So, this is a little experiment, just for Advent 2011, where we post some thoughts about how a lectionary scripture (or several of the scriptures) relate to our work at The Night Ministry. We hope you find this helpful in your devotional life and/or in your sermon preparation- please comment on the posts if you have things to add to the conversation.
For more about The Night Ministry, check out www.thenightministry.org or (my favorite) youtube.com/nightministry.
And hey, if things go well, maybe we'll do this again some time.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Advent I
Advent 1: November 27:
Mark 13:24-37: On Suddenness
This reading is perhaps not the most troubling reading in all the lectionary, but it’s pretty rough. Moreover, it’s pretty far from the images that “preparation for Christmas” conjures up in a lot of our minds. One of the joys of Advent, I think, is the opportunity to preach on themes that are perhaps unexpected, and are certainly not present in the commercial “preparations for Christmas” of the media and the marketplace.
There’s one theme here that I want to lift up as being particularly relevant to our work at The Night Ministry. However you interpret or read this vision from the author of Mark, it’s pretty clear that we’re talking about some pretty radical change here, and change that comes pretty suddenly. At The Night Ministry, we encounter sudden and radical change pretty regularly, and this scripture might be an opportunity to consider some of the theological implications of change that is both startlingly fast and disorienting in its scope.
The first thing that comes to mind is a certain category of questions that comes up now and then, when I talk about The Night Ministry at congregations, community groups, and other settings. Sometimes, it comes out like this: “Do you see a lot of drug abuse among these young people?” Or: “Most of these people are mentally ill, right?” Now, often, questions like these are genuine attempts to understand the folks we serve, and the contexts in which we work, but I wonder if there’s something else going on. When I hear about people who are homeless, about young people who turn to dangerous ways of securing shelter and food, about people who are lonely and on the margins, I have a very human impulse to try to call out some ways in which “these people” are different from me. It’s not safe if they’re like me- if they’re like me, then that could be me one of these days.
We know that many of the people we work with, in our shelters and in our street outreach program, came to their current situations fairly suddenly. Their parents kicked them out, or the bank foreclosed on the family home. Or an illness, or a lost job, or any of a dozen other things that could quite literally happen to any of us. Sometimes we talk about our work as centering on people who are “homeless or precariously housed.” Many of us don’t want to admit how precarious our housing is.
If Mark envisions a future full of radical change, maybe we should prepare for radical change ourselves. Or, at least to allow for the possibility that our seemingly-stable lives are not as stable as we might like. And exploring this might lend us some more courage and compassion in reaching out to those who are experiencing homelessness. Maybe it’s powerful to consider our congregations and towns as made up exclusively of people who are experiencing homelessness, and people who are not yet experiencing homelessness.
This is perhaps a rough preaching of this text, (which may be authentic!) but I want to explore also the other side of this. Just as we know plenty of people who find themselves in dangerous situations with some suddenness, so do we know people who find housing or safety or health with an often-shocking suddenness. One of the goals of our outreach and shelter staff is to connect with people who are in crisis, and try to help them imagine what there next step will be. Often, a stimulus as simple as a conversation about goals, about next steps, or about whether someone’s happy about how their life is going can lead to some pretty radical changes. We’ve seen folks who have been out on the street for many years find housing; we’ve seen estranged families get together again; we’ve seen those struggling with addiction step away from their demons and find pathways to health. We don’t rule anybody out, and we don’t rule any changes out.
Finally, a question: what would it mean to bring this expectation, this affinity for suddenness to a systemic conversation? Surely, it will take a long time to end homelessness in our city, and our world, right? And maybe we never will, right? I don’t know. But it seems like we should keep watch. We should be aware. We should keep alert.
Let me know what you think.
Mark 13:24-37: On Suddenness
This reading is perhaps not the most troubling reading in all the lectionary, but it’s pretty rough. Moreover, it’s pretty far from the images that “preparation for Christmas” conjures up in a lot of our minds. One of the joys of Advent, I think, is the opportunity to preach on themes that are perhaps unexpected, and are certainly not present in the commercial “preparations for Christmas” of the media and the marketplace.
There’s one theme here that I want to lift up as being particularly relevant to our work at The Night Ministry. However you interpret or read this vision from the author of Mark, it’s pretty clear that we’re talking about some pretty radical change here, and change that comes pretty suddenly. At The Night Ministry, we encounter sudden and radical change pretty regularly, and this scripture might be an opportunity to consider some of the theological implications of change that is both startlingly fast and disorienting in its scope.
The first thing that comes to mind is a certain category of questions that comes up now and then, when I talk about The Night Ministry at congregations, community groups, and other settings. Sometimes, it comes out like this: “Do you see a lot of drug abuse among these young people?” Or: “Most of these people are mentally ill, right?” Now, often, questions like these are genuine attempts to understand the folks we serve, and the contexts in which we work, but I wonder if there’s something else going on. When I hear about people who are homeless, about young people who turn to dangerous ways of securing shelter and food, about people who are lonely and on the margins, I have a very human impulse to try to call out some ways in which “these people” are different from me. It’s not safe if they’re like me- if they’re like me, then that could be me one of these days.
We know that many of the people we work with, in our shelters and in our street outreach program, came to their current situations fairly suddenly. Their parents kicked them out, or the bank foreclosed on the family home. Or an illness, or a lost job, or any of a dozen other things that could quite literally happen to any of us. Sometimes we talk about our work as centering on people who are “homeless or precariously housed.” Many of us don’t want to admit how precarious our housing is.
If Mark envisions a future full of radical change, maybe we should prepare for radical change ourselves. Or, at least to allow for the possibility that our seemingly-stable lives are not as stable as we might like. And exploring this might lend us some more courage and compassion in reaching out to those who are experiencing homelessness. Maybe it’s powerful to consider our congregations and towns as made up exclusively of people who are experiencing homelessness, and people who are not yet experiencing homelessness.
This is perhaps a rough preaching of this text, (which may be authentic!) but I want to explore also the other side of this. Just as we know plenty of people who find themselves in dangerous situations with some suddenness, so do we know people who find housing or safety or health with an often-shocking suddenness. One of the goals of our outreach and shelter staff is to connect with people who are in crisis, and try to help them imagine what there next step will be. Often, a stimulus as simple as a conversation about goals, about next steps, or about whether someone’s happy about how their life is going can lead to some pretty radical changes. We’ve seen folks who have been out on the street for many years find housing; we’ve seen estranged families get together again; we’ve seen those struggling with addiction step away from their demons and find pathways to health. We don’t rule anybody out, and we don’t rule any changes out.
Finally, a question: what would it mean to bring this expectation, this affinity for suddenness to a systemic conversation? Surely, it will take a long time to end homelessness in our city, and our world, right? And maybe we never will, right? I don’t know. But it seems like we should keep watch. We should be aware. We should keep alert.
Let me know what you think.
Advent II
Advent II
December 4: Mark 1:1-8
The voice of one calling in the wilderness…
One of the interesting things about regularly preaching for The Night Ministry is the opportunity to read all kinds of scriptures and stories through the lens of our work. Sometimes, this work feels like a particular challenge, and sometimes it feels like it is right there- the contexts and causes we care about are front and center in the word.
John the Baptist feels like one of those front-and-center times. The very first words of Mark, said by many scholars to be the first of the canonical Gospels, introducing a framing for John, and then introducing John himself. In John, the writer of Mark suggests, we have an embodiment of the ‘voice in the wilderness’ that Isaiah described. And, I would add, in John, we have someone who deliberately puts his body on the margins, and a very visible sign of God’s revelation coming from someone who seems to be without a stable place to sleep.
I get really excited when congregations come out with our programs. One of the reasons I get excited is that it means we get to have food at our program- food that fills nutrition needs in the neighborhoods where we work, but also food that helps our staff as they seek to build relationships with people who are out on the nighttime streets. So, yes: food is great. But honestly, I also get really excited when congregations come visit us because of what I believe about God. I tend to agree with Mark’s assessment: there’s something about being out on the margins, out on the wilderness, living a little bit rough, that puts someone in touch with God. That helps one to hear God’s voice, and maybe to speak in that voice- the voice of crying in the wilderness.
The last time I was at the Art Institute, I got to wander a bit. And, as many of us Chicagoans know, wandering at the Art Institute is often a rich experience. I found myself in one of those rooms with medieval tapestries, fancy goblets, that kind of thing. One brass plaque told me that the display case in front of me held a golden stand, and one of John the Baptist’s teeth. I had to just stop and stare at it. I don’t think I believe it’s actually his tooth, but it’s a convenient place to think about this wilderness voice. (And I’m a Baptist myself, so there’s some resonance there as well.) But maybe it’s good to take a minute, now and then, in the Art Institute or elsewhere, to consider John the Baptist. And to consider what other voices are calling out in the wilderness of our deserts or our cities. I wonder what they’ll say.
David Weasley
December 4: Mark 1:1-8
The voice of one calling in the wilderness…
One of the interesting things about regularly preaching for The Night Ministry is the opportunity to read all kinds of scriptures and stories through the lens of our work. Sometimes, this work feels like a particular challenge, and sometimes it feels like it is right there- the contexts and causes we care about are front and center in the word.
John the Baptist feels like one of those front-and-center times. The very first words of Mark, said by many scholars to be the first of the canonical Gospels, introducing a framing for John, and then introducing John himself. In John, the writer of Mark suggests, we have an embodiment of the ‘voice in the wilderness’ that Isaiah described. And, I would add, in John, we have someone who deliberately puts his body on the margins, and a very visible sign of God’s revelation coming from someone who seems to be without a stable place to sleep.
I get really excited when congregations come out with our programs. One of the reasons I get excited is that it means we get to have food at our program- food that fills nutrition needs in the neighborhoods where we work, but also food that helps our staff as they seek to build relationships with people who are out on the nighttime streets. So, yes: food is great. But honestly, I also get really excited when congregations come visit us because of what I believe about God. I tend to agree with Mark’s assessment: there’s something about being out on the margins, out on the wilderness, living a little bit rough, that puts someone in touch with God. That helps one to hear God’s voice, and maybe to speak in that voice- the voice of crying in the wilderness.
The last time I was at the Art Institute, I got to wander a bit. And, as many of us Chicagoans know, wandering at the Art Institute is often a rich experience. I found myself in one of those rooms with medieval tapestries, fancy goblets, that kind of thing. One brass plaque told me that the display case in front of me held a golden stand, and one of John the Baptist’s teeth. I had to just stop and stare at it. I don’t think I believe it’s actually his tooth, but it’s a convenient place to think about this wilderness voice. (And I’m a Baptist myself, so there’s some resonance there as well.) But maybe it’s good to take a minute, now and then, in the Art Institute or elsewhere, to consider John the Baptist. And to consider what other voices are calling out in the wilderness of our deserts or our cities. I wonder what they’ll say.
David Weasley
Advent III
Third Sunday of Advent - December 11, 2011
Reflection by Kim Ziyavo
Readings:
Isaiah 61:1-4,8-11
Psalm 126
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24
John 1: 6-8, 19-28
The scriptures for the third Sunday of Advent offer both encouragement and a profound challenge. These are the words of prophetic communities living in the midst of dark and oppressive socio-political systems. The reading from Isaiah proclaims hope, freedom and good news for all who are suffering, oppressed and without hope – an announcement that it is time for a new world order and that now is the time to rise up out of the ashes of grief and suffering, to embrace the new beginning and shake off the despair. The challenge comes at the end:
They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated;
they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations.
It is the oppressed, hopeless and despairing ones who must rise up to become the rebuilders, restorers and renewers of all that has been devastated by generations of injustice and domination. They are faced with a monumental task and the work and sacrifice required will be fueled by the proclamation of the “year of the Lord’s favor” and the hope and determination that flows from that vision of justice. The reading from Psalm 126 continues to celebrate the challenge of this transformation of a hopeless and despairing people into a prophetic community rising up and participating in the restoration of a just society, a renewed world where those who once suffered are able to find joy.
The reading from Thessalonians offers spiritual guidance to the community, most importantly to embrace the prophetic vision, holding on to what is good, even if it seems like a distant dream. It is a call to reject what is unjust and any negative influences that attempt to quench the spirit. The reading from the Gospel of John initiates a new time of preparation, witnessing to and preparing for the light that is to come, the Messiah who will bring the prophetic vision into its fullness.
As we fast forward 2000+ years, the world continues to be enmeshed in systems of domination and oppression. As the gap between rich and poor grows ever wider, one must wonder if anything at all has changed and more importantly, is the prophetic vision even possible? On the streets of Chicago, we see more and more people in need every year while at the same time, services like shelters and health care continue to be cut.
The people who visit The Night Ministry bus come seeking support and a means to survive: some are homeless while others are marginally housed and struggling because of low wages; some struggle with addictions to alcohol or drugs and few options for the kind of long term treatment needed, especially when they lack health insurance; others find themselves on the streets with mental health issues, developmental disabilities and other kinds of trauma; some of the people we see are undocumented, having left their families behind because their own countries’ resources have been depleted and coming here to find work was their last hope for a dignified life and to help improve their families’ lives; and, of course, others come simply to ease loneliness and to seek a sense of community.
At The Night Ministry bus, many services are provided. We have a meal to offer as frequently as possible, people can receive health care and referrals as well as HIV testing and sometimes we have extras like hygiene kits, winter clothing or socks on a rainy night. However, underneath all of these services and tangible items, the most important thing is the sense of welcome and community that we are all building together – we all (staff, volunteers, food groups and the community being served) participate equally in bringing about that safe space where all are welcome. We don’t need research to tell us that a sense of belonging is important for a person to grow and thrive and reach his/her full potential or to heal from past traumas.
Community is as vital to life as food, water and shelter and over time, we see some of the most isolated people beginning to cluster together with a group of friends at the bus and people spending time together before or after they come to the bus (or even following the bus from stop to stop the whole night so they can visit the other communities we reach). A few years back, one of our regular visitors had been homeless for over 10 years and resisted every referral to go to a case manager to help him get details in order. One day, it was one of his friends whom he met at the bus who invited him to come along to see his own case manager and that was the moment his life started changing and he was able to get into housing quickly and on his own terms. Just last week, this same person who had been helped by a friend when he was scared to go on his own for the first time, became the one to accompany someone else to see a case manager.
Community is very much about keeping hope and spirit alive among people who don’t always fit the structures of the dominant society – each person brings not only their issues and growing edges to the community, but also their own unique personality and gifts that adds to who we are collectively when we’re all together. That means each place we visit has its own special character, from quiet conversations, to loud discussion of sports, to lots of laughter and joking and even an occasional wild snowball fight. These are the ways we solidify the bonds and relationships we have and this is what makes our work different from the traditional social service model. This is about reconnecting people with their own sense of dignity and humanity, a safe space to belong and celebrate life, to dream and find hope.
Isaiah’s community would very much understand the meaning of what happens by the bus and the importance of being together in the face of the domination system that destroys lives and provides little assistance or dignity to those who don’t fit its ideals. John’s Gospel reminds us to stay ready and continue preparing and so we continue to work to keep the spirit of community alive and strong, trusting that the time is near when those who don’t fit the systems of domination will be full participants in bringing about justice and rebuilding, restoring and renewing what has been destroyed.
Reflection by Kim Ziyavo
Readings:
Isaiah 61:1-4,8-11
Psalm 126
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24
John 1: 6-8, 19-28
The scriptures for the third Sunday of Advent offer both encouragement and a profound challenge. These are the words of prophetic communities living in the midst of dark and oppressive socio-political systems. The reading from Isaiah proclaims hope, freedom and good news for all who are suffering, oppressed and without hope – an announcement that it is time for a new world order and that now is the time to rise up out of the ashes of grief and suffering, to embrace the new beginning and shake off the despair. The challenge comes at the end:
They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated;
they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations.
It is the oppressed, hopeless and despairing ones who must rise up to become the rebuilders, restorers and renewers of all that has been devastated by generations of injustice and domination. They are faced with a monumental task and the work and sacrifice required will be fueled by the proclamation of the “year of the Lord’s favor” and the hope and determination that flows from that vision of justice. The reading from Psalm 126 continues to celebrate the challenge of this transformation of a hopeless and despairing people into a prophetic community rising up and participating in the restoration of a just society, a renewed world where those who once suffered are able to find joy.
The reading from Thessalonians offers spiritual guidance to the community, most importantly to embrace the prophetic vision, holding on to what is good, even if it seems like a distant dream. It is a call to reject what is unjust and any negative influences that attempt to quench the spirit. The reading from the Gospel of John initiates a new time of preparation, witnessing to and preparing for the light that is to come, the Messiah who will bring the prophetic vision into its fullness.
As we fast forward 2000+ years, the world continues to be enmeshed in systems of domination and oppression. As the gap between rich and poor grows ever wider, one must wonder if anything at all has changed and more importantly, is the prophetic vision even possible? On the streets of Chicago, we see more and more people in need every year while at the same time, services like shelters and health care continue to be cut.
The people who visit The Night Ministry bus come seeking support and a means to survive: some are homeless while others are marginally housed and struggling because of low wages; some struggle with addictions to alcohol or drugs and few options for the kind of long term treatment needed, especially when they lack health insurance; others find themselves on the streets with mental health issues, developmental disabilities and other kinds of trauma; some of the people we see are undocumented, having left their families behind because their own countries’ resources have been depleted and coming here to find work was their last hope for a dignified life and to help improve their families’ lives; and, of course, others come simply to ease loneliness and to seek a sense of community.
At The Night Ministry bus, many services are provided. We have a meal to offer as frequently as possible, people can receive health care and referrals as well as HIV testing and sometimes we have extras like hygiene kits, winter clothing or socks on a rainy night. However, underneath all of these services and tangible items, the most important thing is the sense of welcome and community that we are all building together – we all (staff, volunteers, food groups and the community being served) participate equally in bringing about that safe space where all are welcome. We don’t need research to tell us that a sense of belonging is important for a person to grow and thrive and reach his/her full potential or to heal from past traumas.
Community is as vital to life as food, water and shelter and over time, we see some of the most isolated people beginning to cluster together with a group of friends at the bus and people spending time together before or after they come to the bus (or even following the bus from stop to stop the whole night so they can visit the other communities we reach). A few years back, one of our regular visitors had been homeless for over 10 years and resisted every referral to go to a case manager to help him get details in order. One day, it was one of his friends whom he met at the bus who invited him to come along to see his own case manager and that was the moment his life started changing and he was able to get into housing quickly and on his own terms. Just last week, this same person who had been helped by a friend when he was scared to go on his own for the first time, became the one to accompany someone else to see a case manager.
Community is very much about keeping hope and spirit alive among people who don’t always fit the structures of the dominant society – each person brings not only their issues and growing edges to the community, but also their own unique personality and gifts that adds to who we are collectively when we’re all together. That means each place we visit has its own special character, from quiet conversations, to loud discussion of sports, to lots of laughter and joking and even an occasional wild snowball fight. These are the ways we solidify the bonds and relationships we have and this is what makes our work different from the traditional social service model. This is about reconnecting people with their own sense of dignity and humanity, a safe space to belong and celebrate life, to dream and find hope.
Isaiah’s community would very much understand the meaning of what happens by the bus and the importance of being together in the face of the domination system that destroys lives and provides little assistance or dignity to those who don’t fit its ideals. John’s Gospel reminds us to stay ready and continue preparing and so we continue to work to keep the spirit of community alive and strong, trusting that the time is near when those who don’t fit the systems of domination will be full participants in bringing about justice and rebuilding, restoring and renewing what has been destroyed.
Advent IV
Advent IV:
Luke 1:26-55: Possible and impossible hopes. (According to my official lectionary sources, you can swap out a psalm for the Magnificat this week, and I am so inclined.)
Maybe by this point in Advent you’re feeling burnt out. Maybe by this point in your year you’re feeling burnt out. Maybe by this point in your life and work, you’re feeling burnt out. Maybe by this point in American society you’re feeling burnt out- I can empathize. It seems to me things are pretty seriously bad out there, in the places that admit it and in the places that don’t admit it.
A lot of people at The Night Ministry talk about hope. We talk about trying to provide hope out on the nighttime streets, we talk about trying to cultivate hope in the stories of our guests and participants. But I think one of things that makes the hard work we’re doing out here worth it is the hope that comes upon us in the midst of things. I tell you: every time I get to do an event with, or hear from, one of the young people we work with, that’s pretty much enough to keep me going for a while. Sometimes it’s because I’m so hopeful, and other times I’m so angry, but Augustine says those are all in the same family.
In today’s reading from Luke, we get the story of a familiar soon-to-be-homeless young woman. We get a flash of her story, anyway, and then we get a blindingly-powerful verse of her song. Or it’s the Spirit’s song, that she takes up. Or it’s all of our song, and she’s our song leader.
I like a lot of versions of this song (particularly ‘Canticle of the Turning’, which we sang at my wedding), but sometimes the sparse words are most powerful, when I’m undistracted by melody or rhythm:
“God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly. God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty…”
It seems so impossible. It seems so beautiful. I cannot believe it on my own. But when I go to the Crib and hang out with people as they dance, or when I go hear poetry from our HELLO group, or when I see people welcome strangers at our Health Outreach Bus- I cannot believe these bold promises on our own. But I think we can believe it together.
-David Weasley
Luke 1:26-55: Possible and impossible hopes. (According to my official lectionary sources, you can swap out a psalm for the Magnificat this week, and I am so inclined.)
Maybe by this point in Advent you’re feeling burnt out. Maybe by this point in your year you’re feeling burnt out. Maybe by this point in your life and work, you’re feeling burnt out. Maybe by this point in American society you’re feeling burnt out- I can empathize. It seems to me things are pretty seriously bad out there, in the places that admit it and in the places that don’t admit it.
A lot of people at The Night Ministry talk about hope. We talk about trying to provide hope out on the nighttime streets, we talk about trying to cultivate hope in the stories of our guests and participants. But I think one of things that makes the hard work we’re doing out here worth it is the hope that comes upon us in the midst of things. I tell you: every time I get to do an event with, or hear from, one of the young people we work with, that’s pretty much enough to keep me going for a while. Sometimes it’s because I’m so hopeful, and other times I’m so angry, but Augustine says those are all in the same family.
In today’s reading from Luke, we get the story of a familiar soon-to-be-homeless young woman. We get a flash of her story, anyway, and then we get a blindingly-powerful verse of her song. Or it’s the Spirit’s song, that she takes up. Or it’s all of our song, and she’s our song leader.
I like a lot of versions of this song (particularly ‘Canticle of the Turning’, which we sang at my wedding), but sometimes the sparse words are most powerful, when I’m undistracted by melody or rhythm:
“God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly. God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty…”
It seems so impossible. It seems so beautiful. I cannot believe it on my own. But when I go to the Crib and hang out with people as they dance, or when I go hear poetry from our HELLO group, or when I see people welcome strangers at our Health Outreach Bus- I cannot believe these bold promises on our own. But I think we can believe it together.
-David Weasley
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