The Old Lady found an interesting church in Savannah, Georgia.
No stained glass windows, just trees and sunlight. No walls, just open air. No carpet, just green grass underfoot.
Episcopal priest Father Jamie Maury holds services every Sunday morning just off Louisville Street near the canal, between two camps for the homeless people who make up the majority of his congregation.
His ministry is called the Community of St. Joseph; you can find out more about it at
Suffice it to say that this is the real deal, folks. This is not words spoken to well-dressed parishioners who nod their concern and then go home to their TVs. THIS is the Word in action. This is hands-on Christianity. This is free breakfast and free hope. This ministry follows the path shown to us by Jesus who was also homeless, and who fed and healed whoever showed up.
If we love Jesus then we are called to show that love to ALL of our neighbors.
If you’d like to put your money where YOUR mouth is, you can send contributions specified for The Community of St. Joseph to the Diocese of Georgia, 611 East Bay St., Savannah, GA 31401.
Matthew 25:35-40 “For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? 38 And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.”
One misty, moisty, morning,
When cloudy was the weather,
There I met an old man
All clothed in leather,
All clothed in leather,
With a cap under his chin.
How do you do?
And how do you do?
And how do you do again?
The Down Home Days festival in Madison, Florida, is a fun and funky expression of Madison’s modern mix of historic preservation and forward thinking.
Born of small town civic pride and old boy boosterism the festival has evolved into a carnival of colorful bounce houses and classic car displays, craft sales and barbecue cook-offs…
… a place where eating a snow cone in an oil-barrel train car marks the high point of the day…
… and a place where even the elderly can find people their own age to play with.
OZYMANDIUS by Percy Bysshe Shelley
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter’d visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp’d on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock’d them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.An century-old cemetery on the side of an Alabama highway reminds The Old Lady of the words of Percy Bysshe Shelley.These graves were once marked with carefully cut and carved stones. Now, just a little more than 100 years later, the cutting and carvings are obliterated by the elements. Does anyone remember who is buried here?The Kitchens family obviously spent some bucks on a marker that seems solid and permanent.
And yet that granite block will weather and wear just like the others, blurring and then erasing the remembrances so confidently inscribed.
‘Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”