon.net

thanks so much and do read the older post called "Welcome Home"
violet

But who do you say that I am?

Often we will have visitors from various schools and churches come to volunteer at The Welcome Center, the drop-in center I founded nearly four years ago at 2111 Sansom. Well-meaning visitors, wishing to record and share their visit with folks back home will ask if they can take photos. Generally we don't allow photos to be taken for a variety of reasons, all focused on the privacy of our guests. We don't ask for anyone's last name, unless they choose to share it; and many times the first name that people share is their "street," rather than their birth names.

At The Welcome Church, however, we share a symbol of our common identity as daughters and sons of God. The symbol is the cross, especially designed for Ecclesia Ministries and for all who are involved in street ministry. The cross is especially important for people living on the street because it is something to hold on to during those times of loneliness, fear, and separation from community. For most, the cross placed around their necks with words of blessing, is a direct reminder of the Word who became Flesh and lives among us. For others, this is simply a dancing figure, or a symbol of hope and joy. It has been interpreted so many different ways.

Most importantly, though, it is a symbol of out connection and care for one another, a link so strong that the only identification one person had on them upon admission to the hospital was this cross---a link that led me to them through a very astute nurse who recognized the cross as a sign of The Welcome Church.

Many housed people ask me for these crosses. They cannot be bought and are really intended for those living on the street. There is a smaller version of this cross, however, done in sterling silver. If interested, check out Ecclesia Ministries and Common Cathedral. For now, if you are walking the streets of Center City Philadelphia, look for anyone wearing this cross. If nothing else, you will seeing so many people face to face---and you will see our true identities as children of God.

A Stroll Through the Park--Part Two

So, if you didn't read the other part first, do that.

Coming from one meeting tonight and headed back to Sansom Street for another, I once again walk through the park.

"Hey, Pastor!" I hear from somewhere behind me.

Tim and Bill wave me over. I often see them this time on a Tuesday late afternoon sitting together. And usually they are discussing whatever text we used at the Tuesday Church service earlier that day. They are quite the theologians. I walk over to chat.

As it turns out, Tim and I overlapped at St. Joe's. We talk about pets, kids, and then Tim wants to know if I ever get tired of hearing so many problems. It was a heavy meeting day and I had our summer intern, Jen, covering today's service. I start to wonder if he is feeling abandoned.
I explain how I am energized by being with people and he smiles.

Tim has decided to study Latin. Earlier I told him he could use my Cassell's Latin Dictionary, if he'd like. He takes out a pen and paper and writes me a reminder note to bring in my Latin book for him on Friday. they wave to another friend coming from behind. It is Shorty, also known as Joel.

Shorty comes up to me and says, "I see you everywhere...even when you are not looking, I still see you showing up!"

"Not such a bad thing to do, " I think, "just show up."

Shorty takes a watch out from his pocket.

"Someone gave me this," he said. "It's a woman's watch and since I'm not with anyone right now, you're the only woman I know."

Shorty gives me the watch. Bill and Tim comment that he has given me some "bling."

It's getting near the time of my meeting so I move on.

A little bit farther down and almost out of the park I see Marilyn and Jeff.

Jeff, a resident Welcome Center artist , is sitting on a bench giving art lessons to Marilyn, one of our volunteers.

"Got a minute?" she asks.

I go over and she shows me her sketchbook. The work that she and Jeff are doing is lovely.

I want to join them in the play.

But I have to go to a meeting.

And I realize that what I told Tim was absolutely true...I have been energized by my friends in the park.

A Stroll Through the Park

Today I took a stroll through Rittenhouse Park. Not such an unusual thing to do on a summer day. But today's stroll was different; I was walking with a married couple who had just shared tea with me at The Welcome Center. They were not from Philadelphia; but they had no home.

He was staying at the Ridge Shelter, and she had spent last night at LOVE Park. She was offered shelter in West Philadelphia and was concerned that having no money for fares, she would not get to see her husband. And I 'm sure there was more to the story--but, for now, I knew that she was sleeping in a park known for heavy drug activity. And I was worried for her safety.

So we took a walk through Rittenhouse Park.

I introduced her and her husband to several of my Welcome Church friends who hung out in the park. A number of the folks there were wearing the Ecclesia cross we give out---a sign of the God who never leaves them, but also a symbol of connection to the community of Welcome Church. "Go to these folks if you need anything," I said.

I told them about the early morning AA meeting at Holy Trinity. Coffee, and danish and a bathroom if you need it...and it couldn't hurt to sit in the meetings.

Then I pointed out the places that were "bathroom friendly" like Cosi's and Barnes and Noble.
"One of the security guards there used to be homeless," I said, "she's especially understanding."

And then I showed her St Patrick's Church with its little alcove . I heard the priest let some folks sleep there last winter.

I knew I could help her with clothes and toiletries. That part was easy. And I offered my cell phone for them to make any calls, making sure they knew the 24 hour hotline number to outreach.

Such a a strange walk through the park; one that any of us should never have to make because no one should be sleeping in a park.

So now it's after midnight and I think of her and wonder if she is safe or getting enough to drink in this very hot and humid weather.

I would rather have been able to point her to a home where she could sleep soundly next to her husband. I would rather have been able to point him to a job because he wants so badly to work.
I would rather have them united with their kids, now staying with relatives.

But today, all I could do was walk with them...taking a stroll in the park.

Help Wanted

Today I met a young family who had relocated to Philadelphia six months ago from California. They had a beautiful three year old daughter who was full of life and whose name, in Greek, means life. The family came seeking resources because if one of them did not find work soon, they would lose their apartment.

I watched mom and dad interact with their daughter and with each other. There was love and care and a wonderful light shining in their daughter's eyes. Pretty amazing in spite of the terrible worry these parents were carrying.

Mom and dad each have experience in the area of Information technology, but they are willing to do anything that might help with their bills.

Earlier, I spoke with one of our volunteers, a single dad in recovery who volunteers at our drop in program, The Welcome Center. In spite of his love for the Pittsburgh Pirates and Dallas Cowboys, he is a warm and responsible volunteer with a love of people and a wonderful sense of humor. He has experience in working large machinery, though he, too, is willing to do anything to help support his young daughter.

And there are so many others, including one man who has extensive experience in the pharmaceutical industry with a background in biology and a woman who taught elementary school, each looking for ways to contribute to society and to get back on their feet.

So today I am asking for your help. Help wanted by these men and women, moms and dads, good people who need a chance.

I never know who reads this blog, but I do believe in a God who always listens. So, maybe this is a prayer; but if anyone knows of any employment opportunities and wouldlike to make an enormous difference in someone's life, please contact me.

Help wanted. Really.

Welcome Home

I remember when Joan and Alex moved into their apartment. They had lived on the street for ten years, and though they were excited about getting a place, the move was traumatic. The couple had loved dancing in the rain. They took pride in the spot where they had "camped" on Logan Circle, constantly picking up any trash that tourists and other folks living in the park left behind. They knew all the priests in the nearby Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul and were constantly surrounded by a community of friends.

When they moved into their place Joan felt claustrophobic. Alex, an extreme extrovert, missed all his friends. They complained that the apartment was too hot, even though it was winter. Joan began to sleep outside, in front of the apartment; Alex would not leave her alone, so it was not long before the two of them were sleeping outside. Eventually, the couple moved indoors, but it was not easy.

Their story was not so unusual. Over and over I would hear especially about the loneliness that many moving from the street into an apartment would experience in the early months of living inside. Folks with "keys" would often come to visit their friends who were still in the midst of homelessness. One person told me he would go to his window each time it rained or snowed, restless because he knew so many of his friends were out there in this bad weather. Another described what sounded like a "survivor's guilt" when she moved into her apartment.

One day several of us gathered in conversation trying to think of ways to offer support in this transtion from being homeless to having a place inside. We came up with two ideas: a support group known as KEYS, and the offering of "Welcome Home Kits."

A Welcome Home Kit consists of all the basics someone moving into a home might need--linens, pots and pans, kitchen gadgets, and decorative items. We consulted with Donna Bailey, a worker fom the city in the area of health and housing, to help us know what she thought might be most helpful to include. We also came up with a system of working with caseworkers and others to help distribute these kits. And then we challenged individual congregations to put the kits together. So far, the Presbyterians have the lead!

The project is not complicated. Perhaps your youth group would like to put a kit together...or maybe, you might do one to honor a special couple getting married. It is a wonderful project for a congregation...and the kit is especially meaningful when notes and cards are added.

To receive a list of items needed or for more information, please contact me, vclittle@verizon.net Help a new neighbor feel truly welcomed!

First Holy Communion

Last Sunday my eight year old nephew Michael took communion for the first time. H e worked hard to prepare for this, studying the stories of Scripture and doing lots of extra homework to get ready to receive this precious gift. In keeping with the tradition of my Italian Catholic family, there will be a big party to celebrate this rite of passage in Michael's young life of faith.

On Tuesday, SOM took his first communion during our Tuesday Church service . SOM (short for Son of Man) showed up at the service for the first time. Though I met SOM in the park over three years ago, he is now settled into the apartment where he moved nine months ago.

SOM, with his reddish grey ponytail and crinkly smiling eyes

was raised in the Jewish tradition. He knows the Bible, both testaments, inside out and he can out quote me any day.

On Tuesday, he joined our small circle of believers as we talked about sheep. As a knitter, my mind wandered to the sheep and wool festival to be held in Maryland this coming weekend.

The group brought me back to our text in John as one man said that unless sheep feel completely safe, they will not lie down. The conversation moved to the safety God offers even when trying to sleep on very unsafe streets. I thought of a man who was stabbed this past week in a shelter.

We prayed, as is our custom, and then we prepared for communion. As I was getting ready to pour the grape juice into the cup, SOM said that he could not take communion. I reassured him that the table was open to all and that I was just serving the gift that Jesus had left us on the night before he died. I also told SOM that he was free to not take communion, that it was up to him.

I took the cup and the plate and I sat back down in the circle. Suddenly SOM said, "I love this...you mean you are going to do this sitting with us...with all of us on the same level?" I nodded and he said, "I think I want to be a part of this." I brought him the bread and Spence offered him the cup and SOM said...this is the first time I'm doing this, you'll have to lead me through..."

Later, as I walked through the park where I first met SOM, I heard him talking to some guys about the service and his first communion. He was beaming.

So, this week, I celebrate two first communions...Michael's and SOM'S. And though they may seem worlds apart, this week they were joined together by the one whose arms stretch really wide to take our hands.

Michael and SOM, be made strong by that body and blood given for you, and for all people for the forgiveness of sins. And may you know many more trips to that Welcome Table!

Who Will Roll Away the Stone?...an Easter Meditation

Text: Mark 16:3 "And they were saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the door of the tomb?'"

From the Gospel of Mark we hear these words, "And they were saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the door of the tomb?'"

Why do you think they needed a stone to be placed in front of the door of the tomb?

Blocking the door of the tomb with a large stone was an attempt to protect the body of Jesus from thieves or from those who might further desecrate it. It was a way to keep people out of the tomb.

The way Matthew tells the story, we hear that a sudden and great earthquake took place after which an angel descending from heaven rolled away this stone and then sat upon it.

In Luke's Gospel, the women show up with their spices to anoint the body of Jesus, and then according to Luke, "They found the stone rolled away from the tomb."

But in Mark's Gospel, the one we heard today, we are told that Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, on their way to the tomb to anoint the body of Jesus said to one another, "Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?"

Mark, writer of the shortest and probably the earliest Gospel, tells us that these three women on their way to anoint the body of their beloved Jesus...these three faithful women were worried!

They were worried!

Can you hear it in their voices? Who will roll away the stone?



The ultimate, and perhaps the earliest worry stone.

But then the text goes on to tell us that "When they looked up, they saw that the stone...had already been rolled back."

The thing that these women had been worried about was gone. And now there was nothing to keep them from standing in that place where Jesus was buried.

They entered the tomb!

So here's a thought...I always thought the stone had been rolled away so that Jesus could get out...so that the resurrection could be full and complete...

But what if that stone had been rolled away because Jesus didn't want to keep us out, but to invite us in?

What if that stone had been rolled away so that we, along with Mary Magdalene, Mary, and Salome could enter that place of death, and see for ourselves that there was a power that was greater than death?

The women entered the tomb and I could just imagine Jesus whispering into their ears, "See, it's okay, there's nothing to be afraid of..."

Still, the text goes on to say that after having been told the news of the resurrection and being instructed to tell Peter and the disciples that Jesus would meet them in Galilee, the women "fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them, and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid."

So Mark, tells it like it was...these early witnesses to the resurrection filled with worry and then fear...but the Easter story is one that didn't end with the worry and fear but is a story that says, "To be continued"...in spite of our worries and our fears.



We rejoice this day because we have a God who so fully entered the places of human pain and suffering that there is no place or no thing that we will ever have to face in this life where God has not gone first and filled with God's love.

Not the largest stone. Not the largest worry, not the largest fear. Not even a rotting and worm filled tomb.

St Paul said it like this: "For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus."

Nothing.

To be a resurrection community doesn't mean that we will never be worried or afraid; rather resurrection joy means that God will stand with us in those worries and fears, loving us through those storms, and holding us close, no matter what.

So, when you came in today, you were given a rock. For today's offering I invite you to place your rock in the basket as it comes by you.

Think of the stones that have already been rolled away in your life. The worries that have been removed, allowing you to enter those places of new life. Think of those stones and give thanks.

Think, too, of those stones that still need to be rolled away. The things in your life that block you from living in the fullness of resurrection. The places of worry and fear. Those places where you need to call on the Holy One for help.

Think of those places...and with silent prayers of gratitude or cries for help, place your stone in that basket. And when all are gathered we will place these stones at the foot of our altar in confidence and trust that we are never alone.

Christ is risen! Christ is risen, indeed! Amen.

Tina

photo by The Rev. Jesse Brown


Tina was one of the first people I met at The Welcome Center.


She was also the very first person to call what we were doing "church."

Tina died last week following a long and difficult battle with small cell lung cancer. She was 42 years old.

I didn't learn Tina's birth name until her first hospitalization. Everyone on the street knew her as "Annie Mae Wilkes."When I asked her why she chose that particular name, Tina said that it was "country" and she was from a small town in Pennsylvania, New Ringgold, not far from Wilkes-Barre---which is how she chose her last name---Wilkes. But that's who Tina was...the country girl with the tough city exterior.

And there were many reasons why Tina had to be "tough." The death of two husbands, a serious accident that caused chronic pain leading to a heroin addiction which she was able to overcome, struggles in early childhood, and so much more; but through it all Tina never stopped loving and giving.

I used to tease Tina saying she was our unofficial "social worker" at The Welcome Center. She would make new folks feel welcomed and she would help others on the street become acquainted with resources and creative survival techniques. Tina organized our clothing boutique and often helped others to put together outfits; and when we first started showing movies at The Welcome Center, Tina was the one we called on to set up the VCR, fix the DVD, or do anything mechanical that we needed to be done.

I look at the afghan that is draped our one of the chairs in my office. The squares were knit by many different people from our community; but it was Tina who took charge of sewing the squares together. And that's what she did---Tina brought people together.

I remember the day Tina sat with us arond the table at The Welcome Center asking about a lump on the side of her neck. I asked Elisabeth, one of our volunteers and also a nurse to look at it. "Could be nothing," we told Tina, "but better to get it checked out." She did, but it was, indeed, something.

I spoke to Tina two days before she died. Her last words to me were, "I love you." That's something else Tina did---she loved.

Tina died in the arms of her mother, Barbara, who was there for her throughout this difficult illness. She was loved by so many, including her four children and her husband Cornell.

The photo above was taken Christmas 2008 shortly after Tina had begun chemotherapy. It was one of her favorites because she loved her "sassy and sexy" look. As independent as she was though, Tina wore the Welcome Church cross, knowing that she never was alone.

So, I share the poem that Tine wrote , hand written in purple ink for me because my name is Violet. It sits framed near my desk and I read it often:

Hello and Welcome to this Church

Welcome to this church!

Won't you come on in, Jesus Christ lives here.

He'll relieve you of your sins.

Open up your heart. Invite the savior in.

You will never find a friend as faithful as him.

knock and the door will open.

Seek and you will find.

Ask and it will be given.

And you will find great peace of mind

Give you heart to Jesus

for he cares so much for you.

He will guide and lead you

in everything you do.

Read the Holy Bible!

Learn how Jesus wants you to live.

He'll give you peace and comfort

if only your heart you'll give.

Take him at his word

Become his dearest friend.

He'll always be there for you

to the very end!!

Tina Z.

May you rest in peace, dear Tina, in the arms of love and mercy. You will be missed by many.

What's in a name?

When I meet someone I will often ask them how they got their name.

Names are important. They are part of our story. That's why at the Welcome Center and in The Welcome Church we try to learn each person's name. Not easy for those of us over fifty, but we do pretty well.

My own name is a variation of my mother's name. I am Violet and she is Viola. She wasn't crazy about her own name, but as her first born she wanted us linked in the naming. And she happened to like the flower, too.

When I was baptized, I was also given the name Mary. In the Roman Catholic tradition in which I grew up, you needed to be named after a Saint. You know, one that was canonized and recognized. Because there was no Saint Violet (and looks like I won't be the one to break that tradition !) I was given the middle name of Mary...pretty safe since there were several.

And then there was my Confirmation name. Catherine. Named after my Aunt Kitty who was my godmother. So by the time I was eight, my name was Violet Mary Catherine Cucciniello.

I kept that name even after I got married...until the IRS made it very difficult for me to just stop there; so I added my husband's last name, Little.

Ok. Violet Mary Catherine Cucciniello Little.

But not long ago I was given another name. A street name. Given to me by one of our Welcome Church friends. He told me I was "Amazing Grace Little."

He named me that because I had introduced him to jazz musician, Alex Bugnon through a free concert here in Philadelphia. And Amazing Grace Little is a jazz singer. So we were linked through our common love of jazz.

I felt like I had experienced yet another rite of passage.

But here's the thing: the other day at our Tuesday service I asked the group who they thought God saw when they looked at each of them. One person raised his hand and said, "His child."

So there it was in a nutshell. The name that tied us all together, given to each of us by the one who claimed us: Child of God. The only name that really matters, after all.

Violet Mary Catherine Cucciniello Amazing Grace Little, Child of God.

Church on Logan

Today we had our outdoor monthly service at Logan Square.

I have begun to think of these services as "Church on Logan" because that's exactly who we are--the people of God gathering at Logan Square, sometimes also called Logan Circle. Ironically, we set up our altar on the triangle called the "Sister Cities."

Street church is energizing. And I'm not the only one who thinks so. Today we had at least four (known) clergy present presiding at communion, coffee, cookies and conversation. But clergy are only a small part of Church on Logan. Sami led us in the 23rd psalm, the Confirmation class from Holy Apostle's Episcopal Church helped with communion, Carl offerd prayer, folks from St. John's in Essington brought home baked treats, Dr.Joe came through toting some kind of gift basket for the group, and a woman, whose words I couldn't understand but who was happy to be there, helped with the sermon.

With street church there are no "people in the pews" because we don't have any pews.

We gather in a circle and stand together. It is s a picture of being one.

Our altar is a card table covered with a beautiful cloth given to me by a dear friend. We have a cup, a plate, a small pitcher, grape juice and wafers. Usually we have a small cross on the table, but today Dennis forgot the cross. It didn't really matter because behind us was the huge Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul with it's high cross shadowing over us. Since the cross on this Roman Catholic Cathedral was about the same Jesus who died for us all, I figured no one would mind if we shared it for an hour.

Today we opened the service with "Kumbayah," a camp-y, almost cliche kind of a song except for when we thought about what it really meant...we were inviting God to "Come by here."

Someone needs you, Lord...come by here.

Someone's crying, Lord...come by here.

Someone's hungry...

lonely...

afraid...

you name it, Lord...come by here.

And then, when we were pretty convinced that we had lured Jesus away from the Winter Olympics and into the park, we had time for confession and reconciliation, closing with the healing words of The Serenity Prayer. Not just for recovering alcoholics, but for recovering sinners (as are we all) and saints (as are we all) too.

Sami led us in Psalm 23 and I read the gospel for this Sunady in Lent. The one where Jesus tells us that God loves us like a mother, only wanting to protect us the way a hen covers her brood. Even if it will cost him his life.

And once again, we were given the chance to share in the Bread of Life, the Cup of Salvation.

Afterwards one person came up to me and said, "You know, I feel really full."

This, from someone who did not know where their next meal would come from. But from someone who did have a different kind of hunger.

Tonight I thought about his words as I sat down to dinner, and I realized that I, too, felt like I had already eaten.

And, indeed, I had been fed.

Pennies on the Altar

If I were ever to write a book about The Welcome Church, I would have to call it "Pennies on the Altar." I get this name from the very first "Tuesday Church" service I did over a year ago now.

On that day, I shared how I always seem to find pennies in the most unusual places. In the past, I would ignore those pennies because they were worth,well, only a penny. This changed, however, when someone pointed out to me the words written on the penny, "In God We Trust." Finding pennies then became a reminder for me to trust God.

The odd thing was that I would find the pennies just when I needed to hear that message. Like on the seat of a plane, before taking off (I hate to fly), or on the way to a meeting where I would learn whether or not I was going to have funding for my ministry. On one particularly shaky day, I found six pennies lined up on the street as if God were trying to make sure I really got the message!

So on the day of my first service with Tuesday Church, I invited each person to look for pennies in the upcoming week and let it be a reminder to them of God's presence in all places.

The following week, I asked if anyone wanted to share their "penny stories."

As each person told of the places they found pennies (and the presence of God) they came up and placed their pennies on our altar. This went on for several weeks, until finally, I had to place a jar on the altar to hold all our pennies. One person even shared how she started leaving pennies on the street for others who needed to find them!

The ministry of The Welcome Church is a tricky one because unlike most other developing congregations, our parishioners will not be able to financially sustain the ministry. We depend on donations, grants, and miracles to keep us going. But one thing is not tricky, and that's the message of God's love and grace that is being proclaimed to one another. The message of the gospel found on a penny. Good news popping up, even on the street and in places that most of us would not even touch.

And each week that heavy jar of pennies make my own heart grow light.

Tea Time

There is a ritual at The Welcome Center that began quite by accident.

One afternoon, in the early months of The Welcome Center, I brought out my little plastic hotpot that my husband gave me so that I might have tea at my desk. I filled it with water, plugged it in and sat down at one of the round tables where people folks had gathered, but not saying much. Though we have pots of hot water run through our coffee maker, I am one of those people who likes my tea water to be McDonald's boiling hot and not tasting like coffee.
I also brought out what our guests began to refer to as my "special tea" (peppermint) from home.

I didn't think much about this other than I was going to have my afternoon tea as I talked with some of our guests. It wasn't long, though, before people started asking if they could have some of that "special tea" made with water from my "special pot." Soon, 3:00 became known as "Tea Time with the Pastor"---a time to gather around one of the tables, choose from a variety of herbal teas (now with two special pots), share a tea-time treat, and have conversation.

I love tea-time at The Welcome Center, and on Tuesdays I move right from our Welcome Church service in the large room next door into The Welcome Center room where folks are gathered and waiting for me to join them for tea.

I love tea-time for many reasons, but mostly because it is such a normalizing and social activity.

Still, our conversations vary a bit in context from most Wanamaker Crystal Tea Room kind of talk.

Today, one person shared how he had been arrested twice this past week for loitering. Someone else jumped in to to share the frustration of shelters and cafes being too full to accommodate people during this cold and rainy weather but getting kicked out of the train stations with no other inside place to go. Another very resourceful person said that if you buy a train ticket a little after the last train, then you could stay in the station until the first train in the morning, allowing five "legal" hours inside. And someone else shared how when he was arrested for loitering, the police took away the crochet hook I had given him for the small animals he crochets because it was a "weapon."

I shared my dream of opening a drop-in center in one of the vacant shops at Suburban Station.

One guy said, "You really are crazy...they don't want us there." But someone else shared how if we did this, she thought we could get many volunteers to paint, decorate and maintain such a facility. So then someone else talked about the need for more affordable housing. And another talked about jobs and maybe a business we could start together so that they could pay for the housing...and the conversation became filled with ideas and dreams and I dare say...hope.

All this, as we sipped a very expensive brand of white tea that had been donated, and shared another misspelled birthday cake that cut to look like a fancy tea-time treat.

OK. So we're not the Crystal Tea Room. And we don't have a chandelier. But we are The Welcome Center and these folks are the heartbeat of The Welcome Church and for that special 3:00 hour on Tuesdays and Fridays, we do have a roof overhead in a lovely Center City space.

So, maybe it wasn't such an accident that prompted me to drag my little hot pot out of my office and into the large room that day after all.

Oh, yeah. We found another crochet hook for our friend to keep on crocheting his little dogs.

Jesus on the Main Line, Tell Him What you Want...

There's an old gospel song called "Jesus on the Main Line." In this song, the main line refers to a telephone line and not the upper class old money section of Philadelpia which is also called "The Main Line." Anyway, I thought of this song, when in the middle of our Tuesday Church service, someone's cell phone rang.

In most situations, I would be very annoyed if I heard a cell phone ring during a service. For the folks at The Welcome Church, however, a phone call could mean a house, a job, a lost relative, a doctor, a probation officer, or a slot in a rehab. And the phones are not easy to come by, even with SafeLink, a government program designed to provide limited coverage cell phones for low income people. So I am a bit more liberal about a phone ringing during Tuesday Church than I would be in most ther situations.

OK. We had just finished praying and the phone rang. The person answered it and respectfully stepped back to finish his conversation. He then came back to the group as I raised the bread to be blessed and he said, "I have an announcement." Because he was visibly upset, I put the words of Jesus on hold for a minute and let him speak.

His fiancee had been arrested.

The charges were old and it had something to do with reporting to her P.O., but my parishioner was struggling to remain calm.

One by one, the congregants began to comfort and encourage him, even sharing their own experiences and some pretty sophisticated legal advice. Someone looked at me and said, can we pray again?

So, there we were, a little out of order, but asking God to protect them and keep them safe, the community surrounding my parishioner with love and prayer.

I then went back to where I was before the call, raised the bread in my hands and said the words of Institution..."This is my body given for you..."

When my very worried parishioner took that bread and sipped that juice, I could see that he was eating the bread and drinking the juice in a way that he knew he would be strenghtened.

Afterwards, we made a plan for the next few days and I saw the calmness envelop him even in his worry.

Maybe, I thought, Jesus really was on the main line, sending that call at a time when my parishioner could be surrounded by support and fed with the bread of life.

It made me think that sometimes those annoying interruptions might be the Spirit's way of making us stop and pause for a moment of grace.

I left the service singing that song,
"Jesus on the main line,
tell him what you want
Jesus on the main line,
tell him what you want.
Jesus on th main line,
tell him what you want...
call him up and tell him what you want..."

Snow Days

This week in Philadelphia we have had record breaking snow. Other than the dripping in my dining room from a snow blocked gutter, my husband and I spent two wonderful days together at home where the severe weather conditions gave us permission to watch movies, bake bread, play Scrabble, and catch up on email. I took some photos from my window including this one of the snow covered branches, marveling at the beauty and brightness of our surroundings. But the storm had another side, too, and that was made very real to me when I received a call from Sam on Thursday telling me that yet another life had been lost on the street.

His name was Bruce and he slept on the side of the church. Though Bruce was not one to come inside, he did speak to a number of us, including church members who would give him blankets and coffee. Bruce was found in an abandoned building where the snow had gotten in. He had been dead for several days when he was found.

In the short six weeks that I have been writing this blog, three of my entries have included people who died. I have not even written about John, whom I visited in Intensive Care and who also almost died from the cold.

Something is strangely out of balance here.

People should not be freezing to death.

I remember talking to one formerly homeless person after had he just moved into his apartment. He had lived on the Parkway for eighteen years and it took some adjustment after he had moved inside. One of the most difficult things, he shared, was being inside when there was bad weather. He told me that whenever it rained, he would go to the window and think about everyone that was still on the street. He said that it was hard for him to enjoy his new home when he knew there were so many still outside with no where to go. A type of survivor's guilt, maybe, but perhaps what he felt was the embodiment of Project H.O.M.E.'s motto that "None of us is home until all of us are home."

So snow days have new meaning for me. I still love the slower pace, the kids sledding and building snow sculptures. I love the way the neighbors come together on my street to see who needs what and the informal block party that happens on "dig out day." I love the way the snow sparkles in the sun like the coarse sugar I use to decorate my cookies. But I can't help but wonder who is out in the cold, alone and needing help.

And silently I pray the Serenity Prayer, asking especially for the wisdom to change the things I can.

Holy Cowl...calling all knitters!

I have an office that looks like a Costco warehouse. I mean, really.

It is filled with the latest art projects from Welcome Art, the drum set we use for our Tuesday services in one corner, household items for those who are newly housed in another, and bins and boxes of donations that come in even on days when I am not there. And somewhere, in the midst of all this is my desk, which---like Costco---offers free samples of snacks homemade from my kitchen and made especially for our volunteers.

The other day I walked (tripped?) in to find yet another addition to our stock: bags and bags of yarn.

The yarn was mostly Red Heart acrylic and it made my own heart warm to see this since this is the only yarn my mother insists on using for the afghans she loves to crochet.

Our donor, a neighbor from the co-op apartments across from the church, had visited me a day earlier because she had heard we had a group of knitters at The Welcome Center. Barbara, a petite woman with a Southern accent (that's Virginia, not South Phila) sat down to share with me how she had crocheted hundreds of hats for two cancer clinics where family members had been patients. She was now ready to try her hand at the digital sewing machine that she had barely time to use. Sharing her stash of yarn was a step towards doing this.

Smart woman, I thought. To say yes to one thing, we often have to say no to something else.

Anyway, we had a delightful visit and I learned how Barbara had been a competitive roller skater, how she made marbleized paper, and we even managed to squeeze a brief crochet lesson
into our visit. Barbara seemed perfectly comfortable sitting among the bins and boxes and even sampled one of the treats of the day...oatmeal marble cookie bars. My kind of woman.

So we have this yarn, and on Friday a group of us will sort and knit and in between stitches I know I will hear life stories that will be made easier to share as we slide those little knots back and forth on the knitting needles that I keep in a cup along with my pencils and pens.

So, I invite you and anyone you know to be part of our group by making a simple project called a "cowl."

After making one for myself, I realized how practical this was for life on the street.

A cowl is like a very loose turtle neck that is just the neck part. It is like a scarf that is connected that you put over your head to keep your neck warm. But here's the best part...you can also pull the scarf up over your head, like a hood. It doesn't fall off, and can even be worn while asleep (if you are sleeping in your clothes to keep warm outside, this is important.)

The pattern is simple, even for beginning knitters:

Cast 120 stitches on to size 9 circular needles and join, placinmg a marker on the right hand needle.

Knit 2, Purl 2 ribbing for 2".

Knit for 7" more.

Knit 2, Purl 2 ribbing for 2".

Bind off loosely.

My cowl was done in merino wool. We will be doing a bunch others in Red Heart acrylic which is washable and warm (and covers my office floor at the moment).

I believe cowls were a part of the garb that religious orders (like monks) used to wear. Thus the name I gave it, "Holy Cowls."

If you make one for yourself, please think of our friends on the street and keep them in prayer as you knit. If you'd like to share your cowl, it may be sent to The Welcome Center, 2111 Sansom Street, Phila, PA 19103.

Happy knitting!

Unshopping

The following was shared with friends and family early on in January. Some folks have asked me to include this idea of "unshopping" in my blog, so here goes...

One cold morning several years ago I was getting ready to leave my house and go into town. It was close to Christmas and when I opened the closet to grab a bag, I was struck by the number of shopping bags I had accumulated from the various stores. Of course, these bags also represented all the "stuff" I had accumulated from shopping.

I suddenly had the idea to go "unshopping."

I ran up to my bedroom and chose two sweaters that I had not yet worn. I wrapped them in tissue paper (upscale dept store style) and put them in one of the shopping bags. My goal was to "unshop" finding the right home for the sweaters.

I did this before the Ladies' Room at Suburban had been renovated. There was a little ante-room where some of the women I now see at The Welcome Center would change their clothes or just hang out. A little table was in the bathroom. I laid out the sweaters and began talking with the women, as if we were shopping together. It was not long before the sweaters were tried on and claimed. I had "unshopped." This felt so much better than shopping.

I shared this story with my previous congregation at St. Michael's and encouraged folks to unshop in other ways. Soon it became habit to carry with me an extra pair of gloves or a hat when I went into town. I met so many folks through this experience. I also began to make an extra lunch. Sometimes I would sit down with my lunchmate and we would eat together; but even if I was off running somewhere, there was always someone who appreciated the lunch.

During this particularly cold time of year and following a time when so many of us have been given more than we could ever use, I invite you to "unshop." Carry that extra pair of mittens, scarf, blanket, perfume, book or whatever it is that you might share with someone you meet in your travels. Make an extra lunch or share those Christmas cookies and a cup of tea and maybe a hello with someone you meet who is struggling. Use your judgement and respect a person's privacy. And if you are shy about talking to someone you haven't yet met, I can help you unshop through The Welcome Center and The Welcome Church.

I know that those who are reading this already do so much for so many. I know your compassion and generosity, and I know the thought of seeing folks cold or hungry brings you pain.

So, I give thanks for knowing so many good folks. feel free to share you experiences of "unshopping." I know that through the people I have met, I have received so much more than I ever could have given.

With love as we near the feast of St. Valentine!
violet

Sherwood Forest

There is an area beneath Philadelphia's City Hall leading to Suburban Station known to most as "Sherwood Forest." It got its name from the many concrete pillars that fill this area.
In the evening, this is a place where dozens of folks sleep. This is also the place that one of the men suggested might be a good spot to hold our Sunday services during inclement weather.

I really like this idea of holding service in the train station...warmth, a bathroom nearby, Dunkin Donuts for our coffee hour, and easy to find. What is more, I was reassured that SEPTA police would not chase us away.

That's the good news.

The bad news is that we would not be bothered because few people cared about what happened at all in this area that often smells like urine and has rodents scurrying after the remains of food left by those who sought shelter in this space.

I hear the name "Sherwood Forest" and immediately I think of Robin Hood. Pretty up front kind of guy---you know, stole from the rich to give to the poor; and as much as I would never encourage stealing, there is something terribly out of balance when people are sleeping on cardboard in the midst of rats while above them in our Center City hotels the thread counts on the sheets are higher than the number of calories a person might get to eat that day.

So here's an idea that I'd like to put out to my seven blog followers and to anyone else who might be reading this post. It was inspired by my friend Janet who talked about buying "shares"
to support this ministry and others like it, and by Pat who spoke to me of a ministry of welcome that might include all the work of The Welcome Church and other ministries like it. I like the word "share" because that is what's at the heart of this idea.

What if we invited folks to buy shares in The Welcome Church? Or maybe just call it the Ministry of Welcome? What if we were to set it up like a corporation, and many were invited to be "shareholders"? A share could be something small, like $5.00 (then kids could even get involved) and shareholders could have some say as to how the money would be spent. And the return? That would be the wonderful way lives are transformed, and dignity is returned, and hope is renewed for people who often feel alone and neglected.

Not stealing from the rich to give to the poor, but just giving, knowing that giving is a privilege
and that healing is contagious.

I believe in the generosity of humankind. Maybe, the way to end homelessness is to "take stock." So, I am putting it out there for comments or for personal emails.

Because no one should have to sleep in Sherwood Forest.

What do QVC and The Welcome Church have in common?

The answer is testimony.

We opened today's service with a lively old gospel song, "I've Got a Testimony!"

I chose it because I thought it would be a great song for Spencer to play along with on the drums...and it was...but then we began to talk about this word, testimony, used in law, Twelve Step Meetings, church...and yes--QVC.

For those of you not familiar with QVC, it is a home shopping network that I first came across when the war began in Iraq. I was so distressed by the war and the coverage on every station that I started watching QVC, one big info-mercial that I knew would have nothing to say about the horrors beginning in Iraq.

What caught my eye about QVC was their "testimonial line." The testimonial line was a place
where folks who had used a featured product could call in and "witness" or "give testimony" to the product's effectiveness, durability, beauty, or any other reason why they loved it. The testimonial line was what sold me on my first product from QVC, Space Bags---those things that you use to pack away all those extra and out of season clothing. Now I just try to give those things away and not spend more money on ways to store them.

But back to Tuesday Church. After hearing "I've Got A Testimony" and being energized by Spence's playing on the drums I asked the group, "So, what's a tetsimony?"

The answers were all wonderful and included words like "sharing" and "praising" and all kinds of good ways of telling, but the one that stayed with me came from someone who I am not sure was completely sober but who spoke from his heart saying, " A testimony is when you think that nobody cares or sees you and you think there is no hope and you're lying in the street and then you feel something that pulls you up and is with you and loves you and then you tell other people about it."

And there it was...testimony.

Abraham Heschel, sage and rabbi once said that in the end, faith is not about proof but about witness. Not about quoting one Scripture text to support whatever it is you are trying to prove, but listening to the stories of the amazing things God has done in the lives of God's people, in spite of ourselves.

The service continued and , then just as I was to say the prayer over the bread and the grape juice, someone raised his hand with the "ooo-ooo" excitement of Arnold Horschak on "Welcome Back Kotter" (an ancient sit-com) and asked, "So, why would God, lead us into temptation, anyway?" referring to a line we had just prayed from The Lord's Prayer.

I looked at him and promised we could talk about it next Tuesday, hoping that, by then, I'd find the answer...

So that's a hint of Tuesday church, shaped by the "interruptions" but always held together by the glue of grace.

And that's my testimony!

So how do you take your communion? aka street church

So, how do you take your communion?

The phrase kept popping up in my mind as I distributed the sacrament to folks simultaneously being given cups of hot coffee from Dunkin' Donuts.

It was sixteen degrees at Logan Circle and we had gathered for our second "street church" service. The coffee had been intended for our "Coffee Hour" following the service, but it was cold, and for many the coffee was what warmed their hands as I reminded them that the body of Christ really was given for us all.

With each cracked hand that received the bread and each dry tongue that waited for the wafer I was reminded over and over of Jesus saying, "Take and eat...take and eat..."

So we had our second service at Logan Circle, praying the 23rd psalm and the serenity prayer, hearing Dennis proclaim the radical word of God that charity does not begin at home but wherever there is need, giving thanks for the birth of twins born to Arthur's daughter only hours earlier, and hearing the prayer of a son for his mother returning home from surgery, culminating in communion and coffee or coffee and communion, depending on where you were standing.

And, even after all the coffee and danish were gone, and following several attempts to pack up, folks kept coming for the body of Christ, wanting to be part of the body that joined us together.

Dave thought there were at least 100 folks present based on the coffee that was distributed, and somehow, the oneness of it all could be felt.

So, how do you take your communion? I think Jesus might say in whatever way spoke of his presence in the suffering. So, today, it was with coffee and danish.

Maria

Today it was "Code Blue" here in Philadelphia, a phrase that means the temperature outside was low enough to be life threatening. For Maria, the weather not only threatened her life, it took it.



On such days we open our doors earlier than usual at The Welcome Center. We can't stand to have anyone waiting outside in the cold, so the church where are housed not only gives us additional hours but additional space. Today, nearly 90 folks came to the Center.



The feeling was good inside...warmth and movies and plenty of lunch for everyone. It felt like a collective snow day without the snow, just the being together in warmth and safety. If I had not known the stories and the struggles of so many of the folks with us today, I would have thought we were at some kind of a social club with laughter being exchanged, warm greetings, and comfort. But I did know many of the stories and it amazed me to experience so much joy in spite of the struggles.



And then I got the call from Sam. The connection on my cell phone was not good and I was struggling to hear his words. Maybe the struggle had to do with what Sam was saying or the pain I heard in his voice. Sam, from Outreach, had shared that Maria was found dead under one of the bridges where she slept. He was with some of the medical team from Jefferson and they were waiting for the Medical Examiner. Though he couldn't tell for sure, most likely Maria died from drinking to stay warm, then falling into a deep sleep and freezing to death.



This should never be. Ever.



Sam asked for prayers for Maria, her family, and all who are on the street , and I prayed for him, too. And he asked me to plead with the folks at The Welcome Center to please be careful in this very cold weather.



I went into the room where folks were gathered as we prepared for lunch. I shared this sad announcement and one man who knew Maria well let out an agonizing cry. When he asked me if she was dead, I said, "Yes, I believe so..." still having a hard time taking this in myself.



We paused and offered prayers and I did talk to folks about alcohol in this weather and making sure they had a place inside tonight. One person said to me, "This is just wrong!" and it is...



An article in the Los Angeles Times done on street medicine (Doctors who go out on the street with outeach teams) said that the average age of death for someone who is living on the street is 48--an age that most of us in this country would call "middle age." An age when some of us are just getting the hang of life.



I don't know Maria's age or much of anything about her. I do know her last name, and I hesitate to use it on the off chance her family, if any, is reading this and does not yet know that she has died. All I know is that her life was precious and she should not have frozen to death under a bridge.



I'm writing way past midnight and it is still so cold outside. There is a chance of snow and I can't help but wonder about all the Marias outside tonight. I hand it over to God and pray for their protection, but God always gives a little piece of it back over to me, and I don't get off the hook that easily. And so I do what I can, and I am grateful for so many good people who struggle with me to end homelessness.



Into your hands, O God we commend, Maria's spirit. Amen.

Take and Eat

A funny thing happened to me last week. I was in the middle of our Tuesday Church service getting ready to distribute communion when I noticed a piece of soft pretzel on the plate along with the thin wafers we use for communion. It wasn't on the plate before I started the service---really---and when I asked who put it there no one seemed to know. I didn't get that "I'm in trouble with the principal" kind of look; nor did anyone laugh. Rather, folks really didn't know how it got there, nor did anyone seem to think it was a particularly big deal.

So, after all these months of talking about how Jesus chose bread as a way to be present with us, I was the only one thinking it a bit odd that a piece of a Philadelphia soft pretzel appeared on the plate.

OK, it was strange.

I distributed communion, taking the pretzel off the plate and placing it on the altar. Quite a different picture from having grown up in the fifties in a tradition where I wasn't allowed to scrape the sticky wafer off the the roof of my mouth for fear of disrespecting Jesus. Back then, it was better to choke than have my fingers touch the body of Christ.

But decades later, even in the church of my childhood, communion is to be touched, cradled, and taken within...the reality of incarnation, the Word made flesh and living among us and in us.

When we first started celebrating communion together at Tuesday Church, communion was whatever bread I had in my house. Sometimes it was a stale Italian bread, sometimes leftover French, and sometimes it was even Nann. Jesus as bread, common to all of humankind, across the globe.

And last week, there was that Philadelphia pretzel. A very contextual theology.

What would Jesus look like if he came into The Welcome Church today?

I kind of think Jesus does come, every day, every where, and just to be sure I don't miss him...well, I'd better treat each one as if they were the Christ dwelling in our midst.
And somehow, we continue to be fed by the one who still invites us to "Take and eat..."

So wafer or tortilla, cracker or pretzel, I guess what really matters is that , the Word made flesh lives among us, and was given for us.

And so I say Amen!

Remembering Jimmy

Earlier this week I learned that Jimmy died.

I heard of his death the way I usually hear of such things on thestreet---through word of mouth. No obituary, no viewing, and I still don't know the exact circumstances, when or where or how Jimmy died. There is part of me that doesn't even quite believe he died, almost like on a soap opera when someone either fakes their death or when there is no body and they miraculously show up years later. I even sent Jimmy an email after I had heard that he died, hoping the information was incorrect. And for those who don't know, many folks on the street do have email addresses using the computers in the public library.

I looked up some of the last emails Jimmy sent me. It was in September around the time of my installation. Jimmy had gotten a job for that afternoon playing piano at a chuch and he wasn't sure he would make it over to the park in time for my installation. He missed it, but he came to visit me at The Welcome Center excited that his disability insurance had come through. He also said that he would like to play for our Tuesday Church services as part of his "tithe", refusing to accept the stipend I offered.

But let me tell you about Jimmy and how we met.

Jimmy showed up at The Welcome Center one day, nearly three years ago when he was pretty down on his luck. Our sexton, at that time, invited Jimmy to come inside and have some lunch. Jimmy said that what he really wanted was to play the piano. Jason brought Jimmy into the chapel where we had a keyboard and Jimmy sat down and played. He was amazing. Soon a small crowd of us gathered around and Jimmy began to sing. He sang, "Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior." This man who had been passed by on the street so many times, sang "Pass Me Not," and we were mesmerized. His voice brought us to another place, a place of peace and beauty, but also to a place of one who knew the deepest suffering. Peace and suffering, both at the same time.

Jimmy continued to visit us and to play and sing whenever he could. The playing and singing brought him healing, but for the rest of us it was pure gift.

Jimmy gave me many gifts, including a string of antique pearls he found and was given while cleaning someone's basement. The pearls were in a pink box from The Blum Store, an old Philadelphia store that no longer existed. They are the kind of pearls that are individually knotted, so if one breaks all the others won't fall apart.

It was the first time a parishioner had given me pearls; but in The Welcome Church, people offer what they have, and this time it was pearls.

Jimmy gave me many gifts, and I want to say thank you....

For bringing me the gospel music that I had missed so much from St. Michael's, my former congregation.

For teaching us a Welcome Church favorite, "There is None Like You."

For starting Tuesday Church with me and allowing me to believe that we could form a choir.

For calling me "sis" which for Jimmy meant I was part of his family, maybe a kind of nun, and someone to whom he often confided.

For being part of my life and our life together in both The Welcome Center and The Welcome Church in so many ways.

Rest in peace, Jimmy, in the arms of the One who passes no one by.

Compassion

It's been several days since I have written. The devastation in Haiti has left me speechless. But today, remembering Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I'd like to share something that happened the other day during "Tea Time" at The Welcome Center. For me, it was a true picture of compassion, the word that means "to suffer with."

We were gathered around an especially full table for tea. Ralph had a good donation day from ShopRite, so along with out tea we were treated to somebody's birthday cake with their misspelled name, a blueberry marble cake, donuts, and the soft philadelphia pretzels that Ralph gets from his cousin in South Philly. It had been cold and many of the folks with me that day were coming from their homes on the street, in the tunnels, and various other creative spots wher people "camped."

We were having tea and light conversation when one person asked, "What can we do about Haiti?" The conversation shifted to the people of this tiny country and the tragic earthquake.

What followed was one of the most compassionate discussions I have ever experienced. The men and women gathered around the table tried to think of what they might do to help. They connected especially around their experience of homelessness, not separating out the Americans from the Haitians in the midst of this horror, but really connecting in the suffering.

Martin Luther King Jr. spoke of us being woven into one web of humanity. Sister Mary Scullion, and the good people of Project H.O.M.E. say that "none of us is home until all of us are home."
For the Israelites, the concept of shalom meant that their could be no peace untill all were at peace; and St. paul talks about us being members of "one body."

I have shared with many the story of my friend, Linda. Linda had no feeling from the waist down, due to a terrible car accident. One day she fell out of her wheelcair at home. She was not in pain, so she didn't think much about the fall---that is, until an infection in her fractured leg almost cost Linda her life.

We are one body, and we must pay attention when any part is suffering. If we don't, it could cost us our lives. It is really that important.

So, with Martin and Sister Mary, with St. Paul and the saints of The Welcome Church, I pray that I may never stop feeling the pain of others, and that with the help of God, I might tend to the wounds in whatever way I can.

With gratitude for the life and legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and all the prophets in our midst on this third anniversary of The WelcomeCenter,

violet

We Have a Drummer!

"Behold...I will do something new..." Isaiah 43

Since last Tuesday was our first service together in the new year, I read the above text from Isaiah and asked the question, "What new thing would you hope for in this year?"

The answers varied and were thoughtful. As we continued to share, I could feel the hope growing in the room. One person, a quiet and gentle young man with a smile that gave as much light as our candles, spoke about playing the drums. He said that he had played since he was five and that he drummed and sang for several different churches. I became quite excited and asked if he would play for us and he said he would really like that. I didn't know how, but I assured him the drums would come.

That was Tuesday.

The following Monday I was talking with someone who said, "Could you use a set of drums?"
She had not known about the conversaion at Tuesday Church; rather, she was cleaning out some things and had a set of drums!

Now, you have to believe me that I don't usually get such offers. Usually, I get offers of coats or socks or household things for people moving into apartments. But drums?

They were delivered on Tuesday, in time for me to announce this gift at yesterday's service, and I did notice a few new folks when they heard this series of events. Folks thought it was nothing short of a miracle. And it was...but no less a miracle than having this young man speak of his dream and share what he needed to make that happen.

My challenge was not to have folks look upon God as a divine Santa Claus...at the same time, I do believe that God really, really wants us to use our gifts and to find joy in sharing those gifts with others. In fact, I believe God was as excited as we were when one generous person thought to share these drums with us in a place where a drummer was ready to drum! And I could see new things happening, not only for our drummer, but for each one of us at The Welcome Church.

At the end of yesterday's service, our drummer asked if he could also sing next week and teach us a song he used to sing at his other churches. I was thrilled.

So we have a drummer, and we have drums!

Okay...now for the keys and bass....and the choir...

and whatever new surprises God has in store for us.

Bridge Over Troubled Waters

When I was in college, ther was a very popular Simon and Garfunkel song called "Bridge Over Troubled Waters." It started out with these words,
"When you're weary...feelin' small
when tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all."
I loved this song, especially the image of someone being my "Bridge Over Troubled Waters."

This week, however, a dear friend sent me a favorite Bible passage:
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and through the rivers,
they shall not overwhelm you… Isaiah 43:1-2

I like this even better than what Simon and Garfunkel had to offer. I like it better because what I have learned since my college days is that there will always be times of "troubled waters" and that the way to get ot the other side of them isn't so much about "getting over" them as it is about "going through."

So this is the promise we are given. That even going through the most troubled waters, we will never be alone.

Maybe the next time we hear someone say that they are "goin' through it" we can be the voice that echoes the prophet.

Taking Risks

This week I had the joy of being able to give three supermarket gift cards away. The only stipulation I was given was that the cards be offered to someone with children who was struggling financially. Most of the folks I see are not currently living with their children; if a person is living on the street, their children are either with relatives or in foster homes. Still, I was able to think of three folks who were working really hard to take care of their children.

I met with each of these three folks, good people facing some really hard times. Each was thrilled to be given this gift that was donated by the very generous Honickman family and made available to me through Sister Mary Scullion of Project H.O.M.E. I was happy these families would have the thrill of doing something for their children.

Yesterday I learned that one of the recipients sold their card. I felt betrayed and even a little angry; but riding home in the car I was reminded that maybe the card was sold for something else that was needed more immediately. As far as I knew, this person did not have any addictons; but he did have a serious illness.

At any rate, this made me think of something Elie Wiesel, said one time when I had heard him speak at a college commencement. Someone asked Mr. Wiesel, Holocaust survivor and writer, what he did when people on the street asked him for money. He said that he struggled with this as much as anyone, but that he often ended up giving something. When the student said, "What if the person used the money for drugs or alcohol?" Elie Wiesel looked at him and said, "I think when I get to heave and stand face to face with my Creator the question won't be what the person did with the money I gave him; rather, I believe the almighty will ask, 'How did you respond to a person who asked you for help?'"

I know that in three years since I began The Welcome Center ther were times when folks were not completely honest with me. But trust takes time, addictions are powerful, and when faced with life threatening situations, we often do whatever it takes to survive. So ther are some risks in doing the work that I do. But to me, the bigger risk is not responding to a person who is suffering. Because when one person hurts, we all hurt.

The We in Me...

Last night I had a dream that I was on retreat with some of the folks from The Welcome Center.
This was not so much of a stretch since myself and eight other women did go on retreat together several weeks ago to Cranaleith Spiritual Center. In my dream, however, we were directed to a recovery group known as "The We in Me."

As someone who is a psychotherapist and has extensively studied psychoanalysis, I must admit that this sounds a little like multiple personalities. Reflecting upon my dream, however, I came to realize that it is difficult separating out the work I have done these past three years as Founder and Director of The Welcome Center and now moving into the position of Pastor of The Welcome Church.

The fact is that it is impossible to separate the mind from the body and the body from the soul. A person who is hungry might have a very difficult time participating a Bible study. At the same time, The Welcome Church evolved because a full belly was not enough to hang on to during those long nights on the street.

I remember coming back from a "Come and See" weekend in Cambridge where The Reverend Debbie Little, founder of Ecclesia Ministries and The Common Cathedral in Boston first place the Ecclesia cross around my neck. I brought one back for each of our volunteers at The Welcome Center and for any of the guests who asked for one. One person told me later that week that the cross was a way for her to carry us with her during the night. Another person wore it when admitted to the hospital and would not let anyone take it off. A seminarian who worked with us said that he hung his over the mirror, so that he would always see the cross in his reflection reminding him that he was a child of God.

So, what does it mean as I transition from Director to Pastor when I never actually stopped being Pastor?

Some days, like today, I will be helping someone get into a respite.

Some days, like today, I will be serving tea and sharing birthday cake.

and some days, like today, I will be praying with someone struggling to get clean from using drugs.

But always, I pray that everything I do speaks of the God who loves us and wants no one to be homeless or hungry or lonely.

So, I am guessing that the "We in Me" is about all the different parts of who I am as a pastor...therapist...and everything else...all held together as one child of God.

Church Without Walls

After watching the delightful movie "Julie and Julia" and receiving a recipe book for my Crock Pot based on yet another blog, I decided it was time to do my own blog around this new ministry called "The Welcome Church."

Like most important things in my life, The Welcome Church happened in a "backwards" sort of way. First came the non-religious (but very spiritual) non-profit called The Welcome Center, a place of healing and hospitality for people experiencing homelessness. It was not long, however, that a worshipping community formed among our guests, and we began doing Bible study, having prayer, and weekly communion services. Thus grew "The Welcome Church," open to all, and recognized by the ELCA (Evangelical Lutheran Church in America) as a SAWC, or Synodically Authorized Worshipping Community. OK. So this means that as one ordained in the Lutheran Church, I can serve as pastor.

But why a church without walls?

Though our weekly communion services are held inside and hosted by Lutheran Church of the Holy Communion at 2111 Sansom Street, Tuesdays at 2:00, our ultimate goal is to have services outdoors. We have begun with monthly services on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, at Logan Circle in Philadelphia.

So why outdoors, especially when we are hit with Arctic blast such as we are now experiencing?

Well, many of our friends living on the street simply are not comfortable inside the walls of a church.

Actually, many of my housed friends are not so comfortable inside a church either.

Building costs are cheap...well, really, non-existent.

Great for folks with claustrophobia, or for people who just need to move around, or feel they can't get through a whole service without taking a smoke break (we do ask folks to step back a little if they are going to smoke)

Street church is terrifc for those who might just want to "listen in".

And being church outdoors is a wonderful public witness of hope and grace.

So, a group of us clergy type folks from several different traditions will be gathering in a few weeks to explore ways to be this church without walls.

This is my first attempt at blogging and I could use all the help I can get, including your commnets, prayers, and ideas. So thanks to anyone who takes the time to read and write.