by The Rev Markus Dünzkofer, Rector, St John’s Church, Princes Street, Edinburgh

The Eucharist is a dangerous thing. I hadn’t quite realised how dangerous, even though I had read Sara Miles’ ‘Take this Bread,’ in which she described how the Eucharist converted her from being an unbeliever to being a follower of Jesus. But that was in a book some time ago, in a galaxy far away, in San Francisco to be more precise.

So, I can easily dismiss Sara’s insights as irrelevant. I am among the first to join the many in the church who have been domesticating the central act of our Christian identity ever since the Day of Easter. And in more recent years, we have been so concerned with being inclusive, with making sure everybody can claim her/his rightful place at the table, that many have forgotten that when we break the bread and share the cup we are playing with fire, divine fire, a fire that is too powerful and forceful for us to restrain, too mighty and awesome for us to control. It really is true: the Eucharist is a dangerous thing.

It is dangerous, because the Eucharist does not just kindle us with the fire of God’s love, it sets us ablaze with divine fire that is all-encompassing and touching every fibre of our being. God might prevent this fire from consuming us (“Nec tamen consumebator”), but it changes us, changes us profoundly and to the core as it burns away fear, impurities, complacency, mediocrity and indifference towards God’s Sovereignty and towards the people God calls us to serve. Sara Miles is on to something when she subtitled her book ’A Radical Conversion.’

I had an experience recently that reminded me once again how dangerous the Eucharist can be.

It had all started in the evening of 27th February. There is a supermarket on Shandwick Place in Edinburgh’s West End, which I frequent regularly. On my way from work that night I decided to grab a few quick items, when I encountered two men sitting about 25 yards apart from each other, wrapped in a few flimsy blankets and wearing some woollen second-, or third-, or fourth-hand hats. For most people they were invisible as they cowered on the pavement a few feet below most people’s eye level – they were easy to ignore.

My previous charge in Vancouver, BC had taught me well, though: even if you can’t or won’t give money, at least acknowledge the person in front of you. Because this is what and who they are: a person, a child of God.

So, I said hello and apologised that I didn’t have any spare change. But as I was doing my shopping, my mind couldn’t let go of their freezing faces and their shivering statues. So I did what I do every so often: I bought two gift cards from said supermarket and gave it to the two men.

That was me done, wasn’t it? I was so proud of myself and even kept reciting Matthew 25 to myself: “When have we seen you naked or hungry or alone, Lord?” Well, just now. And I did cloth you, fed you, and visited you, Lord, right? With a quick hand-out of a supermarket gift-card…

I walked home satisfied…

But the Scripture had stirred me, and had stirred me in an uncomfortable way. It might have even condemned me… but I would have none of it!

The next morning (it was the last day of February), I went to work. Forgotten were my self-doubts. I had successfully pushed them aside. And yet the Beast from the East was already beginning to impact life with its horrid cold and severe snowstorm. I was, however, blind to what happened around me, preoccupied with the plans for the day.

At 10:58am I walked into our chapel for the Wednesday morning Eucharist. There were about ten other folk. I sat quietly in a chair towards the back and took out my Eastern Church prayer beads, a tangible reminder of God’s presence and providence. Little did I realise that this might have been akin to gathering the wood that would fuel the fire…

My colleague Eileen started the service: “Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.” Now the kindling was put in place.

“Almighty God, to whom all hearts are open…” Did I hear flintstones crashing against each other? And why all of a sudden was I thinking about those two homeless guys from last night again?

“Our Lord Jesus Christ said: The first commandment is this: ‘Hear o Israel!’” Some sparks had set some of the kindling on fire. Was the blowing I heard the cold wind howling around St John’s? Or was it the Spirit of God fanning a flame?

By the time we got to the intercessions the images from my walk to church had started to connect with my heart and soul: homeless folk freezing in the cold; shops closing; bus-services being suspended; schools locked up; red weather alerts flashing on TV-screens… And all I could think was: “We need to do something!”

When during the intercessions we were invited to pray for those affected by the harsh weather, the fire finally burst forth brightly and noisily. And it engulfed me with its flames. All of a sudden my pondering turned into resolution. In an instant the words in my heart, in my prayer had changed from “we need to do something” to “I can do something. Indeed I can.”

I sprang up from my chair in the midst of the Eucharist and quickly walked to the office. There I called George Fyvie, our business manager and said: “If I decide to keep the church open overnight until further notice, would some of our vergers be able to staff this by putting in extra shifts?” There was no hesitation on the other end of the line. George was brilliant! Within minutes I had the answer I had hoped for. Yes, there were staff available. I then emailed the members of vestry informing them of my decision (including paying the staff). If they had any problems with my unilateral decision-making, I asked them to tell me then and there. Every single member of vestry was more than supportive. They were enthusiastic.

And this is how it started…..

We stayed open for eight days and nights continuously. There were about 1500 contacts with people during that time and about 30-40 people stayed with us, sleeping on our pews and making St John’s their home for this period. Yes, we did have stranded tourists and a stranded student, too. But an overwhelming majority were folk sleeping rough. And more than one of them said that we saved lives during that time.

Yes, there was tons of help from inside St John’s and from the community around us. Local businesses were amazing. Individuals delivered food, clothing, and other essentials. Even some local and national politicians (including the Scottish Housing Minister) helped out.

Yes, a social enterprise which runs a security firm and which will hire space at St John’s at the end of next month, provided us with a staff member on an on-going basis (for which we paid too). But at any given time, about four times as many of their staff volunteered, turning St John’s into one of the safest spaces in the city and making sure that drugs and alcohol did not become too much of a problem.

Yes, the Revd Dr Stephen Holmes, our Associate Rector, and our staff went beyond the call of duty.

Yes, our business manager was a star as he organised volunteers, staff, and supplies. We could not have done this without him, as he became the heart and soul of the operation!

Yes, there are resources unique to St John’s that allowed us to offer hospitality for over 180 hours continuously (not the least our staffing levels and our geographic location).

But at the heart of it all, the divine fire kindled at the Eucharist burned brightly and in surprising ways. And it still does.

I believe the divine fire not only change me during this experience. It took hold of St John’s congregation, too: On Sunday, 4th of March, we continued to stay open. We celebrated Eucharist on this day in the midst of unfamiliar sounds and sights and smells. Some folk joined us. Others observed. And many a conversation about God, the church, and life was had afterwards. That Sunday made real what we proclaimed. It incarnated our faith in a new, unfamiliar, and even uncomfortable way. The divine fire started to melt the ice around our hearts, pierced the darkness of souls, and burned away the blinkers that prevented us from seeing the image of Christ in all those who had come, whoever they were and wherever they had come from. And God only knows what the fire will do as it continues to smoulder away our imperfections, assumptions, arrogances, and listlessness. I trust it is waiting for an opportune time (most like inopportune for us!) to burst forth again in new death-destroying and life-giving ways, not just for those sleeping rough, but also for us too.

The Eucharist is a dangerous thing indeed.

Theophilus Yalley-Ogunro, a member of St John’s, summed up our experience thus: “We are doing this because we must.”

We must, because we are God’s way to alleviate pain and suffering. And in the process we might just find healing for our souls, too. It is not about ministry to some disenfranchised folk, who are alien, strange, and scary to us. It is most definitely not one-way charity either. It is an exercise of the Christian ministry of hospitality, which changes both host and guest and reverses rolls constantly. It was ministry with people, who are not so strange anymore, as we engaged with them and they engaged with us.

Hospitality is a Christian virtue. It is a way of caring for all God’s children, as we welcome friends and strangers alike. It is a central practice of faith that is done for its own sake, not as a means to recruit new members or look good in the eyes of society. Christians welcome whoever we encounter, as we ourselves have been welcomed into God through the love of Jesus Christ. There is no judgment of the “other” in the Christian practice of hospitality. Hospitality also overcomes fear and isolation for everybody involved. Through hospitality God reveals to us how God’s Spirit is working in surprising ways beyond our self-imposed limits.

Through the divine fire unleashed in the Eucharist, we here at St John’s are now learning what this all means for us not just in theory, but also in practical ways.

Yes, the Eucharist is a dangerous thing – but only if we are content with the way things are and with the way the powers of this world run the show.

The Eucharist is a dangerous thing – Sae let the Lord be thankit.

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