Concerning Panhandling

I had some guests in town the other week, so we went out for dinner one night. Afterwards, happy to be in each other's company, we decided to walk to the river, a distance of about 11 blocks. When we got the Chattanooga aquarium, we were immediately approached by a fifty-something, white man with a swollen face wearing dirty jeans and a denim shirt. He asked us for money, and I told him I don't give away money, but that if he needs help he should try the Community Kitchen (which serves three meals a day) and MetMin (a financial emergency room with connections to most other social service providers in town). He was already drunk, and only understood that I wasn't giving him money.

He said he needed water and walked away, but less than a minute later, he approached my college-aged younger brother, who agreed to buy him some food. It was getting on in the evening, and most of the restaurants near the aquarium were closing up. My brother walked off with him to find someplace to eat. After a moment of indecision and checking with the group, I went running after them too. We ended up at Buffalo Wild Wings, sitting on a bench, listening to our new acquaintance drunkenly repeat himself. I would have been sad if I wasn't already angry. Angry because he was drunk. Angry because I felt he had manipulated my younger brother. Angry because I hadn't felt up to buying someone food again. Angry because I personally buy someone a meal at least once a week on top of the meals we provide at Southside Abbey, which I tithe towards, and I was just tired of it all: the addiction, the hopelessness, the manipulation. I was also being selfish of course.

The drunk man's litany included some of the usual causes of homelessness. He had been in prison for fifteen years. He couldn't find a job. He didn't have anyone in the world to look after him. However he would always return to the idea that, whatever the situation, he would "Get 'er done."

The rest of the group caught up, and we started to make our way back to our car. Along the way, we were approached six more times by folks asking for money, most of them black men. One member of our group develops debilitating headaches if they are too active for too long, so we were in a rush to get back. We couldn't give everyone we met the time necessary to suss out their situation and respond accordingly. We talked with folks, but we didn't give anything away, didn't buy any more meals. We just kept walking.

Encountering a panhandler or beggar puts a Christian in an ethical bind. Because of the example and teachings of Christ, we feel ethically obliged to give, and yet most people who work regularly with the homeless population recommend never giving money.  How are we to model the generosity, grace, and abundance of our God when we are told by those with experience and wisdom to not give any money?

We need to know why those who spend their entire working lives helping the homeless don't recommend giving money, and they have multiple reasons. One has to do with the rate of addiction among the homeless population. Unfortunately, a larger percentage of poor folks struggle with drug addiction than the general populace. (For the purpose of brevity, I'm including alcohol under the term "drug addiction"). It is true that all demographics have problems with drug addiction, rich and poor, and we must not demonize the poor as if they are the only people who deal with addiction, but it is also true that a greater percentage of poor people have chronic addictions. Of course, there is not a clean causality between poverty and addiction. Some middle-class folks end up poor because of addiction, some poor folks become addicts to cope with the pressures of being poor. Either way, it's a cycle of destruction that is all too prevalent and tends to keep poor people poor.

What this means is that if you give a panhandler money you are, all too often, just buying them drugs or alcohol. You are enabling their addictions. You are allowing them to continue destroying themselves, and that is not love.

Another reason for not giving money away lies with some basic poverty alleviation theory called the Relief-Rehab-Development spectrum. Basically, if there has just been a catastrophe or disaster (as in, within the last week) then you just help. Examples of disasters might include a house fire, an earthquake, a tsunami, a hurricane, a car accident, or a war. You do whatever you need to do to keep people alive. You give things away for free. You see a need, and you meet a need, as simple as that. You do things to and for people.

However, if it has been more than a few weeks since a catastrophe, then it starts to become inappropriate to do things for people. They aren't stable enough yet to take care of everything for themselves, but they are certainly capable of some things. They have gifts and abilities to offer. To use a medical analogy, they don't need surgery any more, they need physical therapy. They need to start using their gifts and abilities again, but they need some support to do that. This is the rehabilitation phase. A good example of this would be a work program in a refugee camp that pays for work on projects that are beneficial for the community at large. The basic needs of the refugees have to continue to be met, but refugees are not left alone to merely survive. They are asked contribute and they are reimbursed for their contribution. A good rehabilitation program has to strike a difficult balance between relief and development. It might be said you are doing some things for people and some things with people.

At the development end of the spectrum, you never do anything for people, only with people. Development is appropriate when folks are largely stable. They may be poor, but they can take care of themselves. You focus on assets, not needs. Patronizing, top-down, give-away type activities are anathema to development work. Giving away things for free in development work is simply communicating to a poor person that you don't think they can do anything for themselves. It robs them of what little dignity they have been able to muster.

So let's return to panhandling. There is a good chance that the person asking you for money has a serious addiction to drugs or alcohol, and giving them money will only enable that addiction.  But where do homelessness and addiction lie on the relief to development spectrum?  It isn't immediately clear, and so everything immediately gets more difficult. If we see addiction as a disease, then in a sense, it is a catastrophe. However, for folks in Chattanooga, their basic needs are generally met. As we've already mentioned, the Community Kitchen serves three meals a day and has a shelter for families. And that doesn't even take into account other churches and ministries that give food away for free on almost any day of the week. No homeless person will starve to death in Chattanooga in the near future, not unless it is by their own choice. That may seem harsh, but it is true, and the homeless community in Chattanooga will be some of the first people to tell you that.

I believe this puts most people who approach you on the street asking for money in the category  of rehabilitation and development. Buying them a meal or a hotel room won't harm them, but they need to be connected to other resources to actually thrive. They need stable affordable housing. They need mental health and addiction counseling. They need health insurance. They need some means of livelihood. They need a community of people to support them.  They don't need a $10 burger and fries.

So back to that evening, walking through downtown, being accosted for money at least every second block. The variety of tactics panhandlers employ became glaringly apparent. Some simply asked us to buy them food. Others would show us how much money they had, a handful of coins, and then ask us to help them out. Multiple men approached us with bouquets of flowers, offering them to the girls in the group and asking for money in return. One man asked for money, we told him we couldn't, but that we'd be happy to talk, so he walked with us for about six blocks before asking a different person in the group for money.

Of course, there are more tactics than these. The frankness approach openly asks for money for the drugs or alcohol the panhandler actually wants, hoping that the honesty will win folks over. The shoe-shine hustle is common in some cities, where someone talks you into letting them shine your shoes without giving a price, but then demands $20 or so. Asking for money for a bus-ticket is fairly common in Chattanooga: a woman has been raising money at the Walgreens on South Broad for a bus-ticket out of town for over 5 years now. One of my personal favorites is when someone pretends to be an evangelism target, asking for prayer and wanting to know more about God, only to ask for money within the next minute.

They are all tactics, and they all share some commonalities. They are looking to manipulate the target, whether by frankness, by guilt, or by pandering to religious beliefs. Some tactics are more explicitly cons or deceptions, but some are simply tactics for survival, and it can be difficult to tell which is which.

Equally, folks have tactics for dealing with panhandlers. I've employed my fair share of them. One is to avoid eye-contact, cross over to the other side of the street, generally pretend they don't exist. (So much for the Christ in me recognizing the Christ in them). If the pan-handler is still aggressive, you shake your head and keep walking, trying to engage as little as possible. If you stop to listen, the negotiating begins. Basically, how much will you pay to cover the guilt that you are rich while they are poor? They are shaming themselves in front of you, and that makes you feel ashamed. Some people will pay, either to end the situation, or because they genuinely want to help. For the reasons already mentioned, I would argue this is a mistake. It continues the shame of the panhandler, it enables addictions, and it makes the giver complicit in the panhandler's shame and self-destruction.

Some people will take the time to go with the person to a restaurant and buy them a meal, or perhaps to a hotel to buy them a room. That is a good place to start.  It allows a Christian to be generous with their resources and sacrificial with their time, but it also isn't enough. The panhandler needs to be connected to resources, support systems, and communities that push them, hold them accountable, encourage them, and give them opportunities. In Chattanooga, that means recommending the Community Kitchen, MetMin, and Southside Abbey.

However, many homeless folks already know about the Community Kitchen, and they refuse to go there. They may have been banned from being drunk and belligerent in the past. They may not like the food.  They may not like the portions. They may not like having to live by the meal schedule at the Kitchen. They may not like the other homeless people, or have some longstanding conflicts they are trying to avoid. It's hard to know, but sometimes mentioning the kitchen will make a pan-handler extremely angry. Still, if they want to actually get help, then the Kitchen is the place to start. If they don't want to work with the Community Kitchen, then they aren't actually working to change their situation.

MetMin does a lot of homelessness prevention work. They will step in when families are faced with the difficult arithmetic of whether to pay rent or pay the electricity bill. They are limited, because resources are limited, but if there is any possible way to help, or if they know of anyone in town who could help, they will get someone hooked up with the right organizations. MetMin does a good job of bridging the gap from relief work and sending folks on to other organizations who can provide more rehab and development oriented services.

And finally, we have Southside Abbey, a worshipping community made of homeless folks, sudanese refugees, missionary kids, young professionals, and Lutheran friends. We are a church, and we offer what a church offers: prayer, community, and unlikely relationships over a holy meal.  We gather around folks in all the milestones of their lives, whether that be births, baptisms, marriages, moving into new houses, graduations, or funerals. We are a community of people, so we aren't perfect, but we keep showing up, keep praying, and keep eating food together. When we say "everyone is welcome" at Southside Abbey, we truly mean it.

So what are we to do as Christians when we are faced with panhandlers or beggars, we who are told to be as cunning as serpents and as peaceful as doves? First of all, we must act. The parable of the sheep and the goats makes that clear. That other night walking through downtown, we sinned six out of the seven times we encountered Christ by walking past those men, some of whom were just asking for money, but some of whom were asking for help. We were the pharisees in the parable of the Good Samaritan, to worried about our own agenda's to stop and help. However, we must never simply give money either. It is good and right to buy meals, to buy hotel rooms in cold weather, to treat people kindly, to listen carefully to their stories. But we must not be blind with our charity, nor should we be naive about the manipulation and deception inherent in many of these interactions. We must be knowledgeable about what other churches and organizations are doing in our city. We are one body. We work together.

Lord help us to help well. Make us cunning as serpents and peaceful as doves. Give us the grace to be generous, and the wisdom to keep from enabling. Make us kind. Make us strong. Teach us to be like Christ.

How NOT to be a Soup-Kitchen

At Southside Abbey, we eat dinner together. That means we have lots of free food. This Lent, we are going to be having soup for dinner every Friday. With the rates of homelessness in our congregation, folks might be tempted to think of us as a soup kitchen. It would be an easy mistake to make. There is definitely a similarity in that people experiencing homelessness can come to us and get food for free. But that is where the similarity ends.


Here are things we do, (or try to do) that differentiate us from a soup kitchen:

1. We have everyone help prepare the space, put out chairs, light candles, pass out liturgies. We try to get everyone involved.

2. We have everyone lead the prayers, rich or poor, black or white. It is a participatory liturgy.

3. We share the Holy Eucharist almost every time we meet.  We are a church (of sorts) after all.

4. We all eat the food together. It is a meal for everyone, not just the poor and hungry.

5. We have discussions about the lectionary reading for the week, even when one would be hard pressed to find any common ground among our congregant's backgrounds and assumptions.

6. We all clean up together. Put away chairs. Collect trash. Sweep the floors. Bless each other.


We aren't looking to just give food away to the poor at Southside Abbey. There are plenty of places poor people can get food for free in Chattanooga. What we offer is a community, the sacraments, corporate prayer, and a full meal. We offer a church full of people who are not at all alike. We feel Jesus would have liked it that way.

Thoughts on the Tiny Home Community Project - Chattanooga

For context, I'm going to be talking about this.

First of all, Amen. Hallelujah.
Praise the Lord. Keep it up.

Tiny Homes for the homeless on a permaculture farm? This is certainly a good idea. There is momentum, energy, and community buy-in behind it. Everybody from the POTUS to Mayor Berke to Citizen Jane recognize that homelessness is a problem, and we can no longer, as a society, turn a blind eye. The need for positive action was reinforced in the minds of the Chattanooga community when the city recently destroyed a homeless camp under a bridge because of some abandoned tires. There are cynics among us, but it may have also had to do with the new luxury apartments being built nearby.

But it is easy to be angry, and while anger feels good, that is about all it does. We need to build something instead. At Southside Abbey we have recognized that affordable housing is a serious issue in our community. Not in the least because somewhere around 70% of our worshipping community is experiencing homelessness. Chattanooga Organized for Action has been sounding the rallying cry for more affordable housing for some time too. You can read some of their arguments here. They get into the nitty gritty of housing policy and HUD standards and Area Median Income, and their work is extremely important, so it's worth reading through and understanding. You might notice an aggressive tone. They tend to take a combative stance towards the city,and sometime conflict may be necessary, but it is worth mentioning that the city is, often, working towards the same ends.

For example, the mayor's office and, by extension, the city is working hard to address homelessness. They have hired a Homelessness Services Coordinator (props to Heather Cook) and promised the White House that they will have every homeless veteran in a house by the end of 2016. They can secure Section 8 vouchers (a Federal program that pays a set amount of rent per month for those in need) but they have difficulty finding landlords who are willing to accept Section 8. There is often a stigma that tenants with Section 8 vouchers will be problem tenants. This is unfortunate, because what a landlord should see when they see a Section 8 voucher is guaranteed money every month. The US government will pay the specified amount. That part of the rent won't be late, ever. The City is always working to get more landlords on board, and I'm sure they could use your help. Anyways, the point is, the city government should be on board.

And the city isn't the only ally. There are plenty of organizations in Chattanooga doing good work. The Community Kitchen keeps people alive. They are definitely the central agency working to help the homeless. MetMin works to stop homelessness before it happens, often by pledging for a portion of a missing rent or utility payment and negotiating with the landlord to keep people in their houses. They then have a list of all the services in the area that can help the client break out of the cycle of poverty.  The Hart Gallery provides studio space for homeless artists, and then acts as a storefront to sell their art and help them make some money. Relevant Hope brings food to homeless camps throughout the area, reaches out to them wth Bible Studies, and advocates on their behalf. Multiple churches feed the homeless regularly. Mustard Tree Ministries with Brother Barry Kidwell is a good example of that. Folks love Brother Barry. And these are just the Chattanooga organizations I know about. I'm sure there are others.

Now, I'm writing this blog post on behalf of Southside Abbey. We are a church by, for, and with folks experiencing homelessness. But we are also just a church. We have a full meal in the middle of our Eucharist every Friday night, and we have a participatory homily that grows out of a group discussion. Our community consists of young professionals and Sudanese refugees and retired folks and ex-cons and entrepreneurs and young families and folks with traumatic brain injuries, so there is certainly never a dull moment. Folks experiencing homelessness are a large part of our community, and so we care deeply for them. We've been bouncing the idea of tiny houses around for at least eight months now, so we are pumped to see the momentum that Daniel Lambert has generated. You can listen to him talk a little about his vision here.

Needless to say, we want to make this tiny house project happen. Too many of our brothers and sisters have to endure the cold while we sleep in warm houses. Last year someone froze to death over on 11th street. Our good friend Wild Bill said goodbye to us at Southside Abbey, and then was killed by a car while making his way across the interstate to his home under a bridge. We pray with these people. We share meals with these people. We love them, and our love would have us build them homes. These sorts of tragedies don't need to keep happening.

And that is all just context. Now we have the specifics of this project:
The tiny house project is going to an example of the housing first model. Basically, the first priority is just to get people into houses. The social work, the addiction counseling, the job training, and the mental health services all come second. The first step is just to get people off the street. No strings attached. If somebody wants to sit in their house and drink themselves to death, they are an adult and they can make that decision for themselves. We have to respect their right to autonomy and self-determination. You can't force somebody to stop being an alcoholic if they don't want to stop. It is ultimately going to have to be a decision they make themselves. However, you can check in on them every week and let them know that as soon as they decide to get serious, there is a whole host of agencies ready to help them get back on the right track. But that is an odd part of the housing first model. You don't have to join a twelve-step program. You don't have to make a profession of faith.  There is no required program.

I think that is a hard pill to swallow with the housing first model. We want people to get a handle on their addictions. We want them to get jobs. Get healthcare. Get their act together. We want to make them do the right thing. But we are talking about adult human beings here. We can't make them do anything, not in the long run. The only real, lasting change will be when they decide to change. We can encourage that decision, and then be there, partnered with them every step of the way, but we can't make that decision for them.

If this tiny house project is going to be partnered with a permaculture farm, as I believe it will be, it isn't going to follow the pure housing first model. If someone is going to stay in one of these tiny homes, I assume they would be expected to work on the farm. So questions arise: if someone stops doing their share of the farm chores, do they get evicted. If you stay in a tiny house, do you have to work on the farm? What if you want to find another job but still live in the tiny house?

Then we have other more logistical questions.
How many tiny houses are going to be built in each village? 12?
How much land will each of these villages have to farm? 5 acres? 40 acres?
If there are around 600 homeless people in Chattanooga, how many of these do we need to build to truly end homelessness in Chattanooga? 50?
(probably more, not everyone sleeps on the streets)
How doe we stop these from taking on the nihilism of the projects?
Do we scatter them though-out town? Do we make them mixed income?
Can college students and hippies and retirees and lawyers stay in them if they pay rent?
Are we going to charge rent? How much?
Who owns the houses and the property?
Are these halfway houses for folks on their way to traditional homes?
Or are these houses permanent residences targeted at the chronically homeless?
Are there going to be special village rules to govern community life? Is that too controlling?
How will we organize people into the houses?
There are already informal groups in the homeless community of people who share space and look out for each other, will we keep these groups intact?


None of these questions are insurmountable. They are just going to have to be answered eventually. The City of Chattanooga does have the land to give. There are blighted and abandoned properties throughout Chattanooga,  many of which have been turned over to the city on account of folks not paying their property taxes. The City hates blighted and abandoned properties. They are ugly and tend to attract crime. These tiny houses on urban farms could be a great way to redeem blighted properties and provide affordable housing to the chronically homeless. And if successful, they would be another feather in the cap of a cool city.

Anyway, I know how we should start to answer these questions.
We should build the first village. If it works, lets keep going.

Missional Thoughts from Minnesota

We only stopped by Minnesota, but we noticed some things.

We noticed that when a city is so "churched" that it has two Lutheran dioceses, one for each side of the river, there is a lot more social (and financial) capital to do some good.

We also noticed that the Minnesota State Government is much more aggressive in its spending to help the poor.  C'mon Tennessee. Get with the program.

We noticed that when the poor are ones helping the poor, it can get really awesome really fast.

We noticed that forgiveness is the only way forward. No matter what.

We noticed that Chattanooga has a far more homeless persons per capita than the Twin Cities. In the Twin Cities, even with a high estimate, there is 1 homeless person for every 1312 people.  In Chattanooga, there is 1 homeless person for every 212 people.  That is not acceptable. The Twin cities population is almost 20 times larger than Chattanooga, but the Chattanooga homeless population would increase the Twin Cities homeless population by a third.

We noticed we like Lutherans a lot. We are all part of the Jesus movement.

His Name was Wild Bill

Our community was blessed with the presence of a man named Wild Bill. For two years, Bill was a regular: at times hugging, loving and wise; at times drunk, incomprehensible, and loud.

That was Bill. When he was with us, really with us, our community was enriched with knowing the love of Christ through Bill. When he wasn't fully present, our community was enriched by having to share that love of Christ with someone who wasn't always so lovable.

Wild Bill had lived on the streets of Chattanooga, under a bridge, for more than a dozen years. It boggles my mind and stretches my heart to think about all that means. He survived a dozen winters, outside. He slept under a bridge, with cars whizzing by, over his head. He camped with friends, who he called brothers, developing relationships of interconnectedness deeper than many of us ever will know.

I first met Wild Bill, who told me that was his name, at Southside Abbey's worship on a Friday evening. Soon after, I was doing my best to make him feel welcome at Southside Abbey and I kept introducing him to people as Bill. He stopped me: “My name is Wild Bill.” As our relationship grew, I asked him: “Why Wild Bill and not just Bill?” He told me, “of all the children my mother had, I was the wildest, so she called me Wild Bill.” He let that sink in for a most pregnant pause, before he let me in on the joke – he was an only child. That was Bill, excuse me, Wild Bill. Full of love, ready with a smile or a joke.

We've been working with Wild Bill to get his back Social Security Disability. He had injured himself years ago, walking up the large concrete incline that led to his “home.” Several surgeries later, he told me that he, “couldn't get through the metal detector at the courthouse.” This was one of the the many things that had slowed down Wild Bill's progress in navigating the bureaucratic waters of Social Security. I'd like to think we were close to actually making a breakthrough.

A few Fridays ago, Wild Bill blessed us with his presence one last time. He arrived at Southside Abbey and as I went to shake his hand, he pushed my hand out of the way and flung his arms around me. As he did, I could smell the alcohol. This wasn't new for Wild Bill, but our rule is: drunk is okay (not ideal, but okay), belligerent is not. Wild Bill was never belligerent.

He left worship a little early to get back “home” to his bridge, before it got too cold. The cold bothered Wild Bill, especially the metal rods in his leg and back. He died that night – crossing the highway above his bridge in the cold and the rain – Wild Bill was hit by a car.

The weeks that have followed have seen little change in Chattanooga. One bridge in town is without its Wild Bill. He died without fanfare. No legislation to change or end homelessness. No crowd-sourcing or fundraising in memorial. As I start to wonder if anything will really change because of Wild Bill, I realize that I have been changed, our Southside Abbey community has been changed, and I think of all those lives that were touched by knowing Wild Bill.

This season of Advent, we wait expectantly for the coming of Christ. We remember Christ, coming to us as the most vulnerable and we await Christ's Reign, where God's will is known and done on earth as it is in heaven. Many of us in the Episcopal Church can fool ourselves into thinking that we're already there, or at least pretty close to the Kingdom of God in its fullness, that progress has made things better for everyone. Our lives are pretty great. I, myself, enjoy my gluten-free bread at $5 a loaf.

But we're not all there yet.

There are still some places of wilderness out there, places that have wild people, people like Wild Bill. I used to think that it was the Church's job to save people like Wild Bill, but it may just be that they are saving us. Happy Advent from those still waiting.

This post was originally published on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts blog on December 22, 2015. It has been reprinted here with permission.

In All Things, Give Thnaks [Sic]

Nope, it's not a typo.

The pressure is on us, those of us attempting to follow Jesus, and it's a performance pressure. The World and the Church are watching and both institutions are all too ready to fire the initial servo at us when we get it wrong.

I really enjoy Richard Rohr's daily meditations. Recently, he argued we have a lot to learn from the twelve step traditions, especially the way they approach spiritual formation and maturation. The Church, aligned with the imperial culture of the Western, has taken a top-view of these issues, rather than a bottom-view. We are trying to work our way up into spiritual health and wellness, when dwelling in Christ at the bottom might be more Christ-like in approach. Rohr muses that it is, “as if Christianity has been saying, 'We have the perfect medicine for what ails you: grace and mercy. But the only requirement for receiving it is never to need it!'” As our former Theologian-in-Residence, Nik Forti, wrote in our crowd-sourced piece for ECF's Vestry Papers, “The Church isn't called to serve the poor. The Church is called to be the poor.”

But back to “Thnaks.” Giving Thnaks is on mind this season. A few Thanksgivings ago, a friend of mine sent me a picture of the marquee sign of a little baptist church just up the road from us. In the South, we revel in these signs and hope for the best. Occasionally, we are not disappointed. These signs will have something profound or funny to impart, like:

Read the Bible – It Will Scare the Hell Out of You

God Wants Full Custody, Not Weekend Visitation

Remember, Even Moses Started Out as a Basket Case

Do Not Judge Others Because They Sin Differently Than You

God Expects Spiritual Fruit, Not Religious Nuts

To Those Who Robbed Us, We Forgive You

There are Some Questions that Can't Be Answered by Google or Siri

What's Missing from CH__CH?

Honk if You Love Jesus. Text While Driving if You Want to Meet Him

But this little church in the aforementioned picture, had the words on their marquee: “In All Things, Give Thnaks!” I laughed a little at first and then I felt bad for doing so. Here is a church giving thanks as they are able, proclaiming to the world where they are and where they want to be. How many of us engage in such heartfelt evangelism? How many of us make ourselves vulnerable to the ridicule of the world? How many of us take ourselves just a little too seriously?

I'm aware that this is a time of year of thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is central to who we are as Eucharistic people (it's what that word means after all). We are not called to put on perfect lives for the benefit of friends and neighbors. We are not called to tacit deeds of charity to help the so-called “less fortunate.” We are not called to wear the mask of perfection. We are called to be thankful for our imperfection.

This holiday season, I invite you to join me in living a little more eucharistically, a little more thankful that God chooses such imperfect ways to reach us – oil, salt, the land, water, bread, and wine. And as you are shopping, fulfilling your holiday obligations, and spending time with those you love, those you like, and the increasingly rare intersection of the two, remember: “In All Things, Give Thnaks!”

This post was originally published on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts blog on December 17, 2015. It has been reprinted here with permission.

The Best Teachers Money Can't Buy

I've been in school a lot. This is not self-promotion. I'm not trying to say what a great, studious priest I am, as is plainly evident to anyone who reads what I write. I just mean in my thirty-six years on the planet, I cannot remember a time when I am not in school. I hold three advanced degrees and am close to two more. Again, don't be impressed. I spent seven-and-a-half years in undergraduate education. I also like to have a lot of fun. Despite all this schooling, I'm not a a scholar.

But no place are the deficiencies in my vast education more evident than at Southside Abbey. Those experiencing homelessness and hunger on the Southside of Chattanooga don't care that I've got letters after my name. Their needs are far more immediate than that.

And so, as it turns out, are mine.

I have written before about how my faith has been changed by the faith of those I serve. I remember vividly the interaction of a man experiencing homelessness for twelve years who handed me a money order for $250 – the exact amount we budgeted for weekly food at the time. I was so worldly I tried to talk him out of it. He said, “Don't take this gift away from me! I want to buy dinner for my friends this week!” Hmm. Clearly I still had a lot to learn about faith.

And it turns out, I still do.

A few weeks ago, we saw one of our regulars at worship on Friday night. He had been away for several weeks and I was starting to worry about him. Also, he lived in an abandoned building that was recently torn down. So, I was more than relieved to see him. As I was talking to him, I noticed that he was a little scuffed up and had more than the typical bruises. Like any good seminary-educated-pastor, I asked him, “Where've you been? We've been missing you.”

He told me that he had been in the hospital, because he had been thrown off a bridge where he was staying. He also told me that the two guys who did it added insult to injury by stealing all his stuff as he lay there injured. Then he dropped quite a bombshell... The two guys who perpetrated this dastardly act were in worship with us that evening at Southside Abbey. They were withing twenty or thirty feet of this conversation as it was happening! I went into papa-bear mode and wanted to know who did this to our friend. He wouldn't tell me no matter how I pressed. Then he laid it all out:

“I can't tell you who they are, because I know you and you'd ask them to leave. I don't want them to leave, because they need Jesus just as much as I do.”

They need Jesus just as much as I do. That's faith. I don't lament my formal education by any stretch of the imagination – clearly I've loved every expensive minute of it. But now, I've got some new teachers, and they're the best teachers money can't buy.

This post was originally published on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts blog on November 11, 2015. It has been reprinted here with permission.