Touched by an Angel
I’d like to begin with a couple of images. First, I love the idea of transformation,
especially of people, communities, congregations. Once, when I was asked at an interview for a
redeveloping urban congregation why I wanted to do that kind of ministry, the answer just came:
"I like to see deserts bloom." I love the promise of the abundant life that Jesus came to bring.
And, when I drive through Newark or East Orange or even Montclair and see a rundown
church building in a "bad" section of town (I’m remembering the church on the corner of Park
Avenue and Grove in East Orange), I think about what might be if we could restore that ruined
gym and kitchen and the worn out sanctuary and the garden - and the organ, too. And I think of
kids coming in to play basketball and get a hot meal and help with their school work - and learn
about Jesus in the process.
Along with that is my temptation to want it N-O-W. I want to see flowers in that desert,
and I tend to get discouraged when I mostly just see those "weed trees" that spring up around the
foundations of city buildings and take over before you know it.
The second image is one I encountered this week when I visited Clinton Avenue
Presbyterian Church, a grand old building built in Newark’s glory days (whatever "glory"
means). You can tell from the imposing stone structure; the pipes of the large organ that no one
knows how to play anymore; and the high ceiling in the sanctuary that holds maybe 400 and used
to be full on Sunday mornings and now holds 30 or 40 or 50 faithful Presbyterians.
And, if you go around to the side of the building and down the worn stairway that leads
to the basement, you will find a small soup kitchen that opens its doors three times every week -
"whosoever will, may come" - whosoever that night including a youngish woman who is a
grandma of eight with a toddler; some men who live in an SRO across the street in small rooms
with no cooking facilities and whose SSI never quite makes it to the end of the month; and a thin
woman who looks like she has a pretty serious illness.
There you will also find - in the kitchen - a group of people who are there to cook and
serve - and fellowship. The Presbyterians among them include several women and one man (all
"of a certain age"). There is also a younger man who is a Baptist and comes to serve because he
wants to make his community a better place, and a teenage boy who once was a guest but now
comes every Wednesday to serve and most Sundays for church and Sunday school.
I’m there to learn and share with Presbytery. I serve a couple of dinners and speak with
some of the guests. I get to sample the food, which is delicious, and ask a lot of questions.
Hoping to hear something really profound about meeting Jesus when he comes in for dinner, I
ask some of the women what is the best thing about doing this ministry and learn that it is the
fellowship - the Christian koinonia - among the group. After dinner I see what they mean. They
close the doors of the church, clean up the kitchen, and gather around the table to sing some
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