Episcopal Church Foundation Vestry Papers - for leading congregations

A few weeks ago Sarah Weedon, a senior from the School of Theology at Sewanee and the seminarian assigned to Southside Abbey, preached at our Friday evening worship.
By way of reminder, I will share a little of how our preaching works in our community – ­­ one that is two-thirds to three-quarters people who are in transitional housing – motels, cars, camps, abandoned buildings, streets, etc.

The preaching style at Southside Abbey begins by inviting conversation based upon a question or two. After Holy Scripture is proclaimed, the preacher asks a question and our worshipers break into small groups for discussion. We try to be intentional that these groups represent something of the diversity of the community – homeless people and millionaires, PhDs and people who are illiterate, many ethnicities, immigrants from Sudan, Guatemala, Russia, and even folks from the upper Midwest.

When I preach, I try to be a part of as many of these small groups as possible. When we gather back together as a group, the homilist preaches something of a capstone homily, trying to integrate what he or she has heard with what he or she has prepared for the week – often jettisoning all of that hard work in favor of something someone in the community has shared. My all time favorite is the time an African American man shared this: “I'm a black, homeless, jobless man and I just talked about Jesus with a white, female zoo-keeper. Where else could this happen? That is church to me!” All of this takes place in the holy space as we eat dinner between the bread and wine of Holy Communion.

This particular week, Sarah invited us to reflect upon the things in our life we hold in tension. When she called us back together from our conversations, she asked people to share – as they felt called – with the wider community. That's when Chris nervously stood up. Chris is a big guy, whose hugs cause me to wonder if one of my ribs might snap. A blue teardrop tattoo on his cheek brands him as someone who has paid a debt. He had been a part of our community for only a few weeks when he shared – with shaking in his voice – the things he holds in tension:

“On the one hand, I'm trying to walk the good walk. I'm trying to be a good man. The kind of man that my grandmother would be proud of. I'm trying to follow Jesus and not do some of those bad things I have done in the past. On the other hand, I'm homeless and an ex-con. I spent twenty-five years in the pen. Not that I want to live that kind of life ever again or the kind of life that put me there, but . . . people have these expectations of me – of what kind of man I am – because I'm homeless and I've done time. But I want to be good. I want to do good.”

What can you say to that? What could a seminarian preach after that? Sarah was wiser than I would have been at that point in my career. She said she didn't know what else to say but “Amen.” “Amen” comes to us from our Jewish roots. It is a Hebrew word that means so be it. So be it. So be it, Chris. Keep trying. Keep holding those things in tension. Keep wanting to do and be good, following Jesus.

For me it was another in a seemingly endless (thanks be to God) series of moments where I am hit over the head with the reality that the Holy Spirit can speak through anyone. Anyone. That's what I am thankful for and I am thankful that occasionally the Holy Spirit even speaks through me. And I'm especially thankful that I get to share all of our adventures on the margins with you, the readers.   

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