The Prophet Isaiah Weeps

Is not this the fast I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?
Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.
--Isaiah 58.6-9

I was embarrassed and angry. At myself. At last night's Wednesday evening vesper service one of the saints of Broadway chastised her congregation. She feels that "we haven't done anything for the homeless for years. Lots of churches, smaller churches than we are, are part of the Interfaith Hospitality Network that allow the homeless to stay in their church buildings. But we don't do that. I have one other person who will do that with me -- isn't there another?" The Rev. Dr. Vanessa Allen-Brown was leading us in worship. She had challenged us to medidate on the passage from Luke 4.14-21 where Jesus reads from the scroll of Isaiah announcing "freedom to the captives." I wanted to weep myself.

"Freedom to the captives" is a night, one night, even a months worth of nights in a church? I've slept many a night in the church -- it's not nearly as nice as a home. I've spent many a night in a homeless shelter for that matter. It's not nearly as nice as a home. Freedom to the captives is food from a food pantry? Isn't it a pantry of one's own stocked to the gills? Or at the least isn't it the warm welcome of every home that has a full pantry that one can take a seat at the table and join the feast?

How is it that we in the church have grown so far away from the roots of our faith that we are much quicker to think about opening our church buildings -- than we are to open our homes? I think I know. It is fear. We are afraid of the fear that Jesus announces. We are afraid -- what if someone who we invite into our home steals our stuff? What if they rise up in the night and hurt me or my family? We are afraid. Let me "outsource" this problem. Forget freedom to the oppressed -- let's talk about a bed for the night.

We have so scaled down our expectations that we barely even think about it even more. And then what is even worse - we beat ourselves up over the fact that we have not sustained the system by creating institutions that don't even pretend to offer liberty to the captives. The salt has lost its savor.

Why do churches spend so much of their time stocking food pantries and so little time really getting to know the lives of those who come in to visit those pantries?

Around a table at a conference a few weeks ago, one of the Broadway members suggested closing the food pantry at Broadway. I felt myself revolt against it. But maybe that would be closer to Isaiah -- if we closed the pantry and opened our homes. But will we do such a thing? Will we really open our own dining room tables -- our own hearts? I don't know. But I do know this. We won't if we don't try.

I embarrassed myself last night by using the invitation to communion to challenge what had been said. I said something like "as we serve one another bread from each other's hands, let us also open our homes to those who God has announced are set free from oppression. Besides," I added, "it's a lot better to sleep in a bed in one of our homes, than it is to sleep in this church." That wasn't necessary. It wasn't gracious. It wasn't "forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us." Isaiah weeps - over me.