W
hat does a community church look like? The term is often used for independent churches
that do not claim a denominational identity. Often a “Community Church” expresses a
certain style of worship, evangelical, congregational, and independent. What does an
Episcopal Community Church look like? Interesting, I have never seen a church named “Episcopal
Community Church.” In a quick search I found Southwick Community Episcopal Church which is a
very good thing. It seems that this church identifies itself with the community. Naming is always
important and often says what we think or how we identify ourselves. In my experience Episcopal
Churches invariably look to the Saints or a theological expression of holiness, e.g. St. Albans’s or
Holy Trinity, Redeemer, Ghost and so on. So naming a church may have some significance. But the
concern here is “What does a community church” look like (note the small “c”)?
My own faith journey really started in a wonderful suburban church. Its focus was on youth. It
hosted a Boy Scout Troop; the youth group was filled with dozens of kids; it had a vibrant Vacation
Bible School; eventually it started a pre-school “as an outreach and mission to the community.” The
church was dedicated to the local community Food Pantry and provided worship services to two
retirement homes on Sundays. So, it was participating in the local landscape as were several other
main-line and independent denominational churches. Each church had niche for itself that laid
claim to be a part of the community.
My first church, and so far only church, isn’t located in the suburbs where church attendance and
youth groups are normative. My first church, St. Anna’s Episcopal Church, is an urban church
located in a part of this city that might be considered a cross roads neighborhood. We are on the
margins of the Tremé, French Quarter, Marigny, and 7th Ward or St. Roch neighborhoods. This
presents challenges aplenty. We have managed to bridge, in many ways, these very diverse
neighborhoods. Briefly, they represent working class, African-Americans; wealthy part time condo
owners; LBGT community; bohemian artistic community; and an increasing Latino population. The
median income runs from well below the poverty level within the Tremé to some of the wealthiest
residents in upscale condos in the Quarter. We have managed to somehow catch the attention of, at
least, representatives of this broad demographic. So, we are or are becoming, a community church.
A recent seminary intern from England, upon interviewing St. Anna’s parishioners, noted that most
said of this church that, “it walks the talk.” Our faith our church like any denomination can be
polarizing. We say, “All baptized Christians are invited to receive Holy Communion” rather than “All
are invited to the Table of the Lord” - exclusionary? Our music shifts between ‘old time gospel’ to
high Anglican hymns; musically exclusionary? We use incense at almost every worship along with
Sanctus Bells, and ‘manual acts’; exclusionary? Yet, despite these apparent gates, or liturgical walls,
we seem to be a community church that is drawing people in. We are growing at about 20% per
year and have done so for the past seven years. Congregational self identity and demographics
change with the seasons but still we grow. So, how are some of the definable ways that we lay claim
to being a community church?
The first and perhaps least important but most obvious way is signage! Above each door in our
facility a sign is hung that says, “You are now entering your mission field.” That sign is hung on the
inside of the church. It says clearly where our work as Christians is to be done. Having been in place
for over nine years now, I expect that many of the regulars never notice them – but our visitors do.
Our outdoor church sign, a cheap billboard type sign stating service times and community services
available from St. Anna’s also says, “All are welcomed none are shunned.” I have been surprised at
what an impact that simple statement says for both our congregation and those who pass by. In line
with our “cheapness” we have a “Murder Board” mounted prominently on the outside of our church
wall, where with a Marks-O-Lot the names of murder victims are written each week – this is a New
Orleans tragedy and one that we shall not forget. Yes, signage does communicate and it does help to
make us a community church. We define ourselves and remind ourselves each time we look or
over-look these signs. Just for the record, we do have the requisite “The Episcopal Church
Welcomes You” that is a little rusted swinging too low to the ground and usually spattered with dirt
from recent rains.
But isn’t a community church meant to be more than hospitable and welcoming and inclusive? Of
course it is. The challenge, I believe, is to overcome pretentious idealizations of what a church is or
should look like. At this point an entire textbook could be written about what that means. But
suffice it to say that I believe that this urban church ventures into unknown territory; maybe even
risky associations. This church finds itself present where people are rather than standing outside of
the community with an invitation to “come in.” This church ventures out into the wilds of the city.
As a priest, I am the first to admit that many of these adventures take me to places that don’t seem
so churchy; or in like circumstances where hymns and prayers are far distant. But, it is where the
people gather and they need to know that in THEIR PLACE, THEIR HOUSE, and THEIR MILIUE they
are loved; loved not always because of some of the shenanigans that go on but because, well simply,
they are humans created by the will of God.
My experience of this informs me of at least two phenomena that seem pervasive in these environs
and neighborhood niches. A lot of people don’t go to any church but claim an affiliation; they are
tired of the demands (perceived or real) for money or righteousness. Sometimes their own poverty
embarrasses them into not going to “tithe” demanding churches. Often the demand is coupled with
the threat of damnation or marginalization. The preacher is the emblem of the community and if
your faith is built on outward signs of success as a blessing – what is a poor man to do. This reminds
me of the cast system in India “the untouchables.” The other phenomenon is almost two-fold and
sounds something like this, “You tell me you love me and you tell me I am a freak of nature” and
“You tell me you love me/us but you do nothing in my community that so desperately needs your
help.” The end result is that either out of embarrassment or bitter hurt many folks don’t go to
church. I am also not naïve enough to think that many don’t go to church because it simply, “isn’t
relevant to my life” or “I just don’t feel like going (laziness).”
So, we go to where these hurt, broken, sometimes angry, or secularized folk live and play. We don’t
knock door to door. It might help but likely wouldn’t. We go and walk the neighborhood with
nothing more on our minds than to be seen and to offer a smile and hello; no fear. Often those who
aren’t in church will ask for a prayer. Others, the ones seeking relevance, well they are a harder lot
to move. For them the outward activity of the church, its missions tell the story, “We walk the talk.”
Our Mobile Medical Mission is seen; our Anna’s Arts youth program is neighborhood visible
because we walk the kids’ home; our English As a Second Language School is visible because the
parking lot is filled to capacity at night. We are in the news because our “murder board” is
sometimes a backdrop for the media. This is seen by secularists and skeptics as “walking the talk.”
Even then there is the LGBT community which is quite large near our church, not to mention the
lavender line on Bourbon St. where a number of Gay Bars are. The Marigny is more a neighborhood
and not a tourist haunt and they too host a number of neighborhood bars patronized mostly by
LGBT community. No less than disenfranchised African Americans or secularized social folk, this
community needs to be seen where they are IN THEIR HOUSE. That house is usually a bar, club, or
pub.
For a middle-class-straight-married-WASP- suburbanite going into LGBT realm and the poor but
proud Black neighborhoods around St. Anna’s is/was daunting yet exciting; no fear. It starts by
sitting on the stoop in front of the church and drinking coffee enjoying the day and chatting with
passersby; easy to do in our urban church. The next part was befriending and listening to the
stories that Gay men and women have to tell. This calls for a suspension of any pre conceived ideas
or judgments. Once I was comfortable, a very gregarious gay friend took my wife and I “on the fruit
loop” which is a pub crawl from Gay bars to Gay bar. It can take a couple of hours or all night
depending on one’s drinking habits (luckily I am in recovery and don’t drink). Oh my! How different
this all seemed than our little suburban early to bed early to rise community was. Oh my!
My first jolt, that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, was “Drag Dingo” a form of Bingo. The drag shows
and watching men kiss men – well! Like I said, I had to suspend judgment and preconceived ideas. It
is by, I believe, the Grace of God and the Power of the Holy Spirit that I did. Not because of what I
saw but because I am a creature of bias and a forceful one at that; my prejudice, my urban legends
turned into myth, all of those things, thankfully, were suppressed. I also enjoy wit and sarcasm, and
I have always enjoyed listening to people like John Stewart or even Mae West who took sarcasm to
new levels. In my opinion this is the vehicle of LGBT community, the way to vent, the way to rebel,
the way to express their own disenfranchisement and sense of being pushed – push back on stage
and in person. Often this is not PG-13 material, often it is near X rated; no fear. But what I
discovered underneath all of the caustic bravado were simply people who love and want to be
loved. It is often a community that is in communion more than many churches. I say this by bearing
witness to older men who become sick, as we all do, and begin to die. The surrounding community
gathers, they bring food, clean the house, and provide companionship. When this beloved member
passes true sadness and longing are expressed. I have done funerals in bar rooms because they
were “safe places” for prayerful and sometimes despised people. I have done wakes in homes and
yes drag queen funerals at the church – oh my, that was something. In each case and in most all of
these instances what I can say for sure is that there is/was a longing to belong and longing to be
loved and a longing to simply be taken for who they are and finally, an unarticulated searching for
God’s blessing.
So what does a community church look like? It has open doors. Not just to come into but to go out
from. It meets people where they are. Yes, I spend time in Gay Bars; yes, I spend time walking the
hood. Yes, I spend time chatting with the guy down the street and getting to know the local folk at
the drug store, the great little restaurant down the street, and even chat with my window rolled
down on the way home to the hustlers working the corners “for spare change.” When I first got to
St. Anna’s, I had not heard of a funeral in a church for a gay man or woman. I suppose they
happened. But what I do know now is that because we go out of the doors of the church, not always
but often, when a gay man dies they call St. Anna’s. When a gay man is ill sometimes they ask us to
visit. If a gay man with AIDS insufficient medical coverage is in trouble, well sometimes they might
just trust us to show compassion, a helping hand and prayer.
For three years, maybe more, our food pantry is supported by LGBT
community bars, drag queens, and flashy boys. Even the local gay
newspaper supports the work of St. Anna’s. They are still often so
afraid to come into the doors that we must go out of the doors of the
church. But when a man gives you a kiss of caring (on the cheek)
and hands you $500 and says with a smile and in true humility, “this
is for the kids” in some way maybe you have done church. Somehow
the man or woman feels and is, I think, blessed by being a blessing
to others. Finally, one of the most powerful things that our faith can
do IS bless. So, I sit at a bar stool and it’s a blessing; no fear. I go to
the local black barbershop and kid with Ms. Boutté; no fear. We as a
church at least try to do what our forgotten signs above the door
encourage us to do.
No, St. Anna’s is not “the Gay church”, although we are generally a pretty happy congregation. We
are a church that seeks out “all nations” as our Lord demands. I have written much about the LGBT
community and yet we are so much more. We have our church in the Tremé. Just a block or two
away arrays of black men hang out. Some sell drugs, some just hang out. It’s a poor neighborhood
that doesn’t offer much in the way of work. It doesn’t offer much in the way of opportunity or even
aspirations, at least not from what I have observed. Somewhere along the line, in some child
between 8 and 15 that got knocked out or killed on the streets, aspirations, obtainable and good
goals. They got lost in the deals, street cred, and hip hop hype. It’s more complicated than that in
New Orleans. Believe it is but at least from what I’ve seen this is part of the story.
I know a kid at age seven who looked at me with intense anger in his eyes. Not childhood anger,
adult pit of the stomach anger, and said, “I hate cops!” Age seven he was, yes indeed. He hates cops. I
asked, “Why?” He said, “Because I just hate cops.” Yes, age seven. He is supposed
to not really truly hate anything except maybe an early bath while the summer
sun is still up. That same kid gets a walk home every night by Mr. Darryl from St.
Anna’s. That same kid and some of those same kids showed up one Sunday,
invited, not evangelized, and certainly not expected. They just showed up on
Sunday, dressed, and ready for church. One of them came in, smiled, looked in
the face, reached out his hand and put a crumpled sweaty dollar bill in my hand
and with the biggest smile on his face, “That’s for Jesus!” No fear? Well maybe
just a bit. Fear of failure of losing him or his sister. Losing them to the battle that is the streets. They
just showed up one Sunday, all having come from our after school program. They choose to be in a
place that showed a little care, a little love, and gave them attention without having to literally fight
for it. They just showed up. So, Mr. Darryl gathers them up on Sundays and brings them to church
and walks them home. Outside of our doors he walks them home. The men hanging on the street
call Mr. Darryl “Rev.” Darryl blushes a bit when we call him that at church.
One Sunday Rev. Darryl called all the kids and said he wasn’t going to be there and that they should
stay at home. NOPE! A BIG NOPE! A lovely 12 year old got up early, she got dressed, and then went
door to door to gather “the children” and make sure they were dressed. Yep, they just showed up.
This is inner city urban ministry. Sometimes it is sad and the outcome isn’t always what I or we
want. Sometimes we lose. One of my dearest first acolytes, the star of St. Anna’s, well he’s in prison
now; he’ll be getting out soon. What will we do then? One of the first people I met was an eccentric
big black homeless man. Back in the suburbs I would have run away. But I sat on the stoop and got
to know him. Quite a philosopher, artist, and come to find out an expert on antiques – no really
before he was homeless he used to buy for an antique company. Well, he ended up in jail. He got out
and we tried and tried to get him stabilized and on a path to self sufficiency. It’s complicated but
he’s back on the streets and probably homeless again. My first ‘parish administrator’ had attended
Oxford University before his schizophrenic break. He was medicated and fully functional. He lived
with my wife and me during Katrina for almost three months. He talked his doctor into changing his
medication. He is now fully schizophrenic and again homeless. So, it’s not always about joy or
‘success’; no fear. It is after all urban, inner city ministries.
This is only a glimpse of what my experience of ‘urban ministry’ is. It’s far from the whole story
because it’s complicated. It’s complicated because people are complicated. It’s complicated because
poverty in New Orleans is complicated. It’s complicated because the LGBT story is complicated. But
I know this, a “Poker Run from gay bar to gay bar” to raise money for St. Anna’s Food Pantry is more
than just lip service. It is a nod that maybe; just maybe “we walk the talk.” So while we are walking
the next step is about empowering. Not so that WE can feel good about doing good; so that good and
indeed great things can be accomplished by those that we have been put here to serve.
“…let the greatest among you become as the youngest, and the leader as one
who serves. For which is the greater, one who sits at table, or one who serves? Is it
not the one who sits at table? But I am among you as one who serves.” The Gospel of Jesus
Christ according to St. Luke.