The summer in Houston can be best described as being a season that is demonically possessed by heat and humidity. It's the girl in the Exorcist controlling the weather. It's hot. H-O-T. All too soon a high of 104 will be normal, and like birth pains, most of us will endure through the summer swearing that it's too terrible and we won't endure it another year. Most of us will be complaining about this again next summer. Others will be relocated to northern Scotland where the high this week is 59.
At the same time, my guess is that almost everyone who is reading this has a cool place to be. We have homes with some amount of insulation and air-conditioning to battle the Texas summer. And as I was outside for an hour this morning, at Manna, thinking about how hot it was going to be today, I looked and saw the faces of many who don't have that luxury. Texas summers are particularly brutal for those without a safe place. One young man, Jefferson, who was hobbling around on crutches, made the point that there's a difference between being homeless and house-less. Not having a house means not having a structure to go to at the end of the day. Not having a home means there isn't a permanent, safe place to go to at all. There are temporary shelters, but for many of the homeless in Houston they are continually overcrowded in the summer months. It also confounds me that while we celebrate Memorial Day tomorrow and call to remember those who have given so much, we forget that a decent number of the homeless are veterans themselves.
There's a terrible cycle of weather in Houston and a terrible cycle of poverty in the world. Below is a piece I presented to the Deacons of South Main about our Manna ministry. I wanted to share it because as we draw into the hot summer months, bookended and interrupted by holidays recalling the armed services, that we would remember that we have homes and air-conditioning and many of our veterans (and women, children, those with mental and medicals diagnoses, those who need rehab, etc) don't have a house or a home. Working with the homeless has provided a sobering reality that many of the stereotypes I thought about the poor are grossly wrong and that on top of being thankful for the intangible things I have, I really do need to remember to be thankful for the tangible things like air-conditioning.
But numbers don’t tell an entire story.
Our faith is built on the stories of the truth of God passed down from one generation to the next. It helps to understand something more fully when we can put a name to it. Growing up in the suburbs of Houston, I didn’t have names and stories for the homeless. This part of society was portrayed as a group of miscreants who were too lazy, stupid, or drunk to keep a job. But then I started volunteering at a women’s shelter and suddenly homelessness had a story. Her name was Lily and she was 2, she was running around in an oversized t-shirt and rain boots. When her mom came to pick her up she explained that they had arrived the night before, fleeing, from her father, who was physically abusive, her mom had only had enough time to pick up Lily, in her diaper, and get to the shelter. They had no other place to go. Lily was running around in rain boots because those were the only shoes the shelter had in her size. A 2 year old was homeless because the insecurity of temporary housing was better than staying in an abusive relationship.
That happened over twelve years ago, the staggering reality that homelessness is a symptom of a broken society continues to haunt me. It’s one of the reasons I became part of the Manna ministry. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, one of my favorite theologians, said, “We must be ready to allow ourselves to be interrupted by God.” In 2009, this congregation decided to allow itself to be interrupted by God.
It wasn’t that South Main had not already been doing something to address homelessness and poverty. We were one of the founding members of SEARCH and the Emergency Aid Coalition. But in 2009 we saw another need. We, as a congregation, began exploring what it would mean for the church, to take on a bigger role in a ministry begun at Peggy’s Point by some church members. As a good Baptist church, the first step was to form a task force and then a lot of church business happened, which I won’t bore you with since I’m sure the deacons had a role in that. The important thing is that at the end of that discernment the Manna ministry was born.
What sets Manna apart from the other aid we are involved in is that Manna seeks to feed the soul as much as the body. The Peggy’s Point ministry provided not only breakfast, but also fellowship. The sad truth is that a large portion of our homeless neighbors want to, but don’t feel comfortable, coming to Sunday school or worship
We all realize that everyone is welcome here, but that doesn’t change that what is a socio-economic divide is perceived to be a fundamental schism. But out at Trinity Pines that doesn’t matter as much. Those that come, come as much for the breakfast as for the bible study and fellowship. And if you’ve never had a conversation with a homeless person about God and the bible, you should. I continually meet people with the unwavering faith that God will provide for them, despite all outward appearances. There are more than a handful that have the entire bible memorized. Just this Sunday, one of the men asked Jim about a Bible passage. When Jim asked him what he was quoting, another piped up that it was 1 Corinthians 2:15. If only we all had that memory.
In the beginning of forming Manna, the people the church talked with said that they didn’t want it to be about food, because food was “easy” to get but good fellowship wasn’t. But we’re Baptists, and as Steve said in his sermon yesterday, you can’t begin to address your spiritual needs if you’re physical ones aren’t being met.
A typical Sunday morning looks like this: around 8 am the volunteers, arrive to a small, but soon to grow, group of homeless men and women. We have a deal with a local Starbucks to donate their day old baked goods. And by 8:30 Bill Loftus pulls up in his truck with breakfast casserole. This casserole is dense- Bill’s recipe calls for 9 and a half dozen eggs and 3 pounds of sausage. There’s coffee and around 8:45 Hart calls together the makeshift “choir” and we sing the doxology, Jim teaches a lesson, there are questions and answers, prayer requests, and we close with “Amazing Grace.” On at least 2 Sundays a month Avery Cate and I pass out Manna bags, which you have helped assemble tonight. These bags are deliberately put together to be high protein, non-perishable, easy to chew foods. They supplement whatever food the men and women get during the week, substantially helping at the end of the month when assistance checks are running low and the choice between shelter, food, and medicine becomes an stark reality.
Manna continues to grow. We now have a biweekly chess club on Tuesday nights, which includes dinner and a bible study, with an average of 40 participants. In the past quarter we welcomed over 150 neighbors into the gym for a Thanksgiving dinner, 60 to our Christmas Eve party, 50 or so to the Manna Chili Superbowl party, and on average 45 to the Sunday morning worship.
I began working with Manna because of the way God interrupted my life in high school. I continue working with it because it forces me to confront how broken the world is, but also reminds me of how much hope there is in it. The faces and stories etched into my life continue to be grown by Eli, Joseph, Michelle, Bruce, Chris, John W. Peil, Ailer, Eugene, Cheryl, Robert, and Glenn, among many others.
We’d love for you to be part of this ministry as well. Come out on Sunday or Tuesday nights. Help us make Manna bags. Our children’s department does a fabulous job of assembling these bags, but we can always use more. It’s fun and easy and I’m fairly positive fulfills Matthew 25:35. Avery and I would love to talk to you about how we can help you help us.
Yesterday, Greg prayed these words: “Help us: to act justly; not simply in theory; but to go out & do things that promote the noble and the fair-- strategically, exactly, where men and women, where children, are desperate and short of it.”
The friends I have made through Manna have become part of my church family. The Sunday after the church observes the Lord’s Supper, we observe it at Manna. Whenever someone asks me what my favorite part of this ministry is, what makes me want to continue being involved, I point to this. It’s humbling. It’s humbling in a way that taking the Lord’s Supper in the sanctuary is not. In the sanctuary I’m surrounded by the family that God brought into my life through what would seem to be similar life circumstances. Out at Trinity Pines I’m surrounded by the family that God brought into my life despite all else. We break the bread that is the body broken for us, and drink the wine which is the blood spilled for us and the sign of the new covenant. We make promises to each other to help one another remember this covenant. And despite all other differences that would keep us separated, on those mornings we come together, as part of the great Christian community to remember and celebrate that hope really does shine out of the darkest night. It’s a full picture of what being in communion with each other looks like. It’s a picture of what the world will look like when “we’ve no less days to sing God’s praise, then when we’ve first begun.”
At the same time, my guess is that almost everyone who is reading this has a cool place to be. We have homes with some amount of insulation and air-conditioning to battle the Texas summer. And as I was outside for an hour this morning, at Manna, thinking about how hot it was going to be today, I looked and saw the faces of many who don't have that luxury. Texas summers are particularly brutal for those without a safe place. One young man, Jefferson, who was hobbling around on crutches, made the point that there's a difference between being homeless and house-less. Not having a house means not having a structure to go to at the end of the day. Not having a home means there isn't a permanent, safe place to go to at all. There are temporary shelters, but for many of the homeless in Houston they are continually overcrowded in the summer months. It also confounds me that while we celebrate Memorial Day tomorrow and call to remember those who have given so much, we forget that a decent number of the homeless are veterans themselves.
There's a terrible cycle of weather in Houston and a terrible cycle of poverty in the world. Below is a piece I presented to the Deacons of South Main about our Manna ministry. I wanted to share it because as we draw into the hot summer months, bookended and interrupted by holidays recalling the armed services, that we would remember that we have homes and air-conditioning and many of our veterans (and women, children, those with mental and medicals diagnoses, those who need rehab, etc) don't have a house or a home. Working with the homeless has provided a sobering reality that many of the stereotypes I thought about the poor are grossly wrong and that on top of being thankful for the intangible things I have, I really do need to remember to be thankful for the tangible things like air-conditioning.
Manna
Poverty is a pervasive problem. In
Houston, of those in poverty, there are 6,513 individuals who are experiencing
it at such an acute level that they are homeless. Of those, 34% are chronically
homeless, 65% have or have had mental health issues, 47% of this population
stays in a place not meant for human habitation, and 1 in 20 is a chronically
homeless family. What’s more startling is that these statistics are based on
the definition from the Department of Housing and Urban Development which does not
include persons in jail, hotels or bunk houses, wards of CPS, or those living
with a family member or friend. With an expanded definition, on any given night
there are close to 8,800 homeless persons in Houston. Last year over 22,000 people
sought out services related to being homeless.
But numbers don’t tell an entire story.
Our faith is built on the stories of the truth of God passed down from one generation to the next. It helps to understand something more fully when we can put a name to it. Growing up in the suburbs of Houston, I didn’t have names and stories for the homeless. This part of society was portrayed as a group of miscreants who were too lazy, stupid, or drunk to keep a job. But then I started volunteering at a women’s shelter and suddenly homelessness had a story. Her name was Lily and she was 2, she was running around in an oversized t-shirt and rain boots. When her mom came to pick her up she explained that they had arrived the night before, fleeing, from her father, who was physically abusive, her mom had only had enough time to pick up Lily, in her diaper, and get to the shelter. They had no other place to go. Lily was running around in rain boots because those were the only shoes the shelter had in her size. A 2 year old was homeless because the insecurity of temporary housing was better than staying in an abusive relationship.
That happened over twelve years ago, the staggering reality that homelessness is a symptom of a broken society continues to haunt me. It’s one of the reasons I became part of the Manna ministry. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, one of my favorite theologians, said, “We must be ready to allow ourselves to be interrupted by God.” In 2009, this congregation decided to allow itself to be interrupted by God.
It wasn’t that South Main had not already been doing something to address homelessness and poverty. We were one of the founding members of SEARCH and the Emergency Aid Coalition. But in 2009 we saw another need. We, as a congregation, began exploring what it would mean for the church, to take on a bigger role in a ministry begun at Peggy’s Point by some church members. As a good Baptist church, the first step was to form a task force and then a lot of church business happened, which I won’t bore you with since I’m sure the deacons had a role in that. The important thing is that at the end of that discernment the Manna ministry was born.
What sets Manna apart from the other aid we are involved in is that Manna seeks to feed the soul as much as the body. The Peggy’s Point ministry provided not only breakfast, but also fellowship. The sad truth is that a large portion of our homeless neighbors want to, but don’t feel comfortable, coming to Sunday school or worship
We all realize that everyone is welcome here, but that doesn’t change that what is a socio-economic divide is perceived to be a fundamental schism. But out at Trinity Pines that doesn’t matter as much. Those that come, come as much for the breakfast as for the bible study and fellowship. And if you’ve never had a conversation with a homeless person about God and the bible, you should. I continually meet people with the unwavering faith that God will provide for them, despite all outward appearances. There are more than a handful that have the entire bible memorized. Just this Sunday, one of the men asked Jim about a Bible passage. When Jim asked him what he was quoting, another piped up that it was 1 Corinthians 2:15. If only we all had that memory.
In the beginning of forming Manna, the people the church talked with said that they didn’t want it to be about food, because food was “easy” to get but good fellowship wasn’t. But we’re Baptists, and as Steve said in his sermon yesterday, you can’t begin to address your spiritual needs if you’re physical ones aren’t being met.
A typical Sunday morning looks like this: around 8 am the volunteers, arrive to a small, but soon to grow, group of homeless men and women. We have a deal with a local Starbucks to donate their day old baked goods. And by 8:30 Bill Loftus pulls up in his truck with breakfast casserole. This casserole is dense- Bill’s recipe calls for 9 and a half dozen eggs and 3 pounds of sausage. There’s coffee and around 8:45 Hart calls together the makeshift “choir” and we sing the doxology, Jim teaches a lesson, there are questions and answers, prayer requests, and we close with “Amazing Grace.” On at least 2 Sundays a month Avery Cate and I pass out Manna bags, which you have helped assemble tonight. These bags are deliberately put together to be high protein, non-perishable, easy to chew foods. They supplement whatever food the men and women get during the week, substantially helping at the end of the month when assistance checks are running low and the choice between shelter, food, and medicine becomes an stark reality.
Manna continues to grow. We now have a biweekly chess club on Tuesday nights, which includes dinner and a bible study, with an average of 40 participants. In the past quarter we welcomed over 150 neighbors into the gym for a Thanksgiving dinner, 60 to our Christmas Eve party, 50 or so to the Manna Chili Superbowl party, and on average 45 to the Sunday morning worship.
I began working with Manna because of the way God interrupted my life in high school. I continue working with it because it forces me to confront how broken the world is, but also reminds me of how much hope there is in it. The faces and stories etched into my life continue to be grown by Eli, Joseph, Michelle, Bruce, Chris, John W. Peil, Ailer, Eugene, Cheryl, Robert, and Glenn, among many others.
We’d love for you to be part of this ministry as well. Come out on Sunday or Tuesday nights. Help us make Manna bags. Our children’s department does a fabulous job of assembling these bags, but we can always use more. It’s fun and easy and I’m fairly positive fulfills Matthew 25:35. Avery and I would love to talk to you about how we can help you help us.
Yesterday, Greg prayed these words: “Help us: to act justly; not simply in theory; but to go out & do things that promote the noble and the fair-- strategically, exactly, where men and women, where children, are desperate and short of it.”
The friends I have made through Manna have become part of my church family. The Sunday after the church observes the Lord’s Supper, we observe it at Manna. Whenever someone asks me what my favorite part of this ministry is, what makes me want to continue being involved, I point to this. It’s humbling. It’s humbling in a way that taking the Lord’s Supper in the sanctuary is not. In the sanctuary I’m surrounded by the family that God brought into my life through what would seem to be similar life circumstances. Out at Trinity Pines I’m surrounded by the family that God brought into my life despite all else. We break the bread that is the body broken for us, and drink the wine which is the blood spilled for us and the sign of the new covenant. We make promises to each other to help one another remember this covenant. And despite all other differences that would keep us separated, on those mornings we come together, as part of the great Christian community to remember and celebrate that hope really does shine out of the darkest night. It’s a full picture of what being in communion with each other looks like. It’s a picture of what the world will look like when “we’ve no less days to sing God’s praise, then when we’ve first begun.”
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