“Praying with Our Feet”

I truly could not be more excited to announce that my first book, Praying with Our Feet: Pursuing Justice and Healing on the Streets, will be available through Brazos Press on February 2nd, 2021. The book is a spiritual memoir that takes readers to the underside of American society – to the tent cities, slums, and underpasses – and the to the front lines of movements for justice.

The title comes from a quote by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, a mystic and scholar of the prophets, after he marched with Martin Luther King, Jr. in Alabama at the height of the civil rights movement.

“For many of us the march from Selma to Montgomery was about protest and prayer,” he said. “Legs are not lips and walking is not kneeling. And yet our legs uttered songs. Even without words, our march was worship. I felt my legs were praying.”

Heschel, like so many other prophets and saints, knew that our faith was never meant to be confined to the personal realm. Faith, at its best, is meant to be lived out. It moves us into closer proximity to people who are disenfranchised, marginalized, and oppressed. It calls us to get our hands dirty in the struggle for a better world.

In this book, you’ll find stories about the people and experiences that both hollowed and healed me over this last decade+ of working on the streets. There are tales of tending wounds – both personal and systemic, civil disobedience, campsite defenses, rallies, marches, vocational discernment, tenants rights organizing, public funeral processions, public liturgies, homeless outreach, street chaplaincy, and how we started Open Table Nashville out of the chaos of the 2010 flood.

You can purchase a copy anywhere books are sold (make sure to check out independent bookstores or your local booksellers!!) and you can learn more about it at the website my lovely publishers at Brazos Press created – www.lindseykrinks.com. This book is meant to be shared and is great for groups. There are discussion questions at the end. It’s dedicated to my dear husband and co-conspirator Andrew Krinks and all my friends on the streets, the living and the dead, who taught me more about life, love, faith, resilience, and resistance that any seminary class ever could. ❤

In the season of Pentecost, let us learn from the flames


Yesterday in Nashville, thousands gathered in holy rage to lift up the names of unarmed black folks who were murdered by police officers and white vigilantes. George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and so many more, including Nashville’s own: Jocques Clemmons, Daniel Hambrick, and Walter Johnson, Jr.

Thousands rallied at Legislative Plaza with flames of grief and outrage in their bellies and bones. After the rally, demonstrators marched, calling for the end to police brutality and to systems that keep their boots on the necks of black and brown communities across our nation. Break-off groups, hundreds strong, traveled to the centers of political and economic power—Central Precinct, City Hall, and Broadway.

And then the sparks flew.

The statue of a racist state lawmaker was toppled at the State Capitol. Police cars were damaged. City Hall was redecorated with spray paint and lit aflame. “You didn’t listen and now you have to,” scrawled one message across the building. After letting City Hall burn for nearly an hour, police stormed the scene, firing teargas canisters and flash grenades. Some factions of demonstrators moved to Broadway where they smashed windows and lit small fires in trashcans and a free-standing tourist sightseeing structure. People were arrested, a state of emergency was declared by Mayor Cooper and Governor Lee, and a 10:00 p.m. curfew was issued.

The images of thousands gathered in solidarity, of fire, teargas, shattered windows, and police in riot gear, are emblazoned on my mind. And the question on my heart this morning is this: What if what we saw in Nashville last night— and what we’re seeing across the country—can’t be easily dismissed as “a riot” or “looting?” What if what we’re seeing is something more important, more layered, more complex?

Today marks the beginning of the season of Pentecost in the Christian calendar—a season of learning from the flames.

pentecostThis season begins after the violent murder of another unarmed brown man (Jesus) and a period of grief and uncertainty. Several weeks after his death, the apostles gather on the day of Pentecost. “There came a sound like the rush of a violent wind,” says the Book of Acts, and then the Holy Spirit descended, resting on each of them as tongues of flame. This baptism of fire became a uniting force, giving people from different countries the ability to listen and understand what the apostles were saying in their own native language. This day of fire also birthed the early church—gatherings of people who broke bread together and shared what they had in common (Acts 2-4).

So what if the fires we saw at City Hall and those we’re seeing across the country are not only the fires of destruction, but also the flames of possibility? What if these uprisings could offer us a path toward listening, understanding, healing, and creating new systems and structures that truly bring good news to the poor—liberation instead of oppression?

To be clear, I believe there are things that need to be toppled, destroyed, and burned to the ground: systems and structures of inequity, injustice, white supremacy. Systems where the rich get richer and the poor get prison. Systems that criminalize, cage, and murder our black, brown, and poor siblings.

And this can be holy work: proclaiming good news to the poor, freedom for the prisoners, recovery of sight to the blind, and setting the oppressed free (Luke 4). While many organizers and activists use tactics of non-violent direct action to bring about change, history also teaches us that sometimes the tables of powers must be overturned (Matthew 21).

Some people are calling what happened last night in Nashville “violence.” But what about the violence carried out by those in power on a daily basis?

What about the violence of our governor and state legislators who claim to be “pro-life” and yet refuse to extend medical coverage to hundreds of thousands of vulnerable Tennesseans?

IMG_7861What about the violence of our mayor, and even some council members, who allow funding for affordable housing, education, and other public goods to be slashed while they pour more money into systems of policing, including $17.6 million for a new sheriff’s headquarters and $12 million for 2 new police helicopters? 

What about the violence of police bullets ripping through Jocques Clemmons, Daniel Hambrick, and Walter Johnson, Jr.  in Nashville?

What about the violence of an economic system that gives away millions of dollars in incentive packages to wealthy corporations while thousands waste away on our streets for want of housing, health care, and hope?

Eric Garner Vigil, Christopher Ott14 2What about the violence perpetuated by all of us who place property rights before human rights, who live as if some lives matter while others are disposable?

So on this day of Pentecost, in this season of fire and unrest, let us be wary of half-truths, narratives woven by those in power, and answers that feel easy, comfortable, and convenient. My prayer today is that we will have the courage to listen to what the uprisings across our nation are saying.

What will we learn from the flames?

Good Friday in an Age of Pandemic

IMG_7348Nearly every year for over a decade, we’ve taken to the streets for a Good Friday pilgrimage to ask where Christ is being condemned and crucified in our society today. We’ve called this event the Citywide Stations of the Cross, and while we can’t come together to ask these questions in person this year, I find myself wondering where we would go and who we would find in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic.

I think of all our friends on the street who have been denied adequate housing and resources for so long, whose libraries and soup kitchens are closed, who feel utterly forsaken. I think of the man on a bench in Inglewood who wept when my friend Susan brought him food because he believed he was “a nobody.”

I think of our health care workers who bear bruised stripes on their cheeks and noses from N95 respirators and masks, who are tending the sick and dying, asked to risk their lives and make impossible decisions without the equipment and gear they so desperately need.

I think of our friends behind bars who are locked in cages, denied adequate protective gear, and who are living in the hell of limited information and a ticking time bomb of contagion.

I think of our essential service workers who keep food on our shelves, who keep public services running, who have to keep working in unsafe conditions because they can’t afford to stay home, who are paid pennies and denied sick leave, health insurance, and protective gear.

I think of too many of our elected officials, members of congress, and legislators who, like Pilate, wash their hands of this suffering and are more concerned with their stock portfolios and ratings than protecting us from harm; who view so many people as disposable (and always have); who had the power and information to prevent so much of this suffering; who are clinging to the lie that our economic system was and is working and clamoring to put a respirator on capitalism while our people are being crucified on the altars of politics and profit and a system that has always crushed the poor.

I think of our friends who are undocumented and can’t tap into the same safety nets. I think of our friends with disabilities and chronic illnesses who are so beautiful and resilient, and at the same time, so at risk. I think of racial disparities in the United States that encompass so many economic and health disparities and are ravaging the lives of people from the black community at astounding and disproportionate rates.

I think of how we are asked to “keep watch” and how soul-wrecking that can be. I think of how we need each other—need to bear these crosses together—and are so far apart.

There are so many more people to keep in mind right now… so many. Who and what are you thinking about today? How can we “keep watch” together in a time of social distancing? How are you marking Good Friday and Holy Saturday this year?

And while it is tempting to want to jump to Easter hope, we must hold off. While Good Friday doesn’t have the final say, this is an important time to lean into the uncertainty, the darkness, the night. There are so many lessons we must learn. 


We Belong To Each Other

IMG_3667Last night, the State of Tennessee executed a man named Don Johnson. Don, a friend to many of our dear friends, gave up his last meal, asking that his meal allotment to be used to send pizza to a local homeless shelter. “Mr. Johnson realizes that his $20 allotment will not feed many homeless people,” said his attorney Kelley Henry. “His request is that those who have supported him provide a meal to a homeless person.”

IMG_3649At the vigil for Don, a collection was taken and offered to us at Open Table Nashville. Afterward, we bought pizzas, gatorade, and water for our friends on the streets and in encampments. When we told our friends the story about where the pizzas came from and talked about Don, people were visibly moved. One man said, “For real?” and then took off his hat in disbelief and reverence. Others said they would pray that Don’s family and friends would find peace.

IMG_3652For some of us in the Christian community, sharing the pizza slices and gatorade felt like it was our third communion of the night. The first traditional communion at the vigil consisted of bread and grape juice and the second “jail communion” consisted of cookies and fruit punch.

At OTN, we know that people can’t be boiled down to a label. We are all complex and we all possess possibilities for healing, restoration, transformation, and love. The problem is that our system doesn’t have any way to recognize this. Our system and our society does everything they can to separate us from each other. They use projects, fences, razor wire, and walls to keep us apart because they know that when we connect and form relationships, when we remember, as Mother Teresa said, “that we belong to each other,” we are ready to do whatever it takes to dismantle systems of death and create communities of life and love and communion in the deepest sense.

60259958_10100433289213219_7184915313324982272_nFor those who don’t know Don, he was in prison for killing his wife – a terribly tragic and unthinkable thing. He has sense reconciled with his daughter who petitioned Governor Lee for clemency on his behalf. During his time in prison, Don also became an elder in the Seventh Day Adventist Church and encouraged and cared for others on Death Row. He was truly a changed man. He showed that to people who were close to him for decades and showed that to us and our friends on the streets last night.

If you would like to honor Don, please buy someone a meal this week. Break bread (or cookies or pizza) with our friends on the streets and let them know they are loved. We’re thankful to Don, his daughter, and so many others who continue to show us that love is always stronger than hate. Let’s keep building a better world together where razor wires and walls are torn down and where we remember that we belong to each other. ❤


Why I was cited for civil disobedience

Housing NowTuesday morning, February 12th at 8:15 a.m., I will go to court with three of my unhoused friends for citations we received for “unlawfully pitch[ing] a tent at a metropolitan park” during an action led by house-less organizers called “Occupy Nashville with the Homeless” on December 15th.

Emergency Housing Now“Our only demand is for emergency housing,” said organizer Jay Weaver about the action. “Not another emergency shelter, not another emergency Rescue Mission, but emergency housing. Emergency means urgent. That’s not something that we’re going to plan to do five years from now. It’s something that needs to happen right away.”

Jay, photo by Kyle LincolnOn a chilly Saturday night last December, dozens gathered on Walk of Fame Park just across from Bridgestone Arena to draw attention to the need for #housingnow. We made signs, passed out snacks, and gave out bedding to people who wanted to join the demonstration. We marched down Broadway chanting, “No justice, no peace! No living on these streets!” and “What do we want? Housing! When do we want it? We want it now!” And after speaking to Predators fans and tourists, we settled in like so many of our unhoused friends do every night on the cold concrete of our city.

We RememberEarlier that morning, many of us gathered to honor and remember 127 people from the homeless community who died in 2018—the highest number of deaths ever recorded in Nashville. The large sign that held all 127 names and a Mother Jones quote that read, “Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living,” was propped in front of the action on the sidewalk for all to see. This work, this struggle for housing, is life-or-death. Another person dies every three days on the streets of our shiny city.

IMG_2294So. The police came before the park “officially” closed at 11:00 p.m. to notify us that anyone who remained in tents would be cited under Metro’s “no camping” ordinance that states, “No person shall tent or camp or erect or maintain a tent, shelter or camp in any park, except in those areas specifically designated by the board for such purpose.” Not only was this interesting because more than a dozen tents were allowed in this same park for concert-goers who camped out in October for the Twenty One Pilots show without incident, but it was also interesting because the rain was coming. Did we not have a right to shelter ourselves from the elements when other shelter and housing could not be obtained? At that hour, the Mission’s doors were closed. Anyone who was out at that point was out for the night. Three incredibly brave people who call Nashville’s streets home choose to risk citation. Here’s why:

Citations“We’re doing this for the homeless,” said Bobbie, “to get the homeless off the streets, because we don’t deserve to be on the streets.”

“We’re doing this to raise awareness of people who had forgotten that there are people who are out there that need to be in a house that deserve it,” said Travis. “Everyone deserves a second chance, regardless of what the situation may be, regardless of what the circumstances may be. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“I used to be on SSI [disability],” explained Justin. “I was making $750 a month and I couldn’t afford no rent nowhere, except in a drug-filled neighborhood, which, I’m clean off drugs. I’m doing this to help me get off the streets and to give awareness for everyone that’s out there to let them know that there’s people with medical conditions, pregnant, and that cannot sleep in the cold, that they need housing so we can get help.”

New Nashville, photo by Kyle LincolnBobbie, Travis, and Justin were courageous enough to participate in civil disobedience, despite what it could cost them, and I choose to stand in solidarity with them. My role as a street chaplain calls me to accompany my friends. It calls me not just to be present to their sufferings, but to struggle alongside them as they work for change. After all, if more of us knew what it felt like to sleep on concrete in the cold, miserable rain—if we knew what it felt like to try to survive in Nashville’s unforgiving shadows—perhaps we would work a little harder and a little faster for justice.

Messages Image(2454516328)So on Tuesday morning, Bobbie, Travis, Justin, and I will plead “not guilty” to our citations. Why? Because the 1st Amendment protects “the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances” and because the 8th Amendment protects us and others who are experiencing homelessness from “cruel and unusual punishment” when we are simply trying to exist, to rest, and to shelter ourselves from the elements.

March 9, photo by Kyle Lincoln“We just want to have a peaceful demonstration and share the awareness for emergency housing,” Jay told the officers who came to issue citations. “You’ve been an officer in this area and you’re fully aware that there are people who live on the streets who deserve to have a place. You’re also aware that there’s been people who have died on the streets and we want to be a part of preventing that from happening. Nobody deserves to die on the streets. But somebody has to push for emergency housing. There are some people who are not as concerned and don’t see emergency housing as urgent. But they step over people and they know that people can create disturbances in front of different businesses downtown. We want Nashville to be a beautiful city and a wonderful city for everybody. Not for those who can afford a $500 hotel, but for those who choose to take residence here. This should be a city for them and that’s what this whole demonstration is about.”

Police, photo by SusanSo, Nashville: Will you continue to cite and arrest your own people? Will you continue to sweep them out of sight, out of mind like you’re doing by closing one of the largest homeless encampments in East Nashville just in time for the NFL Draft? Or will you take seriously the people’s cries for emergency housing now? Will you take seriously their cries for a plan to address the dire shortage of low-income and affordable housing in our city?

And to our city leaders: your words, your sympathy, and your presence at our memorials is not enough. We need your action. And we won’t stop until our city is a welcoming, just, and equitable city for all. Let’s work a little harder and a little faster to make this happen together!

Playground, photo by Kyle Lincoln

(Special thanks to our attorney Mike Engle, to photographers Kyle Lincoln and Susan Adcock, and to Neon Guard Nashville for your support. If you’d like to watch the livestream preceding the citations, please visit here.)

Poems for the Holidays: Winter Solstice, Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day

Lately, I’ve noticed that I need to slow down, that I need to stop and take in the shifting seasons, ask what they have to teach me. Reading poetry is one way I slow down, so here are a few of the poems that have been meaningful to me during this season. Take a few minutes to slow down with me. Enjoy these poems and blessings. Let them breathe inside you. Let them root you to the present moment.

dark woods 2


Blessings, friends, on this Winter Solstice, this longest night of the year. Blessings in this season where so many know the cold in their bones, where so many children are still separated from their families. Blessings for all the people we love and all the loved ones we’ve lost. Blessings for that Advent stirring in us – that longing for a better world. Blessings as we hold anxiety and grief in one hand and hope in the other. Blessings as we learn from the night.


La Sagrada Familia – Kelly Latimore

“A Blessing for Traveling in the Dark”
by Jan Richardson

Go slow
if you can.
More slowly still.
Friendly dark
or fearsome,
this is no place
to break your neck
by rushing,
by running,
by crashing into
what you cannot see.

Then again,
it is true:
different darks
have different tasks,
and if you
have arrived here unaware,
if you have come
in peril
or in pain,
this might be no place
you should dawdle.

I do not know
what these shadows
ask of you,
what they might hold
that means you good
or ill.
It is not for me
to reckon
whether you should linger
or you should leave.

But this is what
I can ask for you:

That in the darkness
there be a blessing.
That in the shadows
there be a welcome.
That in the night
you be encompassed
by the Love that knows
your name.



RRX at night“How the Light Comes”
by Jan Richardson

I cannot tell you
how the light comes.

What I know
is that it is more ancient
than imagining.

That it travels
across an astounding expanse
to reach us.

That it loves
searching out
what is hidden
what is lost
what is forgotten
or in peril
or in pain.

That it has a fondness
for the body
for finding its way
toward flesh
for tracing the edges
of form
for shining forth
through the eye,
the hand,
the heart.

I cannot tell you
how the light comes,
but that it does.
That it will.
That it works its way
into the deepest dark
that enfolds you,
though it may seem
long ages in coming
or arrive in a shape
you did not foresee.

And so
may we this day
turn ourselves toward it.
May we lift our faces
to let it find us.
May we bend our bodies
to follow the arc it makes.
May we open
and open more
and open still

to the blessed light
that comes.




Magnificat – Woodburning by Elli Whiteway

“The Work of Christmas”
by Howard Thurman

When the song of the angels is stilled,
when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks,
the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people,
to make music in the heart.

“If You Want”
by St. John of the Cross

If you want, the virgin will come walking down the road pregnant with the holy, and say,

“I need shelter for the night, please take me inside your heart, my time is so close.”

Then, under the roof of your soul, you will witness the sublime intimacy, the divine, the Christ taking birth forever,

as she grasps your hand for help, for each of us is the midwife of God, each of us.

Yet there, under the dome of your being, does creation come into existence eternally, through your womb, dear pilgrim—the sacred womb in your soul,

as God grasps our arms for help; for each of us is [God’s] beloved servant never far.

If you want, the virgin will come walking down the street pregnant with Light and sing.

Station 2, altar, by Amanda

Print by @lplum_prints

“Go to the Limits of Your Longing”
by Ranier Maria Rilke

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself loose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its earnestness.

Give me your hand.

Resurrection and Rebellion on the Streets

radnor22.jpgIt is Easter morning and light filters through a gauzy layer of clouds. No spectacular sunrise. No basking in the warmth of spring. Just filtered light suspended above the cool, rain-soaked ground.

Perhaps this is how resurrection comes to us. Filtered. Subtle. With no bells and whistles. A gradual unfolding of light.

Last Thursday, Kim and I got out of our cars beneath a bridge south of downtown. Kim is one of our street chaplaincy interns and we were checking on some of the people we came to know and care for this winter. Clouds shifted overhead and a gentle drizzle fell across the city. 

“Knock, knock.” I said as we walked up the mulched footpath to Jim’s camp. “Is anyone home?” Ever since I met Jim, I’ve felt drawn to him. There is something in him that is so alive, so free, so lit.

The front door of Jim’s tent was propped open and Jim beckoned us in. He had been sick and took the food and water we offered.

Jim is a musician who looks like a 50-something gutter punk Mick Jagger. He is tall and thin with longish hair that he pushes back over his head with his hands. He ties a black bandana around his neck, dresses in all black, and paints his nails. As of Thursday, they were silver with glitter.

IMG_7550But Jim’s hardcore shell holds a lighter, gentler spirit. He decorates his camp with Halloween skeletons and reclaimed lawn ornaments. An old road-sign that reads “Sidewalk Closed” sits at the top of his footpath. He has always been kind and respectful to me and all the volunteers I’ve brought to the camp. And Jim’s campmates are all people he met on the streets who had nowhere to go. “I told them I had a place they could stay until they got back on their feet,” he said. And he welcomed them into his home.

Kim and I sat in Jim’s tent and started talking about Good Friday and theology (as street chaplains are prone to do). But this conversation was led by Jim.

Jim told us that he left the Church of Christ when he was 13 because they unjustly fired his youth minister. After that, he began to “get into some stuff” and “made some bad decisions.” Every now and then, he would get locked up for a couple days or a week, but as an adult, he “did something worse” and was locked up for three years.

“I was like, well, here I am,” said Jim. “I knew I had some time to think about things and I was damn sure I didn’t want to be the same person I was coming into jail when it was time to leave. So I sat down with my Bible and said, ‘Fuck you God. Fuck all the things I have been told about the Bible. Fuck all the things I’ve been told about you by the church.’ I said, ‘God, I want you to reveal yourself to me through this book.’”

It took Jim nine months to make it through the King James Version. Then he read the NIV in six months and then the Modern English translation. “The Modern English version was all cleaned up and didn’t have enough poetry or grit, so I threw that one out. But I’ll tell you this,” he continued. “I learned to live with myself while I was in prison reading that book.”

“What do you mean?” Kim and I asked.

“I learned that I couldn’t earn heaven. I was set free from the messages of bondage and shame and earning my way. God loved me exactly how I was. No ifs, ands, or buts. And that set me free.”

“Free from the chains the church had put on you?” I asked.

“Exactly,” he said. “I’m done with that kind of bullshit. And I’m free… I love life now.”

Jim, a man that most people would dismiss or judge, was resurrected in a prison cell and is now more at peace with himself and more free than almost anyone I know. How can this be?

IMG_6676Once, Jim was on the sidewalk outside a church service and a group of women in their Sunday best were walking by. He was playing music and asking for money and one of the ladies came over to him, clutching her Bible to her chest. “Are you saved? Do you even know God?” she asked.

“I am and I do,” he responded.

“You know,” the lady said loudly in front of her friends, “I know God better that you do.” Some of the other ladies laughed.

“If you do, then answer me this,” said Jim. “What do I have to do to be loved by God?”

The lady started rattling off things: “Go to church,” she said.

“Wrong!” Jim said.

“Get baptized.” she tried.

“Wrong!” Jim countered.

“Do the right things,” she said, now reddening in the face.

“Wrong,” Jim said, “I don’t have to do anything. God loves me just the way I am.” Without saying anything else, the church ladies brushed him off and held their noses up as they walked into church.

Jim, Kim, and I talked for a while about our struggles to find God within the walls of church buildings, within the confines of Religion. As a self-proclaimed “contrarian,” Jim didn’t fit into the rigid structure of the Church of Christ where he grew up. Kim and I confessed that we were also both still “in recovery” from some of our own experiences with church. As a female member of the Church of Christ, I was told from an early age that God doesn’t speak through women like me. Kim was excommunicated from her evangelical church for being gay and struggled to find a church community that would welcome her and her partner with open arms.

“I want to show you something,” said Jim. He dug around in his tent and unfolded small, damp sheets of lined paper until he found the right one.

img_7731-2.jpeg“Not too long ago,” he said, “I was playing my new $300 guitar right in front of the Country Music Hall of Fame. It was crowded and their were people everywhere. All the sudden, someone came up and pushed me. I wiped out across the sidewalk and landed on the neck of my new guitar. It shattered. Everyone around me started laughing.” He paused holding the folded piece of paper. “The next week, I went to Downtown Presbyterian Church for their breakfast. One of the women came up to me and she said, ‘Jim, I have something for you so don’t you leave without seeing me.’ This lady didn’t know me, she didn’t know my story. You guys know more about me than she did. But she saw what happened to me with my guitar that day. So I went up to her after the lunch and she handed me this.” He unfolded the paper and read the letter aloud:

Dear Jim,

Jesus keeps talking to me about you and this is what he is saying:

You were born with a fire inside you, a flame imprinted on your heart. Even when you were a child, people would misinterpret that fire and say things like, “that boy is a hot mess.” They would say about you, “he is rebellious” because you refused to conform to control. But they didn’t see and you didn’t see that you were born to Rebel. Rebel not against God but against the enemy! Rebel against a religious system that looks nothing like God!

I keep hearing Him say to you, I’m not in a building called a church, I’m not in an organized system called religion. I am in humanity! I keep hearing Him say “we are so much alike, Jim. I was born to Rebel against religion, too! When I walked on the earth, my best friends were sinners and my biggest enemies were the religious leaders of my day. They called me a drunk and often times found me hanging out in bars. I called them snakes, vipers, and tombs because they had a reputation of being alive but they were in fact dead. I called them snakes because they were dishing out poison instead of bread.

I put on flesh and blood to dwell with humanity. I was homeless, I was rejected, I was spit on, and I was misunderstood… sound familiar? I love you Jim. I died for you, not so that you could go to church, but so you could ditch all your shame and all the lies that you believe about yourself and be my friend, be my Rebel.

Rebel against hatred with kindness,

Rebel against offense with forgiveness,

Rebel against chaos with peace,

Rebel against religion with True Love,

Rebel against lies with Truth!”

David was just a shepherd boy who played a harp and made the demons flee at the sound of his instrument. You are a skilled guitar player. Use that skill to drive away the demons. I know that you feel like I’m far away, but I’m closer than your very own breath. Turn your face to me, not to church, not to religion, but your Spirit to my Spirit. I’m not asking you to change, I’m asking you to trust. I’m not asking you to give, I’m asking you to receive.

How can this be?

Jim held the letter carefully, in awe. “After she gave me this letter, she handed me that guitar.” He pointed to the case sitting behind him. “I don’t even know her name, but God spoke to her about me and she listened.”


Prints and patches by Lauren Plummer

Yes. Perhaps this is how resurrection comes to us. A gradual unfolding of light. Words fading on damp paper. Small acts of kindness. A gutter punk Mick Jagger in a campsite who is teaching us how to be free.

So let us pay attention to the suffering around us. Let us swap out our poison for bread. Let us rebel against everything that keeps us from being free. And let us practice resurrection. 


Good Friday: City Wide Stations of the Cross


Andre, Stations, cross and cranesEvery year in Nashville on Good Friday, a group of us embark on an urban pilgrimage to ask where Christ is being condemned and crucified in our society today. The Stations of the Cross originated as a way for Jesus’ followers to retrace his path to the cross. Rather than observing the stations in a church building, many of us feel the need to journey on foot through our city. We cannot be content to stay within the walls of our homes or churches on this night. We need to feel the energy of the city pulse around us. We need to see the faces of the people our society ignores. We need to stand in the shadows of the structures that too often dole out death for our people.

You see, we believe that where we read Scripture affects how we read Scripture, and for far too long, our theology and spirituality has been “domesticated.” This domesticated theology is meant to perpetuate the status quo, keep us comfortable, and tell us Jesus’ message was one of personal salvation. What could happen if we look at these texts with new eyes? What could happen if we understood Jesus’ message as one that also points us toward the movement for collective liberation?



station-1-lindsey-by-calvin.jpgMatthew 26:36-46 Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to them, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.” 37 He took Peter and the two sons of Zebedee along with him, and he began to be sorrowful and troubled. 38 Then he said to them, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” 39 Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.” 40 Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. “Couldn’t you men keep watch with me for one hour?” he asked Peter. 41 “Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” 42 He went away a second time and prayed, “My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done.” 43 When he came back, he again found them sleeping, because their eyes were heavy. 44 So he left them and went away once more and prayed the third time, saying thestation-1-by-amanda-e1522511194320.jpg same thing. 45 Then he returned to the disciples and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and resting? Look, the hour has come, and the Son of Man is delivered into the hands of sinners. 46 Rise! Let us go! Here comes my betrayer!”

Station 1 was held in the Church Street Park, directly across from the Downtown Public Library. This park is an important place of rest for people experiencing homelessness in Nashville. Jennifer Bailey spoke about the need to keep watch with Christ and stay awake to the ways so many people, especially people of color, are being oppressed, incarcerated, and murdered by police. Brian Jones, who moved into housing just over a year ago, ledstation-1-crosses-on-ground-by-diane.jpg the closing prayer. 

Participants picked up crosses with words like “Racism,” “Homelessness,” “Capitalism,” “Borders,” and “Mass Incarceration” to carry along the way.  Theologian Dorothee Söelle says, “To attain the image of Christ means to live in revolt against the great Pharaoh and to remain with the oppressed and the disadvantaged. It means to make their lot one’s own. It is easy to be on Pharaoh’s side if one just blinks an eye. It is easy to overlook the crosses by which we are surrounded.”



Station 2, People in Pews edited, by Calvin

Station 2, art, by DianeLuke 22:1-6, 47-53 – Now the Festival of Unleavened Bread, called the Passover, was approaching, and the chief priests and the teachers of the law were looking for some way to get rid of Jesus, for they were afraid of the people. Then Satan entered Judas, called Iscariot, one of the Twelve. And Judas went to the chief priests and the officers of the temple guard and discussed with them how he might betray Jesus.They were delighted and agreed to give him money. He consented, and watched for an opportunity to hand Jesus over to them when no crowd was present.47 …Later, while Jesus was still speaking a crowd came up, and the man who was called Judas, one of the Twelve, was leading them. He approached Jesus to kiss him, 48 but Jesus asked him, “Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?” 49 When Jesus’ followers sawStation 2, altar, by Molly what was going to happen, they said, “Lord, should we strike with our swords?” 50 And one of them struck the servant of the high priest, cutting off his right ear. 51 But Jesus answered, “No more of this!” And he touched the man’s ear and healed him. 52 Then Jesus said to the chief priests, the officers of the temple guard, and the elders, who had come for him, “Am I leading a rebellion, that you have come with swords and clubs? 53 Every day I was with you in the temple courts, and you did not lay a hand on me. But this is your hour—when darkness reigns.”

Station 2, Stop Separating Famlies, by MollyMatthew 26:69-75 – Now Peter was sitting out in the courtyard, and a servant girl came to him. “You also were with Jesus of Galilee,” she said. But he denied it before them all. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. Then he went out to the gateway, where another servant girl saw him and said to the people there, “This fellow was with Jesus of Nazareth.” He denied it again, with an oath: “I don’t know the man!” After a little while, those standing there went up to Peter and said, “Surely you are one of them; your accent gives you away.” Then he began to call down curses, and he swore to them, “I don’t know the man!” Immediately a rooster crowed.  Then Peter remembered the word Jesus had spoken: “Before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.” And he went outside and wept bitterly.

Station 2, BrendaStations 2 & 3 were held at Downtown Presbyterian Church, a historic church at the heart of our city that was once used as a hospital for the Northern side in the Civil War. Lauren Plummer curated a beautiful altar space with candles and photos throughout the sanctuary of people who are so often betrayed and denied by Christians and our mainstream society. Participants were invited to look at the pictures and light candles at the front altar space. Brenda Perez then lead us in a reflection calling us to embrace people who are different from us and resist injustice.




Station 3, Chris with cross, by CalvinMatthew 27:11-26 – Now Jesus stood before the governor; and the governor asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus said, “You say so.” But when he was accused by the chief priests and elders, he did not answer. Then Pilate said to him, “Do you not hear how many accusations they make against you?” But he gave him no answer, not even to a single charge, so that the governor was greatly amazed. Now it was the governor’s custom at the festival to release a prisoner chosen by the crowd. At that time they had a well-known prisoner whose name was Jesus Barabbas. So when the crowd had gathered, Pilate asked them, “Which one do you want me to release to you: Jesus Barabbas, or Jesus who is called the Messiah?” For he knew it was out of self-interest that they had handed Jesus over to him. While Pilate was sitting on the judge’s seat, his wife sent station-3-ingrid-by-diane.jpghim this message: “Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man, for I have suffered a great deal today in a dream because of him.” But the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowd to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus executed. “Which of the two do you want me to release to you?” asked the governor. “Barabbas,” they answered. “What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” Pilate asked. They all answered, “Crucify him!” “Why? What crime has he committed?” asked Pilate. But they shouted all the louder, “Crucify him!” When Pilate saw that he was getting nowhere, but that instead an uproar was starting, he took water and washed his hands in front of the crowd. “I am innocent of this man’s blood,” he said. “It is your responsibility!” All the people answered, “His blood is on us and on our children!” Then he released Barabbas to them. But he had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified.

Station 3, Sarah with cross and Kim, by CalvinMatthew 27:27-31 –  Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the governor’s headquarters, and they gathered the whole cohort around him. 28 They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, 29 and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on his head. They put a reed in his right hand and knelt before him and mocked him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” 30 They spat on him, and took the reed and struck him on the head. 31 After mocking him, they stripped him of the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him.

Station 3, Justin, by CalvinStations 4 & 5 were held at War Memorial Plaza (also known as Legislative Plaza). Beneath this plaza, there is a network of offices and meeting rooms where TN state legislators meet to work on bills. The plaza rests in the shadow of the State Capitol that holds Governor Haslam’s office.

Justin Jones lead this station and talked about how our governor and elected officials in TN “wash their hands” of the blood of so many people who die without health care in our state. He also told the story of Matthew Charles and talked about how we, like the crowds who cry “crucify him,” stand by as our people are unjustly incarcerated. He prayed for forgiveness and transformation. Then he and Ingrid McIntyre led the song, “Guide My Feet.”

Station 3, Guide my feet.jpeg


Capitol and sunset

station-4-walking-up-by-diane.jpgLuke 23:26 – As the soldiers led him away, they seized Simon from Cyrene, who was on his way in from the country, and put the cross on him and made him carry it behind Jesus.

Luke 23:27-31 – A great number of the people followed him, and among them were women who were beating their breasts and wailing for him. But Jesus turned to them and said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For the days are surely coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never nursed.’ Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us’; and to the hills, ‘Cover us.’ For if they do this when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?

Station 4, Capitol and Sunset, by DianeStations 6 & 7 were also held at War Memorial/Legislative Plaza in the shadows of the State Capitol. Liz Shadbolt and her son Isaac led this station and talked about the women who wail today from gun violence and the “green wood” – young people – who are leading the charge today and showing us how to carry the crosses of our collective sins. Isaac spoke about why he participated in the walk-out the other week and the struggles he and many of his classmates face with not feeling safe in school.

Station 4, Liz and IsaacLiz and Isaac read the names of 18 people who have died of gun violence so far in 2018 (15 of whom were people of color), and participants came forward to put cards with their names and photos on a prayer line. Lauren Plummer explained that prayer line held strips of fabric where students and family members wrote our their hopes and prayers at March for Our Lives that was held on March 24th. Liz and Lauren also named Stephon Clark, the 22 year old unarmed black father who was killed by police in California and Jocques Clemmons who was killed by police in Nashville just over a year ago and would have turned 32 today.




Capitol with crossesMatthew 27:33-44 – And when they came to a place called Golgotha (which means Place of a Skull), they offered him wine to drink, mixed with gall; but when he tasted it, he would not drink it. And when they had crucified him, they divided his clothes among themselves by casting lots;[a] then they sat down there and kept watch over him. Over his head they put the charge against him, which read, “This is Jesus, the King of the Jews.” Then two bandits were crucified with him, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided[b]him, shaking their heads and saying, “You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross.” In the same way the chief priests also, along with the scribes and elders, were mocking him, saying, “He saved others; he cannot save himself.[c] He is the King of Israel; let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God; let God deliver him now, if he wants to; for he said, ‘I am God’s Son.’” The bandits who were crucified with him also taunted him in the same way.

Station 5, banner by CalvinLuke 23:39-43 – One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

Capitol, crosses at doorMatthew 27:45-54, 57-60 – From noon until three in the afternoon darkness came over all the land. 46 About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” 47 When some of those standing there heard this, they said, “He’s calling Elijah.” 48 Immediately one of them ran and got a sponge. He filled it with wine vinegar, put it on a staff, and offered it to Jesus to drink.49 The rest said, “Now leave him alone. Let’s see if Elijah comes to save him.” 50 And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit. 51 At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split 52 and the tombs broke open. The bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. 53 They came out of the tombs after Jesus’ resurrection and[c]went into the holy city and appeared to many people. 54 When the centurion and those with him who were guarding Jesus saw the earthquake and all that had happened, they were terrified, and exclaimed, “Surely he was the Son of God!” 57 When it was evening, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who was also a disciple of Jesus. 58 He went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus; then Pilate ordered it to be given to him. 59 So Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth 60 and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn in the rock. He then rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb and went away.

station-5-molly-2.jpgStations 8, 9, & 10 were held at the TN State Capitol which is where execution orders are signed for people on TN’s death row. Molly Lasagna spoke about her work with the TN Higher Education Initiative which provides education to people who are incarcerated. She spoke about the failures of our criminal justice system and the humanity of the people she works with who are trying to rebuild their lives. She also spoke about the ways we continue to crucify the very people Christ asked us to visit, clothe, and feed. How will we stand up and un-crucify them? How will we resist the unjust policies of our state – our empire – and be “Easter people” even in the midst of such death?


Litany of Resistance, group with candles, by Calvin

Candles lit 2, by DianeDuring the last station, the sun set across the city. In the gathering darkness, I invited the participants to gather in a circle and we passed out candles. I spoke about the darkness and uncertainty of the moment when Christ died. “When the light of the world goes out,” I said, “let us light one another.” I spoke about how on Pentecost, the Spirit descended on the disciplines in “tongues of flame” and that we, too, carry this spark in us and must let it shine, even in the midst of such present darkness. We lit one another’s candles and the circle was illuminated.

Litany of Resistance, Andrew, John, Peyton, Aaron, by CalvinIngrid McIntyre led us in the Litany of Resistance (see below) and then John Culbertson and Peyton Williams gave out envelopes they prepared with a message of resurrection and asked participants to wait until Easter morning to open them.

We then carried our crosses to the front steps of the Capitol and laid them there. We tied the prayer line to the columns and laid the banner out. Participants kept their candles as a reminder of that spark we all carry.

Capitol, final altar edited, by Molly



(Please join us by reading aloud the words in bold.)

Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world.
Have mercy on us and free us from the bondage of sin, oppression, and death.

For the victims of war,
Have mercy.
For refugees and immigrants,
Have mercy.
The abandoned and the unhoused,
Have mercy.
The imprisoned and the tortured,
Have mercy.
The widowed and the orphaned,
Have mercy.
The weary and the desperate,
Have mercy.
The detained, deported, and all who are living in fear,
Have mercy.

O God, have mercy on us all.
Forgive us, for we know not what we do.

For the scandal of billions wasted on war and desolation,
Forgive us.
For putting our hope in militarization and devaluing human life,
Forgive us.
For our acceptance of police violence,
Forgive us.
For the hatred that is rooted in our hearts,
Forgive us.
For the times we have turned others into enemies and scapegoats,
Forgive us.
For false borders between nations and the borders around our hearts,
Forgive us.

Deliver us, O God. Guide our feet into the way of hospitality. Grant us the peace that comes from justice.

From the arrogance of power,
Deliver us.
From the fear of those who look or love or worship differently,
Deliver us.
From the poison of white supremacy,
Deliver us.
From the idolatry of nationalism,
Deliver us.
From the violence of apathy,
Deliver us.
From the ghettos of poverty and human suffering,
Deliver us.

We will not conform to the patterns of this world. Let us be transformed by the renewing of our minds. With the help of God’s grace, let us resist evil wherever we find it.

With the waging of war,
We will not comply.
With the separation of families,
We will not comply.
With mass incarceration,
We will not comply.
With the destruction of community,
We will not comply.
With principalities and powers that oppress,
We will not comply.
With governments that profit from human misery,
We will not comply.
With the theology of empire,
We will not comply.
With the business of militarism,
We will not comply.
With the dissemination of fear and hatred,
We will not comply.

Today we pledge our allegiance to the Kin-dom of God.

To vision of community rooted in justice and peace,
We pledge allegiance.
To the Kin-dom of the poor and broken,
We pledge allegiance.
To the least of these, with whom Christ dwells,
We pledge allegiance.
To the transnational Church that transcends the artificial borders of nations,
We pledge allegiance.
To the refugee of Nazareth,
We pledge allegiance.
To the homeless rabbi who had no place to lay his head,
We pledge allegiance.
To the banner of love above any flag,
We pledge allegiance.
To the one who rules with humility and compassion rather than an iron fist,
We pledge allegiance.
To the revolution that sets both oppressed and oppressors free,
We pledge allegiance.

And together we proclaim the Way of Love, from the margins of the empire to the centers of wealth and power.

Praise and glory be to the lamb of God who welcomes the stranger, liberates the oppressed, restores life to the dead, and sets the captives free!


This litany was adapted by Lindsey Krinks and Lauren Plummer from litanies by Christian Peacemaker Teams, Shane Claiborne, and others

Special thanks to Calvin Kimbrough, Amanda Cantrell Roche, Diane Smith, Molly Lasagna for your photos. And thanks to Ingrid McIntyre, Samuel Lester, and Lauren Plummer for making the crosses and banner this year. This event was hosted by Open Table Nashville, an interfaith, homeless outreach nonprofit. 


Lenten Reflection

This reflection was written for the Keep Watch With Me – a collaborative Lenten reader for peacemakers with daily reflections. To subscribe, click here

Screen Shot 2018-02-28 at 10.16.51 AMMany of us in the Northern Hemisphere come to the season of Lent in the midst of winter. This is a season of emptying, of fasting, of want. We search for God in the voids, the shadows. We feel the cold, the wilderness, deep in our bones.

One of the places I go to search for God is a cemetery called “Hills of Calvary.” As you drive northwest from the heart of Nashville, the city begins to drop away. Winter trees pulse with starlings, icicles cling to rock walls, and living hills arch their backs beneath you. Eight miles out, there is a quiet, hidden patch of land designated as the city’s indigent burial site. As a street chaplain, I visit this site often. It is home to so many of our unhoused friends who died in their 30s, 40s, and 50s, left out of Nashville’s rapid and prosperous growth.

This past year alone, we lost 118 people from Nashville’s homeless community, many of whom were laid to rest at Hills of Calvary. There was JR, a kind but stubborn man who lost both his legs to frostbite. There was Ray, a talented writer who beamed with creativity and wit. There was Johnny who once told me the worst thing about living on the streets was the loneliness. Many of our friends buried at Hills of Calvary lived—like Jesus—on the margins of empire, cast out by the political, economic, and even

Screen Shot 2018-02-28 at 10.16.30 AMI pick up a fistful of dirt and the cold clay clumps in my hands. I sprinkle it over fresh graves. From dust we have come, to dust we will return. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. religious powers of the day.

Father Greg Boyle who started Homeboy Industries in L.A. to give gang members a way out says that his work is about “returning people to themselves.” Perhaps this kind of “returning” is what Lent is all about. After all, the Greek word for repentance that marks this season is not so much about feeling sorry for something. It is about returning. Transforming.

A gravedigger at Hills of Calvary once told me they dug the graves so that everyone would face east. “Tradition has it that when Jesus comes again,” he explained, “he will come from the east.” So even in their deaths, JR, Ray, Johnny, and so many others are being poised for return.

Art by Vonda DressAs I hold the cold clay of Calvary in my hands, the question I have for this Lenten season is this: Will the memories of the people crucified in the shadows of empire return us to ourselves and to each other?

“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen?” asks God through the prophet Isaiah. “To loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—when you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?”

During this season of Lent, to what—to whom—will we return?

Standing in the Tragic Gap: Reclaiming Holy Week in Nashville

River.jpgThe gentle waters of the Cumberland ripple against the fading light and I rest against river rocks and bone-like shells bleached in the sun. The hum of distant traffic soothes me. It’s an urban lullaby of white noise reminiscent of the rise and fall of ocean waves.

I don’t remember the last time I felt so worn—like I poured out everything I had and more and it still wasn’t enough. On these days, something calls me to places like this. Hidden. Still. Away. I need time to let everything sink in. The crisis calls, relapses, and evictions. The man on life support, the woman who handed me her blade, the friend we lost who I still haven’t mourned.

It is Holy Week—the week leading up to Easter in the Christian calendar, the week where Jesus enters into the conflict and suffering of the city. Sandra Griggs, the pastor of Glencliff United Methodist Church, says this is the week where we “stand in the tragic gap” between triumph and death, between the world as it is and the world as it could be. The tragic gap. Yes.

Glencliff UMC, supportersI started the week with Palm Sunday at Glencliff—the church that is partnering with Open Table Nashville to use their grounds for the first Micro Home Village in our city that will provide respite to our friends on the streets. The week before, fearful and angry neighbors launched vitriolic insults at Glencliff’s members and OTN and threatened to picket the church. While only a handful of picketers came out, nearly 100 supporters of Glencliff and the Village showed up in solidarity. What is a church if not a place for wounds to be tended? What is a church if not a refuge for those who have been cast out?

Justin Jones, sit inOver the next couple days, the whole city was buzzing with holy resistance. There was a public call for independent oversight for the Department of Corrections. There was a demonstration in South Nashville at an intersection where police have been targeting immigrants for traffic stops that can lead to deportations. Low-income renters whose apartment complex was bought by wealthy developers gathered to organize themselves and fight displacement. A coalition of activists, organizers, and council members strategized on how to create a democratic civilian review board that would provide oversight and accountability to Metro Police. And activists and clergy were arrested during a sit-in at Governor Haslam’s office while making a moral statement about the need to expand healthcare to uninsured Tennesseans. (Did I mention that all this happened by Tuesday??)

Romero with bannerThis is Holy Week, indeed. When I am feeling worn, when I’m haunted by the collective trauma of our people, when the opposition feels insurmountable, I think of Archbishop Oscar Romero—a man who was assassinated in 1980 for standing beside the poor in El Salvador. He knew what it was like to weep over a city. He knew what it was like to stand in the tragic gap. He says, “A church that does not provoke any crisis, preach a gospel that does not unsettle, proclaim a word of God that does not get under anyone’s skin or a word of God that does not touch the real sin of the society in which it is being proclaimed: what kind of gospel is that?”

So I sit by the river and watch as herons and mallards fly low. I think about my friends across the city who are deeply immersed in these struggles. Yes, “church” extends beyond the walls. Yes, “gospel” is good news for everyone facing poverty, injustice, and oppression. What would Holy Week be, after all, without overturned tables? What would Holy Week be without accusations and insults, without holy people allowing themselves to be arrested by the authorities? What would Holy Week be without the Garden of Gethsemane where we, like the disciples, are given a choice: will we stay awake to stand in the tragic gap with Christ as he suffers? Or will we drift back to sleep?

*If you’d like to join us for the Citywide Stations of the Cross on Good Friday, you can find details here.*