Church With No Walls

It was cold today. Cold with a definite dampness in the air, the kind that seeps in through your pores and saturates your joints and makes all the clothes you pile upon yourself feels sticky and frigid and uncomfortable. But still, there was a service to attend in a park in Worcester, on the steps of an old building. The pigeons came, and a handful of homeless and a few volunteers and if you've never heard the Gospel - with it's message of hope and love and strength enduring - spoken through the lips of an ancient homeless man then, my friend, you ought to go. Because I've never been so humbled. Liz, the pastor, wore a bright sash around her neck and spread the bread and the (grape juice) wine and a few tokens on a folding table. The tokens had words hand printed on them - faith, hope, strength - words like that and during the time for offerings the homeless were invited to take a token and put it in the offering cup. They did, but they also dug in their pockets and put their change in. Together we sang Amazing Grace, no music except the harmonica that a member of the congregation played, no pews, no sacristy or narthax or icons or candles - just people. And the people are the church.

Today was Palm Sunday. After the service Liz took me into the streets of Worcester and we handed out palm fronds to anyone who wanted them. Being with a member of the clergy, the people we encountered must have assumed I was clergy as well and they felt no shame pouring their stories out. The thing is, I had these assumptions, these judgements that I didn't even realize I had till I found myself clutching my purse a little tighter and avoiding eye contact. But Liz, she knew their names and their stories and she hugged them and fed them and prayed for them. And - not for one second was she afraid of them. After a little while, I managed to shut the inner bitch up a little bit. We all want the same thing in life, when it comes down to it. To be happy, accepted, hopeful and fulfilled. We all feel the same emotions - the same fear, the same grief, the same joy and the same love. I guess I was a little floored by the way this lesson today tied into the lesson I took from Trinity Covenant. There, I was accepted, welcomed, embraced. Today I was given the opportunity to accept, to welcome, to embrace. There was a girl, my age. She was pretty, long red hair, big blue eyes, milky white skin, but when she saw us she burst into tears and ran into Liz's arms. She didn't know Liz, just knew what she represented and longed for the comfort of open arms. She'd relapsed on whatever drug it is she's addicted to, back on the streets and she's lost her babies and all she wanted was a pair of dry socks and the strength to take another step. I saw myself in her, naturally. There was an orange in the bag of food I was carrying, and I gave it to her and told her the same thing my mother always tells me - orange is the color of joy. And I talked with her for a few minutes. She's just as lost as I am only she's on the other side of the coin. I'm lost and loved and privileged and sitting at a new desk on a new chair in a warm house with a hot cup of tea. She's lost and alone and cold and drugged and the only new thing she has are the socks that Liz gave her. Why? Where does social equity come into play? How much of my sister's dilemma is my responsibility? I don't know. I'm lost. But today, the people who looked scary, the people I would have avoided, the places I would have avoided, managed to break through a level of shallowness I wasn't even aware that I was wallowing in. It's not enough anymore just to write a travelogue of churches. On the way home, I called my mom and told her about my experience. I was feeling a little funny. A little bit grateful to be out of the city, a little bit giddy and a little bit guilty. I told her the story of the girl and when I finished, a giant rainbow had spread itself out over the road in front of me. Really! And then a bird flew below it, a bird that at first glance looked like a dove but turned out to be a little seagull. But that's okay. This is a school, this 52 churches project. This week I want to be like Liz. I want to go fearless into the world and be the answer to somebody's prayer. Or at the very least, I want to give a person a pair of clean socks, an orange, a shard of hope, a rainbow after the storm.