Enter the Gates and Weep: The Foolishness of Mercy

Jeannie Alexander and Lindsey Krinks, published in The Contributor

“Woe to those who make unjust laws, to those who issue oppressive decrees, to deprive the poor of their rights and withhold justice from the oppressed of my people.” Isaiah 10:1-2

“Brethren, even if anyone is caught in any trespass, you who are spiritual, restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness; each one looking to yourself, so that you too will not be tempted. Bear one another’s burdens, and thereby fulfill the law of Christ.” – Galatians 6:1-2

Dorothy Day spent her life serving and walking with the poor, unemployed, and dispossessed. Her writings and actions are venerated by many, but she claimed a lowly place for herself and even said, “We confess to being fools and wish we were more so.” Today, we echo that confession. We are fools, and impractical ones at that. Our ways are not successful and will never lead to wealth. They often yield no impressive results or conclusions. They are messy and broken and impossible. You see, it is not considered “practical” to believe that mercy, love, and community are a large part of the answer to suffering, violence, and poverty. After all, mercy isn’t very useful when it comes to “capturing outcomes.” Recently, we were told that we were idealists, but how idealistic is it to cling to a life of mercy that leads to catching pneumonia from our displaced brothers, to spend more than we can afford on toilet paper and feminine hygiene products for our sisters who live in tents, to invite someone in and then have our possessions stolen or ruined… and then to invite them back? The ways and works of mercy are often impractical, messy, and mysterious—just like the cross of Calvary.

By the standards of the culture in which we live, it is easier to ignore or ticket someone for sleeping in a pool of their own urine than it is to pick them up, clothe them, give them something to eat, and provide them with shelter, but this is exactly what Christ asks of us. It is easier for a church to simply file a trespass warrant giving police the authority to arrest anyone found on church property “after hours” (pray tell, when is the house of God closed, when are we not to offer sanctuary?) than it is to embrace the dying alcoholic living on your church property by refusing to turn the guns of the state against him. But this is exactly what the non-violent Jesus calls us to do if we dare to follow his way.

Christ called us to live by grace and mercy, not merely by the letter of the law. In fact, if Christ were to come today with “no place to lay his head,” we would likely find him in our missions, our courthouses and jails, in a campsite facing imminent destruction, selling his plasma in order to survive, or trying to sleep sitting up on a sidewalk bench—not in some spacious church (lest he was eating at their soup kitchen) or a renowned university (lest he was mopping their floors). But instead of attending to the stranger as the Good Samaritan did, we pass by. But why? Are we too sophisticated? Are we slaves to our busy schedules and meetings? Are we convinced that this is someone else’s job? Which god do we serve? Certainly not the One who was considered an illegitimate child, who was a foreigner in the land of Egypt as a babe, who was run out of his hometown for preaching good news to the poor, who was a sojourner who lived off the charity of others, who pitched his tent among sinners, outcasts, and prostitutes, and who was tried as a criminal and executed by the death penalty.

During the week leading up to his trial and crucifixion, Jesus traveled to the city of Jerusalem and as he approached it, he began to weep, saying, “How I wish today that you of all people would understand the way to peace. But now it is too late, and peace is hidden from your eyes” (Luke 19:42). Then he entered the gates of the city, embracing the conflict and suffering that would lead to his death. Let us also enter the gates of the city, lay down our worldly wisdom for the foolishness of God, embrace the conflict and suffering of those who are impoverished and oppressed, and weep with Christ. Let us weep for the unborn baby in the womb of a mother who must prostitute herself to afford housing in a filthy motel room. Let us weep for the impoverished men and women who had everything they owned destroyed by a city who values entertainment over hospitality. Let us weep for the uninsured whose wounds fester, whose cancers flourish, whose diabetic feet are amputated. Let us weep for the poor, the meek, the persecuted, the blessed, and let us weep that we are far from them, for theirs is the kingdom.

Yes, theirs is the kingdom where people aren’t arrested for their poverty, their skin color, or their status. Theirs is the kingdom where grace and mercy reign over retribution and punishment, where justice translates into more than court fines and time behind bars. Enter the gates of the city with open eyes and open ears lest we miss our Christ in our breadlines, in our missions, and in our jails.

Enter the gates and listen to the story of one of our friends. We’ll call him “Carl.” Until recently, Carl camped just south of the city in Fort Negley Park. He lived in a humble yet well-built structure that provided warmth and gave him a safe place to store his meager possessions—food, kitchenware, important documents, clothing, bedding, and a few books, including his baptismal Bible. No one really bothered Carl or the others who camped nearby. Metro police even came to check on them during the cold spell to see if they needed to come indoors. But on Wednesday, February 24th, Carl returned to his home to find his camp being raided by Metro Parks Police. They dismantled his home, piece by piece, and when Carl protested and asked to get a few of his possessions out before they destroyed them, he was taunted and told that he would be ticketed if he said anything—that he was lucky he wasn’t getting arrested. Piece by piece, they destroyed his home before his very eyes. They disposed of his blankets, food, documents, records, and Bible. He was left with the shirt on his back and the bag he was carrying on a night when the temperature was below freezing. Did I mention that Carl went to his camp to retrieve one of his blankets for a homeless woman downtown? Did I mention that it was also Carl’s birthday? Five other individuals also had their homes and personal belongings destroyed without warning by Metro Parks Police. Not only is this unacceptable, unconstitutional, and illegal, it is also immoral.

Do we not remember the Fresno case just two years ago where the city, as well as the California Department of Transportation, were sued by hundreds of homeless residents for raiding and destroying their personal possessions without notice? The courts of California ruled that such activities violated the constitutional rights guaranteed by the Fourth Amendment that protect individuals from unreasonable search and seizure and awarded the plaintiffs a multi-million dollar settlement. Other cities such as St. Louis and St. Petersburg now provide storage facilities for people’s belongings that are collected by police officers and the city. It is interesting that the law enforcement individuals who destroy and take people’s possessions often claim that they are just trying to help, just trying to “prod” homeless individuals toward housing, as a recent NPR article put it. It would be one thing if we had empty, accessible units of low-income or subsidized housing for our homeless friends to move into, but today, the only empty units of housing in Nashville are our foreclosed homes and our luxury condos. So how can we “prod” people toward housing when we have none? How can we “prod” people toward traditional shelters when they are full, when they split families apart, when they cannot accommodate pets and cannot even ensure the safety of people’s bags and belongings?

Can we not see the irony? Our city—Metro Nashville—claims to be “executing justice” when they lock up homeless individuals for petty offenses and unpaid fines. But where is the justice when Metro’s own employees—the very ones charged with upholding the law and Constitution—break the law in a way that devastates the lives of others? Metro should be ashamed. Let this be a call for a public apology, for repentance, for compensation, and for change. And if those calls go unanswered, let this be a call for attorneys to step up who are interested in taking the case of those who had their belongings unjustly destroyed. Let us be wary, though, of thinking that ultimate “justice” and “change” will come from the Metro Courthouse. As theologian and boot-leg preacher Will Campbell would say, “Prison is all that society and law know to do when there are violations of its codes, values, moralities, prejudices. Society and society’s law cannot acquit, liberate, reconcile, free, resurrect.” True mercy, restoration, and liberation cannot be legislated, but legislation can, at its best, promote such things.

As demonstrated above, there seems to be some confusion as to the Constitutional rights of the poor and homeless in Nashville. So let’s discuss such rights. First, of course, is the aforementioned Fourth Amendment right that protects individuals from unreasonable search and seizure. Next, there is the Eighth Amendment which clearly states, “Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel or unusual punishment inflicted.” Then, there’s the Fourteenth Amendment which declares, “No State shall deprive any person of life, liberty, or property without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.” So what of our homeless friend who was give a $1,000 fine for smoking a joint? What about our homeless friend who is prevented from entering dining establishments because he must carry all of his worldly possessions on his back, while students with backpacks are welcomed with open arms? And what of the fact that our skin color and socio-economic status protects us from getting a ticket for cutting across a downtown parking lot and carrying a cup of wine from gallery to gallery during the Downtown Art Crawl?  And what of tourists drinking bottles of beer on the street corners of Broadway, falling drunk out of their cars while the police look the other way, the other way toward our homeless sister who sits intoxicated and crying on a bench and who is then arrested? Our homeless friends have no such protection and no such privileges. There is no equal protection in our economically segregated society. The poor are not a protected class, and so they are targeted and crucified day in and day out in the interest of improving the quality of life for those who can afford luxury condos and honky-tonk vacations.

How can our homeless brothers and sisters comply with the law when the laws change depending upon who is committing the so-called violation? How can they comply with the laws when police officers issue the homeless “green tickets” (Metro citations) while telling them that such tickets “don’t mean anything” and then offer to throw the tickets into the campfire of the person to whom they are issuing the ticket? How can a person possibly enjoy equal protection of the law and due process, when they are told a citation is “meaningless” only to find two months later that such a citation has caused them to incur significant fines that they cannot pay, which will then lead to jail time that is surely unjust under any but the most Orwellian system?

If we are going to charge Nashville’s citizens with trespassing for cutting through parking lots, let us charge everyone in equal proportion: the business man running late to work, the tourist looking for a short-cut. If we are going to charge Nashville’s citizens with public intoxication, let us charge everyone in equal proportion: the bar-hoppers, Titans fans, and “art crawlers.” If we continue, however, to violate the Constitutional and civil rights of our poor and homeless citizens, let us not be surprised if civil disobedience and public non-violent protests begin to bring such injustices to light. Unjust laws and policies must be resisted, especially by those of us who are no longer ignorant to the plight of the oppressed.

But for those who have made it this far and are still hindered by a misreading of Romans 13 and think that being a “good Christian” means being a “good American citizen” who always submits to the law of the land, let us be clear: Moses, an agent of civil disobedience, did not submit to Pharaoh when he demanded that his people—oppressed, enslaved minorities—be freed from bondage. Mary and Joseph did not submit to the governing authorities when they fled to Egypt because King Herod was murdering baby boys. Jesus did not heed the religious laws of the Sabbath when he healed the man with the withered hand, when he, out of hunger, picked grain for himself and his disciples. One could even say that Jesus’ resurrection was an act of civil disobedience against the state—the Roman Empire—who crucified him. Our criminal justice system which revolves on retribution does not, itself, submit to a God of restorative justice, and is therefore fallen. In such a broken, fallen system, there are unjust laws that must be resisted by people of all faith traditions who value mercy and love, especially those who claim to live in light of the Christian tradition. Campbell says, “If one thing is clear in the New Testament it is the central theme of the triumph of grace over law. While St. Paul stopped short of a rigid antinomian position, a complete disregard for the law, he did make it clear that to abide in grace is more radical than to abide by law.” And for those outside of the Christian or Jewish traditions, consider the words of the Dali Lama: “When I see beings of wicked nature overwhelmed by violent negative actions and sufferings, I shall hold such rare ones dear, as if I had found a precious treasure.”

Yes, to read Romans 13 outside of its context subsequent to Romans 12 will assuredly lead one to a misunderstanding and misapplication of scripture. God always, without exception, calls us to stand with the oppressed and lowly, never with the oppressors and persecutors:

 I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God that you present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service. And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind … Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil, Cling to what is good … Rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep. Be of the same mind toward one another. Do not set your mind on high things, but associate with the humble … Repay no one evil for evil. (Romans 12: 1-17)

Likewise, Matthew chapter 25 calls us to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, offer sanctuary to the stranger, cloth the naked, care for the ill and infirm, and visit the prisoner without qualification or exception. Nowhere is the imperative given to feed the hungry, except for the prostitute turning tricks for another fix; clothe the naked, except for the hopeless alcoholic who has soiled himself for the third time in one day; give drink to the thirsty, except for those trespassing on McDonald’s property; give sanctuary to the stranger, except those who are illegal; visit the prisoner, except for the child molester; care for the ill, except those lying in a gutter dying from “self-inflicted” AIDS and Hepatitis C. The fig tree-killing, temple-clearing, whore-loving Nazarene calls us to choose mercy and grace over law. To follow the way of Jesus is to choose a difficult, impractical, heartbreaking life that stands in direct contradiction to the life that the dominant culture calls us to embrace. But if we do not choose this difficult, impractical heartbreaking life, if we do not respond to the suffering in our city, then we should ready ourselves, for one day Jesus will turn to us and say, “For I was hungry and you arrested those who tried to feed me, I was weary and you told me to move along, I was a stranger and you deported me, I needed clothes and you wrote me a citation for indecent exposure, I was sick and uninsured and you refused to treat me, I was in prison and you abandoned me.” 

Every time we refuse to embrace the broken and dispossessed, we deny the resurrection of Christ. Every time we turn to the false power of the state to coerce and imprison our brothers and sisters instead of choosing the redemptive power of love and grace to heal our brothers and sisters, we turn our back on the resurrection.

While there is talk of creating a “homeless court” in Nashville that enables social workers to intervene for homeless individuals who are arrested (or about to be arrested) for petty offenses, maybe our city should simply stop arresting individuals for such. After all, our outreach workers already spend a good deal of their outreach time in court advocating for individuals who are trying to get their citations for “trespassing” (cutting through a parking lot) and other things dismissed. Such advocating is important, but it takes our few outreach workers off the streets. Metro Police Chief Ronal Serpas could settle this by declaring that homeless individuals will no longer be the targeted recipients of “quality of life citations,” which include public urination (when there are limited public restrooms), obstruction of a passageway (when a homeless individual can’t sit on the sidewalk with her backpack but a businesswoman can sit with her rolling suitcase), no trespassing or sleeping in public parks (when there is not enough shelter space for everyone in our homeless community), no public feedings by persons without permits (when men, women, and children are malnourished), and the list goes on. Rather than paying $1,000 a night to arrest and  hold a homeless individual in jail, maybe our city should invest in more street outreach workers, more public restrooms, and allow police officers (and lieutenants) more freedom to partner with social services systems. Maybe the very existence of our “Quality of Life Ordinance” is a violation of the Fourteenth Amendment because such an ordinance is clearly concerned with the quality of life of a selective group of citizens and does not provide equal protection under law to the homeless community. And the “burden” of these responsibilities and changes should not just fall on Metro, but on all of Nashville’s citizens, especially faith-based communities.

But what happens when Nashville’s churches do not heed the call to see Christ in the stranger and to be the Good Samaritan to our brother or sister who is lying in a pool of his or her own urine? And what if we don’t just pass by; what if we stop to take action by calling the police because we don’t want to see this oh-so-disgusting visage of a human wreck die on our property? Tell me brothers and sisters of Christ, what better place is there to crawl to in order to die than the sanctuary offered by the living and resurrected God on the holy, sacred grounds of a church, particularly if you have nowhere else to go? But then again, perhaps your church is merely a business, as instruments of Caesar would have us believe. Perhaps this dying man has not crawled to sanctuary, perhaps he has crawled to Gehenna.

On March 19^th, The Tennessean ran an article entitled “Nashville churches consider ban on trespassers” by Nicole Young. The article quotes a Paragon Mills Church of Christ member attempting to justify the church’s decision to sign a trespass waiver as saying: “We have people gathering on our front steps engaging in what appears to be drug deals. We have vandalism on an almost constant basis. One day, we even had a homeless guy walk in on us during a meeting.” Imagine that, a homeless man dared to walk into the sanctuary of church. What paragons of Christian virtue to decide to hand over your brothers and sisters at the point of a gun to the courts of empire. I weep for the churches of Nashville and their lost opportunity to embrace the living Christ. If we are the body of Christ, why then do we not feed the stranger, and bind his feet, and love him as the precious child of God that he is? How often have we scorned an encounter with the living Christ, an encounter where we could have found in the body and eyes of the beaten, the broken, and the damned, the God whom we claim to serve? “Oh Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the one who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!” (Matthew 23:37) You stone those who are sent to you, and you are not willing!

And as for you our brothers and sisters at Woodbine United Methodist Church, who may now decide to sign the ban because you do not want to see a man die on to grounds of your church: in the name of Christ, do you hear yourselves? Have we all become so blind that we cannot see and deaf so that we cannot hear? Would you followers of Jesus really rather see this poor soul die surrounded by the walls of a prison than in the embrace of the body of Christ because you cannot bear to look at him? Do not sign the ban; we will come and take this offensive child of God from your sight so that you will have to look on him no more, but be warned, you stand in the place of the rich man who turns from Lazarus at the gate.

We speak not just to Paragon Mills or Woodbine, but to all churches in Nashville; for the love of your God, transform, repent, turn around, all of you churches who have signed or are considering signing such bans, repent! That church property does not belong to you, do not be fooled by the lies of the Deceiver; that church property belongs to the living God, and there is not one material thing contained in that church or on its grounds that your God values more than a single human life. Do not be as the Sanhedrin, turning to empire to do your dirty work for you. “These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me; in vain do they worship me, teaching as doctrines human precepts” (Mark 7:6, 7).  

There are examples within our community of churches who indeed embrace the living Christ. McKendree United Methodist Church has refused to sign a trespass warrant, and Otter Creek Church of Christ has offered to organize volunteers to clean up the property of any downtown church who agrees to pull their trespass warrant, and to consider funding port-o-potties so that our brothers and sisters can pee with dignity. And Amos House Community continues to offer outreach support and training.

Let us learn from our friend Carl who had his camp destroyed. Carl does not believe the police are the “bad guys” and neither do we. In fact, we work closely with many Metro PD officers, lieutenants, and commanders to help provide outreach support for the homeless individuals they come into contact with. While we do not condone the crooked ways of our empire, we acknowledge that we are all children of God operating in a broken system, whether we are homeless individuals, police officers, prison guards, students, physicians, or inmates. The second we begin to demonize individuals we view as the “other,” whoever “they” may be, we lose sight of the very things we claim to be pursuing, namely justice, mercy, and reconciliation. You see, the very day that Metro Parks Police destroyed Carl’s camp, the February issue of The Contributor hit the streets with a poem by Carl expressing his appreciation for the police. The same night Carl lost his camp, he remembered a birthday card that was given to him by one of his customers who also gave him a birthday cake. With hot tears drenching his face, he opened the birthday card to find $100. You see, the next day when Carl was speaking with a friend, mourning the loss of everything he had, he said, “Yet in all things, in all suffering, I will rejoice.”

Maybe it is foolish to think that we should stop ticketing and arresting members of our homeless community for petty quality of life citations. Maybe it is foolish for Carl to say that without a home or his possessions, he will rejoice. But if it is foolish, it is the holy foolishness of God that shames the wise, the strong, and the powerful and paves the way for the kingdom of God.

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Holy Week on the Streets and the City-wide Stations of the Cross

During the week leading up to Easter, traditionally known as “Holy Week,” you’re invited to join Amos House Community as we engage in an exercise of spiritual awakening and understanding on the streets of Nashville. Just as Jesus intentionally turned toward Jerusalem and embraced the conflict and suffering that would lead to his crucifixion, we will turn toward the City and embrace the conflict and suffering that the poor and homeless are met with on a daily basis, a conflict and suffering that often leads to the crucifixion of the Poorest of the Poor.

Every day, a different group of up to 10 people, co-led by housed and unhoused disciples of Jesus, will spend 24 hours on foot walking the streets of Nashville, reading scripture, praying, breaking bread, and journeying to important places in the lives of our brothers and sisters on the streets.

Holy Week is not an urban plunge; rather, it is a spiritual pilgrimage of sorts, intended to be an interactive and conversational time of listening, learning, and reverence. In the spirit of Lenten fasting, those participating will not be allowed to bring money, food, cell phones, extra clothing, or other supplies with them. Participants can, however, bring identification, a water bottle, journal, and Bible. Each group will depend on the hospitality of others and will decide how to get around town, what and where to eat, where to sleep, and where to use the bathroom.

For additional information or questions, please contact us at amoshousemercyfund@gmail.com. Spots for each 24 hour period are filling up quickly so please contact us soon and let us know which day you would like to commit to as follows:

Thursday, April 1^st at 4:30pm- Friday at 4:30pm (Group Leader: Jeannie Alexander)*FULL              

Friday, April 2^nd at 4:00pm- Saturday at 4:30pm (Group Leaders: Lindsey and Andrew Krinks)*FULL

Saturday, April 3^rd at 4:30pm- Sunday at 4:30pm (Group Leader: Matt Preston)*FULL

We ask that you commit to an entire 24 hour period of time, even if that means taking a day off work or from school. After you sign up, we will send a follow-up e-mail with more details (where to meet each day, etc.).

City-wide Stations of the Cross

On Good Friday, April 2^nd, you are invited to join Amos House Community as we journey across downtown Nashville on foot to observe and participate in the Stations of the Cross.

The Stations of the Cross originated as a way to help Jesus’ followers retrace his steps to the cross. They often take the form of a spiritual pilgrimage through his suffering and crucifixion, enabling participants to contemplate and enter into the mystery of Jesus’ gift of himself to us.

Likewise, we’ll journey through our city on a spiritual and physical pilgrimage to contemplate what the stations mean for us today and for the marginalized, impoverished, and homeless in our community. We’ll visit symbolic places where Jesus and the poor are betrayed, condemned, helped, consoled, and crucified like the Courthouse, Downtown Presbyterian Church, the jail, and the State Capitol. We’ll meet at the park on Church Street directly in front of the Downtown Public Library at 4:00 P.M. and begin our journey at 4:30.

You are welcome to come and go throughout the evening as you can. If you come late and would like to meet up with us, call us at (615) 497-0447 and someone will be available to connect you with the group.

You’ll need to wear shoes comfortable for walking and bring a water bottle. If you have questions or would like more information, please e-mail us at amoshousemercyfund@gmail.com.

 

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Unto Us a Child is Lost: a Lenten Tale of Metanoia

Part 1: Introduction 

The first time I held Cherokeewolf William Parish he was less than 36 hours old and was in the newborn nursery at Vanderbilt Medical Center after having been born in the early hours of the morning onto the streets of downtown Nashville. He looked like a wrinkly old man and was screaming his head off because he was soaking wet. And I loved him immediately. The second time I held Cherokeewolf he was connected to feeding tubes and a ventilator. The last time I held Cherokeewolf he died in my arms. The death of this child has now become part of our community’s narrative. As a community, we were shocked and horrified by the circumstances of his birth, and we have been gutted by the circumstances of his death. Oh what a fine welcome to the world, baby. Welcome to our nightmare.

Appropriately, our community is “outraged,” but tell me, how cheap does outrage go for these days? At any given daily feeding for our brothers and sisters on the streets you can still walk in and find homeless pregnant woman and homeless mothers and fathers with their children. On any given night at Room In the Inn an overwhelmed father is shuffled from one church to another with two babes under three. On any given night at Room In the Inn a family goes from church to church with their twin children, wishing for a home and in desperate need of community. On any given night a mother drives from parking lot to parking lot trying to keep her handicapped child warm, trapped in a hell from which she can see no escape. On any given night a mother and grandmother of 10 struggles to keep her family of 11 together and alive living in two cars moving from parking lot to parking lot night after night.  Just one more night baby, just one more day of cold.

You see there is a war going on, and I do not speak of the war in Iraq or Afghanistan, or DR Congo; I speak of the war taking place on the streets of every large American city in the unemployment office and in the food stamp office, in the soup lines, in the over-crowded, underfunded downtown clinic for the homeless; a war in the hollers of Appalachia where children with broken teeth use 20 year old text books, have never used a computer, and live in shacks with gaping holes in the floor and windows covered with cardboard; a war in suburban America where a child can’t stay awake in her 6^th grade classroom because she has slept with her brother and sister on the dirty floor of yet another motel after she and her family have overstayed their welcome at another friend or relative’s house. A silent but deadly war rages against the powerless and voiceless, against the least of these, for you see, only in the kingdom of God is there a preferential option for the poor, only in the beloved community are the poor a protected class. 

In American society the poor are the collateral damage of a system of death. And while most of you don’t acknowledge the war—in truth, because you do not know that there is a war—you are driven to feed emotionally off of the carnage of this unseen, unspoken war through pictures and words. 

So come now and be fed—read the sad tale of our city’s child and be warned, for you may find yourself clutching your paper, momentarily glued to your couch; a feeling of discontent and slight panic may overtake you and for an instant you will think that perhaps you should do something. But take comfort in knowing that you will likely be distracted and the immediacy of your alarm will fade, and in the end you will do nothing. 

But then again, perhaps we will turn around and be transformed, perhaps we will be reconciled.

Part II: Unto Us a Child is Broken

Fred and Kimberlee’s (“Lee’s”) nightmare started long before the phone call late on the evening of January 9^th notifying them that their child was in critical condition at Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital. It is hard to say exactly when their nightmare did begin; perhaps it was when Fred found himself still unemployed after coming to Nashville with Lee who was pregnant. Perhaps we could locate the beginning of the nightmare when Lee was eight months pregnant and the funds collected by Amos House had run out and Fred and Lee found themselves back under a bridge in the rain, and then tucked away in a tent. Perhaps the nightmare began when Lee gave birth on the street in the early morning of the day that she and Fred were finally scheduled to move into a home of their own—a home in “the projects” (for after all that is what they had become to the system into which they had been shoe-horned, a project to be categorized, shelved and occasionally observed). Perhaps it does not matter when the nightmare began, only that it continued. 

On the day of Cherokeewolf’s birth, the managers of the low income community into which Fred and Lee were scheduled to move threatened to give their apartment to someone else if they did not make their scheduled move in appointment. It didn’t seem to matter that Lee was in the hospital having given birth only seven hours before. What’s wrong with you lazy woman, don’t you want housing? Don’t you know that in the good old days your ancestors, sharecroppers, would have dropped their babies in the field and kept on working? It was only after well-educated, well-spoken women intervened on Fred and Lee’s behalf that management agreed to reschedule the appointment for the next day.   

The couple’s respite was short lived, for they were soon informed that they would be moving into housing without their son. Although they had finally obtained housing, the new parents lacked all of the basic necessities one needs to set up a home, and moreover, it was determined that after their long and arduous emotional and physical journey, they needed parenting classes, they needed to prove that they were capable of caring for a child. 

Query: where was the state and its concern for Cherokeewolf’s safety during the first nine months of Cherokeewolf’s life? You know, those nine months when he was sleeping in his mothers belly underneath a bridge. 

But it is not Child Protective Services that is the villain in this sordid tale of woe. You will find no scapegoats here on which we may pin our community sins, to then send out into the desert. In fact, the veracity of this tale would be compromised if I did not tell you that those of us who walked with Lee and Fred through their journey were not surprised when Cherokeewolf was taken into custody, and we even understood why the decision was made. 

The best the powers and principalities can do for children born on the streets is the protective custody of CPS until it is determined that the child will be safe. The best that the powers and principalities can do is the foster care system, a system that can and does screen putative foster parents, but is too overwhelmed to guarantee the safety of any child. CPS is Caesar’s answer, community is God’s answer, but until we acknowledge that we are reconciled in God and furthermore act in faith upon our reconciliation to each other, it is Caesar’s answer that we will accept.  

Disappointed but undisuaded, Fred and Lee moved into their apartment and slowly, very slowly, acquired furniture and began parenting classes. At the same time, Cherokeewolf was, by all accounts, moved into what was believed to be the safe and loving home of an upstanding Christian couple. He was loved and cared for by his foster parents who wished to adopt him, and he was also visited by Lee and Fred whose love for their child made them all the more determined to continued to work to regain custody of their son. 

Late on the evening of January the 9^th, Lee and Fred received an emergency phone call telling them that Cherokeewolf was in critical condition at Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital. Panicked and without transportation, the couple scrambled to reach their child. 

Day after day passed and the bewildered couple were given no explanation of what had happened to their child. After a week, all any of us knew was that the cause of his condition was unknown, but the consequence was that Cherokeewolf was effectively brain dead. 

“Brain dead,” what dissonance the term brings when juxtaposed against the perfect curve of a sleeping baby’s cheek. As Lee watched her beautiful silent child connected to so much invasive machinery, she turned and looked at the weeping foster mother, reached out her hand and the two mothers embraced. What sweet possibility for truth and reconciliation, but it was not to be, and contact between the two families ceased shortly thereafter.

It did not take long for the fine physicians at Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital to reach the conclusion that the child would remain unresponsive and that there was no hope for recovery. After much disbelief, tears, and the deep empty ache of a heart breaking, Lee and Fred agreed with the state and the physicians that it was in Cherokeewolf’s best interest to remove him from life support and to let him go.

What took place in the days and weeks that followed can only be described as hell—the hell of a mechanized system that dehumanizes the rich and poor alike; the hell of a system that cannot heal and has no understanding of reconciliation; the hell of a system that crushes the old and young, answerable only at the end of the day to the utilitarian game of numbers that it plays.

A court hearing was set and all of us who loved Cherokeewolf tried to figure out how to prepare ourselves for his death. We were told by CPS that it was likely that an order to disconnect would be issued on the day of the hearing. And so we cried and prayed in silence and solitude, broken by the thought of a life so short. However, the guardian ad litem was out of town and failed to show so the hearing was rescheduled, and we were sent home dumb and shell-shocked. 

The following week, Lee and Fred had a meeting scheduled with the management of their housing complex to recertify their section eight housing. Unfortunately, the recertification meeting conflicted with the rescheduled court hearing and thus the likely termination of life support for Cherokeewolf.

Lee frantically left messages for the MDHA management, but the next work day was a holiday, MLK Day, and so she was unable to reach the apartment manager until the day of the recertification meeting. When Lee finally spoke with the housing manager and explained her situation, she was told that the recertification meeting would not be rescheduled and that she had better attend the meeting because it would “be a shame to lose her housing and her child on the same day.” Fortunately the court hearing was rescheduled yet again and Lee did not have to choose between keeping her home or being present with her child at the time of his death. 

Oh the serpent windings of the powers and principalities. Caesar cannot reconcile and Caesar cannot heal, but Caesar can make you fight and scramble for the crumbs fallen from the table. After all, there are thousands of people waiting on the list to receive subsidized housing through section eight in the Nashville area. What does it matter if a mother wants to hold her child as he dies? Go then to your dying child, for there are many who want and need your housing. 

Between hearing dates we visited Cherokeewolf with his parents. We held his hands, caressed his head, and watched the nurses carefully moisturize his eyes and lips. Once I whispered to him, “wake up, wake up baby, wake up Cherokeewolf,” but the only response was the beeping and whirrs of the machines keeping him alive.  

The second court date came quickly and once again with great futility we attempted to prepare ourselves for the death of this child. The guardian ad litem ran more than a half hour late and the malfunctioning telephone in the courtroom resulted in additional delay while a solution was sought so that the physicians caring for Cherokeewolf could testify via telephone. 

One of the attorneys in the courtroom laughed and joked loudly about her telephone ring tone. I watched Fred wince as her inappropriate laughter and comments filled the small court room. Lee sat at the table with her appointed attorney, stony faced and silent waiting for the proceeding to begin. I wondered if the actors in the courtroom had forgotten what we were there for. I wondered if they cared. 

Finally, the doctors were reached and the attorneys’ questions began. Cherokeewolf’s physicians testified all in accord to “multiple brain injuries” and “multiple episodes of intracranial bleeding.” But for minor brain stem activity, Cherokeewolf was brain dead and there was no hope of recovery. In a twist of cruel irony, it was revealed that the only stimulus that Cherokeewolf reacted to was some forms of pain stimuli. That too would shortly disappear and he would cease to react to any stimuli regardless of how painful.

The guardian ad litem’s questioning dragged on as he asked the same questions over and over again, making the doctor repeat every detail of the injuries Cherokeewolf suffered. Fred’s pain was audible and he began to whimper, head in his hands. I glanced at Lindsey, my sister in Christ sitting beside me, and I saw the lines of pain etched into her face, eyes closed, silent. And then there was Lee, silent too, only her eyes betraying her pain, and a look of concern as she turned to Fred. 

Fred left the court room broken by the pain and Lindsey followed to care for him.  Finally the questioning was over and Lee went to join Fred while we waited for a decision.  

Despite the fact that Cherokeewolf’s doctors (all of whom were pediatric specialists including a specialist in pediatric neurology) were in complete agreement as to his diagnosis and prognosis, the guardian ad litem asked if any harm would be done in seeking a second opinion. In fact, an additional opinion would have been at least the fifth medical opinion given, but the magistrate agreed to grant time for yet another expert to examine Cherokeewolf and said that he would grant a stay of life support disconnection until February the 18^th—a full month out. I was horrified and hissed at Lee’s attorney that he needed to object and then ducked out into the entryway of the courtroom to ask Lee if she wanted to agree to a stay for another month. Immediately she responded “No, no!”, fresh pain exploding across her face, eyes shining with tears. 

The only hell I can imagine greater than having a child die is the hell of continuing to draw out that death. The court reconsidered and granted a stay for a week and was set to reconvene on January 27^th.

The Sunday after the hearing, January 24^th, Tasha French and I went to visit Cherokeewolf and we had the beautiful gift of spending several hours alone with him. During our visit, at Lee and Fred’s request, I baptized that beautiful child.

From a purely theological perspective I do not agree with infant baptism. I subscribe to the Kierkegaardian school of thought that there are no second generation Christians; every person must choose of their own volition whether or not to walk that path and stand in the shadow of the cross. But I also believe that infant baptism does no harm and my number one concern at that time was Lee and Fred’s wellbeing, and if part of that wellbeing included the baptism of Cherokeewolf then I was honored to confer that blessing. Indeed, it was I who was blessed.

We returned to court the following Wednesday and court dragged on for three hellish hours. After it was clear that they were no longer needed, I left the court with Lee and Fred and headed for the hospital to spend a few remaining hours with Cherokeewolf. On the way to the hospital I received a phone call confirming that the order to disconnect had been signed but that the order was stayed for five days. Numb, we continued to the hospital.

Cherokee’s nurse that night was an especially kind woman who asked Lee if she wanted to hold her baby. No one had offered to let Lee hold Cherokee since his admission to the hospital, and we presumed that she could not. But the nurse, with great care and patience, gently worked the breathing lines and feeding tubes so that Lee could hold her child in a rocking chair next to his bed.  

As we sat watching Cherokeewolf, Lee and Fred expressed their frustration that not one single doctor had come to them to explain the exact nature of their baby’s injuries. No one had explained why their child was brain dead. I called for a doctor and in a short while one of Cherokeewolf’s doctors, a kind and patient person, arrived and proceeded to answer all of Fred and Lee’s questions concerning Cherokeewolf’s injuries. The physician engaged Fred and Lee in a careful discussion of multiple intracranial bleedings which occurred over different times, and an explanation of shear injury which occurs at the cellular level. Lee asked if the injuries were consistent with shaken baby syndrome, and while the doctor could not give an opinion as to the cause of the injuries, the doctor was able to confirm that such injuries were consistent with shaken baby syndrome.

On Tuesday, February 2^nd, Cherokeewolf William Parish, surrounded by people who loved him, was disconnected from life support and peacefully and silently died within an hour. 

Part III: Metanoia

I have at this stage in my life ceased to believe in coincidences. For example, I do not believe it to be a coincidence that I began the tale of Cherokeewolf during Advent and that I end it now during Lent. The analogy stops here though. I will not tell you that Cherokeewolf died for our sins; he did not, but perhaps he died in part because of them. Simply put, the institutionalized, nationalized church has become a whore for some future apocalypse while it remains blind and deaf to the holocaust surrounding its fair walls and iron gates. The way of Jesus is not the simpleton theology of crime and punishment: “My big daddy God is coming back and will kick your god’s ass and you’ll all have to pay while we get to go to heaven!” The way of the Jewish carpenter is one of truth and reconciliation and freedom. But the path of truth, reconciliation and freedom is premised on faith, and faith, unlike belief, requires—or should I say results in—action. As the church, we cling to our beliefs, and thus to our passive nature. Belief costs you nothing; faith may well cost you your life.

I will not suggest to you ways to reform the system. I have little confidence and no faith in the system, which is why I do not speak here to the system or to its institutions, be they government, private, or religious. Institutions cannot embody reconciliation, and by my reading of the gospel, we have all been reconciled. And so it is to the living body of believers that I direct my writings. God’s grace extends to all and knows no limits. That grace is scandalous because it not only extends to Cherokeewolf, it also extends to whoever caused his injuries.

I have no program to suggest to you. I follow the path, albeit very imperfectly, of the Jewish carpenter Jesus, and Jesus never set up a program, didn’t found an institution, and certainly had no interest in reforming the system, so who am I to suggest such things?  Rather, Jesus’ “plan” was offensively simple: love. Love God with all of your soul and mind and heart and strength, and love your neighbor as you love yourself. It is you who must love for you cannot outsource love or grace. Love and be transformed, embrace the scandal of an inefficient and even irresponsible love. Seek truth and live reconciliation; that is what we must do from this point forward if we ever expect to experience the full reality and consequence of God’s unbounded grace and love. As Will Campbell so beautifully states: “‘Be reconciled to God’ is the only social action there is for the Christian: life as a thanksgiving to God. Such a life involves the giving of food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, shelter to the homeless, and clothes to the naked—in other words, life as the Good News, life as thanksgiving for what God did for us. Not social action, for this rejects the gift of grace and contradicts the Good News by turning it into the Bad News of programs, strategies, imperatives, laws, and acts of obedience…”

The church is a living, breathing body, not the bone-filled tomb it has become, an institution designed for the sake of its own self preservation. Do you love yourself by giving yourself a bowl of soup and a sandwich once a week? No you do not, so why then do you think you have loved your brother as you should by reaching across a counter and handing him a bowl of soup once or twice a week only to arrest that same brother several hours later for violating your church’s trespass warrant when he is caught sleeping on the church lawn or the church steps? You say that it is offensive that he sleeps on your church steps. Well God says that it is offensive that you keep your church doors locked tight throughout most of the week. God says that it is offensive that you do not bring that homeless man in, bind his wounds, and allow him to sleep inside your fine building. You idolatrous fools—you worship your buildings and engage in heresy through your locked doors. 

The modern institutional church is in a state of apostasy. It is no wonder children are born onto streets and old women die against the side of buildings wrapped in plastic and torn blankets. Your self-righteousness is killing your brothers and sisters. You claim you do enough? Tell me, is there more money in your building account or in your benevolence fund? If you really want to make a difference then begin by doing something seemingly small that will make a significant impact. Namely, pull your trespass warrants. All of you downtown churches, live your reconciliation by calling Commander Huggins at the Central Precinct and telling him that you no longer want people arrested for sleeping or peeing on church property. Don’t like the smell of urine? Then invest in a port-o-john, or better yet, unlock your doors and invite your brothers and sisters in. If God is reconciled, not only to the beautiful Cherokeewolf’s of the world but also to the smelliest, drunkest, angriest, most depressed, sickest among us, then who are we to reject the smelliest, drunkest, angriest, most depressed, and sickest among us?

If you ever saw Lee during one of your church feedings (and you could not have missed her long, dark, tangled hair, striking blue eyes and large protruding belly) then do not cry for Cherokeewolf now if you did not attempt to draw her and Fred into your congregation and enfold them in the loving arms of community. Every single congregation has doctors, or nurses, or psychologists, or dentists, or carpenters, or landlords, or teachers, and many congregations have members who encompass all of those wonderful, capable professions; so why are you still just feeding people lunch and/or maybe opening your doors once every two weeks for Room In the Inn?

Transform and be reconciled. It’s all we are called to do.

Jeannie Alexander, Amos House

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