Sanctuary and Burning Stars

by Jeannie Alexander

November brought this city life, new life born in the streets in defiance of indifference, new life preparing us for Advent and the waiting to come.   As this article is written the last few days of Advent lead us to hope in the messianic promise fulfilled, in the fullness of time the revolution in Mary’s belly revealed.  And my boasting and fearlessness is put to the test as I preach to a crowd that the cross that we wear around our necks is a symbol to all that the very worst they can do to us is put us to death, and there is no power in death for we believe in the God of resurrection.  And the world obliges, and puts us to death.

I look to the God of resurrection at 1:00 a.m. on December 2 as my friend and brother in Christ, Cecil, is injected with chemicals deemed too inhumane to be used in the euthanization of animals.  It’s so cold outside as he dies. We stand in the freezing rain outside Riverbend Maximum Security Institution, marking the minutes; bleeding heart abolitionists, Jesus too had a bleeding heart.  I watch the ambulance slowly pull into the prison 10 minutes before murder and I begin to shake, this madness need not continue, and he doesn’t have to die.  This does not have to happen!  I begin to pray: hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee, blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb Jesus, holy Mary Mother of God pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death amen.  I pray not for a miracle but for mercy, mercy in death.  My friend dies with the word “love” on his lips.  Sweet mercy.

One week and a day later it is still so cold, so very very cold.  In the morning hour just before dawn another man dies, a man without a home, burning, burning so hot like a star fallen to Earth, silent as a burning Buddhist monk protesting the brutal regime of the South Vietnamese government.   Like a wise woman struck dumb, following a star, I stand at Kevin’s deathbed under a bridge in the dirt.  Three hours after he burns I arrive at his camp, a camp marked now with the carbon etched form of a body staining the ground curled up against the stones of the fire pit; our own little Hiroshima in Tent City.  His camp mates say there was not a sound, no screams from the dying man.  Silent resignation perhaps or perhaps he was dead before he ever hit the ground, infused with yet more killing chemicals, as primed as the creosote soaked timber he was burning.   

We pray as a group trying to understand, and I tell the members of the dead man’s camp “this is not God’s will.  This is not the Kingdom among us.  This is society’s failure to abide by God’s will. In the beloved community every man shall sit under his own vine or under his own fig tree undisturbed.”  Kevin’s death was not the result of divine punishment, but of human indifference.  

Kevin’s camp mate and friend pulls an old dirty grey blanket toward us, it is filled with what the police left behind after their investigation: burned twisted bits of glass, and plastic, shoes, and Kevin.  He tells us that it was Kevin’s wish to be buried at sea.  Although he could not swim, Kevin said it was to be his baptism.  And so we grant his request in the sea of the Cumberland as his friend proclaims “I baptize you in the name of the Father.”  It is finished, and we stand on holy ground, on tortured ground.

Both men were killed by a culture of death: one man directly murdered in a clinical sanitized pantomime of a medical procedure, the other man killed indirectly, but no less assuredly, by a society that will pay millions for the death penalty (hundreds of thousands more than the cost of life in prison, never mind the possibility of restorative justice over the current model of retribution), billions for war, and a brass farthing for low income housing. 

I want to lash out, where were all of you so called pro-life members of the community, be you Christian, Muslim, or Jew?  It’s so very easy to be pro life when the person in question is one so innocent they’ve not yet touched the earth, but what about the condemned man, what about the homeless man?  Where are your demands for life? You hypocrites of omission, your silence kills. 

But I am too tired to lash out.  I need to heal; I look for the resurrection and the life in the world to come. I seek sanctuary.  And though I carry within me the heart breaking knowledge that two more brothers have died this Advent, frozen to death in the Nashville cold, I carry too the aching anticipation of a new world revealed by a Suffering Servant, a God that Thomas Merton described as mercy, within mercy, within mercy.  

(This article was published in the January issue of The Contributor.)

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Celebrating the Modern Day Prophet, MLK

by Lindsey Krinks

Deeply committed to civil rights, nonviolence, and socio-economic  justice, Martin Luther King, Jr. shaped the conscience of his generation and paved the way for landmark legislation that has helped to create a more just society. His words and legacy continue to speak truth to power wherever there are people who are marginalized, persecuted, and impoverished; wherever there are people who believe in the power of love over hate, the power of creative nonviolent action over violence and war. We celebrate his legacy and the countless individuals who worked toward justice and realizing/creating “the beloved community” here on earth. We celebrate and remember MLK not only by serving others on his birthday, but by seeking to live every day in resistance to the powers of violence, destruction, greed, and injustice and by witnessing to light, life, and the love of God for all His children.

I spent some time today reading through several of MLK’s last speeches and sermons. Here are a few excerpts I came across that are particularly relevant to our work with the homeless community:

“We’ve got to begin to ask questions about the whole society. We are called upon to help the discouraged beggars in life’s marketplace. But one day, we must come to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.” – “Where Do We Go From Here”

“The plantation and ghetto were created by those who had power, both to confine those who had no power and to perpetuate their powerlessness. The problem of transforming the ghetto, therefore, is a problem of power—confrontation of the forces of power demanding change and the forces of power dedicated to preserving the status quo.” – “Where Do We Go From Here”

“We must all learn to live together as brothers. Or we will all perish together as fools.” – “Remaining Awake Through a Great Revolution”

“Somewhere we must come to see that human progress never rolls in on the wheels of inevitability. It comes through the tireless efforts and the persistent work of dedicated individuals who are willing to be coworkers with God.” – “Remaining Awake”

On nonviolent direct action: “Why do we do it this way? We do it this way because it is our experience that the nation doesn’t move around questions of genuine equality for the poor and for black people until it is confronted massively, dramatically in terms of direct action… Nothing will be done until people of good will put their bodies and their souls in motion.” – “Remaining Awake”

“It’s alright to talk about ‘long white robes over yonder,’ in all of its symbolism. But ultimately people want some suits and dresses and shoes to wear down here. It’s alright to talk about ‘streets flowing with milk and honey,’ but God has commanded us to be concerned about the slums down here, and his children who can’t eat three square meals a day. It’s alright to talk about the new Jerusalem, but one day, God’s preacher must talk about the New York, the new Atlanta, the new Philadelphia, the new Los Angeles, the new Memphis, Tennessee. This is what we have to do.” – “I See the Promise Land”

“Let us develop a kind of dangerous unselfishness.” – “I See the Promise Land”

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The Dark Side of Nashville’s Winter Wonderland

by Lindsey Krinks

Somewhere, not far from here, a child played in patches of snow and college students sledded down ice-encased hillsides. Somewhere, not far from here, a couple sat beside their fireplace, sipping hot chocolate and watching white crystal fluff drift to the ground. But somewhere, not far from here, a man commanded his numb feet to march to shelter to find food and warmth. And somewhere, not far from here, a couple shivered in their hidden tent, watching the last bit of their propane evaporate into thin, bitter air.

For over a week, the temperatures in Nashville lingered below freezing and the nights were dangerously cold—so cold that over 50 water mains across Davidson County froze and cracked; so cold that Public Works spread hundreds of tons of salt, brine, and even beet juice over Nashville’s roads to ward off ice. The cold spell even caught the attention of Mayor Karl Dean who asked the city’s Office of Emergency Management, Red Cross, Metro PD, churches, nonprofits, and outreach workers to work together to help the homeless community get indoors and out of the cold. Thanks to so many people working together in a coordinated effort, lives were saved and compassion and mercy became the tangible realities of warmth, sustenance, and comfort for the weary.  For many of us, however, that meant long days and late nights.

 The snow started here on Thursday, January 7^th. On Wednesday, the Red Cross set up an emergency warming station and overflow shelter at Mt. Bethel Baptist Church for the homeless community, local churches opened their doors to take more people through Room in the Inn, the Nashville Rescue Mission extended its capacity, and homeless outreach teams coordinated a plan to go out every evening and find the stragglers—the dozens of homeless individuals who didn’t have the wherewithal to come indoors on their own, who would rather freeze than go to one of the city’s larger shelters or have been banned or barred from their quarters.

 Each night, our homeless outreach team met to divide the city into manageable quadrants and load our cars with warm socks, gloves, jackets, sleeping bags, and emergency blankets for those who refused to come in. Then we set out to weave our cars in and out of the city’s salt-drenched roads until midnight. With the help of McKendree Church, Woodland Presbyterian, and Otter Creek, we were able to open our own alternative shelters where we could bring the individuals who, for various reasons, were unable to stay in the larger shelters. Our friends who live in a community house also took in two homeless couples and a dog from Wednesday to Sunday night.

 From 6:00pm to 12:00am each evening, we picked up dozens of our friends on the streets—the handicapped, intoxicated, mentally troubled, kind hearted, quiet, rambling, dirty, broken, beautiful individuals who wouldn’t have otherwise come in. Despite a quote from the Mission in a Tennessean article on January 5^th warning people not to pass sleeping bags and warm coats out to people on the streets, we gave dozens out, which may have very well saved the lives of some of our friends.

 Since December, two homeless individuals have frozen to death and our friend Kevin at Tent City fell into his fire and burned. My heart is heavy for our friends who do not welcome the snow, who do not get snow days off, who do not sit by their fireplace with hot chocolate. Their toes and fingertips go numb first, then their entire feet and hands. Their noses run, their faces blush with windburn, their lips crack and chap. They warm themselves in gas stations where they are not welcome and on street grates that blast warm air. These are our brothers and sisters who wander without a particular destination, without a place to call home.

 Gone are my romantic views of the snow; I have seen the suffering it brings. This is not a call, however, to feel guilty about enjoying the snow, but rather a call to be aware of the needs of those who can’t enjoy it. No longer can we shirk the responsibility of caring for our brothers and sisters on the streets to the government, nonprofits, or even our own congregations. Homelessness is a human issue, perpetuated by humans—you and me—who buy into a warped, idolatrous vision of society which bails out the wealthy and overlooks the poor; who fail to imagine what Jubilee economics would look like here and now; who domesticate the warnings of the prophets and the teachings of Jesus. So every day, make choices that bring life, “practice resurrection” as Wendell Berry would say, and for God’s sake, when emergencies happen, whether in Haiti or in our own back yards, respond with prayer and respond with concrete action.

 Lives were saved because countless people across Nashville took responsibility and acted during the cold weather spell. Let’s not simply wait for another emergency to act, but let’s work together today to alleviating human suffering while also working toward the vision of creating a more peaceful and just local (and global) community where everyone has their basic needs met and is able to recognize their dignity and worth.

 As for us, we are outreach workers and followers of Christ. We are tired, our work is never done, but we have hope. We long for a day of rest, but know that even when we get rest, our friends on the streets do not. They are too busy surviving, too busy commanding their numb feet to march to warmth, too busy building campfires and hunting propane tanks and food that will warm the flesh on their cold, tired bones.

 As the Latin American prayer reads, “Lord, to those who hunger, give bread. And to those who have bread, give the hunger for justice.”

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Unleashing Scripture on the Streets: The Importance of Faith-based Urban Plunge Experiences

by Lindsey Krinks

Think, for a moment, of where you read and study scripture. For most of us, our engagement with the Bible is confined to our churches and homes. For many Christians, faith in Jesus remains a matter of personal salvation and private faith. In such a paradigm, issues like poverty, economic injustice, and human suffering are left to the realm of partisan politics while we spend the majority of our time seeking the rescue of spiritual souls. Thus, a false dichotomy, or division, is constructed that separates the spiritual lives of Christians from the socio-political realm of life.

The truth, however, is that the events of the Bible did not take place in neatly controlled settings or in a social, political, and economic vacuum. The events of the Bible took place in the margins of one of the most powerful empires the world has ever seen, in the streets of Jerusalem where poverty and hunger ran rampant, in the dilapidated prisons where Paul wrote many of his letters, and on the outskirts of the city where people were oppressed and executed. In his teachings, Jesus addressed issues of oppression, liberation, and personal salvation, and he did so with the understanding that the two realms—the socio-political and the spiritual—were deeply intertwined. Theologian Donal Dorr says it well: “The struggle between sin and salvation is not confined to some inner world… it is fought out in the economic and political and in the cultural and ecclesiastical spheres as well.”

My point is this: if we only read and study scripture in private settings, we rob the gospel of its fullness, of its ability to transcend our domesticated, Americanized, personalized ideas of God, of service and mission, and of the life and teachings of Jesus. Where we read scripture affects how we read scripture.

How, then, should we respond? What if we took scripture out of the safety of our homes and churches and onto our streets, into the midst of everyday life in the city? What if we gave up the security and privileges of our comfortable homes, our warm clothes, and our satisfying food for a period of time to open our eyes and ears to what life is like in the margins of our society? This is, after all, what Christ did for us—he left the riches of heaven to make himself a servant, walked on foot from place to place, and became the friend of sinners and outcasts.

Enter faith-based urban plunge experiences. Urban plunges are traditionally designed to take economically privileged individuals, often college students, out of their comfort zones and onto the streets. Participants are asked to dress down, leave their cell phones, wallets, and other possessions at home, and wander around the city on foot (with an experienced guide, of course). They depend on the hospitality of others, eat only what they can find, and sleep and use the restroom wherever they can. (“Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to rest his head.” Sound familiar?) Urban plunge groups consist of about 5 to 15 people (sometimes more) and usually commit to spend anywhere from 24 to 48 hours on the streets. Ideally, each group would have a guide or co-leader who either lives or has lived on the streets.

Contrary to popular misconception, the purpose of an urban plunge is not to figure out what it feels like to be homeless. Those of us who come from privileged backgrounds will probably never understand the discrimination, distress, isolation, and hopelessness that our brothers and sisters on the streets feel daily. Such experiences can be better thought of as a time of interactive learning, of listening, and of cultivating a greater sense of compassion for those who live differently than we do.  The purpose is to lay down our preconceived notions, to learn from “the other,” and to observe how scripture comes to life in new ways on the streets.

Try reading James 5 in front of a wealthy bank downtown (“Your gold and silver are corroded. Their corrosion will testify against you and eat your flesh like fire”). Try reading Jeremiah 22 in front of a day labor site (“Woe to him who builds his palace by unrighteousness, his upper rooms by injustice, making his countrymen work for nothing, not paying them for their labor”). Try reading the Sermon on the Mount at a homeless shelter; read Paul’s letters outside (or better, inside) the local jail; read about the hemorrhaging woman in a hospital or clinic where poor, uninsured individuals go; read about paying taxes to Caesar at the state capitol.

Too often, we’ve domesticated the street preaching of the prophets, the teachings of Jesus, and the writings of the apostles by keeping them inside the walls of our churches and homes. Faith-based urban plunge experiences allow us to unleash the scripture on the streets. The hope is that participants will bring such experiences back to their churches and homes and come to grasp a more holistic theological worldview that recognizes the plight of the oppressed, the impoverished, and the marginalized as intertwined with the spiritual health of the church and all her members.

[For more information about this type of ministry, see The Word on the Street: Performing the Scriptures in the Urban Context by Stanley P. Saunders and Charles L. Campbell (Eerdmans, 2000; paperback: Wipf & Stock, 2006).]

(This article orginally appeared in Campus Crosswalk, an online Christian magazine.)

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