Reflections of an Urban Priest

"You are NO PRIEST or reverend or whatever you are! You lie; You PROMISED!" A woman called the church describing herself as an arthritis sufferer who needed a thanksgiving meal delivered to her. I asked for how many folks and her address, which I think she took to mean a promise for me to deliver, and she said, three children and her son. She did not seem to know her address.  She called back a couple of times with a slight variation in the address, which put her squarely in the middle of the heroin and crack center of Kensington - Philadelphia; was it 3021, 3291, or 3921, she couldn't remember.  I could have asked more questions, but did not; she could have been kept hostage, but it didn't feel like that was the case. I checked around to see who had what left and uncommitted, knowing that there were usually a couple of uncommitted turkey dinners on the eve of Thanksgiving. This year, there were none. I called back saying there were none, offering three suggestions

Last night, Saturday to Sunday, November 19, 2017 was a stormy night. The trees were crashing in the wind; the leaves blown into sopping wet drifts speckled with litter; and any light was overwhelmed by rain so that the darkness penetrated the soul. Yet, we know that joy cometh in the morning. As the light began to penetrate the darkness and seemingly push the storm to the unsuspecting east, I could feel the warm and wet tropical air and was reminded immediately of Psalm 30. 5For his anger is but for a moment; his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. Psalm 30:5 The United States is the most affluent nation in the world and while we may find ourselves behind the many of the developed nations in individual statistics, such as education systems, where we are 14th, behind Poland, Finland, and Ireland.  We lead all the rest in defense spending, which is not a statistic that I am particularly proud of; we also lead in numbers of nuclea

I just finished Born a Crime, Stories from a South African Childhood  by Trevor Noah. It is one of my favorite books, ever. Noah is a great storyteller, and he cracks open his life growing up in South Africa; I am pretty sure he said is was about eight when Mandela was released from prison. I think his context is interesting, but oh so relevant in the United States today. He opens discussions about poverty, education, violence, crime, and most important of all, race and growing up as a bi-racial child in a highly restricted society. In October, 2017, I read the Sixth Extinction, an Unnatural History by Elizabeth Kolbert which was one of Villanova University's One Book selections. Kolbert paints a picture that is truly scary; species of flora and fauna are dying off at an extremely troubling rate and there is not a lot we can do to stem the tide. The science she writes about is grounded on the Beagle as Charles Darwin opens a new approach to earth sciences. During the spring

There are natural places of prayer that exist all around us. I have experienced them is churches all over the globe, but most recently I encountered one in central Arizona. What is it about space that often makes space feel relevant for prayer? In October I went to the Arizona hill country. I had on previous sojourns visited many tourist sites, so this time I simply wanted to focus on spending quality time with God. As I traveled into the red rocks area near Sedona, I found myself being drawn to a particular place among the iron infused rock. I spent hours there, standing, sitting, and praying all the while. The view was gorgeous and yet only about a half dozen folks moved in and about my immediate vicinity while I was there. There was a golf course below, which felt out of place, but no more so than the stacked rocks that the discourteous leave behind to mark their place of prayer. I could feel the presence of God. I could feel the breeze flow gently across my mind and tease me w