Moving From Me to We
During the period known as ‘Reaganomics’, in 1984, the nation was enjoying a seeming wave of enormous prosperity. At the time I was a Regional Vice-President for a financial services company. That impression of our nation soon changed for me after a providential encounter at a 7-11 convenience store in midtown Kansas City, Missouri. As I was filling up my car with gas, an elderly African-American man came limping up to me. When he lifted up his head he drew me in with his magnetic smile. I thought he needed a ride, but after offering, he explained that he was simply out getting exercise. Instead, he invited me to come and visit him sometime at the nearby LaSalle Apartments. There is one caveat. He had suffered a stroke. He spoke with slurred speech, and it was difficult to understand him. As I was standing at the gas pump, I felt an internal prompting that he was to ‘be my teacher.’ Immediately I thought, “But how? I can hardly understand what he is saying?”
A couple of days later, I went by to see him. When I knocked on his apartment door, no one responded. At that time, a frail, but energetic lady in a white dress came up and said, “Mr. Evans must be out for a walk.” She revealed herself as “Mother Esther.” Mid-sixties, friendly, loved to talk, and knew everyone in the building. However, she also shared with me that she hadn’t eaten for two days, since it was the end of the month. She took me upstairs to another apartment where there sat a forlorn elderly white lady, with her gaze fixed on a can of pork and beans sitting on her table, the last food in her apartment. Reagonomics seemed to have passed this building by. Whether it was a church mother in the AME tradition like Mother Esther or her friend upstairs, people were hurting. I had read St. James about faith and works. I knew I couldn’t just say, “Peace, be warmed and be filled” and go back to my comfortable home in Leawood, Kansas.
Around that time, during a time of prayer and reflection, a mental scenario came into my mind. Two brothers were kneeling and praying together the Lord’s Prayer. “Our Father, Who art in Heaven…” and when they got to “give us this day our daily bread”, I saw two loaves coming down from heaven and they were given to only one of the brothers. Then I heard a gentle question, “Did I answer their prayer?” How one answers that question, makes all the difference.
At that time, I had also been a pastor in the Evangelical, charismatic tradition. Many of us would answer it like, “Praise the Lord! God answered my prayer. I got my two loaves!” Then, I would pat my brother on the back and say, “just keep praying! Soon you’ll get your loaves!” And off I go, and the other brother is still praying.
But another way to answer the question “did I answer their prayer” is in the tradition of St. John the Baptist, the Lord Jesus Christ, and the early Christians. When the repenting multitudes asked St. John, the Forerunner of Christ, “what shall we do?” he replied, “Let him that has two coats, share with him that has none. Let him that has food do likewise” (St. Luke 3:10-11).
It hit me that I had been praying the Lord’s prayer not as “Our Father” but as “my Father.” I had not been thinking “give us this day our daily bread” but “give me this day my daily bread.” There was a deep change occurring within. My teacher, Rollen Evans, was teaching me about the necessity of moving from “me” to “we.”
After contacting a few friends, we began to take some groceries to the same LaSalle Apartments. The conscience can be very loud in such times. One day, as we were passing out food in the lobby, a 9-year old black boy tugged on my suit coat and emphatically said, “My gramma don’t have no food!” His name was Robert, also called “Lil’ Man.” I followed him to his grandmother’s apartment. His aunt, Cherlyn, let us in and said, “My mother’s not here now, but she’ll be back soon. Her name is Thelma Coppage. Just put the food right here.” As she opened the refrigerator, I saw that it was completely empty.
As we returned to the lobby, I noticed two ladies entering. One looked just like Rob’s Aunt Cherlyn upstairs. So, I asked, “Are you Thelma Coppage?” She quickly snapped, “How’d you know my name?” I realized my appearance was a bit off-putting. A white man in a three-piece suit and the first thing I was asking for was her identity! When I explained, she relaxed and was friendly. I later discovered that Thelma often would bring people into her apartment that had no place to stay or food to eat. She, like Rollen, became my teacher. This same Thelma two years later became my wife.
When I became an Orthodox Christian in 1993, I found that early Christian social teaching viewed this way of life in the world as normative. Eusebius, the early Christian historian, wrote about the early church of Rome that in the middle of the third century cared for
… over fifteen hundred widows and persons in distress, all of whom the grace and kindness of the Master nourish (Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History, 6:43.11).
Two of the greatest early Orthodox Christian teachers, St. Basil of Cappadocia, and St. John Chrysostom, had much to say on these matters. Here is but a sampling:
He who strips a man of his clothes is to be called a thief. Is not he who, when he is able, fails to clothe the naked, worthy of no other title? The bread which you do not use is the bread of the hungry; the garment hanging in your wardrobe is the garment of him who is naked; the shoes that you do not wear are the shoes of the one who is barefoot; the money that you keep locked away is the money of the poor; the acts of charity that you do not perform are so many injustices that you commit [On Poverty, St. Basil the Great, @368 AD].
(for the the full article and to support Archangel Michael Skete go here. for more information on this go to the Fellowship of St. Moses the Black and Reconciliation Services)
