It's What Do Not What You Say

Today I am off to Atlanta for the quarterly meeting of the Georgia Interagency Council for the Homeless. Every unit of government is represented and there are two at-large members. Kathryn Preston, Executive Director of the Georgia Coalition to End Homelessness is one. I am the other. I missed the last meeting, made the one before that, but missed the one before that. I think that I got a perfect attendance star prior to that.

Georgia Department of Community Affairs Commissioner Mike Beatty, one of the Council’s co-chairs, proclaimed last time that I don’t attend anymore because Union Mission received a $5 and ½ Million dollar allocation to build Dutchtown, a 48 unit apartment complex for those with chronic conditions on Savannah’s south side. After a couple of years of construction due to design issues, it will finally open next month.

Mike is a supporter of our work, and we like one another a good deal. Dutchtown is also Georgia’s most ambitious housing development for this population and they are spending twice as much as the norm on it. “We will be studying it for years,” is how Doug Scott puts it. I think that he was making it known that he prefers me in these meetings.

While Mike was being funny, I am amazed that people often criticize me (if is hard for them to criticize Union Mission) because the Department of Community Affairs awarded Union Mission $5 ½ Million.

Or that DCA funds Union Mission about $500,000 each year for other programs.

Or that the U. S. Health & Human Services Administration gives it $1.2 Million annually for health care for the uninsured.

Or that the U. S. Department of Housing & Urban Development provide over $1 Million annually for Union Mission’s programs for people with AIDS.

Or that the Chatham County Commission awarded Union Mission $2.3 Million last year because of the development of a health care campus for the uninsured and homeless.

I could go on and tick off the $11 Million in funds that Union Mission brings to Chatham County annually but you get the point.

And I am often criticized by other people because over the course of 21 years, we have worked hard to cultivate the relationships, trust, and expertise to be responsible for such resources. "Oh you go and make your millions," one said to me one day when we were comparing notes. I'm uncertain what she meant as there is certainly plenty of need to go around.

None of these grants would have been possible however without the support of people in the Savannah region who support Union Mission with $10 contributions, or $50 donations, or $100, or $1000 or $10,000 or whatever people who care about what we do choose to give.

This is the foundation and Union Mission has been successful over the years of leveraging Millions of dollars that would have been spent somewhere other than here had it not been for these efforts.

Most people appreciate it and understand the significance of the impact on the community. An entire County has a higher quality of live because of the resources that Union Mission brings to it.

Still there are some who are critical. They feel that money should be theirs or that Union Mission has already received more than its fair share. They like the J. C. Lewis Health Center, the Starfish Café, or the Barnes Center but they are critical of Union Mission which made them all possible, along with our partners. They are forever saying that they are going to do something but never really do anything. They just talk about what they would do if...

It is comical as some will call the Health Center by its name or praise the Brassler Dental Clinic but they never choose to associate these programs with Union Mission. And they are critical of me most of all because of …well, I don’t really know.

And I don’t really dwell on it much but I am human and sometimes I just have to shake my head and wonder. Terry Cassidy, Vice-President of Parent & Child of Union Mission, says that we merely have a history of finding a need and meeting it for our community. Over the years, we’ve met a lot of need and have developed a massive multi-million infrastructure for the homeless and the working poor and anybody else who have needs that we have programs for.

So I try to keep it all in perspective. There are those who are critical regardless of what you do. It's important to listen to what they have to say, but in the end it is more important to do what you say you are going to do.

The Blessing of Laughter

I was at lunch with a friend at Johnny Harris’ restaurant, a Savannah institution, and we were deeply engrossed in conversation. When the food arrived, she said, “I’ll say grace,” and she began waving her hand over the plate making the sign of the cross.

“God Bless this food,” she began, picking up a bowl of Brunswick Stew, “and those who made this stew, including those illegal immigrants who picked these vegetables, underpaid though they were by the farmers, but God bless the farmers too, including the mass corporate farms that ran all of the family farms out of business!’

“And bless those Chinese sweet shops that used underage workers to make this China that our food is being served in. Especially those under the age of 14.”

By now I am laughing and she opens her eyes and begins to laugh. Then she spies my fried chicken, makes the sign of the cross and continues the blessing.

“God bless those who operate the chicken farms overseeing the cages that this poor bird lived his life in so that the profit margin could be maximized. God also bless the one that rung this chicken’s neck, ripping its head off, throwing it into a large garbage bag. God bless those that disposed of those garbage bags full of chicken heads whoever they are and however they do their work.”

I stared at her, still giggling, when she pronounced, “I’m becoming a Buddhist.”

“What kind?” I asked screwing my face up as if I had biten into a lemon. This wasn’t a religion that I am particularly interested in.

We both burst out laughing and continued our conversation. The prayer was a parody of something that she had read in Barbara Brown Taylor's new book "An Alter in the World." And the conversation turned serious and it took us in another direction.

She ate her Brunswick Stew. I consumed the headless chicken. And the conversation lasted a couple of hours, exploring the past, confessing the present and throwing wishful thoughts into the future.

You have to laugh, right? And you have to be willing to laugh at most anything, including yourself. Otherwise we would all become overwhelmed by all of the things that are wrong --- with our life, religion, where we work, the government, the world --- that we would all die of depression or from the sheer weight of everything that is wrong.

Of course, you have to laugh in the right places and with the right people. Otherwise you are being politically incorrect and that can get you sued, hated, locked up or crucified.

The job that I have is hard work. It is often joyous work, when people succeed against impossible odds. It is often heart-wrenching work when you’ve giving someone all that you have only to watch them fail. It is sometimes heart breaking work when they die and they shouldn’t have! And I give it my all because there is something very holy about the “least of these” that are easy to love in Church but become a completely different matter in real life. I’ve spent so much of my career publicly proclaiming that it is all right, we are all the same when it comes down to it, let’s all come together now and make one another better merely because we have gotten to know … one another.

Lately though, I have begun to realize that it takes more than a holy cause or good deeds or public successes to get you through. It takes laughter. Lots of it. And I have been fortunate enough to have collected these groups of friends who love to laugh. Gathering with them is every bit as important as prayer or voting or paying the I. R. S. on time. Without them and the spontaneous combustion of laughing with friends, none of us would be able to do what we do for very long.

The Joy of a Hangover Monday

On Friday night we had the annual Union Mission holiday and staff appreciation party. It is quite the event and former employees somehow still wish to attend. Held at the Savannah Italian Club, the food is to die for, the entertainment is hilarious(more on that in a minute)and it thanks a hard working staff that needs to blow it out at least once a year. This is hard work that we do at Union Mission, often heart-breaking work, and sometimes we simply need to celebrate. The annual party is that celebration.

It is also funny. Each staff competes against the other in competitive karaoke and this year's theme was "The King of Rock verses the King of Pop" and yes multiple Michael Jacksons and at least one Elvis was in the house. Each staff really prepares for this (Loosely prepares!)and there is laughing, booing, and mostly awful performances. One or two members of the staff actually have some musical talent but they are far outnumbered by the rest of us.

So we had Jailhouse Rock, Billy Jean and all of the great music of both artists. We also have a Dee-Jay who carries a large spoon around his waist and plays it like a base guitar throughout the night. And just as inexplicably, the Parent & Child staff won this year's compeition with Michael Jackson busting in on Elvis in the middle of a song for a musical show down. A group of mostly unbiased judges who could not be bought off, determined it was so.

Unlike previous years, there was not a great deal of smack talk leading up to the party. The main reason is that Union Mission is slammed in this economy and the staff is working overtime throughout the holiday season trying to manage the needs that keep showing up at our door.

And on this hangover Monday after the party, everyone will show back up today to care for the hundreds of people who will be there waiting for housing, health care, food, couseling, the dentist, and all of the other services that Union Mission provides day in and day out. This is an incredible, dedicated group of people who bleed for what we do and it is great to start another week with them.

What A Difference!

I was seated at the head table of the Chamber of Commerce's annual Eggs and Issues Breakfast for the third consecutive year. I have the R-E-V in front of my name, am pretty active in the Chamber and always attend the kick off to the state legislative season anyway. It must be for convenience that I am asked as there aren't too many ministers who attend the Chamber's political functions.

Anyway, as I was driving to the Westin Harbor Resort, crossing the Talmadge Bridge, I peered at the entire City below me. Church spirals shot above the massive green oak trees proclaiming the holiness of a green city that holds its traditions dear. The Savannah River was making its way to the ocean and the shops of River Street held watch over the massive tankers making their way into the ports. This is a beautiful place to live and work.

Then I was suddenly struck by a time when I did not think things were so beautiful. One year ago, things were bad. A collaborative that I had invested years in had exploded and was front page news. The strain and stress of trying to hold the collaborative together was wearing me out and leaving me exhausted. At the same time I was experiencing the very public betrayal of a partner that I had trusted for more than a decade. I felt as though I was living in a fishbowl and the entire City was watching and commenting on everything that I was doing.

And while all of this was happening, Trip Tollison called and asked me to again deliver the invocation at the Eggs and Issues breakfast. 500 Community leaders again gathered and I was seated at the head table beside the delegation of state representatives. Senator Eric Johnson, now running for Governor, and I quietly talked about everything that was happening at Union Mission while we ate. Then I was introduced and said a prayer and led the assembly in the Pledge of Allegiance.

As I drove across the bridge, seeing the city, and remembering that experience, I realized what a power symbol it was at that time. While I may have stumbled, I had not fallen. I had friends in high places who still believed in what we were doing. The Chamber was expressing that friendship. It was a humbling and powerful realization.

So yesterday I sat next to Senator Lester Jackson and we laughed and cut up throughout breakfast. This was much more of a celebration than the previous experiences. I spoke to many of the hundreds gathered personally and the vibe was one of comrades and friendship.

Then I thought of all of the other friends who had reached out throughout the past year. I expressed gratitude to the Union Mission Board of Directors who stood fast and made miracles happen. The Union Mission staff who kept working throughout the trauma, doing what they do best, which is making the entire City a better place to be. And all of my friends who reached out and expressed their love through small gestures and grand expressions.

Driving to the office after the breakfast, I couldn't but help think what a difference a year makes. Then I realized that it wasn't the year that made the difference. It was the friends.

Fallen Angels

I often go to Fannie’s On-The- Beach which is an ocean front restaurant where my carnival-of-friends congregate on a daily basis. Some people go to Mass. I go to Fannie’s. Both gatherings involve wine, bread, and the passing of the peace, although the later is spelled differently depending on the location. Both have someone holding court saying how things should be while the crowd pretends to pay attention. And both invoke the name of God countless times during the course of the gathering.

There are, of course, differences. One has angels, the other has Roma. One has a cleric who pretends to be above reproach and the other has Johnny O who isn’t above much anything. One has sinners seeking absolution and the other has sinners seeking Absolute (vodka). One has the ringing of bells and the other has bells being rung. One has organ music and the other has organs being exposed. You get my point. They are similar, yet very different.

My friends Jenny Orr and Christy Alan have decorated the place and I love it. A plaque reads “Travel is fatal to bigotry and prejudice,” a quote by Mark Twain. The place is a funky, hip, seaside place where it is always “Time to Eat!”

Above the bar though is a framed poster that I love. It is two angels, portrayed as two cherubs, chubby white cheeks with blond curly hair, naked and sitting at a bar, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. One is looking heavenward as though asking “what have I done?”, while the other seems to be enjoying the moment. The caption on the poster is “Fallen Angels”.

I am there a lot but on Thanksgiving I finally made Fannie’s annual Thanksgiving feast. It was closed to the public but open to the regulars (and anyone else who wandered in). A pot-luck was held but the kitchen was busy pumping it out too. And everyone who had no place else to go or who would have rather been there than anywhere else gathered and the place reeked of holiness.

It is hard not to invoke Billy Joel’s song and quote “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the Saints” and that is certainly the case when I gather with my friends at Fannie’s. We laugh. We laugh at most anything, including government, religion, Tybee Island Parking services, tourists, locals, and one another. Especially at one another! Last time that I was in Mass, no one laughed.

I hang around a lot of Fallen Angels in my life and I like it. Every day in my work I observe sinners and saints sleeping side by side in the beds of homeless shelters. They extol one another in the respite care rooms of the J. C. Lewis Health Center where they have been discharged from the hospital. They hold hands at Phoenix Place where they have recently discovered their HIV diagnosis. They cry on one another shoulders at Parent & Child where they have been referred by the courts and they are scared to death at what their futures hold. They share their food in the Barnes Center because this is the first real family that they’ve had in years. And they make room for more in the Kole Center because the place that some were staying was closed and the only other choice was back on the streets.

Come to think of it, the only angels that I’ve ever met have been fallen ones. Save perhaps those on Sunday morning television or cable where no one ever sins. In my life, I’ve actually met some of those never-fallen sinners, you know like Jim and Tammy Faye, and in reality they had all fallen just like I have. Just like everyone that I’ve ever met has. I’ve never figured out why so many people try to pretend that they haven’t. We all share that in common just like we all share birth or breathing or lust or sorrow or happiness or death.

So today is another day with my friends the fallen angels. And those who pretend that they have never fallen. I cannot imagine hanging around any other kind.

Remnant Communities

I've come to believe in remnant communities. I suppose that I fell into my first one in college. Guy Sayles, Mitch Wesley, Dr. George Shriver, Dr. Del Presley and this loose collection that hung around the Baptist Student Union were the first to push me towards looking at life differently. I recall that we were often in trouble.

In seminary it was Bill Berry, Claude Drouet, Beth Bell, Diane Reel, Michael Freeman, Cindy Weber, Chester, Sonny, Bruce and a crazy collection of people achieved something very different in Louisville, Kentucky. We kidnapped a church from the Southern Baptist Convention. Sunday School rooms were turned into apartments. The Baptismal Pool became a bathtub. The annual watching of "A Carlie Brown Christmas" somehow became the zenith of worship. Nothing was off limits to us and even Santa Claus was once put on trial for selling out Christmas to commercialism. We were liberal, conservative, gay, straight, black, white, poor...and we always seemed to be in some sort of trouble. For a few years, it was magic.

Then for the past two decades in Savannah there has been Union Mission. Diane Reel (again), Karen Jack, Julie Walsh, Lavanda Brown, Rodger Pack, Joe Bridges, and a thousand other names. Grace House was built. Then the Magdalene Project, Phoenix Place, Potters Place, the Hacienda, the Employment & Training Center, the J. C. Lewis Health Center, the Barnes Center, the Kole Center, the Brassler Dental Clinic, Parent & Child, the Behavioral Health Center and soon, Dutchtown. The volume of what has been accomplished for a small city is mind-boggling and Savannah is a much different place because of it. And we were often in trouble because of it.

So last night, I stood in a parking lot listening to Diane DeVore read the names of those who have died from AIDS. Perhaps a hundred people had gathered. A City Alderman was present. High School students. Lavanda had brought her son. Susan Alt of the Health Department was there with her husband Ron. A lot of Union Mission staff. A lot of homeless people. A few people simply walked up from the community. Candles were lit. Songs were sung.

Then Stephanie Dixon stood and talked. She oversees Union Mission's HIV programs. She spoke with passion and through tears and I was struck by the fact that she is a leader of the next generation of a remnant community. And I found great comfort in knowing that.

The Scriptures say that God will always raise another prophet. Last night I saw some taking shape and that is a gratifying and humbling thing.

Remember (Christmas and AIDS)

I have come to associate World AIDS Day with Christmas. The City's squares and parks are all decorated and for the 19th year, Union Mission is hosting a Memorial Service this afternoon at 5:30. This is the first time that we haven't sponsored or co-sponsored the event when it was held in a city square.

The very first service was in Johnson Square in downtown Savannah. There were perhaps fifty of us gathered and having a candlelight vigil. There were several hundred waiting on us to finish so that the Town Crier would flip the switch and all of the Christmas lights would come on at the same time. Everyone was respectful until we finished. We said "Amen". He screamed "Merry Christmas!" and as we blew out our candles, white lights blazed and illuminated the square.

The next morning, the Savannah Morning News covered both events, but the pictures made it appear that hundreds had attended the first AIDS Memorial Service.

In the following years, it moved to Forsyth Park, Savannah's crown jewel. And every December 1, hundreds really would attend. White bags were illuminated with candles inside and each bag had the name of someone who had died because of AIDS. One year, I read the names of each person who had died from Savannah and was struck by the fact that I had personally known almost every one of them.

One year, Bubba Haupt and a couple of people crashed the service, when they arrived carrying a six foot cross into the middle of the crowd. Bubba was a very conservative evangelist who had taken to calling me a "secular humanist" and a pagan in the Savannah Morning News.

Anyway, Bubba and his friends mostly stood there during the service. At the end there was a moment of silence for all of those who had died from AIDS. Bubba and his friends took this opportunity to begin softly singing "Jesus Loves You."

I remember that Robert Bush had been the last speaker and was still at the microphone. Without missing a beat, Robert softly joined in and led the entire crowd in singing along as though it were part of the service. Bubba and his friends quickly left as soon as the song was over.

So I was saddened to learn that no one else wanted to sponsor or co-sponsor the event this year. There are no longer available resources to secure Forsyth Park. Interest seems to have wained.

But I am proud that Union Mission will continue it anyway on Fahm Street. During Christmas, and throughout the year, I think that we should remember.