In the Ghetto, Where Authentic Christianity Lives: A White Minister in the Inner City Finds Hope as Well as Poverty

In the following interview, Nees discusses some of the issues and difficulties facing a white minister serving an inner-city congregation.

One Washington columnist described the Community of Hope as “a pit stop on the way to hell.” What strategy have you adopted for ministering to the desperate needs in your area?

We don’t have a strategy or a set program; we came here to build relationships with people. Different programs have evolved, but only as a consequence of these relationships, the skills of the people who work with us, and an identifiable need.

We don’t see ourselves as “the answer” to our neighbors’ problems, nor do we pretend to have a response to every need we see. We are here to use the few resources we have in a constructive way, and to help our neighbors live in the midst of their distress. I tell people that I am here to work out my own salvation—and if in the process others get helped, I am grateful. This attitude helps us all to receive as well as give, and to avoid looking at our ministry as traditional “missionary work.”

What makes inner-city ministry different from traditional mission efforts?

In the popular view of missions, we send people to foreign cultures to save the heathen. Here, in this neighborhood, I’ve found more authentic Christianity than perhaps anywhere else I have ever been. The word that best describes black culture is “religion,” and the percentage of black people who attend church in this city far outstrips the percentage of whites.

Do you find that this religion is by and large a genuine expression of Christian commitment, or is it merely a manifestation of a cultural heritage?

We all tend to assume that we are normal and that whatever deviates from our style is “cultural.” I find the evangelical church, of which I am a part, just as culturally contained as the black church, and maybe even more so.

Incredibly, while slavery could not have happened without the theological endorsement of the established church, black people looked beyond the abusive understanding of the people who oppressed them. Somehow they were able to catch the essence of the gospel and preserve it.

Along with the gospel, the black church has carried the culture of black people, and that is its strength. In many mainline churches the minister is the pastor of the status quo; in the black community the minister is expected to take the lead in all kinds of community activities. The cultural connection is sometimes abused, and not all that passes for Christian faith in the black community is genuine; but then that is true in every culture.

Black ministers and community leaders are sometimes critical of white church groups for moving into the inner city and establishing their own programs. Did you consider working with an already existing black organization?

I came here determined to work behind the scenes, supporting the black leadership in this neighborhood. As time went on, I heard more and more criticism from black people because I wasn’t taking a strong enough leadership role. They said, “Unless some of you white folks get on the front lines and struggle with us, it’s not going to happen.”

Of course, if I came into the neighborhood as “the great white hope,” I wouldn’t be welcome. But a tragedy of our times is that there are no white leaders who we easily identify with the cause of black people. In the past there were people like William Lloyd Garrison and groups like the Quakers and the Abolitionists. Where today can you find white leaders who say to black people, “Okay, what’s the agenda, and how can we pool our resources?”

Do you see your community activities as a model for urban renewal, or are you making a last-ditch effort on a sinking ship?

We don’t see ourselves as a model but as a sign of hope, a sign that it is possible for the church to be effective in bringing about change both in individuals and in social structures. But I think there is a growing realization, both at the government level and among private agencies, that there are no wholesale solutions to the problems of the inner city. These problems are enormously complex. When we try to develop a set of solutions, we inevitably simplify and generalize to the point where programs become abusive.

Can you give an example?

The government program, AFDC (Aid to Families with Dependent Children). It was a well-meaning attempt to respond to the needs of children living in poverty, but a good case can be made for the claim that, as a result of this program, families have been dismembered. The guidelines that were necessary to make the program work nationally couldn’t possibly take into account the complexities of individual situations. So now it is more economical for women with children not to be married, and we are developing “the feminization of poverty.” Statistically speaking, in another 10 years, nearly all poor people will be women and children.

The truth is that the problems of any one individual or family are so complex that only small groups, like the Community of Hope, can be effective. We have to work at the level of personal relationships.

Is there any effective role that the government could and should be playing?

From a biblical perspective, one of the chief functions of government is to make sure that the poor are protected from the natural avarice of the rich. The notion that governments exist to protect our right to get as rich as possible is a pagan understanding of government responsibility. From Leviticus 25, where God proclaims the Year of Jubilee, through the Old Testament prophets and in the words of Jesus, the Bible is clear: government leaders, as servants of God, exist in part to protect the rights of the poor and needy.

What can the church do to encourage the government to play this protective role?

The history of government response to the poor in this country has always been up and down. A generous response comes only from some kind of pressure or outburst. As Christians, we need to create a moral and spiritual climate where it is unthinkable that a government would ignore the needs of poor people.

This won’t happen overnight. But as it is now, there is such a dichotomy between Christian thought and action that Christian politicians can inflict tremendous damage on the poor without ever seeing the contradiction between their commitment to Christ and the political measures they sponsor.

There has always been a tension inherent in the Christian faith between our need to endure suffering patiently and our desire to challenge existing social structures in order to alleviate the suffering of others. How do you reconcile the two?

My feeling is that the church has too narrowly defined its mission. Before the social gospel controversy it was just assumed that part of the church’s agenda was to reform society. Today, we have so confined ourselves to the “spiritual” that it is difficult for the rank and file to make the connection between the development of personal Christian piety and its application to peace and justice issues.

It’s a chicken and egg situation, but the fact is that people are damaged by social structures, and there is no concern of society that lies outside the legitimate care of the churches. In this neighborhood, we are literally picking up the dead and wounded off the street. You can only stand so long at the base of a cliff picking up bodies. Sooner or later you have to start wondering if it isn’t time to head for the top for some preventive fence building.

Sociologists speak of an “underclass,” a culture of poverty whose membership in our country includes millions of the urban and rural poor. How can the church respond to the needs of these people?

There are always going to be weak people in society, people who for whatever reasons never are going to break out of the cycle of poverty. We can’t shoot them or put them out in the cold just because they are unlikely ever to change. And while the church and government need to work together on general policies affecting the poor, it is the church itself that has the ongoing mandate to care for people who fall beyond the reach of any policy. Such people need to be absorbed into the life of the church community so that their basic physical and spiritual needs can be met.

The “volunteer syndrome” sometimes perpetuates the myth that helping people is a matter of quick and easy solutions. What advice do you give to volunteers to prepare them for service in the inner city?

The only reason short-term workers can be effective is because there are other people who are committed for the long haul. We make sure our volunteers understand this.

White volunteers sometimes come to us for the wrong reasons. They are ridden with guilt or suffering from idealism. Before they can make a healthy contribution, they have to be helped over these hurdles. We tell them, “Black people have a good sense of humor and if you come in here all serious and uptight, well, they have enough problems without taking on all your psychological baggage.” If volunteers can’t come with joy and enthusiasm, with an excitement about the direction of their own lives, then they might as well not come.

How are white volunteers received by residents of the neighborhood?

When I first started coming here to the riot corridor people said, “There are two kinds of folks who should never get out of their cars: policemen and white people.” That just isn’t true. I can’t imagine a white community in the country where a busload of black people could unload and announce, “We’re here to help you get your act together.” The reverse of that happens all the time here and the people of the neighborhood say, “Right on, if you’re here to help; in spite of all that has gone wrong, you are welcome.” Black people as a whole are still more open to reconciliation than white people.

The Community of Hope is an extension of the Church of the Nazarene. Do you think denominational ties are a plus or a minus in inner-city work?

There is certainly a place for parachurch ministries, and any of us are going to have questions about the denominationalism around us. But we are here not only to help meet needs in the inner city but to educate our congregations as well. Through urban studies programs, seminars, and seminary classes, we’ve developed genuine two-way communication. There are people in the church who never in their lives are going to understand what we are doing in the same way we do, but they are still extremely supportive. And I find more and more people want to support social ministries that haven’t compromised the personal dimensions of the gospel.

Frankly, the battle is here on the streets, not with the church. If the church thinks we are doing something inappropriate it can tell us, and that is a real safety net for everyone. I think of Dorothy Day in this connection. She was once asked if she would leave her ministry in New York City if the bishop told her to quit. She said, “Yes. The church may be wrong, but God can forgive the church just as he does individuals.”

After six years in the inner city, what tangible signs do you see that Christian groups like the Community of Hope can make a difference?

When you are dealing with life-and-death issues there are a lot of failures, both at personal and corporate levels. But we are encouraged to know that across the street are 40 families paying rent at half the market value, and no landlord can evict them. There are people getting medical help who otherwise would not even be alive—adequate health care in this city is a luxury that some people can’t afford.

Just as significant, old barriers are breaking down and relationships are being built. We set up dinners specifically so that the poor and rich can come together and share a meal. Watching these encounters, I am convinced that Christian people are basically generous. They aren’t going to sit down and eat their lunch in front of a starving person.

Society needs the church to provide more places like the Community of Hope, where black people and white people can come together because they want to be together, not because they are forced together by busing or the courts. People are confused by political systems they don’t understand or control. But when they are face to face with human need, labels like “liberal” and “conservative” disappear. The spiritual issues become clearer and genuine change is possible.

How has your understanding of who God is and what he expects of you changed since you came to the inner city?

Whereas most white people approach the gospel from the standpoint of affluence, black people have hammered out their faith on the anvil of suffering. Because of my contacts here, I’ve felt I needed to relearn the Scriptures. There are passages that simply never spoke to me before because I wasn’t poor or downtrodden.

Cultural white religion tends to be guilt-producing and dominated by a fear of sinning and going to hell. Black religion tends to look heavenward. While some of that is “pie in the sky,” it also reflects a transcendent view of life, a conviction that there is something more than suffering. So while I have come to understand better the crucified Jesus, the suffering God who stands beside us, I also am moving away from guilt and condemnation toward a God who is more accepting and understanding of my weaknesses.

Tim Stafford is a free-lance writer living in Santa Rosa, California. He is a distinguished contributor to several magazines. His latest book is Do You Sometimes Feel Like a Nobody? (Zondervan, 1980).

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