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.