Hopeful Realism in Urban Ministry. Barry K. Morris
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of the given availability of people and concerns—as well as what these ministries press for alternatives while almost always confessing to states of anguish, given the fierce limits of the human condition and our projections onto city living and struggles; and,
d. once laboring towards a PhD thesis on a conjunctive triad of the biblical and classical virtues of justice, hope, and prayer, a project which examined what these terms mean for an urban ministry that is faithfully public and prophetic for the long haul.
I remain focused on the last of these four research endeavors, continuing to be grateful for those people and ministries in my life, reading, and practice, past and present. I desire to pass on bits and pieces of hindsight—inspired by one of the President John Kennedy’s confessions that experience is that which we learn from our mistakes. I seek to summarize the gist of urban ministry in the combined term and spirit of a hopeful realism. My work is indebted to three time-tested theologians: systematic, historical, and autobiographical theologian, Jürgen Moltmann; pastoral and social ethicist theologian, Reinhold Niebuhr; and poet, priest and spiritual monastic, Thomas Merton.
Moltmann’s, Niebuhr’s and Merton’s legacies offer rich themes for urban ministries and ministers themselves. Their messages arise from each of the virtue disciplines that they engage (respectively hope, justice, and prayer). These virtue disciplines arise from their work and reveal some of their opposite conditions: disillusionment and despair; the indignities and inequalities of powerlessness; and the temptation of a compartmentalized self-righteousness to counter a passive timidity, an inevitable weariness if not a helpless burn-out. With lots of grace-grounded help—including the inspiration and courage of Moltmann, Niebuhr and Merton, wisdom of my elders,5 and encouragement of many friends—I have concluded that it is a hopeful realism rooted in prayerful justice that provokes, nourishes, critiques, and constructively sustains urban ministries’ missions to bear a faithful, public, and prophetic witness.
A note on the persistent use of the virtue and discipline terms of prayer, justice, and hope is in order. That they are virtues is attested in the theological and ethical literature, and from the classics to the three theologians described, especially in Chapters 4, 5 and 6. That they are disciplines, more than convenient affirmations of abstract themes, is attested in the vast literature on urban ministry; their examples and practices are noted especially in Chapters 2 and 3—as well as the Longhouse Ministry case study and related networks elaborated in Chapter 7 (and both appendices). That the terms form an interactive, conjunctive triad is attested by the light that they shed together on what makes for an integrated and vital balance over the long-haul in urban ministry endeavors. The order of the three terms in the text is varied according to the requirements for emphasis in the context. Grammatically speaking, the terms could be ordered, and sometimes are, in a manner where a preposition such as “for” separates them, as in “hoping (for) justice prayerfully”. In the absence of a preposition, I appeal to the reader for understanding for the sake of strengthening the triad. A further word on the use of “hope” is important. Hope is employed as a term of virtue and discipline, as above; it is also employed in creative tension with the realities of life in the cities, sometimes harsh and often involving limited or forced options, and thus with the realism that urban ministries encounter and have to engage. This is discussed especially in Chapters 1 and 8. Put otherwise, as part of the conjunctive triad, hope is part of the content of that which provides the interpretative framework of the book, while hope is further that which interacts with and qualifies the harsh realities of urban life and ministries and dares to address and even contribute to changing such realities.
Future considerations arise from the texts that are worth flagging. There is first the enduring concern—more than a mere single issue—regarding the pervasive influence of socio-economic class interests. Such interests shape, finance, and limit the scope and depth of urban ministries. To a modest degree the concern of class interest is referenced in the chapter on Niebuhr’s theology for justice (Chapter 5) and what influenced him during his early urban pastorate and numerous fellowships, the earliest intentionally focused on wedding the Christian Faith to socialism. There are precedents and cautions from the social gospel era and the critical emergence of Christian realism, duly noted later. Among many works there is Richard Sennett’s The Hidden Injuries of Class (with Jonathan Cobb). There is the trilogy he has been writing, including The Craftsman; Together: The Rituals, Pleasures and Politics of Cooperation, and a future work on the making of the city. One could further look to works of the American Academy of Religion’s recent Class, Religion and Theology group, but more concretely to the contributions of the new monasticism and the broad-based organizations linked to the Industrial Areas Foundation. To the extent that these bold endeavors practice ways and means to move beyond mere charity responses to urban poverty—to actually discern and employ the principles and practices of justice making and keeping—then there is a measure of hope that charity need not remain a substitute for justice (and, alas, a pretext for withholding it).
A second future consideration is the question of what makes for a “successful” ministry in the city (which I hope to contribute via a M Phil thesis undertaking). Indeed, how may an urban ministry extend to the whole of the city, its ecology, and not merely its urban core or once “inner-city” scope of understanding? Success is fraught with ambiguity. Do we seek to measure success by numbers of people, size of the budget, length of time it exists and endures, and the publicity it enjoys though often ephemeral? Or, do we more modestly employ criteria such as a ministry’s faithfulness for the long haul, faithfulness to such biblically core credos as Micah 6:8’s doing justice, loving kindness or integrity, and walking humbly with the Creator, Sustainer and Redeemer of all?6 Tucked within these considerations is the creative tension noted throughout the book yet still remaining open-ended. The tension of charity versus justice is basic and is often a vexing challenge to urban ministry practitioners. There are currently several fresh attempts to illumine this tension7—adding philanthropy and variations such as “philanthrolocalism” to the vocabulary8—but it is my conviction that no one prophetically addresses this challenge as well as Niebuhr and his legacy.
Thirdly, there is the friendly challenge of “letting go” of the desire if not compulsion to control people’s lives. These considerations arise from recent and poignant reflections on a “theology of the cross” as well as avid interests in the practices of meditation, contemplation, and centering prayer (or Christian meditation). There is also a hunger for spiritual direction and even healing. This is touched on in the discussion of the Merton’s grounding prayer (Chapter 6) and is a component of the hoping justice prayerfully triad. What would be hopeful is the willingness to summon the likes of Douglas John Hall and his seminal, successor sources of influence (thinking of Pamela McCarroll’s works, especially Waiting at the Foot of the Cross as well as The End of Hope—the Beginning). How this really relates to the practices of ministry and the necessity for a comprehensive, compelling, and social ethic is a challenge to engage. “Pacefulness” is surely key throughout the book and its conclusion, including the grace-based serenity prayer. Letting go is one thing. The question of to whom and for what to let go is a life-long challenging other! A generation ago, theologians engaged a socio-theology of letting go. Now a fourth consideration, outside of the scope of this book, is the compelling imperative related to the crisis of global warning and its challenges to our very existence.9
I acknowledge and give thanks for some editorial assistance from Karen Hollenbeck and toward the end for the gifts of their indispensable and editing labors of friendship, add Michele Lamont, Ryan Leamont-Koldewijn and Mike Glanville—also, Lori Gabrielson for timely help on indexing. For valuable input on drafts for another body of work that I have drawn on for parts of this book, there are Deb Cameron Fawkes, Michael Welton, David Tracy, and Bruce Alexander. I am indebted to Vancouver School of Theology professor emeritus of social ethics, Terry Anderson and to the Thomas Merton Society for their long, passionate interests respectfully in Reinhold Niebuhr and Merton. I am grateful for the