October 2011

The Little Way

"Love proves itself by deeds, so how am I to show my love? Great deeds are forbidden me. The only way I can prove my love is by scattering flowers and these flowers are every little sacrifice, every glance and word, and the doing of the least actions for love." Teresa of Lisieux

The Little Way and the Big Way

Elizabeth Costello and Joseph Wolyniak
We speak regularly about the power of the Holy Spirit. But what kind of power is this? This is an important question for us who say we ought to imitate the life of a poor, crucified man. Our Manifesto, after all, is the Sermon on the Mount - turning the other cheek, giving to him who begs, not worrying about tomorrow, loving our enemies, refusing the right of judgment. Our way, in other words, is what Saint Teresa of Lisieux called the Little Way. The Little Way of doing the most common and mundane acts out of the love of Jesus and in a spirit of self-sacrifice, of not needing to be thanked, of not seeking praise or recognition or restitution. The Little Way is the way of what the Church traditionally calls the Works of Mercy. These are the smallest of acts, and the challenge is to do them out of great love. The Little Way is not the Big Way. The Big Way is the way the world thinks. We all know it. The Big Way is the way held out to us at Graduation and Commencement Speeches. Go! - use your power and change the world. Become powerful, wield your strong right arm, remake society from the top down. Get money organized, get people to do what you want, and set up a system of checks and balances to keep things this way. Money and management, steel and swords, institutions and initiatives , planning and programs. It is clear how the Big Way works. Its power lies in its ability to manipulate and control. (continued on page 3)

Christianity Untried
Peter Maurin 1. Chesterton says: The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. 2. It has been found difficult and left untried. 3. Christianity has not been tried because people thought it was impractical. 4. And people have tried everything except Christianity. 5. And everything people have tried has failed.

Hospitality House Happenings

In September we started having weekly community meals at the House on Tuesday nights. Before the meal we have Eucharist, celebrated by one of our local priests. Our usual Elements are three-dollar wine and Wonder Bread, substances fittingly mean (and fittingly named) to become the body and blood of the Eternal Word who did not despise our lowly estate. Attendance has been between five and ten folks, including house members and guests from the street. Our friend and house member Mac prepares the meal for usweve been going with a big pot of spaghetti. Last week we also had garlic bread, which the guys bought for the meal out

Colin Miller

their own pocket as a sur- necessities, as farmers and prise. the birds know, end in the brute generosity of Gods I can think of no more fitting open hand to us whether place to celebrate the Eucha- or not we deserve it, whethrist, which is Gods hospitali- er or not we use the gift ty to us. In this principal act wisely. But we who are neiof worship the Church finds ther farmers nor birds forits identity in its identity get this, and are quickly with the wandering Son of tricked by the distribution Man who has no place to lay process into thinking we his head, and who lived on deserve these things. But the hospitality of others. In we dont. He makes his sun this worship we beg God to rise on the evil and on the make us more like this Poor good, and rain fall on the One, the Son of God. We are unjust and the just. In all dependent upon Gods hospi- our meals, and especially in tality, not just for our re- the Eucharist, we are redemption through Holy Com- minded that we are never munion with the Son, but for more than beggars. + the food that we eat, the water we drink, the wine that makes us glad, the sun that keeps us warm. All our basic

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T HE LI T T LE WA Y

OCTOBER 2011

On Love and the Poor

J.R. Rigby
The most basic step toward community, where the rich and the homeless share life together, is first to decline the temptation to exclude the homeless from fellowship. This is such a small step -- just not to preclude the possibility of community. With that small step behind us, we are faced with the problem of how to go on. We have long since invited the poor among us, or perhaps we have responded to their invitations after all, they have been there longer than most of us. But having avoided the first temptation to undermine community, moving ever toward the eucharistic ideal, we are faced with new challenges. The challenges, I have thought at times, are those of discerning the deserving from the undeserving, or perhaps of convincing my new friends that I am not to be conned, or to establish a level of understanding with them concerning what I can and cannot give, or will and will not. These challenges, it turns out, are all the challenges of maintaining control. The first is to control the reception of my charity, that it not be taken for granted or squandered when others could use it more. The second is control of my dignity. The third is control over the claims that the poor might make of me, as if to say, "I'll give you anything as long as you don't ask for this, or that." The fear of losing control is at once a fear of "enabling" or perpetuating sin (by giving money to an alcoholic in search of a drink), of being made a fool in a con, or of the slippery slope that one seems to occupy when one starts giving freely to those who ask (because so few exercise proper restraint in asking!). It is clear to me that these are

fears that I face daily. And yet I also realize that the fear of enabling rests on a conviction that I am a more faithful steward than the alcoholic, perhaps that spending that money on my own luxury, a meal in a restaurant, or coffee for a meeting with a colleague, is somehow more faithful than this man's indulgence in a destructive habit born of who knows what hardship. The fear of being made a fool is a fear of losing the esteem of

others, and ultimately a fear of being made lowly, even if it be for the sake of Christ. The fear of giving freely is ultimately a fear of becoming poor. And the fear of becoming poor is the fear that God will not provide what I need. The belief that through charity one might be left with too little is fundamentally belief that God cannot, or will not, provide. Once I realize that what I thought were the challenges are really no more

than my own habits to distance myself from the poor, or even from others generally, I begin to have some idea of greater challenges. The greater challenge is to see Christ in the undeserving, the needy, the down-trodden. Need alone is the poor man's worthiness, St. John Chrysostom reminds us. To see a man or woman who is so battered to the point of self-loathing is to see an immensely unattractive person. But Isaiah gave a foretaste of this: He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces. He was despised, and we esteemed him not Christ lives among us, as the least of these, the despised, those of little esteem, perhaps as those who have not even their own esteem. Not only is it hard to see Christ in this suffering person - for it is hard, really, to fathom that He went not up to joy but first He suffered pain - but we turn our heads from this pitiful creature perhaps because it makes a fool of us just to see it: the image of God found selfloathing and alone. It is repulsive to see the pearls cast before swine, the beloved of Christ trodden by sin, and we turn our heads in shame and disgust, and distance ourselves from the sacrilege. But is this not the picture before God almost from the beginning of creation, to see sin mingled with his image, the goodness of creation soiled by sin? Yet his response was not to lift himself higher, distancing himself from that which conceived in love and goodness had become tainted, but instead he lowered himself to come among us, to sit in fellowship with sinners, to have (continued on page 3)

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T HE LI T T LE WA Y

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Finding a Small Town within Durham

Andrew Nelson

I did not appreciate many qualities of my small town upbringing until I found myself living next to a Target during my first year at seminary in Durham, North Carolina. Although this may sound dramatic, the soul-crushing experience of living in a cul-de-sac near a strip mall almost led me to despair of finding a community of people who held a deeper relationship to the area than retail shopping. After coming to St. Josephs, I found a personable town within an alienating city that gave me the hope of maintaining my Christian identity. St. Josephs could not have become such a significant center to this small town around 9th and Main if it was not for the daily practices of Morning Prayer and the breakfast that follows. Certainly, Sunday worship at St. Josephs is the central practice of the churchs life. Daily prayer and breakfast, however, provide the space and time necessary for the constant contact with neighbors that I was accustomed to in my hometown of Holton, Kansas. Back then, the constancy of seeing people I know, trust, and love made my experience in Holton (population 3,300) life-giving, even though the rural environment threatened poorer schools, a slower economy, and instances of so-called backwardness. But even now in Durham, the con-

stancy of seeing people I know, trust, and love makes my experience around St. Josephs lifegiving, even though the urban and post-industrial environment threatens estrangement from neighbors through racial and economic divisions. Not only does St. Josephs form community by simply providing its people with the time and place to pray and eat, but the very nature of these practices shape the community in a way that decades of civil, educational, and athletic events in a small town cannot. By praying together, we cannot help but remind each other that we are Christians and that we ought to treat each other accordingly. Participating in the daily prayers has a way of engendering trust and love that the 4-H club meetings of my youth could not do so well. Similarly, when breaking bread together in a holy place that is neither our wellguarded home nor a restaurant, we cannot help but hear the news, stories, opinions, etc. of people that we might tend to exclude from our company. Daily life at St. Josephs has kept me sane in a new city. I have also seen St. Josephs welcome new friends who acted erratically during their first times at breakfast, but found healing when they realized that the people here like seeing them and look forward to hearing how things are going. It is not necessarily that anything about anyone at St. Josephs is remarkably likeable or attractive. Rather, we start little by little to know each other. Eventually this local knowledge goes a long way in making fixtures of the community feel cared for, especially when this kind of knowing is bound up with our prayers for each other and in the moments we break bread with one another. + Little Way and the Big Way, cont. What makes the Little Way work? The answer is: the Holy Spirit. It is tempting to make the Holy Spirits place in the Church about our reception of power to transform the world Commencement-address-style. Rather, I am increasingly convinced, in the Holy Spirit God gives us the power to live in the world without power. This renunciation of power is the power that animates the Little Way. But! - the Holy Spirit is not the power to transform the Little Way into the Big Way. The Little Way is not what we settle for because we have been excluded from access to the real power of the Big Way. It is not the sour grapes of those who are not strong enough - it is the imperceptible sustenance of those who know that its not that the Big Way is ultimately too strong but that it is ultimately too weak. This is the power that transforms the world. This is how the Gospel is preached to all nations. +

Love and the Poor, cont.

himself lifted high on a cross. The perfect image of God became incarnate, first as salvation from the power of death, but also as an example to humanity of the perfection of the very image in which it was created. So then in these encounters we recognize that Christ is on both sides. We find him in the least of these, and we find him as our victory over the threats of sin and death that might keep us from worshiping through loving service. We no longer have anything to fear by encountering Christ in this person, and love of God demands that we raise this Christlike figure to his proper glory, out of the muck and offal of anonymity and scorn, and into the love of Christ. The challenges, I have decided, are not challenges intrinsic to the poor. The challenge is no more particular than learning to love another person as Christ loved us. Perhaps he gave us the poor to love in part to convince us how much deeper could be our love even for those to whom we acknowledge our closeness, our spouses and family. This is the sacramental presence of the poor, a vehicle of grace and instrument of Divine Love. It is a challenge to love the poor not because of their poverty or their faults - not because of smells or impropriety or disease - but because we know so little of how to love in the first place, poor or otherwise. +

On the Feast of St. Francis (Oct 4)

Luke Wetzel
By far, the best-known stories of St. Francis of Assisi involve his interaction with animals. There is of course his preaching to the birds. The account has Francis coming upon a group of birds in a field and walking among them, so close that his cloak even brushed against them, and exhorting them to praise God with all their energy: "My little sisters the birds, you owe much to God, your Creator, and you ought to sing his praise at all times and in all places! The birds were rapt, of course, in their attention to Francis. After the sermon Francis blessed them with the sign of the cross and gave them leave to fly away. The birds took off from the field, singing joyously, and broke into four groups, flying north, south, east, and west bearing their joyous song of Gods cruciform grace in every direction. Far and away my favorite animal story is when Francis is walking on a road with a companion and sees a lamb in the midst of a flock of goats. Francis naturally recognizes this lamb to be Christ in the midst his persecutors. It was imperative that they rescue Christ the Lamb from among the goats, but Francis and his companion friar had no money to buy it from the farmer. Fortunately a passing merchant bought the lamb for Francis as a gift. This story and the presence of the lamb with Francis for the rest of his journey blessed everyone he met. He later gave the lamb to a group of sisters who shore it and presented Francis with a cloak woven from the wool, which Francis received with great joy. For Francis, this particular lamb was not a symbol of Christ to be considered, but instead an active and significant image of Christs innocence and gracious sacrifice that demanded action of him and yielded wonderful gifts to all. The story about the lamb raises the question for me about the saints perception of the world. What is it exactly that Francis saw in these situations? What made him think that birds needed to hear the word proclaimed? What caused him to see Christ in a lamb in the midst of a field of goats? Francis had the rare gift of being able to see Gods kingdom coming and orient his entire life to its arc of justice and harmony. Francis could see evidence of the kingdom everywhere he went and in seeing it, he was compelled to act: to preach, to reconcile, to take up Christ. For Francis, all things pointed to Christ and his kingdom. Nothing was neutrally outside the scope of the intrusion of Gods holy mountain. The signs were everywhere and they could not be ignored. St. Francis had a certain way of seeing that required action. He could never presume to be personally removed from Gods kingdom work. There was no stepping outside of it. It is appropriate that this prayer is attributed to him: make me an instrument of your peace. Francis could see the building of the kingdom of God right before his eyes and so he could participate in it. His participation further reinforced his seeing. What is it that enabled Francis to see as he did? His life is instructive on this point. Francis graced vision was the result of a deep and enacted love of God. Francis was born the son of a wealthy cloth merchant. After encounters with beggars and a vision of the risen Christ Francis renounced his wealth, home, and property to depend on the grace of God and generosity of others to sustain him. He followed the call of God which led him to preaching the good news of Christ and repentance from sins, caring for lepers, and physically rebuilding the dilapidated church of San Damiano in Assisi. The fruit of such a life was unspeakable joy, but undoubtedly unspeakable pain as well. Francis received more than one vision of Christ and clearly exulted in life in Gods world. At the same time, such a poor and wandering life was a difficult one even as Francis received its trials as grace. Near the end of his life, Francis miraculously received the stigmata, the very wounds of Christ on his feet, hands, and side, which often bled and remained with him for several years until his death. His life was one of increasing joy, increasing pain, and increasing love of God. Dare we ask how it is that we can see like Francis? If discipleship is the imitation of Christ then we find in the life of St. Francis the truth expressed in the Daily Office collect for Friday mornings: The Son of God did not go up to joy before he suffered pain. Nor did he enter into glory before he was crucified. Indeed, the way of the cross is the only way of life and peace. It is in losing that we win, in dying that we live. To follow Jesus is to know deep pain on the way to deep joy. This is the uncomfortable if not terrifying paradox of Christian discipleship and it is apparent in the most basic practices of our life together. We must die and be born again, drowned in the waters of baptism, trusting in God to bear us anew into life. It is Christs body broken and blood spilled that we must take into our bodies if we are to abide in Christ and he in us. To practice the works of mercy is to continually stand before the forces of death: hunger, thirst, sickness, despair, sin, which may or more often may not yield to our ministrations. These are among the primary means of Gods grace and they invite us to death even as they summon us to life. It is only in dying that we know the correlate joys of living. The joy that we know by this work is the renewing of our very minds, the healing of our blindness so that we, like Francis, can see the kingdom of God suffusing the world and act as instruments of Christs peace. +

Book Review: Durhams Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove on Gods Economy

JR Rigby
When Ann Atwater, veteran civil rights activist and community organizer, was asked by a reporter how it felt still to be living on an income below the poverty level in a poor neighborhood almost forty years after working with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. on his Poor People's Campaign, she replied, What do you mean 'poor'. I ain't poor. Then, using the language of Psalm 50, she continued, My Father owns the cattle on a thousand hills, and I have all I need. Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove spends much of his book God's Economy: Redefining the Health and Wealth Gospel exploring how this simple response reflects an abundance available in the here and now to those who learn a peculiarly Christian set of investment tactics. Citing a Time Magazine poll, the author reports that 61% of Americans believe God wants them to be materially prosperous. If God wants me to be prosperous and he is the Lord of all, the logic runs, then one's obedience to God's will should translate into material wealth. And for some, the author says, this formula seems to work out. For countless others, though, there seems to be no correlation between faith, obedience, and material wealth. The more insidious corollary arising from the health and wealth preachers is that if you are poor, then it is probably your fault. Similarly, if you are rich, you must be doing something right. Mr. Wilson-Hartgrove points out the strangeness of these claims and then works to show that much of the problem is the interpretation of God's abundance in dollar signs. There is a way to receive real abundant life, he writes, not the version measured in dollar signs and square footage that ultimately leaves us wanting. Joel Osteen and T.D. Jakes are right about one thing: our God of abundance does want to give you your best life now. It's just that God's abundance is more radical than many of us have dared to dream. Mr. Wilson-Hartgrove is by no means the first to take issue with this prosperity gospel or to write about theological attitudes toward money, but the manner in which he does so is as refreshing as it is gentle, nuanced, and subversive. The author frames his consideration of several Christian attitudes toward money and power in the context of his own journey from aspiring politician out to do good, to a crusader bent on changing the system, to a Christian peace-keeper in Iraq, and ultimately to a small intentional community in Durham, NC, focused on hospitality and living God's economy. Rather than offering a point by point rebuttal of the health and wealth gospel, the author lends his energy and insight toward a positive account of the abundant life of the Gospel in a way that invites all, including the prosperity gospelers, into the greater abundance he describes. A foundational principle in the author's approach is that money is a deceptive power. Just when we think we can use it, it uses us. Money corrupts our desires and demands sacrifices at its altar. But drawing on the wisdom of the weak, Jesus also teaches what money is good for. 'I tell you, use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves, so that when it is gone, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.' (Luke 16:9) We should accept words like these from Jesus as tactics for living God's economy even within a broken and unjust economic system. The wisdom of the weak, he tells us, is to pay lip service to the principalities and powers while practicing small subversive acts outside their reach. A multitude of such acts constitute a powerful force, and this is the wisdom of the weak. Toward this end the author elucidates five such Kingdom tactics he sees in the Gospels that we can practice "in the cracks" of the current economic system. These are (1) If anyone wants to be first, he must be the very last and the servant of all. Mark 9:35 (2) Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven. Matt. 6:20 (3) I tell you, use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves. Luke 16:9 (4) Give to the one who asks you. Matt. 5:42 (5) Give to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God's. Mark 12:17 The book is worth reading and rereading if only for the chapters laying out the practical use of these tactics. For the real weight of the book lies in Mr. Wilson-Hartgrove's willingness to try his theories in the crucible of daily life. One cannot go away from this book saying that the author's words cannot be practiced, because they have already been and are being tried by the author himself. There is much in this book to challenge each Christian toward a more intentional economic life, but the emphasis is certainly not on the individual. The sum of Mr. Wilson-Hartgrove's vision, and his list of tactics, is for us to see that our economic lives should be founded on lives shared together. The author tells us that the life of the church is the kingdom here and now: Without the beloved community that takes shape when we practice subversive service, eternal investment, and economic friendship, we have no good news in the concrete here and now. Life together is the abundance that God is offering in the here and now.+
Not Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove

THE LITTLE WAY

Editors: Colin Miller, Elizabeth Costello, Joseph Wolyniak, JR Rigby, Luke Wetzel, Natalie Wetzel, and Andrew Nelson. For information about the community or to get involved, please contact us: Phone: 919.225.7503 E-mail: miller.douglas.colin@gmail.com Current Want List Money (for rent, utilities, food, etc.) Food Donations (eggs, cheese, meat, beans, pasta, canned prepared or frozen foods) Warm Clothing A Clothes Dryer A 5-10 Bedroom House in Durham Monetary donations for the hospitality house are received by: St. Josephs Episcopal Church Hospitality Fund1902 W Main St., Durham, NC 27705. To make nonmonetary gifts please call or email.

The Little Way is a pamphlet of a diffuse but emerging Episcopal Christian Community in Durham, North Carolina, that seeks a life of prayer, study, simplicity, and fellowship with the poor. We stand in the tradition of the Catholic Worker Movement founded in 1933 by Peter Maurin and Dorothy Day. Our work currently consists of this publication and a small hospitality house feeding and sheltering three residents and drop-ins. Many of us pray Morning and Evening Prayer, and support a daily breakfast fellowship, at a local church, St. Josephs. Rent, food and utilities for the hospitality house are paid entirely on donations. Funds are always used directly for the performance of the Works of Mercy, and no one in the community draws any salary or other benefits. The Little Way and the house of hospitality are not ministries of St. Josephs Episcopal Church.

The Spiritual Works of Mercy To instruct the uninformed To counsel the doubtful To admonish sinners To bear wrongs patiently To forgive offences willingly To comfort the afflicted To pray for the living and the dead

The Corporal Works of Mercy To feed the hungry To give drink to the thirst To clothe the naked To harbor the harborless To visit the sick To ransom the captive To bury the dead