Changing Channels

Goddess used to like to take long meandering walks. She would lead me block after block, going this way and that, sniffing this and sniffing that. We would often take a good hour before she was ready to lead me back home again.

This week, every single walk has been around one block. Taking a right out of the yard, we go a short distance to the marsh and walk along side it, then we turn the corner and in front of Shirley's house she likes to run out on the dock. Then it is to Art's for a treat and then...well normally she would pull me along towards back river or up to Butler Avenue. Now she wants to return home and there is no convincing her otherwise.

Something has changed.

It is all very much like the beach, everything looks the same but everything is different at the same time. Outside my house very much looks the same, but inside it is very different than it was just a few days ago. The pictures are different. There is new furniture. New plants. New artwork. All mixed in and rearranged with the things that used to be here. Thanks to my Mom, what used to be a beach house is now a more elegant beach house.

And of course my life has been changed over the past several months. And like the beach I am both the same and very different. But that is living life isn't it?

The other day my friend Hugh said, "I can only hope that things settle down for you sooner than later. I understand this can't be easy, but right or wrong you have to push through to the other side."

So that is what Goddess and I are doing. I think that Goddess needs the stability and security of home right now. Too much has changed for her. She stays very close to me when I am here.

And I am leaning how to change channels, moving from one section of the river of life to another. The water between channels can be awful rough and treacherous so you have to do your best to stay on your toes. But if you keep at it you can make a successful crossing and find yourself sailing calm seas.

There's an island in the ocean
where the people stay in motion.
Somewhere in the old Gulf Stream,
do they live or did I dream,
They were changing channels
Waiting for their sales to fill
Changing channels
always will

So sings Jimmy Buffett, and I take solace in his words and I understand that what I am doing is changing channels. But I am doing it so that I can find myself at the place where I want to be. Just like you.

Sun Breaks

This has been a mean and terrible winter! At the beach, days have begun with massive wet gray clouds hanging low over an angry ocean with a bitter and biting wind blowing from the Northeast. As I ran on these days my life seemed to blend into the grayness that surround me. Gray clouds. A gray ocean. Gray sand. My life had turned gray and gray is the color of sadness. And it seemed that the winter just wouldn't end and the sadness went on and on.

Then there were Sun Breaks. Few and far between at first. But over the months they became more frequent. Shirley showing up for cheeseburgers after I had uninvited her. Johnny O and Judy and the other John and Trolly Joe forcing laughter into the grayness. Stacy breaking in expressing a love that I didn't know was there. Keller with a knack for communicating at the most unusual times which always seemed to just the right times. Sandy and Dave presenting me with a special pen as a way of expressing thanks for the writing. And Jodee, Cheryl, Val and Nick, Ryan and my family at the Breakfast Club who have been there for so many years. And Herb. Tracy. And Jeremy, Marie, and Kristen. And Chelsea who had some of the funniest things that caught me so off guard the laughter exploded into the sadness. And my Mom who understood with a depth that I had not anticipated.

So then today, the sun was a firey orange ball that climbed out of a glassy, calm ocean into a bright blue sky where there were no clouds. As it rose, the wind ceased and bowed at the holiness of a new day. As I ran, the white sand glistened and it seemed as though the sun stopped for a last moment to kiss the sea before continuing its climb into the day.

It was all so beautiful and stunning that I literally had to stop and honor it. A deep expression of gratitude welled up inside of me and it erupted out of my throat as a sigh, which I think is one of the holiest of prayers. And I knew at that moment that everything was going to be alright. And Bob Marley suddenly rose from the dead and began singing again and again. Everythings going to be alright. Everythings going to be alright. Everythings going to be alright.

Why I Believe

Flying back from the Florida Keys yesterday, I watched the movie "Men Who Stare At Goats". I needed a diversion during the flight and absentmindedly chose this one. I am glad that I did.

Obviously a comedy, the film is about a military squad that believes it has super powers and can stare a goat to death, run through walls and use psychic thoughts to find people. Oh course, they do not, but they believe they do and that is what makes the difference. They believe. It doesn't matter what other people think. So they live their lives and complete their assignments as though the river of destiny is taking them to their purposes in life.

The humor is dark throughout the movie but I was struck by the principal theme. If you can believe in something, and sustain that believe in spite of whatever reality throws at you, then you have accomplished something supernatural. Something holy.

I think that this is what I have tried to do in my career. At the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel we believed that a church could be reborn though it was surely dying and that it could impact an entire community. It had little going for it, but we believed anyway. And in a few short years it became a special place that people flocked to and it ended up making a very significant difference to that community.

And at Union Mission we believed that entire populations of sick, hurting, and lost people could be made well and make their ways home again. Even when they had no home to go to at all. And over the past two decades that is exactly what we have done though we had little to accomplish great things with in the beginning other than the fact that we believed.

Sometimes it is very hard to sustain the things that we believe in. There are those who believe that pain is necessary or that we must constantly adjust what we hope to accomplish in light of the realities around us. Alas, I am not one of those people.

I believe that we can all find happiness and love again even though the reality that we find ourselves in are void of these things. I have also learned that I am not a quitter. Everything takes longer than it should, I often tell people, and I keep at it even though nothing seems to be happening. I've learned that most people stop trying too soon and walk away from the possibilities.

Throughout the movie, men stare at walls willing themselves to run through them. Of course, every time they try, they hit the wall and knock themselves backwards to the floor. But they keep trying anyway. And at the end, one pulls it off and runs though a wall.

I count myself as one of these people. I'll hold on to my belief that walls of division will come tubbling down and that everyone can live happily ever after.

Being the Minister that I Am

I have moved further down the coast and spent last night with my dear friends Conner and Haniah. Today we are driving down to the Keys where I will don my clerical robe, over a pair of shorts and perform a wedding ceremony in my bare feet. Sort of Jesus Christ meets Jimmy Buffett!

Then again I have never been a conventional cleric. I never been conventional about much anything. But when it comes to religion, I believe that God wants us all to help one another out as best we can. Treat everybody else like you want to be treated pretty much sums up what Jesus had to say about living life.

And that is what I have tried to do. I haven't relied on institutional expressions of religion to do this because I have come to believe that treating others as you want to be treated happens when people actually interact with one another. Singing hymns, passing the peace, doing communion, and listen to someone expound for 20 minutes are not particularly germane to treating others as you want to be treated. Not that there is anything wrong with these things, or that I don't enjoy them from time to time, but that I find God when I am interfacing directly with others.

There are a lot of people who seem to prefer a minister who doesn't bring institutional stuff with me. So I get asked a lot to do weddings and funerals for people who believe in God and the Spirit but not so much in the church. So they get in touch with me. And I pick and choose how when I want to participate.

I am doing this wedding because Conner asked me to do it. I would do much anything for Conner as I know without a doubt that he would do anything for me. When my Dad died last summer they drove all of the way from Pampano Beach to Savannah just for the funeral. And there is a holiness to this kind of interaction between two people.

So that is the kind of minister that I am. It is all about what happens between two or three people at a time. Not necessarily all of that other stuff. And I think that God likes ceremonies in the cathedral that God built, which is this world, more than inside some musty building with stained glass windows.

But You Got to have Friends

I was in a meeting in Delray Beach, Florida yesterday visiting a homeless program called "The Lord's Place."

"That's quite a name you have," I said to the Executive Director, "it must be a bitch to live up to it all of the time."

She looked at me for a moment as though I were speaking another language, then she burst out laughing. She and I quickly found that we liked one another a lot and after spending the day together, made plans to visit one another again.

I was with Polly Seitz, Director of the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation's Local Funding Partnership Program, and Mary Kaplan of the New Hampshire Health Care Foundation. Both are friends. We've spent the last three days together looking at two amazing programs in south Florida. One is a 26 member collaborative and the other offers services to children who are primary caregivers to their parents. Holiness abounded in both meetings because special people were doing special things.

One of the ways that I have survived in my career for almost 30 years is to take advantage of opportunities to go and see what other people are doing. Staying at Union Mission all of the time leaves me self-absorbed. Seeing amazing people doing amazing things in other communities gives me hope. And ideas to steal! Probably half of what takes place at Union Mission was stolen from places that I have visited.

Fortunately, I take after my Dad, and have collected a lot of friends over the years. And last night, I was taken out to dinner by Hugh, Patti and Haniah. They are dear friends who live in south Florida and people who I really enjoy being with. They have been wanting to get together for the past several weeks and have been very supportive of the things going on in my life. So we drank and ate and laughed and hugged.

Today I am mindful of my friends. I am a very fortunate person because I have a great many who have taken the initiative to care for me when I haven't been in the best place to take care of myself. There are too many to mention but I think that I have thanked them all and told them how much I love them.

So, what keeps people homeless is their lack of significant social suppoort systems. Meaning they do not have family or friends. I am not homeless. I have a lot of friends who may as well be family.

The sun is bright in south Florida right now and it is warm and the ocean is blue and beautiful. This is the kind of environment that I enjoy. Almost as much as I enjoy my friends.

Sad Hero's

I flew down to South Florida and found myself sitting in the middle of about twenty members of the military who were returning to Iraq. Again. While their uniforms were crisp and smart, their attitudes were sad and weary. Most stuffed their backpacks in the overhead bins, collapsed into their seats, closed their eyes and fell asleep.

"Hello Sir," my seat mate said, giving me his hand.

"Good morning," I replied. "So you're going back?"

"Yes Sir, I'd much rather crawl in your bag and go wherever you're going?"

I immediately felt badly for him. "How many times?" I asked.

"This is only my third," he answered in a weary voice, "but most of these guys have been five or six times."

"Hard?"

"Yes sir. We'll be there for eight months, but they'll probably extend that. They normally do once we're there."

"Do you get time off when you're there?"

Well, we get some leave, but it's terrible. It gives you too much time to think."

Then he told me about his little girl and how the hardest part was leaving her. Then he joined his comrades and fell asleep.

As we made our way towards landing, the stewardess came over the intercom announcing that members of our military were on the plane, as if no one had noticed their uniforms, and asked that we thank our heroes for their service to our country. And applause burst out.

And every member of the military winced when this happened and it seemed as their sadness deepened. I told my friend to be safe, and he just nodded as he shook my hand and looked at me with far away eyes. And my heart broke for him a little bit.

I meet a lot of homeless veterans in my work. They thrive in the military and flounder when they no longer have the structured life. Once they are no longer hero's, many lose their sense of purpose and they flounder and they fail and they end up alone. While I admire the commitment of these soldiers and understand the need for their service, I've never been one for hero worship. And I certainly don't think that it does anyone much good.

And as the applause died down on the plane, and the far away look crept into the eyes of every soldiers sitting around me, I don't think that they appreciated it much either.

Attacking Life

Back in High School I played football and one of my coaches called me to the sidelines during practice and said, "You know what Elliott? Your problem is that you try too hard."

I remember being shocked. How can you try too hard? I was giving everything that I had in a game where coaches demand 100%on every play. My coach was surely an idiot. And though he may have been right about my ability to play football, he was wrong about the approach to living my life.

I attack my job. I go about living it with everything that I have. I try hard, push boundaries and have never met a rule, practice or protocol that I didn't question. I go head to toe with politicians, clergy, business leaders and famous people whom I've met. I've declared war on poverty, homelessness, AIDS, broken health care and an array of other plagues in our community. I beleive that great things can happen even when I'm surrounded by others who tell me that they cannot.

I attack my life. As hard as I work is as hard as I can play. On occasion I find myself with Bill Berry or Mike Conner or Johnny O and Judy or my son Jeremy and we can blow it out as hard as a group of drunken Hell's Angels on meth! Sometimes it's healthy to just be a boy againand play hard, especially given my career in a world where everyone demands everything all of the time.

I attack my need for solitude too! I am a contemplative soul and like to stare at the ocean and remind myself of my place in the world. I like to sit in the Cafe Express and sip coffee and watch people walk through the squares of Savannah. I sit on my back deck with my bare feet propped on the rail and am reminded that I am comfortable in my own skin.

And I attack love too. When I give it away, I give it all away, holding little back for myself. Talking to my friend Bill Berry yesterday, he said, "You throw it out there more than anybody I know and you've never cared about hiding your emotions." Or as my friend Mary Ann Beil told me recently, "More than anyone I know you try to live the most authentic life." I took this an ultimate compliment.

I am passionate about my friends. Many often move on from my life as they come and go or grow and change, but I rarely close doors and am forever seeking out old friends whom I haven't talked to in decades.

During a wedding ceremony officiated by my friend Bill, he quoted James Taylor (along with Jimmy Buffett and Jesus Christ --- the 3 J's he said).

"Try not to try too hard, it's just a lovely ride." I love the song but always recoil a bit at the line.

At 53, I think that I'll keep living this life of mine the way that I have. It is the only way that I am comfortable doing it anyway.

And who knew that James Taylor could have been a football coach?

When Dolphins Smile

Fifteen years ago I wrote Running with the Dolphins which is somehow still in print all of this time later. It is a snap shot of life on Tybee Island as it was then. A great deal about Tybee has changed. The Desoto is gone and the Sunday night talent show with it. Shorty’s, the Amusement Park, and a dozen other favorites. For some reason 16th Street became Tybrisa Street. The Beach Bums have all gotten old. The list goes on.

Yet much remains the same. Tybee Parking Services is still staffed by Nazis. Roma is still old. Johnny O is still … well I’ve never really been certain exactly what Johnny O is. Tybrisa Street (formally 16th Street) is still the Combat Zone! Doc’s Bar! And the beach! And the Ocean!

The Ocean more or less remains the same, dominating the planet and occasionally flexing her muscles to remind us all of how powerful she is. But the beach changes a little every day while somehow remaining the same every day too. It’s kind of like our lives isn’t it? We change a little every day but we somehow remain the same. At least most of us do.

Every one of my days begins with a trip to the beach. I am usually running along side of the ocean and I notice the shifting sand with one eye and the majestic ocean with the other. And on special days, I run along side of my friends the dolphins.

Over the weekend, they reappeared after many months of resting in warmer waters. While they have been gone, a great deal has changed in my life, just like the beach, and I somehow remain the same while I am very different. Just like Tybee is not the same as it was neither is my home, though from the outside it certainly seems as it was or from the air the island appears as it always has been.

So I was glad to see them. They only played peek-a-boo, sticking their heads out of the water for a second, flashing a smile with bright glistening grey eyes (I swear Dolphins are the only creatures in the universe that can make grey things glisten!) Then they would descend below the surface only to do it again as I made my way down the beach.

It seemed as though they were toying with me, laughing to one another under the water while they raced ahead of me only to stick their heads out of the ocean, smile at me, and drop back below. I suppose that it could mean that good things are coming. Who knows?

But I love my friends the Dolphins. I still like to run with them after all of these years. They must still like me because they keep showing up and smiling at me. So while my life changes and somehow remains the same at the same time, I pray to God that the Dolphins never leave! They come back when others whom you love leave. I think that they still love me. You can never be sure anymore, but their smiles remind me of happiness. And I want happiness again.

Where Love Is

I was having supper at Spankey's, sitting at the bar, when she sat down beside me. Long black hair, a slender figure, and large brown cow eyes. Steven the bar tender was noticing her too.

"You look like a nice guy," she said to me after a few minutes. Man did she have pretty eyes.

"Thanks," I replied and continued eating.

"I'm engaged" she said showing me her ring, "but I don't think that I love him."

"Then I wouldn't get married," I replied looking at her.

"And I don't think that he loves me either," she continued.

"Then I definitely wouldn't get married."

She looked at me for a few moments before speaking again. "Do you have children?"

"I do. My youngest is 21."

"Oh, I'm 27," she told me. "How old are you?"

"53," I answered.

She was silent again for a few moments. "You seem like a nice guy."

"Thanks," I took another bite of my food.

She decided that she wanted a cigarette, lighting it at the bar. Steven rushed up and told her that she had to smoke outside.

She looked at me and asked me if I wanted to come.

"I think that I'll finish my meal," I told her and resumed eating and she grabbed her purse and left.

Steven looked at me, shrugging his shoulder and rolling his eyes. I did the same back to him and continued my meal.

Fifteen minutes later, I paid my tab and walked outside only to run into her. She walked straight up to me and hugged me.

"You seem like a nice guy," she said with her head buried in my chest.

"Thanks."

"Do you live around here?" she asked after she stepped back and opened her cow eyes.

"I do," I told her.

She resumed the hug.

"You seem like a nice guy," said the now muffled voice.

I put my arm around her and said, "You know what? I think that you should probably head home. Let me walk you to your car."

So we strolled over a few spaces to where she was parked.

"Yes, I probably should," she said," and she climbed into car and started the engine.

I did the same and followed her out of the parking lot. When she pulled onto Butler Avenue, she gunned the engine and sped away much too fast for her own safety, and darting between cars as though she was trying to get away as fast as possible. Running from and running to at the same time is a dangerous thing.

I shook my head and drove the few blocks to my house.

So I suppose that she was looking for love while running away from it at the same time. And that is a funny way to go about it. But I think that it is this way for a lot of people. They think that they know what love is but don't really. They have some movie version of never ending bliss where no one has any flaws and sadness or hurt ever invade.

That's not love. That is fantasy. Love is manifest in spite of flaws and because of sadness and hurt. These are the places where love is purely present. And this is where you find God because God is love so the Bible says. In the middle of flaws and hurt and sadness

A Simple Prayer of Thanks

Anyway twenty-one years ago, Dan invited me to my first Hibernian Society dinner. This is the formal conclusion of St. Patrick's Day in Savannah. Beginning at eight o'clock around a thousand men show up in black tuxedos and listen to bagpipes, drink Irish whiskey, eat Barney steaks, and listen to a speech about Ireland and another about the United States. Both speeches begin with a toast. It is a real "Who's-who" of Savannah's male society and there are ample opportunities for networking and socializing.

So all of those years ago, I was percieved as a radical person in the city. I had a pony tail and we were opening the Magdalane Project for homeless women and children and Phoenix Place for people dying (at the time) of AIDS. I was in the press a lot. So a lot of people knew who I was but they didn't know me.

Dan's inclusion of me at the Hibernian Society allowed me to meet the city's leadership and to talk with them and schedule follow up discussions. This led to many significant relationships that are still going on today. My career in Savannah would never have gotten established were it not for Dan's annual invitation.

He passed away a couple of years ago, but his son's continue the tradition which now includes me. The invitation still comes and I still go. So last night, while everybody else was toasting Ireland, I took a sip for Dan and said a simple prayer of thanks.

The Second Highest Holy Day

"Every time that I see you, you're with that Dog," said my friend Jack as he stopped his truck beside us on the marsh road.

"She is the Lady of the House now," I deadpan.

Reaching his arm down from his window, he scratches Goddess on top of her head.

"She sure is a pretty dog."

"Well, she is of divine lineage," I explain.

Jack nods his head as if he completely understands. I love Tybee. Religion is so easy here. The sun rises everyday out of the water pretty much like its described in the book of Genesis and there you go! Everything else follows automatically. Or it follows randomly.

It is St. Patrick's Day in Savannah which is just behind Christmas in the ranking of importance of religious holidays here. New Year's would be third with Easter coming in forth.

Easter might have ranked higher but the Baptist Church on the island refuses to cooperate with the Catholics, Methodist, and Episcopal Churches in conducting a sunrise service on the pier. That loses it some major points.

Savannah's St. Patrick's Day celebration is the stuff of legend. The parade last five hours and the party, which began several days ago, will end several days from now.

But I am on a quiet walk with the Lady of the House. It is our second walk of the morning. We make our way to Shirley's dock and I sit down to view the colors of the marsh and the back river. Goddess sits beside me and my arm is draped around her. Holiness abounds.

At Union Mission, the homeless guys are renting out all of our parking spaces to people who are going to the parade. Last year they made over $700!

Those who are not helping with the parking have all gotten jobs selling green beads, T-shirts, beer, sunglasses and hats. In Savannah, everyone is employed on St. Patrick's Day. Everyone is accepted. There is no homelessness, poverty, AIDS, sickness, racism, isolation or political division. There are just the Irish. And the drunks.

I'm pretty certain that St. Patrick would be horrified if he were invited to march in the parade. Girls would rush up to kiss his cheek as he made his way, leaving it smeared with red. He would have started drinking at breakfast this morning and would not end until midnight when the Hibernian Society concludes its dinner.

Whenever I do go to the parade, it seems like I have to talk about work. People ask me this or that about the troubles in their families. Or the homeless people selling beads try to cut me deals and are happy to see out like them.

Don't get me wrong, I've had some good times there, but it's lost it's luster. Hell, I'm not even wearing green today. I have on a blue shirt and ratty khaki shorts. I'll go to the Bored Meeting instead.

So I do not have much use for this. I'd rather stare at the marsh from Shirley's sad little dock, which I think is one of the holiest places in the universe. Goddess seems pretty content too. The water is calm and the wind is dead, unlike waving mass of humanity downtown.

So on one of the holiest of high Holy days, I wish everyone a Happy St. Patrick's Day. Erin Go Braugh!

But mostly, I would like to sit here with Goddess, on Shirley's holy dock, with God kissing the water and brushing the marsh and letting me know that Bob Marley really was a modern day prophet. Everything's gonna be alright.

The Peace that Balance Brings

I had made a pilgrimage to Atlanta to seek the advice of friends. It was around this time last year. I was several months into a year of incredible intrigue. Devastation, betrayal, grief and loss were all introduced to me in the most personal ways possible.

At the Atlanta Food Bank I was entering the office of my friend Bill Bowling. Bill is the Executive Director and has redefined what Food Banks are in this country. He is constantly listed in Georgia Trends Magazine of one of Georgia's most influential people. We known one another for decades now.

"We are unaccustomed to having visiting dignitaries here," he quipped as I sat down.

We talked about a lot of things that morning and I am most grateful for Bill. More than anyone else I know in the non-profit world, Bill has "been there and done that."

At one point during the conversation he leaned forward in his chair and stared me dead in the eyes. "Let me tell you something Mike, if you give them you all they'll take it! They will literally love you to death."

I remember being stunned by the brutal honesty of the words. I couldn't help but think back to the 1980s when Mitch Synder was the homeless hero on the national stage. We were together from time to time though Mitch was far more radical, wearing his green Army field jacket because he was at war with a government that created policies that created homelessness.

At his zenith he forced President Reagan to give a building and funds to renovate and operate it for Washington D. C.'s homeless population. It was the first major victory in the war on homelessness and Mitch was a zealot to the cause.

Then not too long later, Mitch's body was found hanging in one of the rooms of the shelter that he had opened. He had given his all and they had taken it.

It is a fine line between how much to give and how much to keep of yourself, especially in a line of work where everybody needs everything all of the time.

Over the past year, I have learned that a lot of people love me. It is humbling when they reach out and make themselves available at a moment's notice. They believed in the things that I do, even when Union Mission almost went under, and they gave of themselves to ensure that it didn't.

And they believed in me even when I was having trouble believing in myself. Relentless encouragement is a very powerful thing and somehow I have ended up bearing things that were unbearable.

Now I hope that this year of transition and intrique is coming to an end. It certainly feels that way. At work, the old attitude is back and there is fun and energy that seems to grow a bit more every day.

At home, it is quiet. Goddess and I contemplate. My Beach Bum community spins humor that invades my life daily even when I'm trying to hide.

And watching the sun burst out of the ocean this morning reminded me of a song by Bruce Cockburn that begins, "Sun's up, uh-huh, the world survives into another day." And I have. And we have.

So I begin with a prayer for balance. Work, friends, myself, God's creation, and God too! The right amount of each please Lord! It seems that a lot of the last year it was all out of wack. Today, I ask for the peace that balance brings.

Expressions of Graditude

"Thank you!" she said as I climbed out of the car to make my way to the office.

"You're welcome," I replied as I made my way. Glancing at her, she was young, pretty, black and apparently a resident in one of our programs.

"No, I really want to thank you," she said, blocking my path.

"You're welcome," I repeated looking her in the eyes.

"No, I REALLY want to thank you," she said pulling down her tube top and exposing her breasts to me.

This was another one of those moments when I understood that this job of mine is diffferent from most. People come to Union Mission broken, hurt, filled with sorrow, and lost. They have abandoned or they have been abandoned. They are sick, addicted, mentally ill or void of hope. They are alone.

And that is where are work begins. Healing them. Housing them. Treating them. Encouraging them. Teaching them. Holding them accountable. Doing all of the things necessary to get them back to the place where they can take care of themselves and others.

Throughout the years, I have constantly been amazed at their ability to giive back once the healing process begins. Once when we were undergoing a hurricane evacuation, my family had already left town and I was working away trying to make certain that everyone had some place to go. Four of the residents of Grace House, stopped me and told me that I needed to go. They would take care of things for me because I had taken care of them. Now they were turning it around.

Another time I was in an automobile accident and my car rolled up on the curb in a neighborhood going through a transition. I crawled out of my car and sat on the sidewalk trying to collect myself.

"HEY!" I heard someone say, "that's the Rev!" and several people who used to be in our program surrounded me and cared for me. When the police car was arriving they knew their job was done.

"Uh, we gotta go Rev!" and they left me in care of the officers.

The point being that when we give, we get. Or to quote the Beatles, "and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make." That is really what Union Mission does.

So I sidestepped the young woman as small crowd was gathering anyway.

"You're welcome Babe," I said and went to work.

Cool Change

Let's review the past year, shall we. After building the most comprehensive system of care for the poor and the mentally ill in the nation, a piece of it collapsed under the weight of its own success.

It was brought down by short sighted bureaucrats, narrow minded providers who failed to grasp the significance of what is was, and by selfish competitors. While it was not perfect, it was the best that the country has yet to achieve for these very sick and needy people. Then it crashed and burned in a very public way.

I was made the scape goat, which is fine as it goes with the job. Anytime you try something that's never been done before you run the risk of being blamed if it fails. It did and I was.

In my 20 years at Union Mission, I had accomplished something that I had yet to achieve. I had failed. It left me devastated.

Then it was discovered that the leader of our finance team had stopped paying payroll taxes, in part to support the massive amount of services for the poor. Overnight I learned that we were $2.3 Million in debt to the government. Betrayal was added to devastation.

So the first six months of the year were spent working through these things. And we did. Then my father died. It was a sweet passing but grief was added to the things that I was already dealing with.

Over the last six months, I have worked hard to correct all of the things that had gone wrong. And we have been successful expanding health care services, housing options, and rebuilding an infrastructure for mental health services.

Then my private life began to experience a transition that I had not planned for and I find myself with more closet space than I'll ever need. And loss was added to the things that I faced. At times all of this became unbearable, but somehow I bore it.

I bore it because of the grace and support of far too many people to mention. But it was a community of believers who got me through. They believed in me. They believed in the things that I was doing. And magically each showed up at just the right time doing just the right things to get me here.

Now I am ready for a cool change, as the song title goes.

"Now that my life is so prearranged
I know that its time for a cool change
Wel I was born in the sign of the water
And it is there that I feel my best"

Throughout my career I have challenged my co-workers to embrace change. For the first time, I have fought it. Then I remembered my Dad dying. He had always been afraid of death but when the time came, he embraced it and brought peace to all of us.

So I am staring at change in the face right now and only have one thing left to say. "Come here bitch! Let's dance!"

Homeless Religion

I’m often charged with not being religious enough to be a minister. As John Ferguson once told me, “You’d make a great minister if you ever got saved.” I suppose it is because I do not fit the stereotype of what people think how a minister is to act. I’m sure the pony-tail is also a distraction. I really don’t give it very much thought.

Last week, however, I was in my office when one of the Grace House residents burst into my office with a great deal of enthusiasm.

“Rev. Elliott,” he said loudly while shaking my had, “we haven’t met, but I think that you’re doing fantastic work! I’ve also read some of your books and figured that you could use this.”

He handed me a book titled Faith On Trial, shook my hand again and wished me well. “I figure that you’ve been so busy that you’ve forgotten things that you should remember.” And he left.

The book was written by an attorney who analyzed the evidence for the death and resurrection of Jesus. I guess that he had reached the same conclusion that John Ferguson had about me. Nevertheless, I try very hard to listen to what homeless people say to me and figured that I owed it to him to read the book because he had read some of mine.

So sitting on the beach the following Saturday, I read a great one-sided argument that Jesus lived, died, and was resurrected. The author evidently decided that there was no need for a prosecutor because the defense evidence was so compelling.

I was making my way through the J. C. Lewis Health Center when I game face to face with him.

“I read your book,” I said.

“You’ve already finished it?” he asked as though he were surprised.

“Sure, finished it over the weekend,” I replied.

“Did it change your life?” he asked in all seriousness.

“I appreciate you sharing it with me,” I said, dodging his question.

“Great!” he responded, obviously drawing his own conclusions. “I knew that you needed to be reminded of some things. You’ll be better because of it.”

He again shook my hand very enthusiastically and we parted ways.

Homeless religion is an interesting thing. Just as many people find their way to God when they’re in jail, people who are homeless are also more open to considering religion as a tool to help them when the chips are down. I often hear them extolling one another to keep the faith or pray for one another. They’re theological conversations are most often about whether or not they have committed the un-pardonable sin or when the world is coming to an end. Sometimes they ask for a few moments with me to discuss these things when they learn that I have the title Reverend. Like others, they draw their own conclusions about what I’m supposed to be like. On the other hand, it leaves me feeling compassion for them as they struggle to make the most of the situation they find themselves in, often having little more than religion to cling to.

"Compassion is the sometimes fatal capacity for feeling what it’s like to live inside somebody else’s skin," says Frederick Buechner.

"It is the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too."

I suppose that this is one of the cornerstones of my religion.

Happy Endings

"How do you keep doing it after all of these years?" she asked me over lunch.

I shrugged my shoulders and took a second before I responded because, quite honestly, I am baffled that this career of dancing in depravity is approaching thirty years. My days are filled trying to instill hope and desire among the poor, the sick, the abandoned, and the scared. Burn out is common and few stay at it for this many years.

"I guess that I concentrate on the happy endings," I finally said. "I focus on the triumphs rather than the tragedies."

She stared at me for several seconds taking this end. We had known one another for years but it had been a while since I had seen her. Back then we had worked together for several years but she went on to work for the Judicial system and Union Mission kept taking more of me. We were trying to reconnect.

"Well, there are no happy endings in what I do," she finally said. "There are just sad stories."

This took me aback but we didn't linger on it and moved to other things. This happened several months ago but the exchange remains with me.

I believe in happy endings. Of course I am eternal optimist.

My friend Tracy Thompson tells me I continue to believe long after it is obvious that something is not going to happen. She says that I do this at the expense of myself sometimes. And I guess that this has been true from time to time. Even now when things are happening that I desperately wish were different, I remain optimistic.

But you know what, as I look back over my career, both my time at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel and at Union Mission, so much would have happened if I didn't believe that goodness can come out of desperate and sad situations.

Just at Union Mission, there would be no Magdalene Project, Phoenix Place, Barnes Center, Kole Center, J. C. Lewis Health Center, J. C. Lewis Behavioral Health Center, Brassler Dental Clinic, or Dutch Town campus. Hundreds of people would still be homeless. Thousands of people would not have access to health care. Each of these things happened, in part, because of my belief in happy endings.

Of course, there were a great many people who helped to bring these things about, but in each case, there was a moment when I said to myself first, "I believe."

I still feel sympathy for my friend. As I have observed her over the past several months, I've noticed that she has tried to take on special cases, attempting to create a happy ending every once in a while. I hope that she succeeds.

But I know for me, that even in the darkest of times, when love is lost and happiness seems far away, I believe that there will be a happy ending.

Talking to the Dogs

"Hey Goddess! This is supposed to be exercise!"

"Christ!" I tell myself, "I'm talking to a dog."

My dog doesn't walk. She meanders. Her nose is buried in a clump of clover that is growing beside the marsh. I sigh. There is no moving her along. She slowly sniffs her way following wherever the scents take her. And me. While I hold on to the leash, this is her walk.

She darts this way and that, pulls me backwards for a scent that we evidently missed when we first walked by, and I wonder if one of my arms is now longer than the other.

We finally make it to back river and I drop the leash as she races for Shirley's dock. When she was a puppy she was afraid to make her way to the end but now she runs to the end and wait on me. This is official petting break time. After I pet her and she wags her tail we resume the walk.

Turning the corner she sees our neighbor Art and again almost pulls my arm out of its socket. Art feeds her treats and Goddess takes a break while he and I talk.

Then we begin again and Goddess meanders this way and that letting her nose lead the way. She's never met a pile of dog crap that she didn't think merited investigation. And more often than not she will pee on top of it as though to say "Take that!"

When I was in college I worked at a veternary clinic. Every morening at 7:30 I would arrive and clean the cages. It was not a glamorous part of the business but for the better part of four years here there I was.

So I never imagined that I would own, or love, a dog. It was Julie's idea and she found Goddess. I had wanted to name her "God" because it is dog spelled backwards. And that she is a bitch and I thought that it would send a strong theological message that God can indeed be a woman! Anyway I lost that fight and we compromised with Goddess.

So now she is my constant companion and I love her deeply. She loves me back by crawling under me when I try to do push-ups and licking my face. She loves to nuzzle beside me as I write and she is fond of putting one paw on top of one of my feet. How can you not love that?

So I tolerate her meandering. It is the least that I can do because she brings love to this house. And everybody needs that.

Time to Dance

"Are you still dancing in depravity?" an old friend asked me. This is how my book "Why the Homeless Don't Have Homes and what to do about it" begins. This is the only book that I've written that won an award. I'm convinced it was because I use the image of dance all of the way through it.

ALl of these years later, it remains a good description of what I do for a living. Surrounded by depravity I remain convinced that people should dance.

Now to dance you have to put your heart in it or you just go through the motions. And when I find myself in those times when I can't seem to put my hand on my heart, then I long for when I can dance again. This is where I am today.

I work very hard on behalf of those who don't have too many others pulling for them. At Union Mission we add structure, accountability, and love to lives that have lost these things.

Once, many years ago, my friend and musician Chuck Courtenay, came to Grace House and we threw a New Year's Eve dance. He played and I can still see homeless men and women dancing. Chuck's wife Vicky coached those who lacked confidence and Julie and I threw ourselves around the cafeteria floor so that the night did not lose momentum.

There was no homelessness that night. AIDS was somewhere else. Addictions were locked away for a while. These things were replaced with smiles and laughter and movement.

So I am longing to dance today. I am tired of the funk of a broken heart. I want to swirl and twril and hold onto my partner. And I want to smile. So Chuck, send out a song for me today. It is time for me to move again.

Politics. Or Not!

Yesterday it was religion. Today, why not politics? Let's get it all out of the way before the weekend.

I sat beside my dear friend Stacy Jennings at Memorial University Medical Center"s "Business Leaders VIP lunch". Homelessness is a big business after all and Union Mission is a big company so I was invited along with about one hundred others.

Former CNN News Anchor Bob Losure was speaking on Health Care Refore. Or the lack thereof. He said that while reform is desperately needed, because we cannot afford to continue doing what we are doing, both the Democrates and the Republicans have lost the ability to work together. They demonize one another and propose ideology ahead of practical proposals. It is this lack of leadership by both parties that is costing this country everything.

He then facilitated a group discussion as to how we may work oursevles out of this mess. After a while, everyone seemed to agree to not expect anything out of Washington. Or Atlanta. If we were going to do anything then we were going to need to do it ourselves at the local level. And that we were going to need to do it in bite size pieces.

Then Phil Schaengold, President of Memorial, stood and proclaimed that this community had already begun. The Community Health Mission and Union Mission's J. C. Lewis Health Center were starting points. He then announced that he and I have been discussing expanding our partnership to add more health care access points. And we are. And we will.

Sure we will get assistance from Washington and Atlanta. We just won't get much leadership from them.

OK, I've said it and I feel better. Now I'm ready for the weekend!

Religion. Or Not.

Standing in the lobby of Grace House I watched Aretha Jones walk inside. Aretha is the Vice-President of Health Services. I asked if she was coming to give me a hug. We've been working on adding a pharmacist to the staff and I found one who is interested.

"No," she quickly replied, I am coming to get away from stinky people."

"What?" I asked.

"My lobby is full of stinky people waiting to see the doctors," she explained. "I couldn't stand it anymore so I came over here."

"Is it Inner City day?" I asked.

She laughed and said no and we went on to talk about other things.

But, the smell of poverty is mildew and rot. There are times when it can be overwhelming. Fortunately we do not see too much of this at Union Mission but there are times like yesterday when those who never come inside do show up needing help. And that is what we do. It is core to our values and it is core to our religion.

The prophet Isaiah tells us that if we meet a homeless person then we are to take them home with us. Union Mission is one of the ways that this community does what the prophet commands.

Jesus adds, "the poor will be with you always so that you may be kind to them." Union Mission is one of the ways that this community is kind to them.

Then I had lunch with my friend Mary Ann Beil. After catching her up on what has been happening in my life, she insisted that I listen to an interview with the Irish philosopher, poet, mystic John O'Donahue. He was talking about his book Anam Cara, which means soul friend. It is a Celtic Christian term that describes how our relationships transcend the physical. Mary Ann was insisting that the events that my life have taken has pushed me into defining my key relationships into soul friends.

Driving back to the office, I could not help but connect several dots in my life. The unending commitment to help those around me could never occur were it not for the sustaining love and concern of many people in my life. Soul friends.

Then back at the office I could smell the smell of human need again. Then Keller Deal made me do mundane work. We needed a new policy on how staff should interact with members of the Army of Salvation. So she and I wrote it.

Then a dear friend texted me and asked how I was doing. I told him that I am ok. He responds with "All you can do is control you. Our journey in this life is so full of pain."

"You are so Catholic!" I reply. Don't get me wrong, I love a good liturgy as much as anyone but I don't think that God endorses the pain and guilt lifestyle as much as some want us to believe.

Reflecting on the day, I realized that it had been filled with religion. The religion of the poor. The religion of Celtic Christianity. The institutional religions that exist in this community. That's a lot of religion in one day.

Now I am contemplating giving up religion for Lent.

The President's Visit

Yesterday I saw the President. I arrived at Savannah Technical College around 9:30, had my ID checked, and was told where to park. Then we were told to wait in the parking lot until someone would tell us to make our way to the room. This being Savannah, of course no one followed these instructions and a crowd formed in front of the entrance to the auditorium almost immediately.

A lot of people knew one another so there was a community feeling to the crowd. The rains had stopped and we all inched closer to the entrance way. The Secret Service were still putting together the security clearance area which seemed funny as we had all been told to be there by 10:00 for a 12:30 speech. We were and they weren't ready.

So I ended up standing my my friend Bill Daniel and we chatted about health care, Memorial Health, and Union Mission. We cracked jokes and enjoyed the wait. Katherine Oxnard made her way in front of us and then decided that she was a member of the media after all and left us for the media area.

All of the members of the City Council stood to our left and Mayor pro tem Edna Jackson was worried that her newly replaced knees would set off the metal detector.

Soon some 19 year old kid with an ear piece stood on a chair and yelled for us to take a giant step backwards. We did and then one at a time we were processed, checked for bombs or weapons and then allowed inside.

The venue was small and there was still a couple of hours to wait. Bill and I took chairs and then everybody just worked the room. The crowd was a "Who's Who" of Savannah politicians, Georgia politicians and our local Congressmen. The City's education institutions were well represented as were the hospitals. There also seemed to just be a lot of common folks. Bill and I wondered how some folks were able to get their kids inside.

Then people began taking their seats. The Presidential seal was placed on the podium. The Governor took his seat only to be upstaged by the Mayor who took his seat afterwards working the entire room before be did so. People clapped.

Then a large crowd of media entered to join the already packed media section. Dr. Kathy Love, President of Savannah Tech entered, then there was music and an announcement and there was President Obama. He shook the hands of politicians and jumped with energy to his place on the stage.

And he spoke for almost 20 minutes and was funny and serious and Presidential. Flashes from cameras erupted throughout. I snapped pictures and posted them to Face Book and I emailed one to Julie.

And then, in what seemed like seconds, he was finished and he worked the room from one end to another. People pressed forward to shake his hand. Bill and I just stood there taking it all in.

Then I saw one African-American lady that I know shake his hand. When she turned around she held that hand in the other one, staring at it in awe, then her face crumbled and tears filled her eyes. And I saw just how much a President can mean to someone. There was a lot of that.

And then he was gone. No one was allowed to leave until the Presidential motorcade started moving so we all found other friends to talk to. Brynn Grant and I laughed that we have spent the last month trying to schedule time together and have yet to succeed.

Then we were let out around 1:15. "Back to work," someone said. "Back to the real world," said another.

As I drove away I saw the crowds of people who adore the President and the protesters who loathe him. I stopped for lunch in a deserted restaurant and listened to two waitresses talking to one another.

"You know, the President's visit is killng business. I haven't made anything today." So I left an extra large tip. For me. And for the President.

Invitation Only

Today the President of the United States is coming to Savannah. His plane is to land at Hunter Air force Base and then he will travel to Savannah Technical College where I will be one of a couple of hundred people who will hear him deliver a speech on job creation.

It is an invitation only audience and I am curious as to who all will be there. I learned Sunday afternoon that I was invited. No doubt the crowd will be filled with politicians, media, and Chamber of Commerce members. Probably some clergy.

I am mindful that these years at Union Mission have certainly cost me a great deal, but I have also been rewarded a lot. Being invited to be in the same room with the President is certainly something that gives me pause.

Union Mission is a large company that just happens to produce human capital rather than the monetary type. It has a multi-million dollar budget and hundreds of employees, volunteers and supporters. At some point during the last year I have noticed how accepted we have become in the business community. I suspect that today's invitation came about, at least in part, because of this.

So I am interested in job stimulus. The Employment & Training Center and the Starfish Cafe are Union Mission's efforts to help in this category. Of course, I'm humbled to be included. But I understand that I will be representing all of those who never receive invitations to much anything. And I will do my best to represent them well.

Longing For Love

"Thank God that is my ceiling I am staring at," I thought to myself as my eyes cracked open.

I told myself to think backwards. My friends had kidnapped me for a night in Tybee's combat zone, which used to be called 16th Street but for some reason is now called Tybrisa Street. Regardless, the combat zone is filled with restaurants and bars and we were in one. Anyway, we had a good time but I was certainly glad that it was my own ceiling that I was staring at.

There is the old saying that a house is not necessarily a home and I have come to appreciate what this means. I think that it is love that exists inside of a house that morphs it into a home. Take the love away and it is just a house.

A house that used to have love in it resembles a museum. There are photographs, paintings and furniture that all represent the love that used to be in it. These things become constant reminders of a love that used to be.

In the same way most church buildings are more akin to empty tombs. It is all about finding where the love is, be it in a fellowship of people, a carnival of friends or in that other person who has captured your heart. And no matter how you try to regain control of it, once you've given it away you can never really get it all back.

Goddess must be feeling my emotions while I write as she nuzzels up beside me, tail a wagging and insist that I give her some love. So I pet her and run my fingers through her thick hair. She collapses at my feet putting on of her paws on top of my shoe.

So in spite of this museum of the past that I now live in, I express thanksgiving for a dog's love. And for the love of friends who took me to the combat zone. But most of all I long for the love that used to be here.