It’s all about love, and it starts with us

Montgomery has worked on and off, however, he’s “off” right now. He said he tries to attend church regularly, but doesn’t always have the $1 for the bus ride on Sunday. “A lot of guys in the kitchen are under-employed,” explained Kelley. As for where the church’s funds come from, she retorted, “We don’t worry about money … we don’t have any.”

Radical hospitality

“If you’re looking for someone to help you, you don’t go knocking on rich people’s doors,” said Kelley. “The poor will help you. The poor give and help one another. People look out for one another, and they share.” Twelve people from the congregation and soup kitchen took an emergency response training program, and have been working every week to help the flood victims around Prattsville, cleaning out mold and rotting wood, and doing whatever had to be done. “These are people who don’t have much themselves,” added Kelley.

Kelley told a story about her arrival to the church seven years ago, when less than 10 elderly white ladies comprised the congregation, and good-naturedly advised her against “making a left” out of the church’s doors and into the rougher section of the neighborhood. Kelley immediately responded by taking that left, and made friends with anyone hanging around.  Kelley began to solicit neighbors and lunch program attendees to come to church. She found that once she became friends with the neighbors, the graffiti and vandalism ceased. Lunch program recipients began to attend and receive the spiritual nourishment and support many lacked. “That was a good start, but I felt like I had two congregations,” she said, referring to her deeds as “radical hospitality.”

The soup is ready to be served.

“As pastor, I had to set the tone. They saw me come down from the pulpit and embrace ‘the other.’”

According to church volunteer Mary Bermel, Sunday morning’s “passing of the peace” is extraordinary. People of every life-walk, color and economic station embrace one another for hugs and kisses, no matter who they’re hugging, thus resolving the former disconnect between the soup kitchen and congregants. “We are a reconciling congregation, meaning that we accept everyone, including gay people … Racism, classism, sexism and homophobia aren’t talked about too much anymore, but believe me, they’re alive and well. Not here.”

One afternoon, Kelley recalls, a longtime congregant said to her, “Pastor Kelley, I think that there was a junkie sitting next to me in church on Sunday.”

After deep reflection and prayer, and in obedience to her beliefs in the Gospel and the Ten Commandments, Kelley was ready to respond. Rather than appease the man and apologize for the junkie sitting next to him, she basically told him to lodge his complaints with Jesus, and then swiftly unlocked the sanctuary doors to the community, loudly proclaiming to the few original remaining congregants, “It’s all about love, and it starts with us.”

Clinton Avenue Methodist Church now regularly sees between 60-70 people every Sunday. “If I hadn’t unlocked those doors and invited our community in, I’m certain this church would have been closed down by today.”