In Mourning

This week has left us reeling.

If you have not heard, early Tuesday morning, Alton Sterling, a man we would have never known the name of, was shot and killed by a police officer. It was caught on camera by bystanders. He was shot in the chest while restrained on the ground.

Then on Wednesday evening, 32 year old Philando Castile was pulled over by the police, informed the officer he had a licensed weapon in the vehicle, and was shot multiple times while reaching for his identification. His girlfriend filmed his death, while her 4 year old daughter soaked it all in from the back seat. They were then arrested and held overnight for no reason.

Both men were black. Both men were sons, brothers, significant others. Both men now join a long list of black men killed at the hands of police officers, a list that shouldn’t exist but does.

Then Thursday, at the end of a peaceful protest mourning the deaths of Sterling and Castile and in support of Black Lives Matter, a lone sniper opened fire on the crowd, targeting the police officers on duty at the rally. Five officers have died, and six are wounded.

Is it any wonder we are reeling with grief?

Such violence cannot be justified. The deaths of Sterling and Castile are not rare accidents, they are an altogether too common phenomenon: 136 black men have been killed by police this year. And if you consider the history of our country, this is simply a continuation of the racism at the core of our nation. We have never valued the lives of black folks. From stealing people from Africa, packing them like sardines in ships, selling them as property, beating and using them and treating them like livestock, to imprisoning them when we could no longer enslave them, segregating ourselves when they refused to do the things we would incarcerate them for, maintaining systems that keep people in poverty, we have never valued black lives. And now, now when a black man dies by the hands of the police, it is not the officer on trial, it is the man’s dead body that is scrutinized and found guilty. There is no justice. Many in our community have been mourning, hurt, tired, exhausted and crying out to know when the world will affirm through action that black lives matter. And then, in a true display of how violence begets violence, an ex-military man chooses to use his skills to kill police officers.

Murder is always wrong. We are in mourning for these lost lives and grieving over the violence that became unavoidably visible this week. Eight families mourn this week; eight families are experiencing the first waves of grief, despair, and loss. They each have lost a member that they can never get back. Let us grieve with them. Take on the weight of eight men murdered this week. Mourn them. Pray for each family that is wrecked with grief right now.

But do not forget where the violence originated. The violence must end, but that does not mean we must forget how this all began. If our nation wants to heal, we must root out the injustice the black community lives and breathes. Let your prayers and your tears move you beyond this screen, towards your neighbor, and towards someone with a different skin color and life experience than yourself. It’s through relationship and friendship that our fear and misunderstanding of what is different begins to die. May our tears and prayers move us towards just and loving action.

Lord, be gracious to the family of Alton Sterling,

Forgive us for not standing in between him and the officer who shot him

Be gracious with the son of Alton Sterling, who just wants his daddy back

Forgive us for legally murdering fathers and creating an orphaned generation
Be with the children of these men, who must watch again and again their fathers die on TV
Forgive us for making a show of the death of black men
Heal the eyes of Diamond Reynolds young daughter, and every young black boy that fears for his life
Forgive us for the lie that this is their future

Be gracious with Diamond Reynolds and Quinyetta McMillon; comfort the widows

Forgive us for saying broken families are the problem in the black community, when we are the ones breaking the families 

Be with the numerous children that found a role model in Philando Castile

Forgive us for demonizing black men and never seeing the worth they bring to our world

Be with all black men that are reaching for their wallets during routine traffic stops

Forgive us for fearing blackness

Be gracious with every black man carrying a gun legally

Forgive us for clinging to our weapons

Be with the families of the fallen police officers

Forgive us for continuing to live in a culture of violence

Lord show the world that black lives matter to you

Forgive us for acting as if some lives matter less than others

Teach us the way of truth, justice, love, and peace.

New Eyes for Life

"There are many things that can only be seen through eyes that have cried."

Archbishop Oscar Romero

LGBT folks are both strongly represented and diverse within The Well's broader community. We are well acquainted with the violence they face, violence that all too often left them without a home, and violence that in many cases follows them on the streets. The pain in the eyes of someone who has been ripped out of a family because they refused to lie about who they are and what they believe is indescribable. 

We don't track statistics on the sexuality of our guests, but the Williams Institute finds that 40% of homeless youth identify as LGBTQ. Of those, 89% are homeless specifically because they were rejected by their families, and more than half of them report having suffered physical, emotional, or sexual abuse at home. It isn't the ease of surviving on their own that causes them to flee their families either. In Florida, it is perfectly legal to fire someone for no other reason than their sexual orientation. According to the Human Rights Campaign, "more than 20 percent of hate crimes reported nationally in 2014 targeted people based on their sexual orientation or gender identity." Globally, the average life expectancy for non-white trans women is barely 35 years. 

It is more than those who are visibly attacked who suffer a tragedy. Details have emerged that indicate the person who chose to unleash violence in Orlando this past weekend was himself struggling with sexual identity, and likely concerns about acceptance within his family and broader community. The families and friends of those lost are forever affected, and even many who struggle to empathize with the LGBTQ community are deeply shaken. We all feel a kind of painful separation between ourselves and those we judge or simply do not understand, and with death this estrangement is cemented with a terrifying sense of finality. 

In the end, whether slowly or quickly, life is always fatal. It's not that how we die doesn't matter, or that some deaths are more or less tragic than others. But if there's one thing more tragic than a horribly and unnecessarily painful death, it is a tragic life of being shunned by those who should love you and forgotten or rejected by your community. In every case, long before guns manifest violence, violent words have first manifested. Before hatred of others becomes visible, we have first learned a deeper hatred of ourselves. If we are to hope for a world with less violence, we must first hope for our own hearts to forget judgement and hatred. 

The most precious thing about The Well to me is that we are called and committed to love those that no one else loves. Disagreement about faith, politics, or even facts can all be overwhelmed by love for each other. In the end, it is not having been wrong that makes a tragic life, nor will having been right make it a triumphal life. Separation from each other is the greatest tragedy, and the only triumph happens when we seize and desperately cling to each opportunity to love someone. 

Sometimes, we are afraid to love those who no one else loves. Sometimes, it puts us at odds with powerful forces in our city and beyond. It puts us at odds with other people we love, people we are close to, people we are afraid of losing. In our own city, at The Well, most of the people we encounter for whom sexual identity has led to homelessness and violence come from homes and families that call themselves Christian. For that reason, loving them requires us taking a difficult and awkward stance toward other people who call themselves Christian. 

As my friend Micah puts it:

"I am not impressed with anybody taking a stand with the LGBT community against ISIS, if you’re not taking a stand with the LGBT community against politicians, preachers, and pundits who also try to silence, cause fear, or kill my LGBT friends.

May God give us the courage to boldly stand with those who live under threat of violence. May we mourn with those who mourn, and learn to see through eyes that have cried. 

Looking back: Our Narrative History

The Well’s purpose is to serve both those who suffer from material poverty and those who suffer from spiritual poverty. The Well is a community who has been operating a space where anyone in Tampa can come and have their material needs met, but also find what Dorothy Day refers to as “food for the soul.” Rather than simply offering a menu of services and volunteer opportunities, we endeavor to connect people relationally and create a community where members of all ages, races and economic backgrounds can serve and learn from each other. In all of these interactions, we seek to intentionally cultivate dignity, industry, creativity and community.

While we serve the immediate needs of the most vulnerable in our city on a daily basis, we also call our entire city toward a future of cooperation, peace and abundance. Just as we embrace the works of mercy, we simultaneously affirm every individual’s responsibility for and stewardship of their time, talents and material wealth. Everything we do is based on this belief, that a better future for our city is not only possible, but is promised to us as we fulfill together our responsibility to be better neighbors.

Headquartered on Florida Avenue in the Tampa Heights neighborhood, The Well draws thousands of guests, volunteers and visitors every year. We also rely on support from throughout the broader Tampa Bay area, from businesses, civic organizations, churches, as well as other ministries.

This work began in 2004 with the formation of the Lake House, an intentional Christian community located in ybor heights, less than a mile from the Well’s current center. In the years that followed our efforts to simply be Christian and love our neighbors led to the establishment of a house church gathering with friends made in the neighborhood as well as other friends from the many different arenas in our lives like work and school.

It was in those meetings that some who were looking apply what they were learning asked a few others there who were living on the street for ideas and The Banquet, our thursday night community dinner was born in 2008. That same year the Lake House community began aggressively opening its doors to those we met at our meals to share our shower, washing machine, couches, etc. We also began the Tampa Eden Project’s first community garden and launched our monthly open mic/potluck known as the conscious party.

It was 2009 when the Underground moved to 7th avenue and offered our community a space in the building to open our first Family Room and Free Market. As our community grew in capacity and size and as we encountered other needs we did our best to respond as we could. We met many who found housing in the Good Samaritan Inn and so in 2010 a team of us started our Tuesday night meal that we affectionately call “The Good.”

At this point our hands were more than full and we stayed dedicated to building our community and serving in these ways that we had committed ourselves to for the following several years as we maintained a growing presence in the Underground’s space. We are proud to say that The Lake House community, The Banquet, The Tampa Eden Project, The Conscious Party, The Good, The Free Market, and The Family Room are all still operating today.

In 2014 the Well Incorporated and leased the building at 3023 N Florida Ave. where we are still headquartered today. Since moving into our own space we have built many gardens and installed and aquaponics system where we have been learning to raise Tilapia and produce. We also planted a bike co-op known as the ReCycle Bin where neighbors without transportation can come to build their own bike. The move also put us into the heart of need and tampa and we more than quadrupled the number of guests that we were seeing on a daily basis. We have since been approved as a 501C3 non-profit, leased our first house for a pilot housing project, started a lawn business, and developed many wonderful partnerships with schools, churches, grocery stores, restaurants, and others throughout our city.

Since we work with neighbors that are not always wanted or loved we, as a community, have also faced some opposition. That being the case, we have still built a really solid reputation as a loving and sacrificial community that works very hard and leverages every resource available to our shared vision of meeting needs, building bridges, and to see our city made whole.

Join us in pursuit of this shared vision for Tampa, and work with us to build a better future for all of our neighbors.

Metanoia

I am always interested in hearing from people as the get to know the Well. I love hearing their perspective as they come into the community with fresh eyes. I also love hearing about what it is that makes them stay. We all have stories like this that illustrate what it is we find here. The Well has been a place for each and every one of us to find friendship and healing. Even if we came to give we find that we receive so much more. 

David has been getting more involved and giving himself more and more to the work of loving our neighbors in need. Recently I asked him if he would write a bit of his own story and experience with the Well. He said he would be happy to and I am really excited to share his reflection with you here. 

From our brother David:

In late October of 2015 I went on a four-day silent retreat at the Franciscan Center in Tampa with 40 others: no speech, no TV, no radio, no books, no magazines, no cell phones, no nothing but “me.” And it was “me” I found to be the problem, and also the answer.  

But let’s backtrack a little. I had first encountered The Well and The Eden Project at the now-defunct USF Farmer’s Market about a year and a half before, and was inspired by their engaged approach to alleviating suffering. After that, I proposed to the Temple Terrace Community Garden that we set aside gardening space for donation to The Well, which was approved by the Planning Committee. And so we began to donate greens and other produce, and I would drop them off every Saturday or so, say hi to the then unknown crew, smile, say bye, and then leave. At that time, that was the extent of involvement I wanted with “them”, with “the poor,” with “the homeless.” I felt I had done my part. “Hey, I gave them food, isn’t that enough?’  

Now back to the silent retreat. It was the last day. I had gone through some powerful transformations, and had had some very clear insights into compassion. The night before my mind raced with what was I going to say, the first time speaking, in the last hour of the retreat? And then when my time came to speak, it was all clear to me: I had had a huge aversion to poverty, to homelessness, to despair, and to suffering, and even compassion. Everything changed in that moment. The prepared speech dissolved, and I finally spoke with honesty: These folks need help, and the folks who are helping them need help, and I can help them. And from that day, I vowed to help as much as I could. 

But this has been mostly about me. My inspiration comes from others. Despite all of the aggression, sadness, despair, and pain that our guests experience, and we as well, as we take on all of that in our selfless service, I see real and true fortitude in the volunteers, and I ask: How do you do this every day? Day after day? And the answer from them, and now me, is we do what needs to be done: If coffee needs to be made, we do it. If the coffee needs creamer, we try to find some, if someone wants buttermilk dressing on a pork chop, we try to find some, and if at the end of the day we go home with an insight into compassion, or the feeling of I am totally wiped out, or to just cry, that’s okay, because in the end, it all goes back to the central truth: Anything you have done for the people here, you have done for me.

Come join David and the rest of the team as we find our own needs being met while working to meet the needs of others. Come have a seat at the table with us.

Please Participate!

Each year the postal service collects a tremendous amount of food in this letter carriers food drive. Please mark your calendars and load them down as they make their rounds that day! The Well is so honored to participate in and benefit from this hugely fruitful drive. We kind of wish it was a daily thing.

No Place to Lay His Head

Remember the statue of the homeless Jesus that was buzzing around the internet a few years ago? If you don't, several years ago a Canadian artist named Timothy Schmalz created a statue of a figure sleeping on a bench. The figure is covered by a blanket, except for its feet, which have scarred holes in them. Once someone sees the feet, they realize this statue isn't simply a homeless man, it is a homeless Jesus. The statue caused a stir when it first appeared, and has since been installed in several cities across North America. Some welcome the statue as a reminder that Jesus had no place to lay his head, and called us to love our neighbor. Others see the statue as sacrilege and blasphemy. In one city, someone even called the cops on the sleeping bronze figure.

Read about the homeless Jesus sculpture

The newest home of this provocative symbol is our very own Tampa! Hyde Park United Methodist raised the $40,000 to purchase it and have installed it at their downtown campus, The Portico. There is critique of the statue's price tag and the swiftness in which the money was raised for art, rather than directly meeting needs. This symbol, though, does have much to teach a city where those who actually are experiencing homelessness cannot fall asleep on a bench. A friend of mine that lives on the streets pointed out that there should be bars around the bench as that, he said, would be more accurate. If you fall asleep on a bench in Tampa you can be arrested. Because of the ways our city has criminalized homelessness, this Jesus is not just homeless, he is a law breaker. This sculpture stands as a critique of the very spirit of our city and the laws created to criminalize people living on the street. This statue, in this city, is a beautiful and ironic symbol which both points to and participates in our hypocrisy.

Several of us from the Well attended the dedication of the statue on Ash Wednesday, which was the beginning of Lent. A crowd was gathered there, mostly made up of members of the church. At the dedication, several scriptures were shared to remind us of what God calls us to:

Micah 6:8

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.

   And what does the Lord require of you?

To act justly and to love mercy

   and to walk humbly with your God.

Jeremiah 29:7

But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile,
and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.

Isaiah 58:7

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 him,

   and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?

After the reading of these scriptures there was a communal call and response, in which the crowd and the leader committed themselves to the work of God's Kingdom, to loving their neighbor, and to remembering Jesus among the poor and the needy. It was good to see a crowd of people committing to these values. If more and more people committed themselves to seeing and acknowledging the neediest among us as our own flesh and blood, Tampa would be a different, more welcoming place. From statue to scripture, these were all very powerful symbols, and symbols matter, and it is important that we remember the words of John's first epistle, "let us not love with words or speech (symbols) but with actions and in truth -1 John 3:18. Let us remember the ones who have no place to lay their heads, and do our best to love them in action and in truth.

Read the Reverend Magrey deVega's homily from the dedication on Ash Wednesday

Ashes for Beauty

Ash Wednesday is, on the liturgical calendar, the beginning of the season of Lent. The day is 46 days before the church's celebration of the resurrection of Jesus. Ash Wednesday is observed by fasting, repentance, many will hold services where there heads are marked with ashes made from palms from the previous years Palm Sunday. Ashes are a sign of mourning, grieving, or repentance and are seen constantly throughout scripture as mourners dawn 'sackcloth and ashes.'

Typically the words of Genesis 3:19, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust shall you return," are repeated to each who participates as a reminder of both mortality and guilt. This begins a season of fasting known as lent. Lent is 46 days long, though the six Sundays are considered feast days as they are when the community gathers to celebrate the Lord's Supper. The remaining 40 days are usually spent fasting as an allusion to the 40 days Jesus spent fasting in the desert, where he was tempted by the devil. 

"Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him..."

Our community constantly faces reminders of our own guilt as well as our general fragility and mortality. For many who have no safe place to be at night death always feel like it might be just around the corner. Much of our work is a calling to mourn with those who mourn, and so today, as the calendar points all of the church to remember, I can't help but smile. 

When Jesus returned from his time in the wilderness he entered a synagogue and opened a scroll of the prophet Isaiah. He opened to and read aloud Isaiah 61 as an announcement of his own work and ministry to fulfill it. 

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the Lord
for the display of his splendor.

They will rebuild the ancient ruins
and restore the places long devastated;
they will renew the ruined cities
that have been devastated for generations.

May we, who are well acquainted with suffering and grieving and guilt and death and despair, make our city whole again. May resurrection be more than 'believed in,' may it be practiced here at the Well.  May we too, like Jesus, give ourselves fully to this task.