A joy-filled day to you! Much ado here in Ecclesiaville this week. Amy and Larry arrived in Albuquerque on the 6th and have begun settling in . . . we've finalized a HUD grant agreement that will help fund the drop-in center through April, we've signed 70 people up for tomorrow's Poverty Simulation, and we've continued transforming the former Holden Home into the Hope Center. Speaking of hope, below, you'll find a note about a dear friend of ours who frequents the front porch and drop-in center, and Steve's brief reflection on the cost of discipleship. . . . Over on the left and down a bit is our song of the week, a song about what the world needs . . . And, below that, there's a spot where you can click and forward this epistle to a friend. While you're at it, we ask that you "like" us us on Facebook. . . .
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Precious on the porch
She comes to Hope and sits on the front porch where she can feel comfort and safety as she sleeps. She is one of several dozen Newburgh women who sell their bodies to support their drug habits. Busted several times, imprisoned, a guest at every treatment program in the region, she keeps trying. Six months ago, she was doing well. During one recent period of sobriety, she lived at Ecclesia House, the ten-bed transitional home built with the gifts, and sweat, and prayers of Ecclesiacs like you and found permanent housing, a little part-time job and was continuing with programs that supported her sobriety. Then something happened. She fell into the demon's snare and, within a couple of weeks, was back on the street. Her name? We'll call her Precious. She is, after all.God created her just as God created you and me. God loves her just as God loves you and me. And, God calls her to wholeness and healing just as God calls each one of us. Precious is our teacher. She teaches us that we cannot "fix" others let alone ourselves, that all we can do is channel God's love and compassion, accepting her for who she is and whose she is, and prayerfully walking with her.
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The cost of discipleship
National Public Radio was airing a story about slain Civil Rights worker Viola Liuzzo when I started the car Monday morning. They told about how this housewife and mother of five packed up and headed south to Selma, Alabama, to walk in the 54-mile march to Montgomery. After the march, Ms. Liuzzo was shuttling marchers back to the homes when a car pulled up next to hers and a member of the Klan put a bullet in her head.
The tale of how her family was harassed, smeared by the FBI and how, two years later, 55 percent of those polled by Ladies Home Journal opined that she wasn't a good mother. Families and the nation were divided over a simple call to do justice, to do the right thing in a nation where the wrong thing had been going on since its founding. It reminds me of next Sunday's gospel lesson - Luke 12:49-56 - in which Jesus tells his hearers that he came to bring fire to the earth and that families would be divided. The meek and mild Jesus told the truth of what it's like to follow him, to do our best to do justice and to love mercy, to love God with all that we are and to love our neighbors as though they were us. It certainly was true at the time Luke wrote his gospel, sometime after the Romans had put down the uprising of 66, destroying the Temple and burning most of Jerusalem to the ground. It was a time of terror, a time when a profession of faith in Jesus by a mother or father or son or daughter or in-law, would cause dissension and havoc. And, it's still true today. Responding to Jesus' call still means radical change for everyone. By that I don't mean making a confession, embracing a creed, going to church, and memorizing Bible verses. What I mean is that radical change comes when we take Jesus seriously, when we lovingly do to others what we'd want them to do for us, when we offer a cup of cold water or a crust of bread to a stranger, when we see injustice and stand up against it as Ms. Liuzzo and countless others have for all of human history. If that isn't scary enough, the really scary part is how Jesus entry into our lives is guaranteed to tear us apart, to have us arguing with ourselves as we struggle to liberate ourselves from ourselves to that we might walk the freedom trail with Jesus. Enough for now . . .
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