Ministry among America's Economic Refugees

 "Outreach to the homeless, to the undocumented, to the migrant and the poor is often seen as extraordinary… Rather than extraordinary, it should be seen as the mission of the church… The poor have a special place in the heart of Christ, as they call on us to love as Jesus loved." Fr. McAndrew

So writes Father McAndrew, a Catholic priest who ministers in California with migrant workers. When I explain to people that I want to do outdoor church, that I want to work alongside folks who are homeless, or minister to people who are economically marginalized, I often get expressions of either awe or doubt. People say that I choose the hard places. And they either admire it or think I am crazy. Or a little of both.

I certainly do not feel particularly brave or admirable, though sometimes I wonder if I am a little crazy. Nor are the places I minister particularly hard places. Yes, the reality of life for America’s economic refugees is painful and there is no shortage of human suffering. But, I find the folks I work with to be courageous, warm, intelligent, and resourceful. I am not at all trying to minimize the reality of drugs, alcohol, or violence on the streets. That is all there. But it only seems natural that ministry should happen there and, when it does, when it really happens with and alongside people, beautiful things happen. Jesus is readily found on the streets.

Perhaps I feel differently about this because I grew up in a working class home in a deeply impoverished area of the country. Perhaps I simply find a cocktail party far more intimidating and foreign than talking to guys on the street. Certainly, I like that I can be fully myself there, something I can never do at a fancy party. I also admire the wisdom and courage of those who live on the edge in our country. Everything is stacked against them and still they survive and seek to thrive.

Perhaps I also feel differently about this because I am steeped in the story of a Galilean carpenter who was born among the underclass of Palestine and stayed there, dedicating his short life to preaching and eating with outcasts and nobodies. It is churches who have no room for the poor that seem to break the pattern set by our founder.

So, I work on the streets and alongside economic refugees because it brings me joy. It is not because I feel sorry for people (though their pain touches me deeply) or want to educate them or because it makes me feel noble and altruistic. It is because, when I walk away from a day of work, I feel I have received far more than I could ever give. And I have a faint feeling that I am walking in the footsteps of the prophet from Nazareth and living among his people.     

Pilgrim Tales

What is it about pilgrimage that draws us? Or draws me, at least? It has been a constant theme as I prepare for ministry. When I could no longer ignore my call and no longer find excuses, I decided to go on pilgrimage. In the ancient cathedrals and wind swept shores of northern England, I found without a doubt that I was called by God to ministry. In every carving and every call of the wild geese, I felt a fire burn in my bones I could no longer ignore. So I came back, finished school with no little difficulty, entered the Episcopal process for priesthood, moved across country, and entered seminary. Then, as seminary both deepened my knowledge and increased my questioning, I again was drawn back to the pilgrim way. From Boston toward a monastic house up north, I walked with members of the outdoor church I was ministering with. There, I did not hear any voices or feel the power of my first pilgrimage. I only felt, as I walked with people I loved, that I was in the exact place in the universe I was meant to be. I had no doubt I was called, not only to the thin places, but to the so called hard places. Only, working on the street didn’t seem hard to me—though it was heartbreaking—because it was also full of abundant joy.

In our time of upheaval and change, when everything seems to be in flux, pilgrimage and wandering are apt metaphors. In large numbers, people are moving from the global south north looking for work. More and more people are unemployed or underemployed, living from couch to couch or under bridges and in cars. People are on the move, searching and wandering and trying to survive.

I have done my share of wandering. I grew up in a stable, working class home, though not without its difficulties, but life since then has involved much wandering, as I search for home, for education, for ministry. But I have never experienced the terror and trauma of forced homelessness or crossing borders. As I work alongside people who have, they tell me how important the idea of pilgrimage is to them. I think of pilgrimage as a search for the divine and a search for our deepest selves. It is taking the time away from the hustle and bustle of mainstream society to listen. People who have wandered far and often know deeply what this means. And there is a dignity in being called pilgrims. Not “homeless” or “hobo” or “transient.” But pilgrim. Perhaps, for me, pilgrimage is a way of expressing solidarity with those who have nowhere to lay their heads.

Living by Faith

“Christ of the mysteries, can I trust you on the sea?” Prayer of St Brendan

Faith does not come easily to me. I would really prefer to see the road ahead of me and know how everything will work out. At this point in my life, however, I have decided to step out in faith and follow the call of God on my life. I have moved back to the Pacific Northwest and am looking for a place to settle. I am working with a group of Episcopalians starting an outdoor church ministry. I am in discussion with a few folks around forming intentional community in the Catholic Worker tradition. In all of this, I feel the wind of the Spirit blowing in my life.

Yet, there are always doubts. How do I explain a call to voluntary poverty to my friends and family? Am I too idealistic? Am I crazy to think that I can live differently in a world that expects consumerism, success, and the endless pursuit of an “American Dream”? Life would be so much easier if I just settled down in a more stable career, got settled, and then did some volunteer work that I really enjoy on the side.

Yet the Spirit, she calls me to a different life. Paul, the man of so many paradoxes, voices some of my longing; “I consider everything loss…I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of his suffering…” To know Christ, to experience the power of the risen Christ in my life, to meet Jesus on the streets and in the people around me, to find Jesus in the suffering of the world as we know it. To know the power of his resurrection, to find that there is a different way to live, a radical way that flies in the face of our current economic system, a way that shows the power of the resurrection and a new way of life. For each of us, this may look different. For me, it looks like the call of Jesus of Nazareth, who gave up all to live on the margins of human society and called us to do the same.

I have to admit that the thought of following this path scares me. A lot. After all, Jesus was crucified, Paul got his head chopped off. Things don’t always go so well for those who defy the way things are, the status quo. Even St Francis, who died peacefully in his bed, spent much of his life sick, probably from wandering around with no fixed income or housing. Sometimes I feel a little like Jeremiah, asking God why he couldn’t just live a normal life.

But then there is that fire Jeremiah also talks about, burning in my bones, keeping me restless for God. There is a longing to spend and be spent for the work of God and God’s kin-dom. I am not completely sure what this will look like for me. But I am following this way, one step at a time, hopeful that Jesus walks by my side. This path started years ago for me, on a pilgrim road in an ancient British monastery, and it continues now as I wander with God.