Riding Out the Storm

Today was a gift of shared writing by Welcome Church friends. Robin taught a wonderful class on Journal Writing and Lisa wrote the following piece to share on this blog.

Riding Out the Storm

   Story by Lisa 

October 28, 2012

 

She was sitting in the train station awaiting a storm. He came in passing through. He sat down, they talked. The guard of the station said they had to evacuate. There was a school quite a distance where they could go to ride out the storm. They walked for miles. Finally, they arrived and were partnered together to sleep, eat, and pass time until the storm was over.

 

The storm ended and he left, first out of frustration of being together for three days without the freedom to roam. She left continuing on with life. Later, they joined together. They had a lot of ups and downs dealing with their own issues in life; they parted.

 

They see each other in the circle they travel but have no conversation. One day they decided to speak in the presence of others during a church function in which they first met. Thus the next day she was walking down the street and he was walking around the corner. They bumped into each other. Surprised to see each other, they both had somewhere to go. They decided to join each other and together they went ???      THE END

                                                                                             May 15, 2013

 



Finders Keepers...

Today I learned yet another important lesson from the folks attending our weekly teatime...the importance of being a finder, rather than a seeker.

Early in the day one person shared how he had taken the three dollars he had to buy a card for his mother in celebration of Mothers' Day this past Sunday. On his way to the store, my Welcome Church friend found fifteen dollars, and not all at once. With this newly found money, first a five dollar bill then a ten, he was able to purchase some cologne (Victoria's Secret!) for his mother to go along with the card.

Later in the day, as I was preparing to leave, one woman offered a pack of tokens that she had found to another woman, saying she had a pass and didn't need the tokens.

In each situation, there was wonderful generosity, but there was something else, too.

In each of the stories shared, there was a spirit of "finding" rather than one of "seeking."

A subtle difference, maybe, but one that comes with the expectation that the day will offer treasures just waiting to be found. A sort of openness to the many gifts around us rather than the more narrow view of "seeking" something specific, more for the self, not so sure if anything will be discovered.

Tomorrow I plan to be a "finder" and I invite you to do the same knowing that God has surely planted some treasures on our paths. But unlike the old saying "Finders keepers..." these treasures are meant to be shared.

Stuck on You

After a week of bitter cold, the 32 degree temperature was a welcomed change as I prepared for Sunday worship on the Parkway. This was to be our first Sunday since Dave, a member of our volunteer clergy team, had moved to San Diego to begin a new call. Dennis was to preach, I was to preside over the sacrament of Holy Communion, Schaunel would lead us in prayer and Waverly would be our liturgist.

On the way to the Parkway Dennis called to say a pipe had frozen and burst and there was no way he could make it today.We needed a preacher, and it might even turn out to be me.

With an hour and a half to go before service, I walked around the Parkway, inviting folks and just catching up with people. One young man shared that he had been released from prison two weeks ago. He had been incarcerated  four years for selling drugs. He saw my Ecclesia cross and asked if he could get one. I placed mine on his neck with a blessing...the way we share crosses when they are requested. Later, that man would serve as our communion assistant at the service.

Soon others began to gather for worship. We set up our card table altar, cup plate, juice and wafers.

Waverly, arrived and I asked if he would be willing to preach today. "Really?" he asked. I showed him the text and it was the text that had actually moved Waverly to become involved with Welcome Church. We had a preacher!

The text, Luke 4:14-21, talked about Jesus teaching in the synagogue and quoting that beautiful text from Isaiah:
                    "The Spirit of the LORD is upon me
                    because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor;
                    He has sent me to proclain release to the captives
                    and recovery of sight to the blind
                    to let the oppressed go free
                    to proclaim the year of the LORD's favor."

Waverly went on to say that we were all anointed by God, each called to proclaim the good news to one another. It was Waverly's words that prompted me to ask the group, so how many of you know that you are anointed? Slowly the hands began to go up with many sharing how they were still struggling to know what it was they have been called to do with their lives. I could feel the hope, the possibility that maybe there was something more in store for each gathered around the table today.

I moved into the next part of our worshp together, the sharing of Holy Communion. That Jesus chose to be with us in the form of bread is especially meaningful on the street and for people who have known real hunger. Nearly everyone holds out their hands to receive the wafer and the juice, the body and blood of Jesus in our midst.

And then God added and exclamation point to the good news we had just shared.

As I neared the end of the circle, one of the last to receive the sacrament was a young boy. In his excitement to take the bread, he flipped up his hand and all the hosts came flying out of the small rubbermaid container that held them. Little wafers stamped with the cross were scattered all over the mud and the grass. For a moment everyone was silent staring at the hosts and not knowing if they should be "cleaned up." But no one moved.

Finally I broke the silence, inviting folks to see these hosts as a reminder of the sacred ground upon which we worshipped. That the park was made sacred because wherever we were, God was present among us. One person smiled and said, "Hey, the birds need Jesus, too." And everyone said, "Amen!"

The next morning, as I went to put on my boots, I saw that in addition to the mud and grass of the Parkway, one of the hosts had stuck to my boot.

"Well, Jesus," I thought, "Guess we're stuck with each other, no matter what!" and I left the house with a smile.

Southeastern Pennsylvania Synod, ELCA / God Made Personal At Welcome Church

Southeastern Pennsylvania Synod, ELCA / God Made Personal At Welcome Church

The Phoenix

Last week I was finally able to share a gift card that I had received two years ago for my installation. The card was for a wonderful spa, The Phoenix, in downtown Philadelphia. When I received it I had hoped to share it with Tina, a friend of The Welcome Church who had been going through radiation and chemotherapy for the lung cancer that eventually took her life. Though Tina never did have enough strength for us to keep our spa date before she died, she would often refer to it and smile. After Tina died last year, I put away the card, not ready to go to the spa alone.

Two months ago I came across that card while sorting through some bills. I wasn't even sure it would still be honored. I mentioned it to several of the women from The Welcome Church who agreed to a spa trip together. It took awhile, but last Friday five of us gathered for our trip to The Phoenix.

We met at 18th and Walnut, outside of the Barnes and Noble jokingly referred to as "my office."
I had made appointments for three of the women and a fourth showed up unexpectedly, willing to just wait with us if necessary. Knowing the challenges these women faced in their daily struggle for survival, I was honored that these four strong and beautiful women made such an effort to meet on time at our designated spot. I also knew that I would have included anyone who showed up, even if it meant taking out another mortgage on my house. The trust that these women showed me was priceless.

Walking the few blocks over to the spa, the experience was a cross between a school outing and an adventure on unexplored territory. For me, this was especially unexplored territory since I had never been to a spa. In fact, it was hard for me to justify a thirty minute facial that would cost $75.00, even if I was using a gift card. I didn't know how the women would react if they knew the prices involved; in addition, I didn't know how our little group would be received by the workers in the spa.

On the way over one of the women asked if she could have a pedicure instead of a facial. I was hoping the spa would let us switch because the difference in price allowed for our fourth woman to have a manicure.

The woman who asked for the switch was walking with difficulty. She was wearing boots that were not necessarily the best fit. What struck me, though, was when she told me that part of the problem was that she didn't get to take off her boots. When you slept outside, your shoes or boots sometimes stayed on all night. In some places, taking off her boots might have meant that she would wake up to find them stolen. She walked gingerly, like a child playing dress-up in her mother's high heels.

The folks at The Phoenix were gracious; not only could we make the switch from one facial to a pedicure, but they were able to do the manicure, too. Two facials, a pedicure, and a manicure,and everybody was happy. While we waited for each to be done, we shared stories, played with samples of make-up, and sipped coffee and tea. Afterwards, we shared a very late lunch and more conversation and laughter.

As I headed towards the train station thoughts of the women lingered with me like a fine perfume. They were smart and resourceful and had not been born homeless. Some were dealing with serious illnesses; others with difficult family situations. At least one with an addiction. But for several hours on Friday, we were just five women, enjoying the pampering and simply being together.

I think of The Phoenix rising out of the ashes and the resilience and courage that surrounded me in these women and I am so grateful for the gift of themselves that they shared with me last Friday in the spa.

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.