Repair the Breach: Place as the Sacred Home of Identity and Belonging
/Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?
Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in. - Isaiah 58:6-7, 12
On January 26, 2020, Kobe Bryant, his daughter Gianna, Sarah and Payton Chester, Alyssa, Keri, and John Altobelli, Christina Mauser, and Ara Zobayan died tragically in a helicopter crash in Calabasas, California. The crash occurred at 9:45 am and was reported publicly at 11:24 am. The news broke just as my congregation was invited to communion. Meeting outdoors on a cold and cloudy Sunday morning was atypical for Southern California weather, but there was a hum of excitement in the air as the parking lot filled with black limousines and beautiful people in evening gowns and tuxedos. The Grammys were being held that day at LA Live, and the scene was slowly transforming from outdoor church into a parade of glamour and hopefulness. When the first congregant came to receive communion, he whispered to me, “Kobe Bryant died in a helicopter crash.” The stunned look on my face caused others to question, and many began checking their phones for news. A ripple of sadness washed over the congregation as we learned the news and grappled with the horror of it.
Our congregation, Los Angeles First United Methodist Church, has long been a melting pot for the diverse population found in downtown Los Angeles. On Sunday, January 26, we watched as our small church was enveloped into the streams of mourners, making a pilgrimage to the Staples Center to grieve en masse. As our parking lot shifted from sacred ground to parking lot, the courtyard of the Staples Center became a chapel. What became evident on that day was twofold: people need a place to worship, mourn, celebrate, and pray. The intrinsic need of the human heart to join together in times of sorrow could not be overlooked.
Los Angeles is often considered a city bereft of spiritual depth or religious fervor (despite being the home of the Azusa Street Revival); a city in which 36% of the population identifies as “no religious affiliation”[1] demonstrated that their religious background wasn’t an indicator of their spiritual need. As thousands of people poured into the Staples Center for weeks following Kobe’s death, our congregation’s site became the hub of pastoral care. Anguish was channeled internally as the pandemic forced everyone blessed with a home into an ongoing stay-at-home order, and the death of George Floyd prompted weeks of protests over the oppressive forces of systemic racism, white supremacy, and police brutality. The city’s streets filled each season this year with grief, rage, injustice, and - after the LA Lakers and LA Dodgers won national championships - celebration. The church is one of the few places equipped to discuss, process, and offer hope in all of these circumstances. In the wake of the most challenging year of our modern era, defined by church decline and religious attrition, people still demonstrated their desire to gather, wonder, cry, and rejoice. The Pew Research center found that only 13% of Angeleans don’t believe in God, or don’t know what they believe.[2] Perhaps the question is not “what do we believe?” but, “Who will teach us how to believe?”
What is going on in the social context?
History teaches us that displaced people will do everything in their power to create a sense of belonging, familiarity, and hospitality in their environment. This is most notably true in the Biblical narrative as generation after generation continues to create a home both for themselves and for God.[3] Walter Brueggemann writes, “Land is a central, if not the central theme of biblical faith.”[4] So, what happens when the land is unattainable and place is always seen as temporary? Los Angeles - the melting pot of the West - became the home of every big dream, often predicated on fleeting beauty, illusions of grandeur, and cinematic portrayals of humankind and creation.
Los Angeles First United Methodist Church was founded in 1853, and today, it is the only remaining protestant church in Downtown Los Angeles.[5] The congregation’s identity in this place is both definitive and everchanging. It is an unusual quality to be both grounded and nimble in one’s place. Throughout its 167-year history, the church has had five buildings and met in nine different sites, all within a one mile radius of the original meeting place: The El Dorado Saloon in La Plaza.[6]
In many ways, what is currently going on in the church’s context is no different than what has been going on all along: the city has grown, struggled, thrived, suffered, and reinvented itself multiple times over. One constant of Downtown Los Angeles’ identity has been its welcome for migrating people; this constant also means that the ever-changing population is continually working to understand how best to be neighbors to people who are ethnically, socio-culturally, and economically different from one another. LA First UMC has always been accessible by train and foot, located in the heart of the city’s rail lines and nestled in its former trolley stops. Accessibility, adaptability, and perpetual awareness of the city’s needs have defined the church’s identity. The challenge now is to continue pursuing the theological and ontological challenges of the context, so as to answer the true needs of the community.
Why are these things happening in this context?
Understanding the spiritual and ontological challenges of any place is a complex endeavor. Los Angeles is still a young city. Founded in 1781 by a group of 44 settlers, colonists from Spain who were served by the Roman Catholic Church. Los Angeles grew slowly to 1,600 by the 1850s and its beginning years were hardly auspicious. Historian Charles Willard described it as a city which “contained a larger percentage of bad characters than any other city, and for its size had the greatest number of fights, lynchings, and robberies.”[7] As the city grew and the population diversified, racial tensions soared. The long era of violence culminated in 1871 when 19 Chinese immigrants were slaughtered and Chinatown was looted by a mob of 500.[8] By the 1890s, Los Angeles had swelled to over 50,000, including more than 1200 Black people, many of whom had won emancipation from slavery.[9] Racial tension was so pronounced that, “on account of the slavery agitation and the strong feeling incited against the Methodists because of their pronounced attitude against slavery, the work [of the church] was temporarily discontinued.”[10]As the population continued to grow, the Catholic presence spread to the surrounding areas. Protestant churches established slowly, but many found their first homes outside of Downtown. The Catholic Churches also suffered a loss of membership over the last 100 years, and most have moved out to the surrounding neighborhoods, where the Hispanic communities have settled. This has left downtown bereft of any meaningful spiritual presence.
As the city’s religious landscape changed, so has the market for housing. While the downtown area has seen incredible revitalization over the last several years, the homelessness population has grown exponentially. In 2011, the number of homeless people was 23,539, a 9% decrease from 2009’s count.[11] In January 2020 (pre-COVID), the homeless population in the city of Los Angeles had skyrocketed to 41,290, a 16% rise over 2019’s numbers.[12] As land has gotten more expensive, the only people able to afford market rate housing are those making more than six figures.
Simultaneously, gentrification is eliminating housing possibilities from those who are most in need. “Between 1997 and 2019, Los Angeles County lost 5,057 affordable units,” according to the California Housing Partnership report.[13] Alan Durning, during a public conversation on gentrification in Los Angeles, said, “At some point in America, we decided that land is more valuable than people.”[14] This means that land accrues value over time whether or not it has been improved. A house purchased for $250,000 in 2010 could be sold in 2020 for exponentially more money, simply because of the assessed value of the land. Durning notes that the model for home ownership in Germany requires that the government approve the sale price, so that the prices of homes remain reasonable, based only on quantitative improvements, not assumed land value. The quality of life in America is determined by one’s ability to own a home, which typically leads to generational wealth and stability. Those unable to purchase land are left in the cycle of rentership, and remain in the clutches of affordable housing which could be re-evaluated by the landlord who is more concerned with profit than preservation of his tenants.
The lack of affordable housing creates a crisis which is felt both socially and ecclesiologically. The scarcity of churches in downtown Los Angeles also means that there is a dearth of institutions concerned with social welfare. David Steven Porter argues that “amid growing socioeconomic inequity in the United States, the ministry of local churches repairs the fabric of local communities.”[15] However, the ways in which churches have repaired the breach between welfare and provision has quietly stitched the fabric of America’s landscape together with raveling thread. The fewer congregants there are to support local congregations, the less aid they can contribute to those most in need. Malcolm Gladwell writes:
Ram Cnaan, a professor of social work at the University of Pennsylvania, recently estimated the replacement value of the charitable work done by the average American church—that is, the amount of money it would take to equal the time, money, and resources donated to the community by a typical congregation—and found that it came to about a hundred and forty thousand dollars a year. In the city of Philadelphia, for example, that works out to an annual total of two hundred and fifty million dollars’ worth of community “good;” on a national scale, the contribution of religious groups to the public welfare is, as Cnaan puts it, “staggering.”[16]
The consequences of churches moving out of a community cannot be fully realized. It is of utmost importance, then, to study the examples of churches who have not dedicated themselves to serving particular people (who will come and go), but who are dedicated to serving in a particular place. Churches with the ability to adapt to the neighborhood’s evolution will have a much stronger chance of survival.
What is the theological significance?
“Our Father in heaven…”
The prayer Jesus taught us begins with two important details: to whom and where we are to address our prayers. Christian eschatology defines heaven as home. Identity is centered in both name and place, and our theology is developed in the very question of who God is and where we are to meet the divine. The biblical narrative details the relationship between God and humankind as each generation wrestles with their understanding of who God is. The great I AM is eternal both in name and in location. Where the people are, God is, as well. In the beginning was nothing - a formless void - which was created into something. The swirling mass of nonexistence became a place, where the waters separated to reveal land. In creation, God chooses to be known in a place in history, occupying both chronology and geography.
Who we are and where we come from are the primary building blocks of our identity.
Prominent historical figures are often identified by hometown: Augustine of Hippo, Julian of Norwich, Jesus of Nazareth (even God Incarnate was from somewhere). The evident characteristics that we present - gender, age, ethnicity, status - are unspoken communicants of who we are. But, the story begins to unfold when we tell our stories. Almost nothing defines us more than our origin, our home, our place. This is especially true for people who have left their homeland.
In an urban area like Downtown Los Angeles, virtually no one is a native of this land (including the Tongan people, who suffered forced relocation, enslavement, and exposure to disease at the hands of European colonists in the 1770s). For those who now reside in downtown Los Angeles, this land was preferred and chosen. But, what is missing is twofold: the ability to own the land, and a spiritual home for the residents. Wanderlust is sparked by discontent and curiosity; spiritual and religious alienation is fueled by lack of relevance. So, people wander with the hopes of finding what the heart truly desires: to be known and rooted, safe and secure.
There are a variety of reasons to leave one’s homeland: opportunity and refuge, most notably. The human heart beats to be known and rooted. Contentment, however, is not a motivator. The allure of comfort often leads to complacency, but an urgency for newness pushes the creative and curious soul out of the bounds of familiarity. The promise of something more economically rewarding is almost always the seed that grows into the tree of desire. But, freedom doesn’t always lead to satisfaction. Instead, the new place becomes a microcosm of the former, as the Promised Land is rarely realized to its satisfaction. The manna is bland, the land must be tilled, and the people are weary. The failed urban promise of freedom and self-actualization[17] becomes a disgruntled society of isolated, lonely, discontent people. In response to liberation from exile, the Israelites cried out, “Is this not the very thing we told you in Egypt, ‘Let us alone and let us serve the Egyptians?’ For it would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness.”[18]
The theological significance of displacement means that our hopes will remain eschatological. The promise found in Revelation about the New Heaven and the New Earth, the New Jerusalem dressed as a bride adorned for her beloved,[19] locates our hope in a place. Not just a geographic place, but an ontological one. The future promise is one of provision, welcome, home, and love. This passage from Revelation describes an embrace of cosmopolitanism as transnational; unity in Christ is multi-ethnic, multi-cultural, multi-lingual, with varied ages, genders, disabilities, orientations. In John’s vision of the future, equity and justice are accomplished in the place yet to be inhabited.
What is the Christian response?
What, then, is the Christian response to the dire need of the community in downtown Los Angeles? Quite simply, the work of the body of Christ is to build up all of the parts. If one part is suffering, the others should offer healing. It is clear that the city is yearning for a home in which to be known and rooted. The lack of affordable housing is compounded by the absence of units to be purchased. The scarcity of churches also means that the social welfare of the chronically unhoused falls to the neighborhood, which is ill equipped to address these needs in an organized and thorough manner.
Anna Carter Florence writes that it is critical for preachers to study the text and seek out how to “read the verbs.” The nouns are highly problematic, because they are subject to interpretation. The verbs, however, are clear. “Reading the verbs in Scripture allows us to talk about what we know, first - before we plunge into the mysteries of all that keeps us wondering.”[20] It’s hard to argue with a text when it speaks directly about action. In Acts 2 and 4, there are two separate accounts of what the first followers of Jesus did in response to their conversion:
“Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.”[21]
All who believed sold their possessions, distributed the proceeds, spent time together, broke bread, and ate with glad and generous hearts, praising God. Sell, distribute, spend, eat, praise. These verbs are the key to understanding how best to respond to the needs of any community.
Constructing a practical theology of place means working to understand what the congregation’s values are, while simultaneously researching the true needs of the surrounding community. In my church’s case, the neighborhood is in dire need of affordable housing. Jesus’ new commandment is “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and love your neighbor as yourself.”[22] This verse requires that we act out of love for God, our neighbor, and ourselves. With this as a guiding principle, it is possible to “sell what we have” and use the land as a mechanism of hospitality, so that everyone has what is needed.
The faithful response to any congregation’s crisis is not going to be easy. The choices, work, and sacrifices will be significant. But, the blessing of becoming the answer to the community’s greatest prayers is worth any amount of effort. It is the aim of all Christian communities to create what Isaac Watts envisioned:
“Your sure provisions gracious God attend me all my days;
oh, may your house be my abode, and all my work be praise.
Here would I find a settled rest, while others go and come;
no more a stranger, nor a guest, but like a child at home.”[23]
Research Methodology:
This paper was written as part of my research for my Doctor of Ministry project at Emory University, and was originally assigned as a Social and Theological Analysis of my current setting, Los Angeles First United Methodist Church. For this paper, I used current statistical analysis, available through the Census.gov website, Pew Research Center, and the LA County Homelessness Count. Because of the congregation’s longevity, they have an extensive library of historical documentation, specifically from the era of the 1920 building. The Horizon was published quarterly, and includes a lengthy historical reflection on Los Angeles, as well as the church’s development and reach in the wider community.
Bibliography:
Harold Garnet Black, “The Church of the Lighted Cross: A History of the First Methodist Episcopal Church of Los Angeles.” The Horizon: A Publication of the First Methodist Episcopal Church of Los Angeles. June 1938, p. 10.
Madeline Brand. “There Goes the Neighborhood LIVE: Solutions,” KCRW Studios, Nov. 16, 2017
Walter Brueggemann, The Land: Place as Gift, Promise, and Challenge in Biblical Faith, Second Edition (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002), 4.
Jenna Chandler, “The Big Problem With Affordable Housing,” LA Curbed, March 3, 2020.
Dolores Hayden, The Power of Place: Urban Landscapes as Public History (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1995), p. 140.
Historic Statement in the Bulletin of Dedication Services, published by First Methodist Episcopal Church of Los Angeles, July 8, 1923.
The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version. 1989. Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers.
Anna Carter Florence, Rehearsing Scripture (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans Publishing, 2018), 32.
Malcolm Gladwell, “The Cellular Church,” The New Yorker, September 12, 2005,
LAHSA 2011 Greater Los Angeles Homeless Count Report, August 2011.
LAHSA 2020 Greater Los Angeles Homeless Count Results, June 12, 2020.
MissionInsite Report, generated on October 30, 2020.
Pew Research Study: Religious Landscape Study. Adults in the Los Angeles metro area.
David Steven Porter. “The Predicament of Place: Lesslie Newbigin and a Missionary Theology of Place.” ThD Dissertation, Duke University, Durham, 2017, 44.
Isaac Watts, “My Shepherd Will Supply My Need,” 1719.
ENDNOTES:
[1] MissionInsite Report, generated on October 30, 2020. Numbers are a reflection of the 2019 demographics. This report reflects that 45.4% of the population identifies as Catholic; 5.9% identify as Evangelical; 5.6% identify as Jewish; 2.8% identify as Mainline Protestant.
[2] https://www.pewforum.org/religious-landscape-study/metro-area/los-angeles-metro-area/
[3] 1 Kings 6, Ezra 3, NRSV
[4] Walter Brueggemann, The Land: Place as Gift, Promise, and Challenge in Biblical Faith, p. 4
[5] There are other churches, such as Hillsong, but they do not own their land or their property. The quality of landownership buys a voice in the community, which these ecclesial bodies do not have.
[6] Harold Garnet Black, “The Church of the Lighted Cross: A History of the First Methodist Episcopal Church of Los Angeles.” The Horizon: A Publication of the First Methodist Episcopal Church of Los Angeles. June 1938, p. 10.
[7] Harold Garnet Black. The Church of the Lighted Cross, The Horizon, 1938, p. 11.
[8] Ibid, p.11.
[9] Dolores Hayden, The Power of Place: Urban Landscapes as Public History (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1995),
p. 140. The author cites the Census of the City and County of Los Angeles, California for the Year 1850, which was published in the Times Mirror Press, 1929.
[10] “Historic Statement” in the Bulletin of Dedication Services, published by First Methodist Episcopal Church of Los Angeles, July 8, 1923.
[11] http://documents.lahsa.org/planning/homelesscount/2011/HC11-detailed-geography-report.PDF
[12] https://www.lahsa.org/news?article=726-2020-greater-los-angeles-homeless-count-results
[13] https://la.curbed.com/2019/6/25/18659812/affordable-housing-los-angeles-covenants-expire
[14] https://www.kcrw.com/news/shows/press-play-with-madeleine-brand/there-goes-the-neighborhood-live-solutions
[15] David Steven Porter, The Predicament of Place, Dissertation, Duke University, 2017.
[16] Malcolm Gladwell, “The Cellular Church,” The New Yorker, September 12, 2005, https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2005/09/12/the-cellular-church
[17] Walter Brueggemann, The Land: Place as Gift, Promise, and Challenge in Biblical Faith, p. 5.
[18] Exodus 14:12, NRSV
[19] Rev. 21:1, NRSV
[20] Anna Carter Florence, Rehearsing Scripture, p. 32.
[21] Acts 2:43-47, NRSV; Acts 4:32 - 35: “Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all. There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.”
[22] Matthew 22:37-39, Mark 12:31-32, Luke 10:27.
[23] Isaac Watts, “My Shepherd Will Supply My Need,” 1719.