Tag Archives: Madison

Stir up your power, O Lord: Reflections on the Abundant Life Shootings

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I sent the following to the congregation yesterday:

Dear friends in Christ,

The collect for the Third Sunday of Advent reads:

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen.

Our hearts are breaking; our hearts are broken. The scourge of school shootings has come here to Madison. We are confronting the horrific violence, the trauma, and the grief that so many communities across the nation have experienced over the years. Many of us are also reacting with anger and frustration over the inability of our nation and our society to take the common-sense steps that could prevent such tragedies in the future. It might seem like this is the final straw; that on top of all the other events of the last years, the anxieties, fear, and despair that many of us are feeling, that we cannot go on. The burden is too great, the way forward too difficult. 

Yet the collect above and the Season of Advent reminds us that all is not lost, that we should not allow our fear and despair to overwhelm and immobilize us. Christ comes among us in humility and weakness, revealing God’s power and love, preaching the coming of God’s reign. Even as we grieve the deaths and injuries and condemn the violence, we can also come together to work for change, to stand in solidarity with the suffering, to gather for comfort and consolation.

Christ comes to a broken and hurting world, to a broken and hurting humanity. Christ comes to us in our grief and pain. His coming offers joy and hope in the midst of our sadness, anger, and grief. May his joy and hope sustain us in these difficult days, and may his boundless love transform our lives and the world.

A reflection on the life of Ada Deer

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Ada Deer

August 24, 2023

I certainly didn’t know Ada as long or as deeply as Art, or Ben, or Joe, or Lynn, or many of you. In fact, when we met on the day after her 88th birthday to talk about this service, I told her that there was no need for me to say anything, but she insisted. So if you don’t like what I have to say, or think I speak too long, blame Ada.

As I listened to the Menominee Second Island Drum and singers, I reflected on this historic event, and on this historic space. In the 165 years since Grace Church was built, it has witnessed thousands of worship services but I wonder what past parishioners would think of what we are witnessing today—a room filled with Native American people, their music, honoring someone who did so much for her people and is a icon of resistance and resilience.

I met Ada probably 7 or 8 years ago when Lynn brought her to Grace to attend an anti-racism workshop she had organized. It was after church; and as soon as I walked in the room, Lynn pulled me aside to introduce me to Ada. I sat down, and after introductions, almost the first thing out of her mouth was a rather salty take on Christianity. She may have been surprised that I wasn’t taken aback or offended. As a trained historian I knew about the effects of White settler colonialism on Native peoples, their culture, and their lives. From Ada and others I have learned a great deal more, especially about the horrors of the boarding schools that resulted in generational trauma.

I was surprised, deeply humbled and honored both for myself and for Grace Church, that Ada us to hold a memorial service in her honor. When I agreed, I wasn’t quite sure just what I was agreeing to. After her death, as I began to read the accolades in local, state, and national media, I began to realize more clearly how important Ada was to her tribe, the Native American community, and to our nation’s history. And I’ve been surprised over the last couple of weeks when I mention her name to friends and acquaintances in the community who are not connected with the circles of political or civic activism, the University or progressive circles, at how many people were touched by her life, people she didn’t even know.

 It speaks to her prominence and to her generosity of spirit and openness to others; it also speaks volumes about the deepening relationship she developed with Grace Church and its members as we have examined the history of Christianity and Native peoples, and begun to take steps toward restorative justice.

To take measure of a life like Ada’s is no easy thing and to place it in a larger context of the struggle for justice and equality of Native Americans, or American Indians as Ada preferred to call her community, is beyond the scope of what we can do on this day. That is something for historians to reckon with in coming years. Still Ada’s life is a testament to the ongoing struggles of American Indians and to their resilience in the face of centuries of oppression and violence.

Our scripture readings today speak to this moment and to our efforts to honor and remember Ada. From the Hebrew Bible or Old Testament, words written over 2500 years ago that remind us of the passage of time, of cycles of mourning and joy, life and death, laughter and tears. Our memories of Ada evoke so many emotions: gratitude, love, respect. We may laugh as we remember her love of humor and her own beaming smile. We may cry as we feel the loss of her presence, and a world that seems just a bit smaller and less colorful with her passing. But the words from Ecclesiastes are words of comfort, reminding us that our grief will fade in time, even as our memories linger to be cherished and shared.

From the gospel, we heard the beatitudes, blessings that Jesus spoke to his listeners in his first sermon recorded in the Gospel of Matthew. They speak directly to us as well: Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. More broadly, they reflect Jesus’ overall message calling into existence a new community, a new way of being in the world—a community of love, peace, and radical inclusion. It is a vision that has often been obscured and distorted to fit political agendas, military conquest, oppression. Those distortions were among the reasons for Ada’s distrust of Christianity. In our day these distortions have become even more pronounced, being twisted into the sins of White Supremacy and Christian Nationalism. But Jesus’ words continue to call out to us across the centuries, to work for justice, and peace, and to care for the most vulnerable; to welcome the stranger, and the alien; to build bridges across communities divided by histories of hatred, violence, and oppression. 

It was something of that same vision that Ada embodied in her tireless and inspirational work for justice for American Indians, in the vast network of friends she made over the years, in the community she built and nourished wherever she found herself. She called all of us to do better; to listen to the stories of the marginalized and vulnerable, to unite with those working for justice, to break the bonds of oppression, and to heal the wounds and scars of trauma.

We are here to mourn, to remember, to celebrate Ada’s life, to give thanks for all that she did in her long and illustrious career. But we would be unfaithful to her spirit if we left it at that. Today should also be a time when we renew our spirits, rekindle our hope, and gather our strength. Let us go from here into the world to share Ada’s passion for justice, to continue her work for equity, and to build community across difference. May we all one day, see justice roll down like water, and righteousness like an ever flowing stream.

It’s time to leave our nets and our boats: A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday after Epiphany, 2023

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Over the years, I have developed a pattern as I begin working on my sermon for Sunday. I try reading Sunday’s texts early in the week—one of my profs recommended reading them already on Sunday afternoon, but I never do that. Then I go back through my files to look at sermons I preached on the text in previous years. There may be a hint of something that I can build on, an idea I didn’t develop, that could be woven into this year’s sermon.

As I am now in my 14th year at Grace, and going on twenty years of preaching regularly, this practice has become something of a journey into my past, and into the recent history of Grace, as well. Just to give you two examples. In 2014, when I preached on this Sunday, I talked about how we opened our doors to the homeless on MLK Day that year when there was no other location for them to go. That experience catapulted me into the center of efforts to create a day shelter in Madison. In fact, a photo from that day showed up in my Facebook memories on Friday.

Three years later, in 2017, it was just after the inauguration of the last president, and the day after the Women’s March, another occasion when we opened our doors for people to gather, rest, and warm up. 

Both of those events, and it’s just a coincidence that they occurred in conjunction with this Sunday’s lectionary readings, are evidence of our efforts to use our space for outreach and to support the community. If you’ve been around here for a while, you know that we have done many other things in this regard—opening our doors during protests, for groups to gather before and after engaging with legislators, for our food pantry, for the homeless shelter, for concerts.

Over the last year, we have engaged in conversations about our witness and mission in the community. These conversations have seemed especially urgent as the shelter’s departure at the beginning of the pandemic not only left a lot of vacant space in our building, it also left a gaping hole in our congregational identity and mission.

All of those conversations are beginning to bear fruit. Over the last few weeks, I have met with a couple of entities that are interested in using our space for their work. You will all hear more about this in the weeks to come, as proposals are presented and more details emerge. 

As we reflect on where we have been as a congregation, where God is calling us in this present moment, it seems especially appropriate that today’s gospel reading points us directly toward the question of call. We often hear a text like this and want to interpret it light of our own lives, to reflect on God’s call of us, and where Jesus might be asking us to follow him.

Let’s delve into the text. First of all, a bit of context might be helpful. We’re dropped into Matthew’s story of Jesus after he was baptized by John, and after his temptation in the wilderness. So today’s gospel reading comes immediately after Jesus has been tempted by Satan. It’s the beginning of his public ministry, and it begins on an ominous note, after John’s arrest.

Matthew tells us that after hearing of John’s arrest, Jesus withdraws, he returns to Galilee, his home country, presumably having been further south, around the Jordan River, where he was baptized, where John was preaching, and where he himself was tempted. 

In essence, Jesus is going back home; but he’s going there because Herod arrested John the Baptist. It’s likely that Jesus felt himself under threat and suspicion because of the action taken against John; after all, the two were associated. 

So one might imagine that Jesus was feeling fearful, concerned about the future, concerned about his future. But he did not hide. He may have gone to Galilee, but in the midst of whatever fear he might have had, he chose at that very moment, in all of the uncertainty, to begin his public ministry. More than that, Jesus emphatically chose to continue John the Baptist’s ministry. Matthew reports as a summary of Jesus’ proclamation: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near.” 

Let me pause and make two observations because to twenty-first century ears, this language sounds overly pious and a bit old-fashioned. When we hear the word “repent” our minds go to the overt rituals and drama of repentance—feeling shame and guilt over sins and seeking God’s forgiveness, whether we do this individually and privately, or in the context of the sacrament of Confession. Similarly, “kingdom of heaven” sends our minds to pearly gates, angels with harps, and streets paved with gold. Both of those sets of images are misleading.

The word translated here as “repent” is the Greek “metanoiete” which literally means “change your mind.” So it’s not so much feeling remorse for one’s actions and seeking forgiveness, but a complete transformation in one’s point of view; the way one looks at the world, perhaps even, a transformation of who we are at our very core. 

Similarly, while Matthew almost exclusively uses the phrase “kingdom of heaven,” it’s his wording for what in the gospels of Mark and Luke is called the kingdom of God and kingdom should be thought of not as a place, a territory or nation, but a qualitative existence—we could say “reign of God.” We will have a great deal more to say about the reign of God as we work through the Gospel of Matthew this coming year. Especially now, we might even translate it as “empire” and interpret Jesus’ proclamation of the “empire of God” as a direct challenge to Rome. God’s power and justice is present around us and in this very world, confronting and overturning the power and oppression of Rome.

From that brief summary of the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry, Matthew turns to the story of Jesus calling the first disciples. In its brevity and simplicity, it invites all sorts of questions. Why did Peter and Andrew, James and John, respond in such a way to Jesus’ call? Did they know Jesus? Had they heard about him? Was it something in his demeanor that motivated them? Were they so ground down and dispirited by lives caught up in the grinding poverty and oppression of Roman occupation that they jumped at the opportunity to break free? Or, as many scholars think, were they somewhat successful? If they owned their own boats, they may have had decent livelihoods. In any case, they left what they were doing, they left their families and homes, and followed Jesus. 

We may think it was an individual call, but it was a call in community and to community. Peter and Andrew, James and John, heard the call together, and answered it together, and when they followed Jesus, they were the first members of the community Jesus was calling into existence, a community that includes us and all those throughout the generations who have responded to that call.

We gather here, in this place, on this square, and with those who join us remotely in response to God’s call. In the heart of this city, God is calling us to share the good news of Jesus Christ, to work for justice and peace. 

Last Sunday, we heard Mark Charles speak eloquently about the injustices the people of the United States have inflicted on Native Americans over the centuries; how our most revered heroes and presidents participated in and perpetrated those evils. He called us, not to reconciliation because that word assumes there was a prior state of relationship or community. Instead, he called us to conciliation, to building relationships with indigenous peoples, to become their allies and to build a more just and equitable society.

In Madison, we are hearing a great deal about the need for affordable housing. We are also seeing how efforts to change zoning laws, to make it possible to build more affordable housing, are resisted by some of our most progressive leaders and media, because those efforts threaten neighborhoods and historic districts. We’re all for justice and equity, except when our home values might be threatened, or when people of different ethnicity or socioeconomic status might move next to us.

Jesus is calling us to leave our boats, to leave our complacency and comfort, and follow him into a future and into community that welcomes all and where all might flourish. May we have the courage to follow him into that unknown and possible future.

On siting a new purpose-built men’s shelter

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I wrote this letter to the Mayor and Alders in advance of Tuesday’s common council meeting:

April 28, 2021

Dear Mayor and Alders:

For over 35 years, from 1985 through March 2020, Grace Episcopal Church opened its doors to some of Madison’s most vulnerable residents, hosting the Men’s Drop-In Shelter. For more than 11 of those years, I have served as Grace’s Rector (Senior Pastor). In countless meetings and encounters, I have received praise and gratitude from Madison residents and political leaders for our commitment to people experiencing homelessness. I have also had many uncomfortable encounters and been subjected to criticism from downtown business owners and residents who blame the shelter for attracting undesirable people, causing crime, driving down property values, and forcing downtown residents to move away. My response to them usually focused on reminding them that like others, people experiencing homelessness enjoy being downtown because of all that it has to offer, including a wide range of human services beyond the shelter. I also encouraged them to recognize that people experiencing homelessness are members of our community who deserve every opportunity to flourish.

I and members of Grace knew the importance of the shelter we housed. We were also aware of its limitations. Over the last years, it had become clear to us that our facilities were inadequate to the needs placed on us by our commitment to our guests. We began internal conversations about how best we might move the larger community to work toward a new purpose-built men’s shelter. In conversations with downtown stakeholders, homeless service providers, and advocates, we discerned the monumental task ahead of us. We met with city and county staff, Alders and County Supervisors, the former mayor and the County Executive. In each of those conversations, we were given the same advice: Unless we set a deadline (i.e., essentially evict the shelter), local government would take no action. Such a step was inconceivable to us. Not only would it be a public relations disaster; we also regarded it as a sin against the commandments to love God and one’s neighbor.

At an impasse, we contracted with Susan Schmitz to help us determine whether there was sufficient interest in energy in the wider community to work toward a new shelter. By November 2019, she was able to convene about twenty people representing homeless service providers and advocates, downtown stakeholders, elected officials, and city and county staff to begin working toward this goal. I expected that it would take 5-10 years and that finding a suitable location would be much more difficult than raising the money to purchase a property, design and build a facility, and fund operations. Then the pandemic arrived. With little fanfare the shelter left Grace on March 30, 2020, leaving us with an empty basement. I knew that shelter operations would never return to Grace in any likeness to its previous form. Our spaces were woefully inadequate, not up to current building codes, and potentially dangerous to the health and safety of guests. The responsibility for finding a new permanent location was now the responsibility of local government.

I don’t know whether the Zeier Rd. location is the best site for a new shelter. I don’t know whether other sites are still being considered or would be better suited for the purpose. I do know that any site will arouse steep opposition from neighbors who fear for property values, quality of life, and personal safety. 

I also know that in the 35 years that we have hosted the men’s shelter, we have continued to offer a full range of programming and worship with no major disruption or detrimental impact. Of course, staff and volunteers were often uncomfortable to see or pass through the line of men waiting at intake. On cold winter Sundays especially before the Beacon opened, we would often have shelter guests wander into our services in search of a warm space to hang out. I would instruct our ushers to leave them be and only ask them to leave if their snoring became a nuisance. The first Monday evening of each month, we welcomed shelter guests and others from the community into our parish hall for a sit-down meal with live music. Long after finishing their meals, you could see some men lingering to listen to the music, often with volunteers (teenagers, twenty-somethings, even women in their 70s) sitting next to them, sharing the joy of live performance and a bit of common humanity.

Certainly, we would find abandoned belongings, trash, and other items on our property. But the urine on our stone walls is as likely the product of college students wandering home at bar-time as it is from a homeless man who can’t find a public restroom. The occasional intoxicated person sleeping it off on our steps or the individual experiencing a mental health crisis may not have been a shelter guest the night before or indeed ever. I doubt the number of such incidents was greater at Grace than at any other downtown property. Unfortunately, no corner of our city or nation can be completely safe from all threats.

Living, working, worshiping in close proximity to a homeless shelter presents challenges but those challenges should be shared by the whole community, not just by a few neighbors. As a city and a county it is our responsibility to provide a welcome environment for all who live here, whether their residence is a homeless shelter or a luxury condo. If the purchase of the Zeier Rd property is approved or if another site is chosen, I pledge to do what I can to help the shelter’s immediate community welcome their new neighbors.

Sincerely,

The Rev’d Dr. D. Jonathan Grieser

The End of an Era: The departure of the men’s shelter from Grace

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The End of an Era. What is God’s call for Grace Church now?

The news reports this week made public what had been clear to many of us since the beginning of the pandemic. The men’s homeless shelter that has been at Grace since 1984-5 will have a new permanent home funded by the City of Madison and Dane County. While the announced location fell through today, the City and County remain committed to finding a new, permanent location.

When the lockdown began in mid-March, Porchlight the agency operating the shelter, the city, and the county scrambled to find a suitable alternative. On March 30, shelter operations were moved to the Warner Park Community Center on the north side. The close quarters of Grace and the overflow shelters at St. John’s Lutheran and First Methodist simply couldn’t provide adequate space for social distancing and for the health and sanitation protocols that were necessary to prevent widespread infection. Within a few weeks, it became clear that the space at Warner Park was much better suited for shelter operations and in spite of the transportation challenges, both staff and guests preferred the new facility.

As time went on and the pandemic continued, the possibility that shelter operations could return to the downtown churches became more and more unlikely. The city began seeking alternative locations for a permanent shelter and we at Grace began thinking about a future without the shelter. The announcement this week brought this period of uncertainty to an end.

There’s an enormous irony here. I have been at Grace since 2009 and for much of that time, my ministry has involved work with homeless people and around advocacy. Some years before I arrived, efforts to find a new location foundered on neighborhood opposition and political apathy. In the early 2010s, it took several years and several failed attempts to find a suitable location for a day resource center; a process that culminated with the opening of the Beacon in October, 2018.

At Grace, we had begun talking about the need for a new shelter. After extensive renovations funded by Epic in 2010, the shelter again was beginning to show signs of wear and tear. Beyond that, the small size of the facility, its minimal accessibility to people with mobility issues, the fact that guests were forced to wait in the elements before entry, were ongoing problems that no amount of money could solve. For several years, we had conversations internally and approached downtown partners, city and county staff, and elected officials about the inadequacy of the current facility and the need for others to step up and take responsibility for solving the problem.

Our conversations were always cordial and supportive but they were also inconclusive. The former mayor asked us when we entered his office, “What’s your deadline?” Everyone agreed that a new shelter was desperately needed; but no one seemed willing to expend the political capital, or the time and energy to see it through. Finally, we began to work on our own. With the help of an outside consultant, we gathered a group of advocates, elected officials, and downtown stakeholders to begin the process of working toward a new shelter. The group had its first meeting in November 2019. In March 2020, the pandemic arrived in Madison.

The pandemic accomplished what we couldn’t. It demonstrated the inadequacy of the facility and raised to the level of emergency the urgency of developing an alternative. I’m enormously grateful to local governments, to the mayor and County Executive, to alders and supervisors, to county, and especially to city staff who have been working on this. A process I anticipated would take at least five years has reached a first, important milestone in a little over six months.

This does mark the end of an era. We received notice a few weeks ago that Porchlight would be terminating its lease as of the end of 2020. A relationship that has continued for thirty-five years with Porchlight and its predecessor agencies is coming to an end. Our identity as the church with the shelter is also coming to an end. Even as we celebrate the new beginning and look forward to a new purpose-built facility, we also take great pride in those people whose vision first welcomed the shelter to Grace, and the volunteers who supported it over the decades—the thousands who prepared and served meals over the years. For us at Grace, homeless ministry became part of our core identity; it attracted members and it shaped us as a congregation. We did more than welcome homeless people to the shelter; we welcomed them to our services and to our fellowship activities.

The shelter’s departure comes at a time of crisis in Madison’s downtown. The pandemic and protests have transformed our neighborhood. The downtown with its many restaurants, shops, the vibrant arts community, all have been devastated over the last six months. Despair and fear are palpable as one walks the empty sidewalks. 

Grace Church has been a presence on Capitol Square for over 175 years; our building dates from 1858. We have seen a lot over that time and the square has seen enormous change. This is a time of great uncertainty as we don’t know what life will look life after the pandemic. We don’t know whether many of the changes we have seen will be permanent. But as we look into that uncertain future and ponder what Grace’s identity and mission might be in the years to come, we must respond faithfully and creatively to the opportunities that present themselves. The departure of the shelter frees us to imagine new possibilities for our spaces and to explore new ways of connecting with our neighbors, including homeless people who will continue to live among us downtown.

Coincidentally, I had organized a meeting for tonight of our mission/outreach committee and our newly re-formed Master Plan Steering Committee, to begin a conversation about future ministry and mission at Grace and how our space might contribute that work. The public announcement of a new location underscores the importance of these conversations.

Protests, Pandemic, and Parish Ministry

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Over the past few days, I have struggled to put into writing the feelings that welled up in me when I arrived at Grace Church on Tuesday, June 2 and saw the devastation on Capitol Square and State St. from the riots the night before. It was the third morning in a row that I had come down to Grace, the first time since early March that I had been downtown on three consecutive days. I had come to make sure Grace Church property was ok. Fortunately, we were spared the violence and destruction.

But just a few feet away, it was a different story. The graffiti and broken windows along W. Mifflin St. and State St. continued onto N. Carroll with the History Museum also a target for protesters. Lady Forward on the Capitol was drenched in red paint.

I have watched in horror and anger as the scenes of violence and destruction fill our media. Peaceful protests against the murders of unarmed African American civilians by police have turned into violent rampages destroying property and the livelihoods of people who were already suffering from the economic impact of the pandemic. Instead of working to calm us and bring us together, the President seems to be fanning the flames of violence and uses teargas and brute force to clear a path for a photo op in front of an Episcopal church.

I have a profound sense of helplessness and foreboding as I witness events unfold both nationwide and here on Capitol Square. Grace Church has been a symbol of Christ’s love on the square for more than 150 years and we are called in this time to continue to share that love, to work for justice and reconciliation, and as we repent for our sins to ask God’s forgiveness and the strength to amend our lives.

Ever since I became Rector of Grace, I have been urging us to seek our mission in our neighborhood and we have done that. We have hosted the men’s homeless shelter for over 35 years, a food pantry for over 40, and in the last decade we have opened our doors to concerts, protesters, press conferences, and gatherings of all sorts. We are engaged in important anti-racism work through our Creating More Just Community task force and our Outreach Committee is exploring new ways of serving Christ in our neighborhood and throughout our city.

But as I’ve reflected on the images I’ve seen of the demonstrations and rioting, the looting, and as I’ve seen for myself the graffiti and boarded up windows on Capitol Square and State Street, I have been disturbed to the core of my being. I’ve never made much of those surveys that proclaim Madison’s desirability as a place to live but it has been my home for almost 11 years. I have loved living here. But the graffiti and broken windows remind me of the stark reality lying beneath the veneer of beauty, progressive politics, and gourmet restaurants. The deep racial and economic inequities of our city and county are the foundation on which everything else is built here. I’ve seen those realities first-hand as I’ve worked with homeless people and with people of color who are trying to make ends meet in an expensive city on minimum wage jobs or struggling with a criminal justice system. The violence that broke out in Madison earlier this week is a reflection of the violence we don’t see; the violence perpetrated by racism on the bodies and lives of African Americans every day, in the pricks of micro-aggressions and the institutional violence of schools that fail to educate African American children and an economy that discriminates in every way against African Americans.

In the middle of the chaos stands Grace Church, a silent symbol of Christ’s love and a testament to faithful generations who have worshipped here and supported our ministry over the decades. As I’ve said many times before, our spiritual ancestors who chose to build a church on Capitol Square had a particular vision of civic and religious community, one in which the Christianity of the mainline was a pillar of civic engagement, one of the ways in which community norms were maintained and articulated.

That nineteenth century vision of civic community has not survived into the twenty-first century. The political divisions that have been a hallmark of Wisconsin have torn at the fabric of our state and city. The vibrant public square envisioned by the first Madisonians and still evident from time to time in the recent past—the Dane County Farmer’s Market and Concerts on the Square being two examples—has crumbled under the divisions: competing demonstrations from different sides of the political spectrum. At times, we have sought to be a bridge across that divide but at the same time, we have consistently advocated for policies consistent with biblical concern for the stranger and alien, the widow and orphan, the poor and oppressed.

Events earlier this week in DC are evidence of another version of the relationship between the Episcopal Church and our political system—as a prop for violence, hatred, and corruption. If we cannot clearly and consistently preach Christ crucified, who was reconciling humans to each other and to God, who challenged the forces of violence, oppression, and empire, who himself died as a victim of injustice, oppression, and empire, we will no longer be faithful to the gospel with which we have been entrusted, to the God whose image we bear, and to the Christ who was executed because he challenged the powers and principalities.

I have remarked in sermons and conversations with others that COVID-19 has led to an abandonment of the public square. On the few times I visited Capitol Square over the last two months, the silence and emptiness of the square was palpable. Often, the only sound was the bells ringing the hours from Grace’s tower. The depopulation of the square was eerie; devoid of people, the square seemed like the set of a post-apocalyptic film. Our building is almost as empty as the square itself. Public worship is suspended; the homeless shelter has moved to the Warner Park Community Center; and our pantry is operating with a skeleton crew of volunteers.

But we cannot abandon our ministry and mission here. It is more important than ever. With our congregation dispersed throughout the city and the county and our meetings conducted almost entirely via the internet, it might be easy for us to adopt one of those clichés about the church being the people and not the building. We are a parish, which is not just a gathering of people. It is also tied to a location. In our case, it is tied to downtown, to Capitol Square.

Even in our current circumstances with no in-person worship and virtual gatherings, we are called to share the good news of Jesus Christ in our community. We are called to love our downtown neighbors. The frightening reality of looting and destruction is happening in our neighborhood. Our neighbors are hurting even as the demonstrations proclaim loudly the suffering and injustice borne by the African-American community here.

Madison will be hard-pressed to find a way forward after the events of this week. Fear and anger, the images imprinted on our brains will not go away as easily as graffiti removed or broken windows replaced.

In this moment, we are called to continue to witness to the love of Jesus Christ. We are called to continue to work for justice and reconciliation. We are called to be the church on the corner of N. Carroll and W. Washington. We are called to offer a vision of God’s beloved community that welcomes all and brings healing to the nation. We are called to weep, to lament, to mourn, and to be prophetic voices in our community, on the square.

 

All the Lazaruses in our doorways: A Sermon for Proper 21C, 2019

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You’ve all seen the sight as you come to church on Sunday mornings or if you’re downtown at the Overture Center for a concert, or out at dinner at a nice restaurant. As you walk down the sidewalk, you are confronted by panhandlers or see homeless people sitting on the benches. If it’s night, there are people sleeping in doorways or alleys. Whether there are more people experiencing homelessness now than in previous years, the perception that it is a growing problem certainly is real. In a meeting on Friday, Alder Mike Verveer, the alder for this district, said that he has fielded more phone calls and emails, had more conversations with constituents about homelessness this summer than at any previous time in his 24-year tenure on the City Council. Continue reading →

Reflections on a decade of shared ministry, 3: Homelessness, part 2

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The long quest for a day resource center for people experiencing homelessness could serve as a case study of how Madison’s political system, social service providers, and activists have failed the most vulnerable people in our community. It also provides lessons to anyone interested in developing new institutions or services in our city.

Back in 2011, I attended the first of a series of meetings of local political and civic leaders, service providers, and advocates that were convened to seek solutions to the lack of daytime resources for people experiencing homelessness. The problem became apparent because that the two places where many homeless people spent the days while the overnight shelters were closed were no longer available. The Capitol basement had been declared off-limits to homeless people during the protests in February and March, 2011, and the Central Library was about to close for two years of renovations. I was astounded when the meeting began with many of those present complaining about the then governor’s decision to close the Capitol—seemingly oblivious to the fact that the Capitol was a wholly inadequate space for a vulnerable population in need of many services. In other words, the urgency and extent of the need had gone unaddressed for decades. The stop-gap solutions that were in place were judged by many in the community to be perfectly adequate.

I’ve chronicled much of the story and my involvement in the efforts on this blog. Click on the Homelessness link and scroll down. Temporary shelters were funded for the winters of 2011-2012 and 2012-2013. The County put money its operating budget to fund operations of a shelter and secured capital funds to purchase and build out a property. There were a number of locations proposed over the years but all of them fell through because of various reasons, including poor planning and community engagement by county staff and elected officials, neighborhood opposition, and simply unsuitable locations. Many of us who were most actively involved in these efforts over the years grew angry, frustrated, and finally abandoned the quest. Fortunately others persisted and other agencies stepped, most notably Catholic Charities, who received the contract to operate the Day Resource Center. Finally, the Beacon opened in 2018 and is currently welcoming as many as 250 people daily for meals, showers, laundry, and to help them connect with services.

I say this is a case study in how Madison has thought about and responded to homelessness over the decades because there was no effort to examine the adequacy of our response to the community’s needs and no effort to seek better solutions. And there’s also the blame game, seeking to deflect responsibility for the problems we face from ourselves to others—whether it be the former governor, Chicago, or some other entity or individual. It was only when the stop-gap solution collapsed that we admitted the problem and began to seek new solutions and better alternatives.

In some respects, we are at the very same place with regard to the overnight shelters. The Salvation Army is developing plans for new facilities at their E. Washington Ave. property that would more adequately address the needs of the groups they serve there: single women and families. It is also becoming more clear by the day that the current Drop-In Shelter housed at Grace with additional space at St. John’s Lutheran Church and First United Methodist Church is inadequate to serve the number of homeless men in our community and to address their needs, providing assistance to help them find housing and connect them with services they need. For example, we lack the facilities to offer comfortable space for the one-on-one conversations with outreach workers and the building is only minimally accessible to people who lack mobility. It lacks air conditioning.

As we think about next steps in our response to the needs of our community, it is clear that the experience with the Day Resource Center will offer us important lessons as we seek to build community-wide support for significant changes in our system of emergency shelter. I, for one, look forward to this process.

Reflections on a decade of shared ministry 2: Homelessness, Part 1

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Among the things that attracted me to Grace Church was the presence of the men’s shelter and the possibility of re-engaging with ministry and advocacy around homelessness. Back in the 1980s when I was studying for the MDiv, I did my field education at First Baptist Church of Boston (this was long before I became Episcopalian). Part of my work there was to help the congregation think about how it might engage the growing homeless population in Boston’s Back Bay and to make connections with other churches and social service agencies who were responding to people experiencing homelessness. As my journey took me away from ministry and toward academics, and as we moved away from urban Boston, those experiences faded into the background and I was interested in seeing how things had changed in the 25 years that had passed since my time at First Baptist.

A couple of months after arriving at Grace and after learning about policies and procedures at the shelter and beginning to explore the larger context of homelessness, service providers, and advocacy in Madison, I made a phone call to an old friend back in Boston. Jim had been a classmate of mine at Harvard Divinity School and with another classmate had founded a shelter in the basement of a Harvard Square church while students. 25 years later, he was still running a shelter, this one in another church on the other side of Cambridge Common. I described to him what I had learned and said that it seemed like Madison was in a time-warp, that service providers, government, and advocates were doing and saying the sorts of things that we saw in Boston in the early 80s. Jim confirmed my suspicions and shared with me what he was doing in the shelter he operated and what a more humane system, focused on the dignity and improving the lives of the guests might look like.

In February 2010, 6 months after I arrived at Grace, an article describing conditions in the shelter at Grace was published in Isthmus.It unleashed a storm of controversy at Grace and among supporters and staff of Porchlight and homeless advocates. It caught the eye of people at Epic Software and eventually Epic funded a long-overdue and much-needed renovation of the facility.  They upgraded the kitchen, showers, repainted, replaced the flooring, provided new bunks and storage lockers. It was an transformation.

What it couldn’t was solve the underlying problems of the shelter space. It was and remains a church basement. It is minimally accessible for disabled people (a jerry-rigged system allows access via wheelchair). It isn’t large enough to accommodate the number of men seeking shelter there, so every night, a group walk from there several blocks to St. John’s Lutheran Church on E. Washington Ave., where they sleep on mats on the floor. In the winter, First Methodist Church also serves as an overflow shelter on weeknights. All guests pass through Grace for intake and the evening meal, returning for breakfast as well. When the doors of the shelter open in the evening, the men line up in Grace’s courtyard, where they wait unprotected from the weather.

The shelter came to Grace in the early 1980s on a one-year, temporary basis and has remained there because of complacency and the difficulty of developing alternative solutions. Over the years of my ministry, I have struggled with my own and Grace’s role in all of this. I have made mistakes as I seek to advocate for improved facilities while supporting the important work that takes place here. I have been the target of neighbors’ and community members’ ire because of the presence of the shelter at Grace and also the target of advocates’ anger and criticism because of the conditions in the shelter and the treatment of its guests by Porchlight staff.

But what has been most heartbreaking for me are the memories of the tragedies. One Christmas Eve early on in my ministry, I came out of the early service to find churchgoers standing around a homeless man who had been dropped off from a hospital stay. He was immobile, having seizures on the sidewalk. Shelter staff refused to help because he wasn’t ambulatory. We called 911 and when the ambulance and police came, they told us that while they would take him to the ER, it was very likely he would be brought back here that night.

Then there was the Polar Vortex of 2014, when a man died on the steps of Grace’s tower entry. He had come in to the shelter in -20 temperatures, and with a companion was walking over to one of the overflow shelters. He collapsed and died of heart failure. His death was a tragedy, but it also should have demonstrated to everyone the inadequacy of a system in which necessary and permanent shelters were labeled “overflow.”

You can read all of my blog posts on homelessness by clicking here. They are in reverse chronological order. If you’re interested in how my views have changed (if they have changed, you should start at the very beginning). I will continue my reflections on the last ten years in later posts, including the long struggle for a day resource center and what the future may hold.

A Sermon of three cities: Madison, Philippi, the New Jerusalem (6 Easter, 2019)

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We’ve all seen the headlines and read the stories pronouncing Madison one of the best places to live in the country. Most of us love it here—the restaurants, the entertainment possibilities, the lakes, UW. That Madison is a popular place to live is evidenced by the ongoing construction boom. I was on the near east side, what is now called the Capitol East neighborhood this week. I hadn’t really noticed everything that’s happened there recently. There’s the Sylvee, a new hotel, more apartment complexes. The difference driving down E. Washington today from ten years ago is remarkable. Continue reading →