“Maybe, after the sermon,
after the multitude was fed,
one or two of them felt
the soul slip forth”

-from Maybe, Mary Oliver, Pulitzer Prize winning poet.

Conversations with James Fry of Mean Street Ministry always leave me enlightened, admonished, impassioned and challenged as a believer. Here is one to whom the suffering of the Colorado homeless and working poor is real. The God that Mean Street is preaching makes absolute sense to me. He is the God of right here and now. He is not the God of abject and abstract promises but practical, forward momentum. Proverbs in the Bible says, let not a man withhold what good he can do, what is within the power of his hand to do. God, I believe, has given us a lot more power than we are willing to exercise in His name.

Curiously enough, I am now able to give examples from my own life. As you all know, my family and I are legal immigrants to the United States. Nine years, 14 immigration lawyers and several American employers later, we are still at the threshold of becoming legal citizens. Was not power in the hands of some of these people to do the right thing at the right time and save my family the stress and suffering we are undergoing? Yes. Were some of these people Christians and churchgoers? Yes. Then why?

James Fry did not give me a platitude when I cried out ‘why?’He did not hand me books on the theology of suffering or ask me to read Harold Kushner’s “When Bad Things Happen To Good People.” He simply cried out with an equal measure of passion and anger, in words that seemed to come out of Jesus mouth, “. . .because it is not their crisis.” Relating it to fundraising for Mean Street, James said that he ran into the same kind of apathy when he was trying to convey the urgency of meeting a particular need for an individual or family. People would say to James, “well, if God really wanted you to do this then God would provide.”

It was then the light bulb went off in my head. I had suddenly that epiphany. That moment, literary types and liberal arts majors like myself are taught to recognize in literature. Incredibly enough, my epiphany did not come about from some professor of literature but from a fellow Christian. It is a moment of epiphany brought to life, about life by a Christian brother. Praise God. And what is that moment of epiphany?

It is in the Bible. Revelation 3: 16 (Whole Chapter)

So, because you are lukewarm-neither hot nor cold-I am about to spit you out of my mouth.

And why is this so relevant to our lives as we face the rest of our days from this day forth or this moment on? Because God is a God of passion, His passion for beauty, truth, justice and love is what makes things happen. Mean Street Ministry is able to move individuals and families forward because James and the ministers do not draw their identities from the pain and suffering of others. Like Jesus, they walk amongst the Colorado homeless and poor, not in a state of ennui or selfrighteousness but seeking ways in which to not only alleviate suffering but to bring individuals and families to wholeness and joy.

I cannot write about James and Mean Street without also mentioning James’s mother, Betty Fry and his brothers and sisters of color on the West Side. Dwayne and Sharon Johnson and Fred and Vicki, Pastor Ronnie and the amazing group of people, rather more representative of God’s kingdom, at work. This puts that new song in my heart and heightens the epiphany. Elie Wiesel, the holocaust survivor, when asked where was God in the holocaust, replied, “where was man?”

I hate to admit it, but I think God has given me poverty to brush with, so I too, say, “Dam it. Here I am, Lord.”

-Anushka Anastasia Solomon, 2007 Mayor’s Award for Excellence in the Arts nomiee

Reproduced from Rockland Community Church’s Chimes newsletter

A child’s kiss
Set on thy sighing lips shall make thee glad;
A poor man served by thee shall make thee rich;
A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong;
Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense
Of service which thou renderest.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

It is not only the poets who ought to know but all people. And it struck me that during this recent Christmas season as Mean Street Ministry set forth with gifts, hot cocoa, the good news and good cheer that the people, yes. Amen. We were blessed indeed to stand on those cold streets Christmas week and share good conversation, hot cocoa and sing Christmas carols for and with our brothers and sisters in God’s large and diverse family.

“It blesses me and touches my heart how you would all come out and sing for us, lifting our spirits like this,” said one man as we sang Christmas Carols. His words of gratitude touched our hearts and we in turn, sang lustily, raising our voices up to the heavens. Our initial shyness and insecurities about not sounding like the choir fell away. We sang with our hearts. The children watched and listened to us as if we were God’s angels…..and indeed for those moments, as the families and children received gifts and the Ministers gathered to pray and serve hot cocoa, it seemed as if it were…our own souls that were saved.

Every evening of the week of Christmas, and even on Christmas Day, Mean Street Ministry volunteers went out to sing of God’s goodness and grace.
Whoever watches the wind will not plant;
Whoever looks at the clouds will not reap.
Ecclesiastes 11,4

“Christmas a humbug, uncle!” said Scrooge’s
nephew. “You don’t mean that, I am sure?”
-A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, 1843.

“I do,” said Scrooge. “Merry Christmas! What
right have you to be merry? What reason have you
to be merry? You’re poor enough.”

“Come, then,” returned the nephew gaily. “What
right have you to be dismal? What reason have you
to be morose? You’re rich enough.”

“Everything is a gift now,” said Mae, the old homeless woman, who was with us at Christmas on Colfax. “I used to have everything, a husband, family, a home…. Now I have nothing.” She said, looking deep into my eyes,

Her words, ‘everything is a gift, now’ uttered by a mouth that was sans teeth, in a childish treble, compressed life from infancy to old age. Her face and mine melted away like fog on a mirror as I leaned closer to hear her better. I heard her say again, almost in a murmur, “So, everything is a gift, now.”

“Mae, my name is Mae, spelt M-A-E. I am born in the month of May, Mother’s day,” she confided.

“Are you homeless?” I asked foolishly, placing my arm around her, startled by her disheveled condition and mesmerized by others entering and exiting our Christmas party. Her words, “Everything is a gift now,” linger in the air like the sound of silver bells. She is old and disoriented by the happenings in her life but everything is a gift, now is a refrain that draws us together

“I have a room, now but someone took my social security check and so I didn’t think I was going to get it this month but I did some of it. They told me someone had gone and taken my money so I am not getting it,” She said. Then, as if that was all she needed to say, “everything is a gift, now” she shuffled off to receive her plate of food and to sit down to it.

Then an African American woman came up and gave us hugs. I watched her later as she set her plate carefully down on the table and silently blessed her food once again before she ate.

“Aren’t you cold?” a young teen waiting in line to be served asked me solicitously. Her friend, pushing an older woman in a wheelchair thanked Mean Street for throwing this party.

At the door, warm clothing was given away and there were tables set up for parents to choose presents for their children, and a station where these were wrapped up. Santa was there to give presents to the children who were there; a band was playing music and at another table, volunteers painted candy canes and snow men on little bright eyed faces.

Christmas on Colfax is very different from Christmas, say at the Brown Palace. Here, we are drawn close to our personal poverty and our need for camaraderie. There we share in the illusion of wealth and corporate success. Here, there are no glittering chandeliers, pretensions or borrowed plumes, it is a come as you are party and everyone has arrived bundled up in warm clothing, glad for the food and fellowship generously provided by Grace Fellowship church. The members of Grace Fellowship church cooked and served meals for up to 500 homeless people and the volunteers of Mean Street Ministry at the VOA hall. There was an array of mouth watering desserts and roast turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and cranberry and raspberry jellies.

“Grace Fellowship Church was awesome. They cooked all this food and it never ran out. Every time it seemed like the food was going to run out, someone else from Grace Fellowship showed up with more. It was as if they knew.” Nancy said afterwards.

“It is very important to James that we sit and eat at the tables with everyone,” one of the volunteers told me. I watched James, his wife Renee, Betty, his daughters and all the volunteers, Pastor Ken and Kathy, Dwayne and Sharon Johnson, Fred and Vicki, and their daughter, Melissa and many others who came to grace the occasion, enjoy the music and share in this, the kingdom of heaven. The band played Elvis Presley and sang Christmas songs and the season was come. Meredith Baxter, one of the Rockland Fellows sat beside a homeless man and held his baby in her arms as he ate his food. As Meredith gave the baby his bottle and gently cradled him, the baby, lay in her arms, content.

At Christmas on Colfax, no one could say that Christmas was a humbug. The faith, the hope and the love, Mean Street proffered was in joyous celebration of the Giver of all these good and perfect gifts. The Christmas spirit cascaded down like the snow outside, the songs inside. The well cooked hot food fed more than our bellies because of the spirit in which it was shared. We left that evening, our spirits lightened. For the first time in America, the celebration of Christmas with an overabundance of food and gifts actually made sense. No one was here to pick at food and then push it away, no one was here to gorge and then spend the rest of the coming months in regret. Everyone was here to enjoy the food and celebrate our common humanity, our poverty of spirit and the love of an Almighty God in whom, we trust.

“Today I’m as poor as yesterday
But I have a song in my heart,
I gave my life to Jesus,
I trust Him to lead where He wants”

-‘I have a song’, Betty Fry 1989.

One can live so often, so close to Mean Street, both the miracle and the misery of it, that it is unnerving. The only way to reconcile miracle with misery is to seek out the One who will walk those streets with us, O’ Emmanuel!

This Monday, we have so much bread, there is enough to throw around and play. And yet, today just minutes after our joy on the streets in the parking lot; at the Apartments, an African American man restrained from grabbing a loaf of bread from an overflowing box, turns away, sullen, slighted and angry. The Minister who restrained his eager hands had not intended to hurt him, but this man, dressed in a hood and jeans felt deeply the pain and shame of rejection. He dropped the loaf back in the box quickly and backed away.

“I was hungry, man, I thought it was free”, he said, murmuring an apology, eyes downcast, his face darkening with shame. Our brother refused to receive bread from our hands even after we recognized our folly and took the whole box back to him to choose from. “It is free, brother,” the Minister insisted but the wound had been inflicted.

Antiphon for the Holy Spirit

“The Spirit of God
Is a life that bestows life,
root of world-tree
And wind in its boughs-Hildegard Of Bingen (1098-1179), one of the most famous Western women mystics “tithed “ to God at the age of eight and sent to live in Benedictine community. (tr. By Barbara Newman)

Scrubbing out sin
She rubs oil into wounds

She is glistening life
Alluring all praise,
all-awakening,
all-resurrecting.”

 

It is a distressing experience that nevertheless brings us back to Jesus Christ. It is a powerful reminder that walking the road, the imitation of Christ, is no easy task. All this sounds like I know what I am talking about. I don’t. Our eyes are daily pried open when we go out on Mean Street. Like the African American man, when I encounter slights and rejection, real and imagined, I want to turn away, melt away into the shadows with my anger and my pride, my poverty and my shame, my undeniable rage at ‘injustice’ but God gently draws the beggar, the ragamuffin in me with love and kisses my eyes open. Kisses. God never kicks the door open: He knocks gently.

East Side Director, Dwayne Johnson in his talk about Mean Street at the Church of the Hills, Presbyterian Church on November 18th, told us that in the New Testament, from Matthew to Revelation, 122 conversations take place between Jesus and the people. Only 8 of these conversations took place in a religious setting like a synagogue or temple. 114 conversations between Jesus and the people took place on the streets or in someone’s home.

Whether we are in church or outside, there are ample opportunities for us to help or hinder Our Lord’s cause. And what exactly is that? The answers must be different for everyone…to ‘become like Him’, to ‘stop sinning’, to feed the poor and clothe the naked, ‘to allow our hearts to be broken’….

For me, (and perhaps you) like that young African American man, the challenge is to stop turning away, sullen, slighted and angry, to stop counting the injustices and to receive the broken body of Our Lord and the wine of His blood poured out for me.

West Side Director, James Fry, emphasizes prayer in Mean Street. “Mean Street could never happen without prayer,” he says often. And indeed, James’s mother and others behind the scenes are in constant prayer for God’s people, all of them. What follows is another poem prayerfully written by James’s mother.

Help Me See The Glory.

“Oh God help me see the glory beyond the vessel you use. I know man is fallible, though he is your messenger. The Spirit is the truth, the true messenger. We lend our self to the Spirit to exalt your word to spread your word to all the earth. We will stumble if we take our eyes off the cause, forgive us if we fail, please help those that are hurt by the fall of one of your messengers, let them know and see that flesh cannot destroy the credibility of the word of God. Let them realize man is only flesh and the lust of flesh wars at all times against the Spirit. If we let down our relation with the Spirit temptation of flesh enters our souls and we fall. Lord we are grateful for your upholding hand, we stand on the promise that if we fall we will not be utterly cast down, your hand will uphold and lift us up. We will keep the vision of the cross, the salvation of the blood before us. We will yield our spirit to your cause, lead us from temptation, deliver us from all evil, let us run and not be weary, drink from the fountain that never runs dry, keep us ever in your sight, Lord Christ of Calvary, thank you for the old rugged cross.”-Betty Fry.

 

Dear America:

Happy Thanksgiving! We are thankful to be in the United States and to participate in Thanksgiving celebrations with you. What a great national tradition to have, to celebrate God and family and in the case of some of you, to include at your table, the strangers, friends and neighbors of the land.

We were privileged and honored to be invited to James and Renee Fry’s Thanksgiving table. As we sat around it, we remembered past celebrations with other gracious Americans;as we bowed our heads in prayers led by James and his family, down to his children who spontaneously chose scripture to read over us, we felt blessed. Our souls had grown weary but sitting at that table, giving thanks, our souls began to sing.

Betty Fry, James’s mother, shared with us the gift of her original poetry. Her poem, ‘Let my Soul so sing’ below captures the feeling, the mood of Thanksgiving. I chose this one out of a whole sheaf of inspired poetry by Betty Fry because it struck the chord of prayer and thanksgiving in our hearts. I hope Betty’s poem does that for you as well. God Bless America.

Let my Soul so sing

Oh let the sun shine in my soul,
Let the joy of love flow.
Let joyous laughter again reign,
Please let my soul so sing

Let love deepen, free of sin
Let my eyes always see
God’s beauty in all things,
Oh let my soul so sing.

Let me know the depth of love,
And hear your voice call my name
By grace let me be free of sin,
Lord of Lords let my soul so sing.

Help my frail soul not to stumble
And my faith never falter
My feet run light to help my brother
Let my soul forever sing.

-by Betty Fry

“I cannot dance O’Lord,
Unless You lead me.
If you wish me to leap joyfully,
Let me see You dance and sing-

Then I will leap into Love-
And from Love into Knowledge,
And from Knowledge into the Harvest,
That sweetest Fruit beyond human sense.

There I will stay with You, whirling.”

-Mechtild of Magdeburd, German mystic

 

The moon hung low, like an orange sliver in the purple sky. As we drove toward the New Beginnings Christian Fellowship Church, 1780 S. Buckley Road, the city lights shone brightly, competing for our attention, like runaway, renege men and women, dressed in their best finery. Undeniably magnificent, the city lights lay like a carpet of artificial neon flowers. Car headlights whizz by. It’s Friday night after all. People are in a hurry to get home; some will be spending it in front of the television set, watching their favorite television program,CSI or going out with friends and family.

Tonight, the moon is captivating in her silent, strangely robust beauty. This giant segment of an orange, fastened in the sky, peeping out from under a cloud, this testament to the beauty and creative power of a holy God; without the captions hoisted on billboards and without lettered signs, shines with a particular, spectacular attraction. In silence, awe, wonderment, without words, as the East Side Director of Mean Street, Dwayne Johnson described it, the gospel shines as well, drawing, this day, God’s anointed singers, dancers and musicians from all over the Denver Metro Area. The purpose of our gathering this Friday night is words, song, dance, worship and praise to make a joyful noise unto the Lord.

“Have you checked each other out? Go on, go ahead look around on the side of you and around, see how everyone’s dressed, what cologne, what outfits, what jewelry, get that all out of your system and then remember, we are here to worship God, Amen?” Pastor Ronnie from Dayton, Ohio said.

“Amen,” his wife echoed. “We are doing today what Satan used to do in heaven. We are worshipping God. He can’t do that no more but we have his job now and we are going to do it.”

It is a culturally diverse crowd. The church is next to Patrick’s Bar and Night Club. The parking lot is full of cars. People go either way, some read the shocking pink sign and walk into the clouds of smoke and others walk briskly into the church. It is a wonderfully free country, as one of the musicians in church, and Rev. Carolyn Smith at this outreach put it:

“We are free to gather here in this country to worship our God, the way we desire. If it is rap that speaks to you, then rap it is. Maybe you think the city is built on rock and roll. Or maybe it’s just a little hymn. Our hope and prayer is that God will use us and our music and dancing to touch your heart and give you a healing or draw you close to Him.”

He did. It would be difficult to empty out the entire cache of our experience of this Mean Street musical outreach, but I will attempt in words to describe a few highlights and urge you then, to go and experience it yourself the next time Mean Street does this. Special mention ought to be made of Ms. Tymesha Edwards, a recently married, liturgical dancer.

Dressed in blue and white robe, an embroidered white cross on her left shoulder, the bespectacled Ms. Edwards threw herself into a passionate embrace of Our Lord, allowing us to witness her beseeching The Lord, to bless the soul.

Ms. Edwards body became a prayer as she threw herself in abandon into the dance; her arms spoke eloquently the words of the song that flowed as if were a robe of light about her; her feet quickened to express the heights and depths of our Lord’s love; we forgot ourselves and in watching the expression of this soul entreating God for blessing, became one with Him. The props and our bodily shortcoming fall away, as Ms. Edwards dances -Alone, solitary but in the presence of many – for the glory of God.

“I can be church all by myself,” said this dancer before she began her performance, “When I think of how good, God has been to me, I don’t need the music and the band, just His goodness, in the morning, when I wake up, causes me to sing and dance.”

Psalm 45.The beautiful young Latino girls from the Church of The Living God Praise Team, demurely dressed in white and purple satin robes, gold sequin belts, long, colorful sashes and tambourines brought to life the scripture verse that says that God’s daughters will be like pillars that adorn the church. Their youthful bodies were thrown into a choral praise of God. They embodied psalm 45.v 15: “They are led with joy and gladness; They enter the palace of the king.”

The Lowry Community Male Chorus is among the festive throng and part of the procession leading our worship of God this evening. The all African American team, debonair and dressed in black suits took us to Hallelujah Square. This song, and another prefaced by the lead singer with a reference to Jacob wrestling all night with the angel, refusing to let go until God blessed him, was another poignant, prayerful refrain.

Then the Morning Star Baptist Male Chorus in red suits and red shoes, sang unto the Lord, creating in this church, in the city of Denver, a city of God. Psalm 48. A place for all believers to participate in worship, joy and thanksgiving…..Pastor Ronnie periodically coaxed the reticent, to jump up and worship:

“Hey ya’ll, we are supposed to be a spirit filled, church on fire. I don’t see no bodies burning. Jump up and sing and worship. This ain’t no performance for you to sit back and watch like it’s a play or show on television. Might as well have stayed home and done that if you are just going to sit there.”

Going home, under that slice of the yellow moon, we could say with a sigh of contentment that the Lord has been good to us. That indeed there is freedom of worship in this country and that for all its’ troubles, this is still one nation under God. And Mean Street Ministry continues “Reaching Beyond The Walls.”

Psalm 48.v8,9 and 10.

“As we have heard,
So have we seen
In the city of the Lord Almighty,
In the city of our God;
God makes her secure forever.

Within your temple O’God,
We meditate on your unfailing love,
Like your name, O’God
your praise reaches to the ends of the earth;
your right hand is filled with righteousness.”

 

 

Moline Apartments is next to a cemetery. The Mean Street van is pulled up in the parking lot. It is a cool and chilly evening. The trees are stripped of leaves, branches, like arms stretch heavenward. Across from us, rows and rows of cement head stones, proclaiming the dead. The apartments are set up in two rows sharing an uncovered common space. The semi circular seating tables and benches, made of stone add to the ambience. It is as if this were a hotel vestibule, only make believe luxury. The people here are in need, though some appear content and none are in any visible state of discontent. The children are outside playing with a ball. The smell of home cooking wafts in the air.

One boy runs up and flies into Fred’s warm embrace. Fred envelops the boy, all bright eyes and spiky hair, in a bear hug. Fred is the only one among us who speaks Spanish. Today, there are twelve ministers, going out in threes’ and twos’ armed with resource guides, burrito, bread and pastries baskets. It’s Patty’s birthday. She has chosen to spend it here on Mean Street among us.

In another parking lot, where we meet Ministers from other churches and sort out and load the van, we find a chocolate birthday cake, among the pastries. The Ministers tease Patty that that’s her cake. The one the Lord’s provided. Now, Craig her husband, they tell her, can save money. Patty laughs, her eyes, face, hands and body, reflecting that lightness of spirit and joy, only those at ease in their minds and hearts, with God and man, seem to possess. James asks Pastor Ronnie to lead us in prayer. Pastor Ronnie prays that God will bless the seeds of love that are sown tonight.

“True love’s the gift which God has given
To man alone beneath the heaven:
It’s not fantasy’s hot fire,
Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly;
It liveth not in fierce desire,
With dead desire it doth not die;
It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart and mind to mind
In body and soul can bind.” – Sir Walter ScottThe first person we minister to is a young mother, two months into her pregnancy. “I will have some cookies, please. I am pregnant, so I eat a lot.” she said as she looked hungrily at the laden baskets. Ricky offers to pray for her and for her unborn child. She accepts with alacrity and invites us in, out of the cold.

 

The apartment is sparsely furnished. A wooden chair, a single tall stand lamp and a television set are all there is in the living room. Craig, Patty’s husband, takes the resource guide and briskly informs her of what is available. Furniture. Warm Clothes. Strawberries. The young mother’s eyes widen, as she listens.

Ricky prays for her and advises her to find a church.

“You need the connection, a church family, that covering and shelter. People who will pray for you and help you through this pregnancy and this season of your life. This will be a season of blessing for you,” Ricky reassures her.

Mellisa, name tattoed on her left arm, listens, wide eyed. Her hair in two thin braids, feet in black sneakers, she looks like a child herself. It is apparent that the burly, brotherly presence of both men, Craig and Ricky is comforting to her. When Craig directs Melissa to the van for any other needs she might have, she intones thank you, guys, in a soft voice of wonderment. “I’ll go to the van right now,” she says as we leave.

The Ministers work their way through the apartments, sending people with needs down to the van. Later Nancy and Peter approach Fred with the phone number of a woman who needs a minister to speak to her on spiritual matters. They need someone who speaks Spanish and Fred will call her tomorrow.

James directs a man who needs advice on a legal matter to Peter. Later, I tell Nancy, I didn’t know Mean Street helped with legal matters. She didn’t either, she said to me. What kind of a lawyer is Peter, I asked realizing, soon afterward that that didn’t matter. The answer was obvious when I understood the man’s situation. Peter is the kind of lawyer God can use. The kind of lawyer that people the International Justice Mission – the kind God uses to set the oppressed free, the kind who rest on Isaiah 58, demonstrating with their lives and actions, who their Lord is, what true fasting and what real religion looks like.

Suddenly, I am thankful, thankful for all these bountiful good gifts: for Peter, for Mean Street Ministry, for Patty and Craig who have chosen to celebrate her birthday with us, for Dwayne, James, Pastor Ronnie, Tom, Vicki and Fred, Nancy ….a God who is indeed Emmanuel, God with us, walking, alongside……. I needed in my own life to see God’s redemptive work. I needed to see a lawyer out on these streets who is not the kind the poet Carl Sandburg describes in his poem, “The Lawyers Know Too Much.” I needed to see the Hispanic man being ministered to by James, Patty and Peter to truly believe and see what the Christian faith, the body, the cloud of witnesses do. Under the moonlight, as I watch, my heart begins to sing.

James later mentions in jest that the only clearly spoken English word, the Hispanic man could say was – pissed. Everyone laughs. It is the laughter of the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, which heart to heart and mind to mind, in body and soul can bind.. That is the gist of it. Peter has taken the man’s number and will be calling him. Peter and Mean Street’s presence and ministry fed more than one hungry soul this evening. Who would have thought, who would have known, who would ever guess, that one of those souls was me!

Thanksgiving. It is soon to be Thanksgiving and muchos gracias fills the air. As the people mill around the van, as the ministers talk, pray, play and give away, I am thankful. Mean Street draws people from all professions who have given their heart to Jesus, and serve God. I am glad that today, I among the twelve chosen to be out among the people, what Carl Sandburg describes as the seed ground.

Next stop, Shepard’s motel. Yes, the one owned by Mr. Orlando adjacent to that neon sign advertising nude dancing. But perish that thought, that temptation, that outlook and remember this:

“True love’s the gift which God has given
To man alone beneath the heaven:
It’s not fantasy’s hot fire,
Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly;
It liveth not in fierce desire,
With dead desire it doth not die;

The rest of this poem is illustrated, no, illuminated by the Mean Street Ministry outside the motel, under the streetlamps and the near that neon sign. Once again, I don’t know anymore who gives and who receives grace on Mean Street. After knocking on doors, reconnecting with families, individuals and strangers- people we pray for and people who want to pray for us- the Ministers gather outside the motel, by the van. Looking at his kind, bespectacled, smiling face I wonder idly if Mr. Orlando is a Christian. Nancy says she doesn’t know but she informs me that Mr. Orlando is welcoming of Mean Street and asks us to minister to others in other motels in the area that he owns.

It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart and mind to mind
In body and soul can bind.”

The Ministers share their personal stories and testimonies with each other. Right there, on these streets, by that neon sign, people come up and begin to talk about God and spiritual matters. Before we leave this evening, the circle of prayer has widened, more than the twelve of us are gathered here today. As we pray, I realize with gratitude what that church sign in Lakewood –God’s Work, Our Hands – must mean.

The Hispanic man comes to mind again. His particular distress and experience of injustice causes me to ask that pesky and perennial question – why? Why evil, why?

“Yes. Think how God must feel though…”Nancy muses, “You wonder why He doesn’t wipe it all out.”

“But why? Why do people exploit and take advantage of others?” I persisted.

“Because they can.” Patty said, matter of factly, reiterating what Gary Haughan, founder of the International Justice Mission had once said in a talk.

Then like a light bulb went on, like that neon sign, it occurred to me. God is slow to anger. In His mercy and compassion, he allows victims to endure injustice and suffers with them. Often, He sends angels….like Peter tonight, or Mean Street or IJM but sometimes, He withdraws people, so we seek Him in prayer. As Oswald Chambers writes in My Utmost For His Highest, “We receive His blessings, but do we know Him?”

 

What did you think or feel when you got in the van?

When I first got in, I was happy. Everyone was talking to me, they made me feel very special. I was a little worried what things would be like when we went to someone’s door.

Did you see things that made you happy, sad, afraid, or surprised?

I didn’t think it would be as scary as it was! There was this guy that started to cry, that made me very sad. It also made me a little scared because I did not understand why he was crying. I was also surprised that a grown man was crying. Another person made me really sad, he said he was sober for the second day. He thanked the Street Minister’s for helping him.
I was very excited to be with the Street Minister’s, because the people in the motels were so anxious to see them. At some places the children ran out to see us. Most of the motel people seem to know the Street Minister’s, they smile at the minister’s, like they are a friend, and thank them. Sometimes the kids and a few of the adults hugged the Street Minister’s. That made me feel very good.

Would you want to go again?

Yes, I would really like to go again. Most of the time I felt like the motel people really liked having us there. That felt good. It felt good to be a part of something that made so many people happy. I really like all the Street Minister’s too, they took really good care of me.

What did you feel like when you got out of the van?

I was glad to be home, because it was really cold out. I also felt happy because I felt like I had done something special. I felt very proud of my dad for being in charge of all this, and having so many people look up to him.

And that’s Mean Street from the eyes of a 10 year old.

Elizabeth Fry

Heads up friends of Mean Street!

1. November 18, we will be performing music and a skit at:

Service 10:30 am – Luncheon 11:50 am

Rev Dee Cooper

Church of the Hills Presbyterian Church

28628 Buffalo Park Rd

Evergreen, CO 80439

303-674-6641

www.churchofthehills.com

2. December 9th, @ 3:30 pm we are partnering with Grace Fellowship Church of Lakewood, and throwing a Christmas soirée at the VOA shelter in Denver on West Colfax. Some people know this shelter as “The Aristocrat.” We will have a visit from Santa, turkey dinners with all the fixings, hot coco, candy canes, live music, gifts for kids and adults, and Christmas caroling under the tents with tables and chairs.

3. December 17th & 18th, we will be taking Santa to the motels and apartments along Colfax, we need Christmas carolers please. We will have gifts for kids and care packages for the adults, hot coco.

James Fry

Director

Mean Street Ministry

office: 303 237 0443

mobile: 720 933 6726

P.O. Box 260491

Denver, CO 80226

sonofthunder@comcast.net

www.meanstreetministry.org