Second Sunday of Easter
“Strange God”
Central Presbyterian Church sits immediately across the street from the Capital building. Having spent a number of Sunday’s worshiping there, and many hours in that place working in their homeless shelter I stopped listening and started thinking. And when I saw all those folks protesting paying taxes I thought back to the time when I met James, the brother of Jesus.
The times I worshiped at Central I remember seeing James sitting in the balcony always with bible in hand. It was clear at first glance that James was homeless and that he was suffering from years on the street and a mental health system not geared for those without resources. Most of the time when I saw him, he appeared to me as being somewhat angry and not too interested in speaking. At the after church dinners I would occasionally listen to him say a few things but we never really had a conversation. Mostly, I just felt pity for him. However, one night that arrogance changed.
Central church has a homeless shelter which is run by volunteers. It was the first homeless shelter in Atlanta, a real testament to the ways in which the church of Jesus Christ can be at the forefront of real social crisis. It was set up back when there still existed an expectation that homeless was wrong and required our attention to solve. But throughout all the changes in social policy and attitudes, Central kept running the night shelter through the work of volunteers.
I saw it as a spiritual discipline to be part of the volunteer group from the seminary. The nights working at the shelter impacted me in powerful ways. It was a shelter that was housed in the church gym. It may have been run by the volunteers but it was organized by the men. What I remember most was that once everyone was served the volunteers and the men ate dinner together. The men and the volunteers also worked side by side in order to make the whole system function. There was this strange, yet refreshing leveling where the lines between served and servers were often blurred. It was a powerful way in which the humbled were afforded a bit of dignity and the privileged were humbled. The bread was broken and those who were strange to one another became known to one another as brother and sister, at least in some small way.
The disparity of wealth in the city of Atlanta was and is quite large. The unofficial totals of people who are homeless were somewhere around twenty-thousand. And unless you did your best to remain blind to the harsh realities of being poor in Atlanta, it was enough to make you despair, or at least flirt with it. I did that an awful lot. It was a city which claimed the mantra “Too busy to hate,” but I always thought it might be more accurate to say: “Too busy to care.” The economic dominance of Atlanta seemed to come with a price, and that price seemed to be the expendability of certain people. If you really paid attention to it all you could become overwhelmed. The sad reality is that this is not a problem unique to Atlanta, but that is a sermon for another day.
My life-changing encounter with James actually began the night before when I happen to sit at his table, not many people liked to sit with him. The truth is that I was no different but it was really the only seat available. James began to talk, about the bible, which he knew well. Then he went on to tell me how he was Jesus’ brother. In my own naive way I talked about us all being brothers and sisters with Jesus. James was quick to correct my mistake. He was Jesus’ flesh and blood brother who was with Jesus up until the crucifixion. I decided not to argue but instead I listened. I decided in that moment that I probably had a lot to learn. He told me about the difficulties of life on the street and the need for hope. He was a very kind soul who was rough around the edges but has a heart of gold. The depth of his faith commitment frankly made me feel a bit embarrassed though that was not his intention. That night before we said good night he told me not to worry that Jesus was going to come soon. As I went to sleep the lights shining from the dome of the capital and the Coca-Cola buildings provided a strange backdrop for the communion shared in that room. I pondered the words of Jesus’ brother.
The next morning, as everyone was busy cleaning up to get out before 5:30am, I did lunch duty. That means, I sat at the exit door by the elevator and handed out lunches to the men headed out to work. (Did I mention that 95% of all the men in the homeless shelter were employed in full time jobs?) After saying good-bye to most of the men there was a long pause. During those quiet moments prayed. While I do not remember the prayer exactly, it went something like this: “How much longer God?” About that time James came out grabbed his sack lunch and looked deeply in my eyes. He said: “Don’t worry; it’s not going to be long now.” Then he headed out the door.
To some his words might have been a simple word about how much longer it was going to take till the volunteers could leave. For me, those words were like manna from heaven. His words were an answer to my prayer. And with his words, I had a glimpse of Jesus that morning, through his brother James, telling me not to despair.
The simple truth of the Emmaus Road passage is that Jesus becomes known when people break bread together. When people share with one another what they have, whether its wisdom, or wealth, or love, or all of the above Jesus becomes known. When the love of God moves us beyond serving those in need to seeing those in need as people we need, then Jesus becomes known. When a seminary student can be encouraged by the words of man that the world sees as expendable, then Jesus becomes known. As we share bread at this table may this sharing lead us to journey in the world in new ways and with fresh vision so that we too might see Jesus, or Jesus’ brother, in the most unexpected places. Amen? Amen.
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