I find the sacred hidden in…

The sacred is found with and among the homeless. The presence of the Divine is transfigured and exalted in relationship with the poor and marginalized. The loving presence of God manifests in tangible and mystical ways in the lives of the exiled. It is as if the creator of the universe comes to breathe life into his alternative kingdom, knowing that the church and its practitioners will never really understand what, “my kingdom on earth as it is in heaven” really means. As I avail myself to people in great need, I find a God less concerned with charity, good works, or other well-meaning descriptors of service. I find a God whose identity and character are expressed in a mercy and justice rooted in unwavering welcome and inclusion. A God who desires the mutuality of giving and receiving, the broken body of Christ, shared and remembered. The Spirit of this God is abundant and nourishing, offering shade and shelter to all who seek rest under the branches of eternal community. Coming to rest in the love of this divine presence, the sacred hides under the very nose of our culture’s gardens of transactional judgment. The hidden sacred love of God is less like a manicured lawn and more like a compost bin, churning and restoring our old stories and narratives into something new and useful for our ordinary lives.

“Come, everyone who thirsts;

come to the waters;

and you who have no money,

come, buy and eat!

Come, buy wine and milk

without money and without price (Isaiah 55:1 NRSVUE).”

What do you want…

I want to be free of all thoughts rooted in other people’s assumptions and expectations. I want to be at peace with the reality of life and my role in it. I don’t want to be distracted and miss the blessings that are upon me. Contentment is found when we accept the reality of God’s love. We accept ourselves when we receive the reality of God’s love. We find contentment when we stop and notice the still small voice speaking truth to power. Freedom from the false self that was formed from the voice of abuse and neglect. Freedom to walk in the power and boldness of Christ. To be covered and baptized in the words of God the Father, “You are my beloved son with whom I am well pleased.” I want to be known and understood. I want to give voice to those who are voiceless, transforming the belief that some of us don’t have anything to say. Transforming the belief that some of us are not entitled with privilege and anointing. Freedom from the notion of deservedness. Some are invited and others are not on the guest list. To be fully myself in all circumstances. Sensitive, funny, and at peace. In the words of 80’s hair metal, I want to rock!

“I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead (Philippians 3:10-11).”

What do you notice on your walk…

Today I went on a walk from my office to the St Francis House. I passed the streetcar, elementary school, and corner store. I was delighted to see that you could buy a cup of coffee from the East African deli for $2.50! I was blessed to see kids playing hide and seek with the recess monitor. When I hear kids running around screaming and yelling on a playground, I am reminded of how silent elementary schools were during the Covid lock downs. Playgrounds should be cathedrals of joy and discovery. There are men in reflective vests directing traffic on 12^th Ave. I enjoy the construction workers that pause and acknowledge me. The clergy collar I wear is its own traffic cone, observed, dismissed, or respected. There is a weird box in front of the St Francis House which I assume is a bizarre donation of something they will probably have to throw away. I am greeted by a homeless man who tells me he isn’t feeling well. He asks me what I’m up to. I tell him I like to get coffee, hang out and chat. I tell him about walking pneumonia as he washes up with hand sanitizer. The prayer of St Francis is next to the counter and above the bookcase. It provides a stark contrast to the five cans of black beans and bottle of salad dressing on the community pantry shelf. Staring at the prayer, a woman asks to join me, and we talk about her desire to discern God’s will for her life.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

I am amazed…

The amazement I feel when I am praying on the street is indescribable. Years of waiting and listening to the Holy Spirit in front of bus stops, alley ways dumpsters, and grocery store stairwells, I find myself surrounded by the love of Christ. It’s in these places of desperation and loneliness that the God that seeks out the lost manifests. The kingdom of God is to be found among the meek, hungry, and persecuted. The words of Jesus transform wounds into resurrection, containers of healing, held together by sharing, remembering, and participation. Body broken for us. Everyone invited into the divine mystery. Everyone created in the image of God. The cross of Christ. Shared suffering. Ours is his and his is ours. Compassion means to suffer with. Touch my scars and find truth. The truth of trauma, The truth of healing. The living word is vulnerable empowerment, enabling us to walk through the doors of neglect and abuse, navigate the hallways of deception, and find rest in the upper rooms of his eternal kindness. Amazing!

“I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me (John 14:6).”

Michael Cox

 The day after Easter a homeless friend of mine stumbled to the ground in front of our Community Dinner. His friend carried him to the front door and said, “they will give you a hot meal” and hurried off on his bike. I held his head and gently placed him on the sidewalk. I knew that he was in the process of overdosing and was close to dying. We gave him three doses of Narcan and called 911. A large crowd gathered as we waited for the paramedics. The paramedics came, gave him two more doses of Narcan, and monitored his progress. The ambulance lights, and all the chaos, caused the entire community to be overwhelmed. People began to share their own experiences with death, addiction, and trauma. In the middle of all of this, I read the post resurrection story of Jesus. Jesus appears to his friends who are hiding behind locked doors and receives their doubt, inviting them to touch his wounds. Jesus responds to their fear with “peace be with you.” My friend lived and reminded the community that Jesus revels himself when we roll away the stones that guard our hearts and weep together at the tomb.

Michael Cox

Working with homeless people has taught me about the vulnerability of God. A God who announces his kingdom under the shadow of empire, violence, and oppression while riding atop a borrowed donkey. As I was walking to church on Sunday morning, prepared to preach, serve communion, and pray with and for the congregation, I saw my homeless friend Steven. He was asleep in the doorway where he usually finds rest and shelter. As I approached, three middle school age boys pulled up on scooters. I had a bad feeling in my stomach but didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. As I got closer, one young kid pulled his pants down, laughed, and urinated on my friend. I yelled, they laughed again and sped away. I bent down and asked Steven if he was ok, if he wanted a coffee. He said he was fine and that he would see me at church. Steven came to church. The Elders that were in charge of the slides were late. I preached on the Good Shepherd, that God is a God that leaves the ninety-nine in search of the one, rejoicing when we realize we are worth being found.

Michael Cox

One of my great joys in life is to read Scripture with people living on the street. Every week, at our two community dinners, I share a Christ story from the Gospels. Something special always happens when the words of Jesus are spoken. The public street liturgy that happens around a shared meal, on the sidewalk, and in a parking garage, embodies the love of Jesus in concrete and practical ways. The words of Jesus become incarnated and enfleshed in the lives of the people that have ears to hear them. Last month I read the Beatitudes, the blessing of Jesus to a room full of people experiencing poverty, homelessness, and severe freezing weather. When it’s 32 degrees outside and your homeless, hearing that Jesus blesses the poor, the humble, the meek, the hungry, the crying, and the grieving, makes hope a reality.  His words speak to you and your situation, declaring that the Kingdom of God belongs to you! As I began to read the Sermon on the Mount, the entire room went silent. A holy hush fell over us as we listened to the promises of Jesus. That we belong to him. That we will find comfort. That we will be treated with mercy and called his children. When I finished reading. I prayed and concluded like I do every time I pray for my friends living on the street. That everyone would be safe and warm and protected from hypothermia and frostbite. That no one would die outside. Life in the name of Jesus. When I finished, the entire room erupted with a hearty and unifying Amen!

Jesus’ disciples gathered around him, and he taught them:

 God blesses those people who depend only on him. They belong to the kingdom
    of heaven!
God blesses those people
who grieve.
    They will find comfort!
God blesses those people
    who are humble.
The earth will belong
    to them!
God blesses those people
who want to obey him
    more than to eat or drink.
They will be given
    what they want!
God blesses those people
    who are merciful.
They will be treated
    with mercy!
God blesses those people
whose hearts are pure.
    They will see him!
God blesses those people
    who make peace.
They will be called
    his children!
God blesses those people
who are treated badly
    for doing right.
They belong to the kingdom
    of heaven.

 God will bless you when people insult you, mistreat you, and tell all kinds of evil lies about you because of me. Be happy and excited! You will have a great reward in heaven. People did these same things to the prophets who lived long ago.

Michael Cox

My friend Jenny is a new mom! I met her four-week-old son last week. This is her third child and first boy. The father wants nothing to do with being a parent and Jenny is nervous about raising a son alone. Standing outside, talking over two hot togo boxes of chicken and biscuits from the Community Dinner, Jenny tells me that she is shifting her attention to her health and the care of her son. “The time spent worrying about what the dad should be doing is time spent away from all the good that is in front of me.” We talk about being in the present and taking care of ourselves. Jenny fainted in her apartment a few weeks after giving birth, went to the hospital, and was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. Her mom was watching her newborn but had to go to work. Jenny had to leave the hospital early to be with her son and was discharged against medical advice. We talk about feelings of depression and anxiety that can sometime happen after giving birth and if she wants to talk with any medical professionals. I gently offer the doctor and nurse that volunteer with me as possible options. Jenny respectfully declines and walks off to her apartment thanking me for the meals and for talking. As jenny walks off, I think of the miraculous donated stroller that she is using. The stroller appeared last week and felt less like a donation and more like an angelic pronouncement. I think of the Christmas story, the manger, and the radical message of hope and love that is birthed through a young homeless woman. Merry Christmas!

“In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors (Luke 2:8-14 NRSV)!”

Michael Cox

Jesus demonstrates who he is through the embrace and welcome of the vulnerable. “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it (Mark 14b-15 NRSV).” While I am reading this story at our community dinner, I notice a man who regularly attends who is usually angry and aggressive. Tonight, he is calm and peaceful! Thank God! When I finish sharing the story someone yells, “Hey pastor Mike, someone needs to talk with you outside.” I would love to say that my heart leapt with joy and expectation at the request, but my first thought was, “Oh man, what crazy drama am I going to have to deal with now.” I calmed my breath and walked slowly through the side door to the street, thanking God. My friend Rose is there, standing over her broken walker crying. She was in the hospital for five weeks; her belongings all stolen by her “friend.” She tells me that she wants to end her life and sobs about how her only photos of her kids were taken. “Why would someone steal those from me?” As Rose sobs, we lament about the injustice and cruelty of the world. We are interrupted by other homeless people who want to either see if everything is ok or insert themselves into a crisis. I put my arm around Rose and listen while she cries. I pray for hope, peace, and the restoration and recovery of all things lost or stolen. Rose smiles, eyes swollen and red from tears, laughs, and tells me she just needed to see my face. Someone asks me if I can open the front door with the wheelchair ramp access for another woman who needs to leave. I tell Rose I’ll be right back with a meal. When I return, she is gone. Transformed and renewed, overwhelmed by suffering and God’s love.

Michael Cox

Our friend King who lives on the street is trying to get sober. He loves Jesus and is racked with guilt about his addiction. This morning, he was struggling with, “the shakes” that come with alcohol withdrawal. King prayed and asked God for a beer to help with his tremors. After his prayer time he noticed a woman in a wheelchair that needed help crossing the street. When he was done helping, he noticed a beer by the garbage can. Theophany! “Manifestation of deity in sensible form.” God appears to humans in ways we need him to.

King is gathered with a few other homeless folks. We are chatting about the goodness of God and the power of prayer. King has his shirt off, displaying sharpie marker artwork on his chest that looks like it was created by one of his “friends” while he was passed out. Another homeless man approaches and warns the group that they shouldn’t talk with us. He then tells us that we should not wear clerical collars if were not authorized. We explain that we are ordained but he is not having it and leaves. King becomes irritated and we diffuse the situation, talking about paranoia and trauma surrounding the church and its leaders. King invites us all to pray. We hold hands and he starts us off. Everyone prays and it’s very moving. One woman speaks in tongues and declares that she can feel the presence of the Holy Spirit. We say our goodbyes and linger in the afterglow of God’s sweet Spirit.

We walk through the park and meet a woman at the bus stop. I have met her before and can’t remember her name. We tell her that we are from Operation Nightwatch and tears well up in her eyes. “I love that place. Every time I go there, I cry. The presence of God is always there.”

We meet a man sitting on the sidewalk listening to talk radio and drinking a Steel Reserve beer. He tells me that he has faith in Christ, that “faith is near impossible to explain to someone who doesn’t have it.” He then tells me that he is on the wait list for housing and how God changed his life. Fifteen years ago, he had a dream. In the dream, God showed him a giant black hole and told him that this was where his life was headed. He woke up and has always tried to live in a way that honors God. “I try not to do what I know I shouldn’t be doing.”

“Where can I go to escape from your spirit or from your sight? If I were to climb up to the highest heavens, you would be there. If I were to dig down to the world of the dead you would also be there (Psalm 139:7-8 CEV).”

Michael Cox

We were on outreach downtown when we saw you and your friend across the street. You were getting high in the doorway and looked to be about twenty years old. When we asked you how you were doing, you looked up thoughtfully and said, “I am depressed.” What followed was one of the sweetest conversations I have ever had. You told me that you had overdosed four times and that street drugs help quiet the voices in your head. You have a prescription for anti-psychotics and for your seizures but it’s near impossible to get them filled. I offer my understanding of ADHA and why abusing Adderall can make sense on the street. Staying awake and focused might mean staying alive. You know sign language and teach us how to say, “I am having a seizure.” You are more self-aware than the world gives you credit for and talk about how communicating in sign language helps with your schizophrenia. You tell me that you have heart problems and that sometimes it’s hard to breathe. Your friend is older than you and shares his concern for you and your safety. He has saved your life several times and humbly waves off my words of praise and affirmation. You tell us how he is the only person you can trust. Throughout our conversation, you speak blessings in the name of God over us. We give you sandwiches, socks, water, and Narcan and I offer to pray for you. I ask if you want me to pray with you now or later. With great urgency and without hesitation you say, “I would like for you to pray for me right now.” We pray and your fragile body responds to the ministering Spirit of God. I pray for your heart and can feel the animation of life. It’s as if a big bowl of soup has begun to stir itself. When we’re done praying, you thank me and tell me that the prayer made you cry. Before we leave, you tell us that you think you need to go to the hospital. We call 911 and you begin to have an intense and lengthy seizure. People start to gather. Homeless people are worried that you’re overdosing and frantically ask if I have any Narcan. The owner of the art gallery we are in front of knows his homeless neighbors and is genuinely concerned. An infectious disease doctor happens to walk by, and we all make sure your windpipe is open and that you don’t smash your head on the ground. The paramedics come and are surprisingly kind. They thank us and let us know graciously and forcefully that they will take it from here. “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God (Romans 8:26-27).”

Michael Cox

Every Thursday morning, I try to visit the St Francis House. I sit in the café with a cup of coffee and wait to be invited into conversation. Last week, a woman came in who had just discovered this glorious place, a place for clothing and household items yes, but also a place of rest and healing. Pulling up a chair next to me, she told me all about a miraculous experience she had while in the hospital. Close to death and in a coma, the indescribable beauty of heaven was revealed to her. Smiling behind a plate of donuts, she described a place that looked and sounded like nothing she had ever imagined. Until she came to the St Francis House. “When I walked in, it felt like that time in the hospital. Like I was experiencing heaven on earth!” As she shared her understanding of heaven, comparing it to how she feels while visiting the St Francis House, her joy and excitement were contagious. As a street minister for Operation Nightwatch, I speak to many people who are in crisis as a result of suffering and trauma. Like the clients of the St Francis House, I come for restoration and renewal. Sometimes coffee and donuts can open the door to heaven! “Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me (Revelation 3:20 NRSV).”

Michael Cox