The spiritually curious folks in the Off The Map community send each other articles they find intriguing. Recently Randy Siever, Director of Doable Evangelism, sent around a piece written by Sarah Monahan, a senior at the University of Nevada

Sarah, who is 23, hosts a weekly discussion group for insiders (Christians) and outsiders who are equally disgruntled with religion. She and her friends discuss different aspects of Christian culture and the traditions of Christendom. Sarah called her article, “Second Chance Pharisee”.

I got in touch with Sarah to get the back story on her thinking.

Sarah, first of all thanks for taking time to talk with me. What inspired you to write Second Chance Pharisee?

It seems that no matter what church you attend or which denomination you follow, there’s an underlying culture that dictates which ways of living are applicable to “good Christians” and which ways of living are applicable to the back-slidden. Unfortunately, to live as a good Christian by these terms, we often neglect God and others. I wanted to explore why that is.

Tell me more.

When I was a leader in Las Vegas there was a phase that our team went through in which several of the leaders confessed to sexual sin. They were asked to leave leadership. Meanwhile, others on the team were doing the same things, but not confessing, and being left alone. I learned from this that to be a good Christian leader, you can never be honest. It seems to me that those who do not live an ideal life (and are judged for it) may be very close to God, while those who are seemingly close to God may be vapid and empty in their souls.

Is any of your article biographical?

I’ve tried really hard not to follow these patterns. In the past I’ve made a point to live in bad neighborhoods and befriend those that others would give a sideways glance. It’s hard to avoid, though, when the language that we learn to talk about God in is not language that translates to most people. As a result, I’ve found that I either fully live the life of the Second Chance Pharisee, or I live two lives: one in which my walk with God consumes the majority of my conversation and thought life, and the other in which theology, ideas, hopes, plans, and past experiences are talked about in a dulled-down way where God is not the focus, but rather a broad spiritual journey.

What’s your history with church?

I was raised Christian. My parents were on staff with Intervarsity Christian Fellowship. It was common to hear worship in my living room. When I was in middle school and early high school I explored the Wiccan religion. When I returned to Christianity I became a leader with Young Life. When I moved to Las Vegas I became a bible study leader with Intervarsity. I quickly progressed to being in charge of the large group meeting and in charge of other leaders. I was the MC and occasionally I would speak to the group. This is where I burned out. I moved back to Reno and decided to try going to church and bible study while avoiding any sort of leadership responsibilities. I began to realize that my cynicism with church was worsening, and that it was because of the culture that I disagreed with. So I decided to try to work out my walk with God away from church and away from my cynicism. Although I still attend a women’s bible study, I haven’t attended church in nearly 6 months.

Is Second Chance Pharisee a reflection of your experience in church?

This is a reflection of the Christians in the last several churches that I attended. It would be unfair to say that any one church fits into the Second Chance Pharisee mold more than another, or that any one person does. But in sitting with church members and listening to them discuss their lives, I couldn’t help thinking, “You are worried about the wrong things.”

Have you lived in a Christian bubble? Many people who do develop a restlessness that gradually bursts their sheltered church life. What about you?

I lived in a Christian bubble for about three years. The last six months of that time, I moved to an apartment on what I call Drug Dealer Corner. Almost everyone in the units around me were either runaways or junkies or both. It was the best six months of my life because the people were so amazing. I made one of my closest friends on that corner and she came to know God. Now, when I’m drifting she pulls me back. That’s what burst my bubble.

What is your perspective on the current landscape of American Christendom?

When I was at Burning Man (an arts festival in the desert that’s typically thought of as “drugs, sex, and demons”) I realized that people desperately long for a community in which they can be themselves, without fear of judgment. In this kind of community, people naturally serve one another and the balance is a beautiful and harmonious thing. But Burning Man only lasts for one week out of the year and the people that attend spend the next 12 months anxiously awaiting the next event. American Christianity ought to offer these communities, but we don’t.

What is the one thing you hope readers will take away from reading Second Chance Pharisee?

I want people not to be afraid to voice their questions. What hypocrisy do they see? What aspects of the culture don’t make sense to them? And as a result of that, I hope that people will begin to build communities that are not only for Christians and which exist without judgment. Communities in which Christians and Non-Christians can search for God together. I think that’s what Jesus was trying to say.

Many of us at The Bridge invest our time and hearts into HOMEpdx. My good friend Donna, whom some of you know, helped launch what she calls The Exchange Program at The Bridge. The Exchange Program is having people from our church go downtown on Sunday to help out in practical ways with HOMEpdx. It’s an exchange from us to them.

Our volunteers help do tasks like hand out new socks, or keep the coffee table orderly and stocked. Covering these small tasks helps free up Ken and the rest of the HOMEpdx team so they can concentrate on the vital one-on-one contact which is the absolute heart and soul of their community. In fact, we tell our Bridge volunteers not to distract the HOMEpdx team with too much chit-chat and visiting. So many of us are friends with one another that it is easy to get caught up huddled together rather than reaching out in warm conversation to the good folks we are there for.

Normals. That’s what I am and the rest of our Bridge Exchange volunteers are who go downtown. Ken tells us that it is a huge deal for normal people like us to take the time to engage with the people who live outside. They are accustomed to Normals ignoring them, passing them by and not even acknowledging their existence with eye contact. I get it, I really do. Many of us are rushing from one place to the next and we know if we make eye contact it might require something more, and quite honestly we can’t engage with every homeless person who crosses our path. But the harsh reality is that many Normals will ignore the broken sons and daughters and fathers and mothers of our city and pretend they aren’t there. It’s too uncomfortable facing human failure eye to eye.

But the love of God helps HOMEpdx not only look eye to eye, but heart to broken heart. Ken and the team and the partners who serve the meals are dishing up more than hot cooked food on platters. We are dispensing the power of noticing, of paying attention. For that’s what love looks like. It’s not a demand, nor a duty. Love just Is.

Love mostly is just ordinary everyday stuff. Nothing fancy. No spectacular display needed. Love is just showing up, where the idea of Normals and Homeless doesn’t exist. There’s no us or them, just Us. That is love. Just Us.

Six years ago I visited a local church that was a completely different denomination from the church I had grown up in… grew up Methodist and was visiting a Church of God. My son was involved with their youth program and really encouraged my husband and I to attend. For about five weeks, we sat on the back pew with the closest quickest exit out. We didn’t know what they were about and felt sure that if a basket of snakes was passed around, we would hit the door!

However, we had such the opposite experience. One Sunday, the pastor made an announcement about a Women’s Ministry event and the woman sitting next to me asked if I planned to attend. I looked at her like she had three heads and told her I was “just visiting”. She wrote her phone number down on a piece of paper and handed it to me and said, “If you change your mind, I’d love for you to come with me”. WOW!!! How often does that happen?

Well, I decided that if she was willing to take a stranger, then I would go with her and see what it is all about. It was an awesome experience; one where I witnessed sisterly love and compassion from a room full of women… not likely to happen in many places.

That was almost six years ago and we have never looked back. We joined the church and joined the ministry that reaches out to visitors.

-Pam

We wrapped up a humongous day last night right here at the Vineyard Church in Shoreline, WA, with a party that I hope was just a small taste of what heaven will be like (thanks Rose and Rich and the whole team at the Vineyard!). Great music, good wine and food, and lots of interesting discussion about the Kingdom of God, church, Jesus, women in ministry and a plethora of other subjects. About 250 of our Off The Map friends gathered with Jim Henderson and me, Doug Pagitt (Emergent Village), Rob Bell (Mars Hill Bible Church), and a few others, and stayed up way too late basking in the glow together. It’s been a great couple of days, for sure.

So we started the day yesterday at 6:30 at a prayer breakfast with the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu (Desi). Honestly, I could have flown home after that…nothing else that happened that day held a candle to it. Pastor Rose Swetman (of the Vineyard church aforementioned) somehow weaseled her way into the banquet room before anyone was allowed in and got us a table RIGHT IN FRONT of the platform (ok…Rob Bell and Doug Padgit had a table between us and the Dalai/Desi combo, but we were like 20 feet from the platform). We were all captivated by the child-like, playful demeanor of both of these Nobel Peace Prize winners. They kidded each other ceaselessly, giggled and joked and appeared to deeply and authentically admire each other. It was wondrous to behold, truly.

My new hero, Desmond Tutu, simply wowed me (and I think most of the room) with his poetic prayers, his infectious laughter, and his humility. He led the whole thing by serving and honoring his friend, the Dalai Lama. He pointed out that the reason we were all here this week was because of the “goodness in this man”. He also let us know that the Dalai was quite mischievous, and that he had to frequently remind him that “the cameras are on us…you need to behave like a holy man!” He continuously “told” on the Dalia Lama, pointing out the goodness and honor and discipline that lie within him. This was amazingly disarming. The Dalai Lama, who does not believe in any “god” (he is Buddhist) simply (and twice) referred to Tutu as “my boss”. This is a friendship that left many of us who witnessed this interchange in tears. For me, I saw Jesus in Desmond Tutu (and for those of you who have read “The Shack”, I saw “Papa” in him, too!). I think that was what brought the tears to my eyes. Sheer, pure, unbridled beauty…just 20 feet from me. Wow.

The rest of the day sort of paled by comparison, even though it was all pretty awesome. We went to the Key Arena to watch a really large panel of people from a wide variety of faith traditions (including Dalai, Desi and Doug) respond to scripted questions by young people. Rob Bell was on this panel (thanks to Jim Henderson), and he did a fantastic job of being the “Jesus” rep on stage, as you might expect. Doug Pagitt was on the second panel, which we didn’t see because we were setting up a workshop with Jim that was titled, “Recovering the Compassionate Traditions of Jesus” (which also went well…and Rob Bell was in on that one, too).

My new friends from Powell River, BC, came down for this whole deal and partied with us last night, too. What a fun bunch. I got to hang with Pam Hogeweide and Helen Mildenhall (my “almost roomate”) at Benjamin Ady’s home (and his whole family was there, too!). That was a great treat. Also got to reconnect with Sunil and Pam Sardar, from India (Truthseekers International). Lots of great new connections, reconnections, and some new and larger views of God.

Dude…I’m just happy to be here.

“Hey, can you spare some change?” asked a scruffy looking white guy sitting on the sidewalk amidst hip boutiques and contemporary eateries on Portland’s busy Hawthorne Boulevard. “To be honest, I just want to get another beer,” he confessed.

I squatted down on the sidewalk to get eye level with the spanger (someone who asks passerbys for spare change). Sitting next to him was his traveling buddy and there road dog, who started sniffing me. Piled next to them were two backpacks and a large hand drum. We kept talking – I can get a conversation going with just about anybody – and I learned that the spanger’s name was Solo, short for Solomon. His younger friend was Chris.

“Where you boys from?” I asked in my most friendly Portland voice. “I’m from No’Oleans,” drawled Solo, which I found curious, for he had not been drawlin’ a word up to that point. I grew up in Louisiana so straight away I started talking with him about places I remembered from the South. Before long he confessed, “I’m not really from New Orleans, but that’s where I cut my teeth. I’m actually from Medford ( southern Oregon).” His friend Chris hailed from Pittsburgh.

I found out they had just arrived to Portland by bus a couple of hours earlier. They were miles from the downtown area, which is where most street youth and vagabond travelers hang out. They didn’t know where they were going to sleep that night. “And it looks like it’s gonna rain,” observed Solo with a gloomy look up at the cloudy night sky.

They said they were planning on staying in town a few days before moving on. I told them about HOME PDX (Ken Loyd’s HOME PDX church for people who don’t live in homes in downtown Portland) and gave them the address. “Food, fun and friendship,” I told them, “12th and Clay at noon.”

“Oh man,” exclaimed Solo, “how come everybody is getting on me to get to church all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know, but nobody will try to convert you. It’s about the 3 F’s: Food, Fun and Friendship,” I assured him.

Suddenly a torrent of storytelling came hurling out of Solo. He told me he used to be involved in his church’s youth group in southern Oregon. “I was the worship leader,” he said. I sat there looking at this guy, grimy and smiling with a half-drunken grin on his face while the scent of his adventures swirled around the city sidewalk street. He’d already told me that they hadn’t showered in over a month.

My face must of betrayed some kind of askance at his worship leading credentials for he spontaneously grabbed his drum and straddled it like a biker climbing up on his hog. Thunder erupted as the drum came to life. Solo smiled, then tilted back his head and began to croon in a strong, smoky voice: Sing Hallelujah to the Lord, Sing Hallelujah to the Lord….

I could not hide my amazement. This song, Sing Hallelujah to the Lord, is an old staple from my Calvary Chapel days. It’s been a lifetime since I’ve heard it. And now, on Hawthorne Boulevard, one of the trendiest streets in our city, I was being serenaded by a slightly drunk thirty-something-year-old homeless singer.

I joined in on the second chorus. Solo’s drumming echoed from the sidewalk into the night air. His singing loud and clear. My voice not nearly as good as his, but I found my alto pitch and together we sang amidst the pedestrians and passing motorists. Chris, and the dog, sat there quietly, enduring the performance as if this was normal evening entertainment.

I searched all through my purse for money to give them. Damn. I only had coin, no paper. But they were gracious and grateful. “Anything helps,” they said.

I gave them a postcard before I left, one I happened to have with me. I wrote it out to them on the sidewalk, as if I was really writing a postcard intended for someone far away. “Hello Solo and Chris, How’s it going? Hope you are well.
I am doing fine. Hey, have you seen Into the Wild?…”

I included on the postcard details about Ken Loyd’s HOME PDX church in downtown Portland. Later, as I said good-bye to them and encouraged them to check out HOME, I reminded them, “Remember, it’s about the three F’s: Food, Fun and
Friendship.”

That night as I prayed bedtime prayers with my kids I offered up what I could for Solo and Chris. As I tucked my son into his warm bed, soft and dry, safe in the shelter of our home, I could only wonder about Solo and Chris, what was their story, where were their mothers, what was their past and what would be their future? Would they sleep dry tonight?

I remember asking Ken one time, “How do you give to street kids and then go home to your warm house? How do you leave them and do that?” Ken’s countenance grimaced as his posture slumped a bit more before he answered. “I go home and turn my electric blanket to the highest setting to warm up from being out in the cold with them. And then I feel like shit.” Ken told me that if you cared, you’ll feel like shit about it.

And so that night, as I laid in my own cozy bed, the soft, dry blankets pulled up snug around my chin, I breathed another prayer for Solo and Chris, for their safety and shelter. I wished I could have provided them my home, but for all kinds of reasons I could not. I could only give them a bit of conversation and friendly welcome to my city. As my eyes closed and I drifted off to sleep, I heard the rain come, and in the distance, the sound of drums and of hallelujahs. “Keep ‘em safe, God, keep ‘em safe,” was my slumbering prayer.

–Pam Hogeweide

I came home and there was a message on my machine from a woman who was quoting a Psalm and blessing me to have a good day. I listened and re-listened to the message several times to be certain I did not know her. She did not leave her name, but with modern technology and caller ID I quickly tracked her down. I did a reverse look-up on her phone number and learned her name and address from a quick Google search. Then, I decided to call her back. I was intrigued.

Why did she leave this kind of message on my phone? Was she part of a church ministry? Did she randomly open the phone book and point a finger at my name? Her message wasn’t prophetic or timely for me. I was curious. Who was she?

So I called her back. The kind, elderly voice of a gentle woman answered the phone. It was her. I asked her in my friendliest tone if she had left a message about God on my machine that day. “Why yes I did,” was her polite reply. I told her I was calling to ask her why she left such lovely and encouraging words on my machine.

I learned that she was a lonely woman of faith, shut-in much of the time with her ailing husband. She no longer could go to church due to his health needs, but she wanted so badly to tell her community about the love of God. So she decided one day to just pick up the phone book and call 10 names a day. She would pray that morning for a scripture. Whatever she felt prompted about she would recite over the phone to the recipient.

I asked her if anyone had ever called her back. “Oh yes, several times. Some people call to thank me, like you are today, and others call because their mad and they don’t want me to ever call them again.” I asked her if she thought what she was doing was really helping people in their relationship to God. “Well, that’s not up to me. I just obey the Spirit leading’s and leave the rest up to him.”

I thought about her for the rest of the evening while I cooked dinner. She was so quaint. Charming. Authentic and sincere. How could I criticize her for her methods (which was my initial reaction)?

-Pam Hogeweide

Today would be very unusual in my experience. No huge main gathering to start the day, but rather a choice of three backstage venues within the one building to pick from. Each venue had two primary presenters and at least one band or musician (some had two or more). Each presenter took 25 minutes to do whatever they wanted, with a musical offering on either side of their presentation. Then they took another 15 minutes for Q&A. More music, a break, and then the second presenter would follow the same format. These “backstage” offerings were done in the morning and afternoon, with about ten workshops in-between (and lunch, of course, at the yummy Skillet). Sandy and I were invited to be part of a very nice and intimate Off The Map fundraising luncheon with about a dozen or so folks who were potential (and/or current) significant donors, including some of my friends from Reno and Portland who are pretty new to Off The Map.

As with most gatherings or conventions, the buzz that really matters, the stuff we’ll mostly remember, was happening in the halls and lobbies between the scheduled stuff as we all practiced listening and connecting with people most of us would never otherwise have met. Despite my various “working” roles, I got to meet and talk with some of my current heroes like Brian McLaren, who has perhaps been the single greatest influence in my thinking over the past five years, Nancy Murphy, Diana Butler Bass, Richard Twiss, who for some reason I particularly connected with, Matt Casper, the friendly atheist who wrote the book with Jim, and a few other folks who are fairly well known, nationally. But perhaps more significantly I connected with some lesser-known people who I was really taken with. Their names escape me at the moment (I AM writing this in the middle of the night, after all) but their stories were inspiring and I felt equally honored to sit and chat with them. And honestly, no matter who I was talking to there was never a sense that anyone was a star. Everyone seemed equally in awe and happy to be part of this thing.

I experienced a Native American healing dance in Richard Twiss’ segment, offered as a prayer to God (we were invited to pray silently as she danced for the healing of the nation, the world, for sickness and relationships, etc.). He didn’t do the dance, fortunately, but a woman who works with him did, dressed in the incredibly intricate and beautiful regalia designed for this particular dance. Very moving. And Richard…well, I think most people hear him and just feel like they have known him forever. He makes you laugh out loud, and uses his amazing humor to drive home the pain and incredible injustice his people have suffered (and are currently suffering).

Nancy Murphy, in the spirit of “otherlyness”, chose to use her backstage time to introduce us to a “First Nation” couple from Canada who were with us. She interviewed them about their role in breaking through the oppressive and dehumanizing parental monitoring system for tribal nations in Canada. They managed to recapture lands in Vancouver that had been, as is our western habit, stolen from them a hundred or more year ago, and have established a sovereign nation. I wish I could remember their names and the tribe, but it was clear to us all that this was a really historic moment, and thanks to Nancy, we got to share in it.

I heard some really amazing music, the stuff that touches something deep inside when you hear it, from a truly gifted singer/composer named Kristy Smith (www.kristykarensmith.com). Somebody needs to discover her and take her to market. I felt honored to be in that room. Jeff Greer has been playing in the cafe and at the backstage venues with great passion and honesty. He looks like heavy metal, but wears a kilt and has a tenderness that oozes Jesus.

The day sort of officially ended at around 5ish as the second set of workshops finished up. People gathered around the open spaces to decide where they’d eat, and which (if any) of the four official “experiences” offered in the evening around the Seattle area they would go to. Sandy and I went to La Corona Mexican Restaurant to join in on one of the many “unofficial” dinner gatherings. This one was a “bloggers dinner” arranged by Benjamin Ady, who seems to run on an energy level beyond most people. I think there were somewhere around 20 people crammed into the not so large eatery. We got there a tad late so we didn’t get to meet everyone, but it was fun to put a few faces (the real kind instead of the virtual kind) with the names of people who I have really admired from afar. Pam Hogeweide is one of my favorite blog writers, and fortunately for me was also a bit late to the party so we got to sit together in a booth for dinner. It was encouraging to hear about her life, her kids, her husband of 19 years, and how she struggles to keep up with the blogging thing almost as much as me (although she’s much better at it despite having left her laptop in a taxi cab somewhere in China recently, I think).

After hosting morning and afternoon mainstage events and presenting a Doable Evangelism workshop with Dawn Oas, I was honestly running of fumes. I spent a few hours before dinner in the cafe talking with people, went to the bloggers dinner, had a couple of Cornonas and decided I was done. I was planning on heading out to the pub experience with …parker (that’s how he likes people to actually spell his name), but instead went back to my room and crashed. I just ran out of gas.

So I’m blogging at 3:30 in the morning because Sandy thought she had set the alarm but in fact had reset the TIME on the hotel alarm clock. We both got up, showered, made coffee and got dressed before we realized it was still in the middle of the night. She went back to bed and I decided that, since I already drank about half of a Monster, I should probably just stay up and write. I may try to get another hour or so of sleep, but blue Monster does a great job at engaging my head in the morning (or whenever else I slam one down). My son calls it “Christian crack” because so many people in our church seem to be drinking it Sunday mornings.

So today (starting in about three hours, I guess) we’ll crank it up for a half day of backstage presentations and workshops, followed by a finale on the mainstage to close us out by a little after noon. Those of us working on the event will follow that up with an “after party” at about 1pm, and then we’ll pack it up and head out. Sandy and I are staying here until Sunday evening so we can rest a bit and visit a church service (Rich and Rose Madrid-Swetman’s missional community) where I just heard Brian McLaren will be the guest preacher (I haven’t actually heard him present this week yet, so that will be cool). We might do some tourist stuff in Seattle as well before we catch our flight back to Reno.

I’ll post once more, at least, between now and then. It’s 4:30am now…I should probably try to push through the Monster and get another hour of sleep before I join the rest of humanity.

Gail Wells is the Executive Director of City Gates Ministry, an organization that serves the homeless and poor in Olympia, Washington. You can contact her at citygates at reachone.com (replace at with @ to get her e-mail address).

Pam Hogeweide is a writer who lives and drinks coffee in Portland, Oregon. She and her family are a part of The Bridge, a church community that seems more like a tavern than a church.

I was running late €¦as usual. My dad, a crusty old man who was raised in the south, once told me, “Girl, you €˜gon be late for your own funeral.” His scolding drawl haunts my head every time I’m late for an appointment, like today.

“Gail, right?” I confirmed as I walked through the door of Fresh Pot, one of Portland, Oregon’s funky coffee joints. I had met her briefly before, but did not trust my memory.

“Yes, hi Pam,” she said, smiling with the same warmth her daughter, Deborah Loyd, also possesses. Deborah, and her husband Ken, co-founded a church here in my beloved Portland called The Bridge. It’s the church my family and I are a part of and it is through Deborah that I first met her mom.

Gail Wells, from Olympia, Washington, enrolled in North Portland Bible College when she was in her late 60 €˜s. “I told my daughter,’ I’ll be 75 by the time I graduate,’” said Gail. Many daughters might have agreed, but Deborah advised her, “Mom, you’re gonna be 75 someday anyway.” And it was this simple wisdom that hooked Gail’s heart to make the commute that for her took four years to earn a two-year associate degree in Christian ministry.

During that time people would ask Gail what she was going to do with her degree. “I don’t know,” she would tell them, “I just know God led me here.” She finally got her marching orders in the very last quarter of Bible school when she heard God say to her: You’re time of ministering in the church is over.

Gail, who had logged many years of ministry inside of the church, and had even had a gig has an associate pastor for a while, soon found herself on the frontlines of reaching out to the homeless. “The first night I went out I was a little intimidated. So I stayed in my car until Phil showed up,” confessed Gail as her bright eyes twinkled from the memory. Phil would be Phil Prietto, the founder of City Gate Ministries (CGM), a faith-based organization that helps people on the street with practical needs. With a commitment to reaching out in love and friendship to the poorest in Olympia, CGM helps people with immediate needs like food, clothing and housing, as well as supporting those who are ready to walk the road of recovery from drug and alcohol abuse. (To read about one couple’s story click here)

CGM regularly goes downtown and makes contact with people who live outside. “We preach in the rain, sun, snow €¦we are like the postman,” jokes Gail who now, nearly two years later, sounds like a seasoned outreach worker. And she is, having recently been brought on staff with CGM as it’s executive director and first-ever paid employee. “God gave me a passion for this.” says Gail. “I was so used to working inside the church and not sure how I was going to do with street people. I found out they are not scary people, but they are human, too.”

I asked Gail if she had ever worked among poor people before. “The closest I came was watching my daughter Deborah and her husband Ken.” The Loyd’s have been connecting to “friends who live outside” for nearly a decade in Portland, and just last fall, in a bold and unorthodox move, Ken walked away from The Bridge to pursue his dream of planting a church started by homeless youth and for homeless youth. He now pastors a church outside that meets weekly under a bridge €¦instead of at The Bridge.

Gail continued, “I’d ask them, €˜How do you strike up a conversation with someone wearing a dog collar?’” Answering with the dead-on wisdom that Deborah is famous for she told her, “Mom, just say, €˜Hi.’”

Gail speaks comfortably about the routine she now moves in with CGM when they go downtown. She describes how the team gathers themselves and whoever else is interested into a circle and the love of God is preached. Sometimes Gail does the speaking. “We call ourselves a church without walls,” she tells me. After that they open up the vans to distribute food and clothing. “We don’t turn anyone away,” she says.

People don’t have to be present to hear the message to get the goods, I ask? Nope, no strings attached. “We are there. We are consistent. The same place every time. They can depend on us.”

I asked Gail about church and salvation and the focus of her work with CGM. Do they have a goal to see converts? “We do want to see people saved, but not just to get them into church for conversion. We want them there for relationships,” she said. Gail described how bringing interested friends from downtown to a church community helped to move that person away from street culture.

Her cell phone rings. I look out the big window facing the street. A gray sky drapes the neighborhood. Another normal Portland day with the ever-present threat of liquid sunshine drizzling down all afternoon. “I can’t help you today, Steffi,” I overhear Gail say and I wonder if it’s a homeless person who’s tracked her down from Olympia. Instead, it turns out to be someone from the Union Gospel mission trying to unload some pizzas. With all the finesse of an experienced food broker she finishes up the call and returns her attention to our conversation.

“Everything in my life has prepared me for this, because God orders my steps,” she says. “I think it’s an awesome thing I am doing, but anybody can do it.”

As our interview winded down I asked Gail how hanging out with down-towners, as she called them, has affected her. The question hung in the air between us as her eyes began to tear up and I felt that familiar Presence who shows up at the most interesting of times. “I’m finding Jesus,” she said. And then, this great-grandmother who graduated from Bible college at 71 and will be turning 74 this year slays me with a quote from U2’s Bono: God is with the poor, and when we are with the poor, God is with us.

I have found a new hero, and when I grow up, I want to be just like Gail.

with Pam Hogeweide

A prolific blogger, Phil is currently writing a book about his experiences as a pastor who loves witches. This May, The Salem Gathering is hosting a conference called God for People Who Hate Church. Featured speakers include Jay Bakker of One Punk Under God fame, Tony Jones of Emergent, and our very own Jim Henderson.
Phil Wyman lives in Salem, MA with his wife, Bev. You can read more about their dream to befriend pagans here.

Pam Hogeweide is a contributing writer for Off the Map. She has written about her friendship with witches at her blog, How God Messed Up My Religion. She lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband and two kids and is a self-employed cleaner, though she dreams of eventually being a full-time writer.

I love witches and pagans. I used to be freaked out about them, thinking they were all blood-drinking fiends who stayed up all night cursing Christians and sacrificing cats in the woods. Under a full moon. Naked. But then I found out a couple of friends of mine were into Wicca, a popular form of neo-paganism (and witchcraft) that some claim is one of the fastest growing spiritualities in America. As I researched their beliefs, trying to get my head and heart around their worldview, I soon discovered that I had a very inaccurate understanding of modern witchcraft. Most practitioners, like my friends, are peaceful people who deeply crave a connection to the Divine. They certainly aren’t drinking blood. (“That would be the Catholics,” jokes my witchy friend Michelle.)

So I am thrilled to introduce you to someone who is not only another Christian who loves witches and pagans, but he’s also a pastor. (Please don’t hold that against him.) He’s not your average stuck-behind-the-church-walls kind of spiritual leader. This man chooses to not only hang out with neo-pagans, but he and his wife, along with another family, uprooted from their California home to start a church in the witchiest city in America.

Salem, Massachusetts, notorious for its witch trials in the late 1600’s, Salem has flourished to become the unofficial capitol of witchery in the country. Its annual Halloween festival brings thousands within its borders. Phil and his church, The Salem Gathering, are right in the middle of it all, offering free Psalm readings, dream interpretations as well as hot chocolate and family-fun entertainment.

At first, Phil’s denomination-that-shall-not-be-named was all gaga about Phil’s unique and inventive outward reach to a group of people that most Christians won’t even eat dinner with. But over time, there came rumors and whisperings and a flurry of gossipy emails that raised questions about the wisdom of Phil’s modus operandi. He and the other leaders of his church found themselves subjected to an old-fashioned witch hunt where they were asked such questions as, “How can you be friends with witches?” to which they replied, “How can we not?”

Defrocked and ousted by his denomination of more than twenty years, Phil received tremendous support from his church and has continued to lead as pastor. (Read Phil’s account here)

Some wonder at the effectiveness of being chummy with people who follow pagan paths. If they’re coming to Christ, ok great, but what if they’re not? Phil makes it clear that he is not out to pull a bait-and-switch with his friends who are witches. They are not an evangelistic project. ”This is insidious, trying to convert us,” say some pagans.

“I don’t think people are targetable. I make friends with people and then we talk about life. And I think the life I find in Jesus is the most compelling thing I know, and I know that they might not,” explains Phil. “And I know, that for the entirety of their life they might not (be interested.) And I’m not going to give up on them or our friendship if they never do. We make friends and share our lives with each other.”

One of the problems about Christians freaking out when it comes to witches and pagans are the myths we associate with them. Myth number one: They worship satan. “They do not. Most of them don’t even believe in satan,” says Phil. Myth number two: We assume they worship a deity. “Most pagans define themselves as agnostic, or what I call mystical agnostic. Some don’t even practice spells,” continues Phil.
Myth number three: (my personal favorite) Pagans and witches are out to send curses against the church. “There are many of them who really think it would be an unethical thing to do. To some degree most pagans adhere to the Wiccan Rede, ‘And it ‘arm none do what thou wilt’” explains Phil. (Rede: pronounced “reed,” which basically means, Don’t hurt anyone)

Another myth about witches is that they practice their rituals skyclad, or au naturale. “Many pagans are as excited about getting naked in a group as a Baptist church quilting bee would be,” says Phil.

What it boils down to is that our response to neo-pagans and Wiccans in our communities is often a reaction of fear and superstition, typically fueled by misleading ministries who put out books and seminars with severe misinformation. “The fear that spending time with witches and neo-pagans might allow some dark force to gain access to my life is a superstition found among many Christian groups. The apostle Paul ministered in a highly charged pagan environment and gave us guidelines for dealing with the people in his culture, “ says Phil. “These guidelines had to do with intimate interactions such as eating together and the celebration of holidays. This shows us that day to day life, and the intimate interactions of living and working together, were part of developing ministry to pagans.”

I asked Phil for advice in relating to pagans about our faith. “Do not assume they are satanists,” began Phil. “Do not assume they practice some form of malevolent magic. Begin your relationship with someone who is pagan by believing the best about them – love believes all things – and that perhaps their reason for being pagan is noble. Understand that they may have been rejected or mistreated by other Christians,” says Phil. “Be willing to listen to them. Treat them with the simple respect you would desire to receive from them.”

Is it kind of weird to think about Christians and witches hanging out with each other?

“Everybody is weird. And we are weird and that’s why Jesus came because we’re all weirdoes. I just really love witches and pagans.” Me too, Phil, me too.