I highly recommend anything written by Thomas Merton. I will do a full post on him later, but he was a Trappist Monk in the ’60′s who was a major voice in the anti-war and civil-rights movements. In addition, he was a prolific writer and very much a contemplative mystic. In his book Thoughts in Solitude, he penned this prayer.

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

Several folks have wanted me to talk about what I do day-to-day.

“I don’t get it,” one corespondent said, ” You just talk to the homeless? About what?”

Well, I do more than just talk to the homeless, but that is a big part of what I do. I want to show you how one such conversation went down just this morning. I have, out of respect for the other person, not used their real name. Other than that, this is as close to the actual words as I can remember (as I write this, it was about 3 hours ago).

Note: The way we talk, the choice of words we use, all of that is part of our story and part of who we are. Life on the streets is not pretty and it is not polite. Many in my position clean up the language when reporting what is said; I have chosen to leave it. I will not dishonor the people I speak to by imposing my grammar on them.

*****

I was on my way to log onto the Internet at Morning Times (a coffee shop and, most days, my office) when I saw a gang of folks I know over by Betty’s van. I stroll over. The mood is solemn.

“Hey guys,” I said. “What’s going on?”

Everyone murmurs and shuffles, looking at the ground. I notice one older guy everyone calls Slim was sullen and weeping.

“Slim,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“Bad,” he says. “I went to give plasma this morning like I always do on Fridays. This time, they would not give me any money. Instead, they told me I am HIV positive.”

HIV. For most Americans it no longer means what it once did. However, these folks know that, if they get it, they will not have access to the life-giving drug cocktails and cutting edge treatments; for them, HIV spells death.

Having already heard this story the crowd begins to melt away; I am uncertain if it is out of a desire to give us some privacy or a desire to get out of the cold; in any event it was welcome.

I have known Slim for about two and a half months. I have helped several of his friends with job applications and have let them use my computer to check email for messages to family. He knows me to say hi, but he has never really opened up to me. He is much older than most of the street folks; perhaps 50 or so. He told me once in conversation he had been homeless for seven years.

“They tested me, like they always do,” he begins to explain. “They test you every time. They wanted me to sign a paper saying I had HIV, but I ain’t signing shit.”

After several minutes of conversation, I managed to extract the following details.

That morning, Slim went to sell plasma. Many of the homeless do this; it is the only thing many of them have to sell. You lay on a cot and stare at the wall while they insert a needle in your arm. After they take blood from your body and extract the plasma, they put the blood back in you. They sell the plasma to the various bio-med places for research and pay you $10-$15; you can expect it to take about two hours. If you are a regular donor, they pay bonuses; an extra $5 every third visit, say.

The routine tests on his blood for HIV showed positive. He was told he had to sign a statement saying he knew he was HIV positive. He refused and left – he later reveals that reading is not something he does well, so he has a fear of signing anything. Understandably, he was in shock by the time I heard this story, so the finer details were a bit hard to nail down. As near as I can tell, he had no second test and no referral to any health care options.

“You need to go to the health department,” I said. “You need to know for sure.”

Slim is crying. “It is Christmas, man. I don’t need this.”

It goes like this for about 10 minutes, when it is revealed that Slim does not have the two dollars for the bus to go out to the Health Department . I assure him I can spare $2.

“Will you walk with me to the bus station?” he asks.

“Be glad to.”

We begin to walk toward Moore Square Station, the central hub for the transit system here in Raleigh. Slim is beginning to calm down. He has the two dollars I gave him clutched in a death grip in his hand.

“You are a nice man,” Slim says. “I know you help S___ and H___ out with clothes and help them, let them use your phone. I tells everyone what a nice man you are. I would ask to borrow your phone, but I got no one to call.”

“No one?” I said.

“Well, I got a Mom, but I havn’t talked to her in four years. I want to call her, but I am scared. I am afraid she don’t want nothing to do with me anymore. I done bad things.”

We talk about his Mom for a bit. It turns out she lives in Maryland and the family has endured one too many broken promises, so they no longer talk. I urge him to call; four years is a long time. He promises he will think about it.

“You are a nice man. Why you so nice? I mean, you help us out, you talk to us… I ain’t nothing, man. My own Momma don’t want to talk to me, you don’t even know me and you help me. Why you doing this?”

I hesitate a minute here. I know folks who would see this as an opportunity to swoop in, tract in hand, tell them about how Jesus will solve all their problems, fix everything. I try to imagine what Jesus would say.

“I care about you guys when it makes no sense to because Jesus loved me when it made no sense for him to,” I tell Slim.

He perks up, looks at me from the side of his eyes.

“Jesus?”, he said.

“Yup. Jesus”, I said.

I think I have lost him now. He surprises me.

“I know Jesus loves me – my momma told me,” he said. “But that Jesus, he is a motherfucker.”

I chuckle, imagining what my tract waving friends would do with this revelation.

“Yeah?” I said.

“Oh yeah. The thing about Jesus is, he don’t cut you no slack. He want all of you.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know.” I now really wish some of my tract waving friends were here.

We are at Moore Square Station now, standing in the blue section, waiting on the bus. The air is cold on my ears, the turbulence from the exhaust fumes pressing my jeans against my ankles. The two dollars has managed to disappear; after a lengthy search they turn up in a coat pocket.

“Thank you for doing this,” he said. “I don’t want to die from HIV. ”

“Well,” I said, “we are not even sure you have HIV. The first step is to find out for sure.”

We agree to meet up this afternoon in Moore Square about dark so he can let me know what the verdict is. While we are working out the details, the bus pulls up and the doors open, a line of patient commuters waiting to board.

It is one of those moments – they happen sometimes- when God tells me just the right thing to say.

“Slim,” I said. “What does your momma call you?”

He smiled, remembering. “Bobby. She call me Bobby”.

“OK, Bobby,” I said. “I will see you tonight.”

He laughs that I use his name. “Do you think Jesus cares I have HIV?” he asked.

“If you have HIV, then Jesus would be heartbroken,” I said.

“You gonna pray for me, aren’t you?” he asked.

I assure him I will. The breath is almost knocked out of me as he tackles me in a spontaneous bear hug, tears running down his face.

“If it is OK, I gonna pray for you too,” he said into my coat.

Then he turns, embarrassed at the sudden emotion and steps onto the bus.

As he waves to me from his seat two thirds of the way back, the bus pulls away, the exhaust kicking up leaves that swirl around my feet as both our tears dry on my coat.

As I mentioned ages ago, I decided to start a newsletter to document some of the things we are doing here. Our first issue has now went out (yeahhh!).

If you want to subscribe to our humble monthly newsletter, go over here and sign up. It is free, it is well written (I may be biased here) and it is one way you can keep up with what is going on here. Of course, we will never share your information with anyone.

An excerpt from this month’s newsletter:

As I write this, it is Advent, a time of anticipation and hope for the planet. You know the story; God became flesh and gave the world a second chance.

I pray that this year you will remember that when God became flesh, he did it as a homeless man. He did it as someone who was forced to become a refugee in Egypt. He did it as a son to an unwed teenage mother. He did it as someone who came from the “bad part of town” (can anything good come from Nazareth?).

I think Jesus was trying to tell us something.

I hope we are listening.

Dear Friends,

If you are reading this, you are one of a few friends, past supporters and folks I know who have expressed an interest in finding out more about what I do with the homeless here in Raleigh, NC. With this in mind, I decided to put out a monthly newsletter to keep all of you informed.

This being the first issue, I am going to try to bring everyone up to date. Future issues will be more timely and more informative (that is the plan, anyway!).

ADMIN STUFF

I set up this newsletter using a nifty piece of software to manage my mailing list. This way, the administration is all handled by the software, so you can sign up to get the newsletter, you can give a different email address, ask to be removed, and so on. Of course, I value your privacy and I will never share your information with anyone. If you want to change anything at all, please see the links at the very bottom of this email.

I had some trouble getting some email addresses for some folks I thought would be interested in reading this, so I am sure some people who would like to have read this did not get it. If you can think of anyone who you think would be interested, feel free to forward this email with my blessing.

WHAT I DO NOW

Some of you know, and some of you do not. Long story short, I spend all my free time working with the poor and homeless on the streets of Raleigh, North Carolina. With the help of some other very cool people, we work to bring the love of Jesus to the poor, the downtrodden, the marginalized.

On Sunday mornings we are in the park feeding the homeless. We feed around 100-150 people a week, depending on the weather. We give them a good solid meal and just love them, sit among them, learn their stories, listen to their pain. No telling them they are bound for hell (they feel like they are in hell already), no trying to “fix” them, just showing them that we see Jesus when we look at them. You know, they are dirty, filthy, some smell, some are drug addicts, some are alcoholics, some are transvestites, and every one of them is Jesus (Matthew 25:40).

Some of us started asking questions. We found out many of them lived in shelters, but had no coats for the winter, so we try to find them coats. We found out they had children, but no toys, so we get them some toys. We have helped stranded people get home, we help people find jobs, we have had people on the street tell us they love us. We tell them that Jesus loves them too.

Some of my more fundamentalist friends are no doubt wondering what when we share the gospel with them. Most of them know the “gospel” better than we do, after all they have had to hear it at the mission just to get a sandwich. However, very few of them see the gospel being lived out. I try to keep in mind the words of St. Francis of Assisi:

“Preach the gospel always; if necessary, use words.”

Many days, I eat lunch in the homeless soup kitchen. As I enter their world, I learn their struggles, see their problems firsthand and gain some credibility with them.

Eating with them matters to them. If you close a big business deal, it is usually over lunch. If you want to get to know your neighbors, you invite them over for supper. At church, you have potluck dinners to get to know each other. I eat with smelly crack addicts for the same reasons. By eating with someone, you affirm their dignity, show their worth, open yourself up to them. Eating together is such a very intimate thing…

By learning their stories, by interacting one on one, the love of Christ is communicated far more effectively than if I opened a soup kitchen. Not that there is anything wrong with operating a soup kitchen…

I am not a social worker; I am a follower of Jesus Christ. I am commanded to love my neighbor, not to eradicate poverty (I should say, however, that if all of the followers of Jesus did the former then the latter is inevitable). As such, I work with individuals whenever possible.

Raleigh has a huge homeless problem. Some statistics estimate 2000 homeless each night in the capitol city of North Carolina. Just six blocks or so from the Governor’s mansion, people sleep on the steps of abandoned buildings. I cannot believe that Jesus would be content with the status quo.

In short, I work with them, love them, care for them for two reasons:

• I believe with absolute certainty that this is what Jesus would do.

• I believe with absolute certainty that the poor are Jesus in disguise.

WHAT THE FUTURE LOOKS LIKE

To use a bit of Biblical allusion, the harvest is thick, but the workers are few. There is so very much to be done, and the existing systems in place do little more than encourage the perpetuation of poverty. Many want to help but do not know how to, or whether any “help” they give is really helpful.

Some problems I have had so far have been structure related, such as:

• Someone wanted to donate 10 boxes of bread and meat… where would we store it and distribute it?
• Often the homeless have problems that take time to solve. As I am self-employed right now, that takes time from my business (and food from my table… literally). How do I balance the need to pay rent with the needs of the “least of these”?
• Where do we put the coats, blankets and such that people donate every week? Right now, they are being drug around in the trunks of cars, but surely we can do that more effectively.
• There are hundreds of churches here in Raleigh; how can we mobilize them to help in this work?

One big issue right now is whether I should attempt to move into full time ministry/mission work. It is quite frustrating to not be able to spend the needed time with folks. Instead, they get my leftovers. I think that God could make use of my efforts and gifts in full time service to the poor; the question is whether God thinks so.

Right now, my living expenses amount to about $1200 a month; is God willing to provide that $1200? I have no experience in fundraising, no experience in raising “support”, as it is euphemistically called. Mother Theresa often said she had no money worries. “We are doing God’s work – if he wants it done, he will have to pay for it”. I have to confess my faith is not yet on that level. (My pastor tells me that comparing my level of faith to that of Mother Theresa is probably not the most inspiring thing I can do.)

The decision to seek support is one I am struggling with; Ultimately, it comes down to fear and my own weakness. I covet your prayers as I try to discern what God wants for me to do here.

I talked a good deal about my fears and concerns last week on my website, located here:

http://needingagape.com/homeless/something-must-change/

As you can see, there is a lot of prayer and a lot of uncertainty about the future. However, one thing I am absolutely certain of is that God does have a plan for the homeless of Raleigh; after all, he don’t make junk.

STAY INFORMED

I have ADD and as such, long letters like this are a struggle to write. I plan to keep them down to once a month or so. I am much better suited to doing periodic, spur of the moment updates on my website at http://needing agape.com, where I talk more about day to day operations and what life is like here.

IF YOU WANT TO HELP

More than anything else, I need your prayers. I need you to remember me and the people I work with, many of whom are not sleeping indoors at night. Please ask God to stay with us, to watch over us and to keep us centered in His will.

I am not looking for financial support for me right now (see above) but there are always needs that only money can solve; blankets, socks and shoes, hats and gloves. Sometimes as little as $20 makes the difference in someone getting a bus ticket to go home to their family or their being able to cover this week’s rent at the rooming house.

If you want to partner with me for these financial needs, make the check or money order out to “merge community church” and send it to me at

Hugh Hollowell
Box 18142
Raleigh, NC 27619

Please put the words “Moore Square – Hugh” on the memo line. We will get you a receipt and all for your taxes.

If you feel called to do this (and you are under no obligation; this is purely between you and God) then know that I thank you and the lives of a bunch of people who feel very unloved are made a bit better because of your generosity.

TIS THE SEASON

As I write this, it is Advent, a time of anticipation and hope for the planet. You know the story; God became flesh and gave the world a second chance.

I pray that this year you will remember that when God became flesh, he did it as a homeless man. He did it as someone who was forced to become a refugee in Egypt. He did it as a son to an unwed teenage mother. He did it as someone who came from the “bad part of town” (can anything good come from Nazareth?).

I think Jesus was trying to tell us something.

I hope we are listening.

Love Wins. Always.

Hugh

One thing that stands out in the Gospel stories of Jesus is how he focuses his efforts on individuals, not groups or systems.

We are not called to end poverty: we are called to love our neighbor. Of course, the eventual result of everyone loving their neighbor will end poverty, but that is not our focus. No, we are called to love individuals, just like Jesus did.

Loving individuals is much harder than writing a check to the Rescue Mission. It also goes a lot farther.

If you were really generous and had $1000 to give, you could give it to any number of charities that feed and help the homeless. It would no doubt be welcome and you would be helping to feed hundreds of folks… one meal. Or, you could help a family of four move into an apartment, get utilities and stay together. Same $1000, huge difference in results.

Give $500 to the mission and you buy 50 blankets that are absolutely needed, or you can buy a single mother a scooter so she can give up her dependence on the bus and get a better job. The difference is huge; one is solving problems, the other is putting a band aid on problems.

It works with smaller amounts as well: $50 will buy a bus ticket home for Christmas. $25 will buy a new pair of shoes or a new backpack. $10 will buy a hot meal at a sit down restaurant where “normal people” eat. $2 will buy a pack of wet wipes or a toothbrush and toothpaste.

I am NOT telling you to give a homeless man $10 so he can eat in a restaurant. I AM telling you to take a homeless man to dinner in a restaurant. Sit with him, eat with him. Learn his story and find out about him. Affirm his dignity, respect him as an individual. Build a relationship. After all, how can you love your neighbor if you do not know his name?

“The bread in your cupboard belongs to the hungry; the coat hanging unused in your closet belongs to the one who needs it; the shoes rotting in your closet belong to the one who has no shoes; the money which you put in the bank belongs to the poor.”
-St. Basil The Great

I am doing some construction at the moment…

Earlier, I pointed out the article in the News and Observer where a downtown United Methodist Church (I won’t even give them the favor of a link) decided to spend 1.8 million dollars on a pipe organ.

Now, I want to point out a few things:

• In one sense, it is their business how they spend the money. After all, one would assume the leadership of the church prayed over this, sought heavenly guidance and ran the decision through the model set up by John Wesley (founder of Methodism) of Tradition, Scripture, Reason and Experience.
• In another, however, the church as a whole (not just this congregation) is hurt when nonbelievers and the world at large see how we spend our money.
• I read another great blogpost on the subject; I actually almost felt sorry for the church when she was through with them. Almost.
• Also worth reading (but for a different reason) are the comments left on that blogpost. It shows just how far the church has fallen from its mission. For example, this one:

I think that the organ will enhance the worship of God, which is the primary reason for believers to gather together.

You know, the Quakers worship God and use no music at all and feel no lack in their spirituality. John Wesley preached to coal miners in a field with no music, yet thousands gave their souls over and changed their life. Yes, David told us to “make a joyful noise to the Lord”, but I bet you any amount of money he was using a tambourine.

Too many church members feel that the church is a club, to which we belong and they do not. This is reflected in the amenities we choose for our clubhouses (churches), such as our gymnasiums, our light and sound systems and our anemic preaching.

Read the Gospel. The mission of the church is to change the world. Christ saves us to change the world for him. Wesley knew it; I wonder why the church he founded cannot see that.

Yesterday, I was talking to Betty, a homeless elderly lady who lives in a van. Betty is a sweetheart and cares for everyone; she has appointed herself something of a den mother for the other homeless here in Raleigh. I mentioned in passing that I was a bit worried because some funds I was anticipating had not arrived yet so I would have to cut our conversation short so I could go make some collection phone calls.

She looked left, then right, as if to make sure no one was listening. She then gestured me closer and in a stage whisper said, “I can lend you 20 if you need it”.

She lives in a van. She depends upon the generosity of others to eat. Her van has no heat and she crochets baby hats for gas money. In any American sense of the word she is poor, yet she wanted to lend me money. I turned her down, thanked her and then walked home, tears running down my face.

Things are a bit tough right now.

I have clients who have not paid me, a ton of looming deadlines, a checking account balance rapidly approaching zero and, to top it all off, the beginnings of a sinus infection.

Mother Theresa is a huge influence on me; her life inspires me and keeps me focused on the work I do. She truly knew what it was to love. In one of her many biographies, she is quoted as saying she rarely worried about money. “After all”, she said. “We are doing God’s work. If he wants it done, he will provide the money”.

I wish my faith was at that level. I pray that one day it will be.

I am at a crossroads right now. I, just like you, only have so many hours in a day. Just like you, I have to balance my money making activities with my non-money-making activities. The fact is, it costs me money to be out there, helping them. I have had to turn down projects, reschedule deadlines and delay payments in order to do what I do with the homeless. Yet, I feel that nothing I do is more important than this. In a very real, mystical, non-hip way, I feel this is what Jesus wants me to do.

The obvious answer is to go “full time“. In other words, get off the fence, start soliciting donations and get on with being an urban missionary. After all, this is God’s work; if he wants it done, he will have to pay for it… right?

I guess I am scared. What if I can’t get enough contributions and I fail very publicly? What if… (insert any number of doom and gloom prophecies here)? I guess it is fear of the unknown, fear of trusting God, fear of failure, fear of being foolish.

I am not sure what I will do yet. Right now, it takes me about $1200 a month to live, pay my bills and so on. Logic tells me that is not so very much (radical simplicity does have its benefits), that it should be easy to raise that sort of support. Logic also tells me I have zero experience in fund raising and the stuff I have seen turns my gut (like, writing everyone you know a personal letter [with the obligatory picture of a homeless person on it], asking them to “stand with you” and support you). I know people just love getting those, right up there with being asked to join my tupperware sales organization.

So: what am I going to do? I am not sure yet. I am working on a plan; a paper showing the sorts of things that someone working full time could accomplish here in Raleigh. I think it would be good for me to do anyway, but it will be crucial if I am to try to raise support. After all, everyone wants to support a mission, a vision.

As I stand at this crossroads, pray for me, would ya?

One area where those from the various Catholic traditions have a leg up on us Protestant types is the veneration of the saints.

This is not the place nor the time to discuss whether Catholics worship dead people (they don’t, just so you know), but by learning the details of the lives of those who have went before us, we learn the legacy they have entrusted to us and we gain inspiration from their sacrifice.

Take for example, St. Nicholas. This time of year, he is being mentioned everywhere and yet virtually none of us know anything about him. For example, did you know…

• Nicholas was a Bishop of the Church
• Was a participant in the Nicean Council (from whence came the Nicean Creed).
• A poor farmer has three daughters. He could afford no dowry for his daughters, so they could not be married. He was about to sell them into slavery when Nicholas left (in secret) three bags of gold. He threw them in the window at night, where they fell into shoes that had been left to dry by the fireplace overnight.
• He often gave much needed gifts in secret, often leaving them on the hearth.
• After his death, his acts of kindness led others to give gifts of charity to each other.
• He prevented several executions.
• Several stories show that Nicholas had a special place in his heart for children. In one story, he resurrected three children who were murdered; in traditional Catholic circles, he is known as a protector of children and sailors.
• He came from a rich family and used his resources to right wrongs and to feed those in need.
• Traditional pictures of Nicholas show him in a bishop’s red robe, and in keeping with the customs of his people, he had a full beard. Because he is one of the very few bishops of that time to live to an old age, the beard is often shown in pictures as white.

Protector of children, defender of those wrongly condemned, willing to intervene on the behalf of those who have no voice, willing to use his own resources for those who are needy, doing it in secret so the dignity of the recipient is preserved: Nicholas was a fighter for social justice.

This Christmas, tell your children the real story of Santa. Tell them how he feed those who were hungry, how he defended the helpless and how he gave of himself to help others. Of course, they may have a hard time understanding why he is sitting in front of The Gap in the shopping mall, but perhaps that will open up another line of discussion too.