Sunday, November 20, 2016

In These Times, Flint Residents Lean on the Everlasting Arms


By Peter Rubinstein
FLINT, Michigan—Members of Flint’s Shiloh Missionary Baptist Church entered its modest nave on the morning of Sunday, March 6, to the sight of delicately hung chandeliers strung above the white-gloved hands and warm eyes of its senior ushers as they lent hugs, laughed and welcomed newcomers.
Pastor Daniel Moore Sr. wore black and silver vestments while seated comfortably in the pulpit, quietly observing the familiar congregation of his family, friends and neighbors and swaying his right hand to the gentle words that emanated from the choir behind him.
The pain and strife brought upon by the water crisis that had defined the lives and identities of the city’s residents since 2014 were temporarily set aside, as the members of Shiloh squeezed close together to unite under the pastor’s word.

“When the community does not trust the culture or
government, the church becomes a center.”
-Professor Michael Wittmer, Grand Rapids Theological Seminary


     Stephen Ray, veteran professor of systematic theology at Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary in Evanston, Illinois, described the importance of faith in the lives of believers amid crises, like the residents of Flint, now engaged in a daily struggle to stay afloat.
“What the church does is infuse a source of meaning and value into the lives of people who have been forgotten by the larger society, so that they can go on from something other than fear,” Ray said in an interview.
            Throughout the city of Flint’s seemingly endless period of crisis, the African-American faith community has acted as an essential refuge, binding affected families of all creeds. By dedicating themselves to the provision of resources, both spiritual and material, to those in need, the area’s churches collectively have become a pivotal component in the preservation of their members’ senses of clarity, direction and self-worth in an environment otherwise defined by hopeless abandonment.
      
Delivering clean water one Saturday last spring, scenes like this
one in Flint have become a routine sighting.
Nearly 250 individual houses of worship speckle the 34 square miles that comprise Flint, the largest portion of which are Baptist, public records show. Ever since the city declared a state of emergency in December of 2014, thousands of its residents have come to rely on local churches for the distribution of bottled water, organizers at North Central Church of Christ in Flint said.
          The weekend regiments of surrounding churches like The Greater Holy Temple Church of God are supplemented, in part, by Shiloh’s own distribution schedule on Tuesdays and Thursdays at its Leith Street location, according to organizers.
            But Mary Haney, Shiloh’s media director, said that despite the church’s small size, the regular donations it now receives are too plentiful for their storage unit to keep up with. They have started leaving the overflow outside so that those in need can pick up water during any time of the week, she said.
            “We have had to leave out as many as eight pallets of water, just for people to come randomly and pick up water throughout the night and throughout the day,” Haney said. “It’s been so great that we’ve been able to provide this water for the community.”
            Pastor Moore said in March that his church soon planned to use interpreters to bridge the gap between them and the city’s southeastern Hispanic community as part of a new outreach initiative. Moore said many Hispanics there don’t speak English, and that for months after other residents had been informed about the poisonous water, they had remained in the dark.
          “That’s why we met with a church that we wouldn’t normally have a fellowship with, and they’re providing us interpreters to go into these people’s homes,” he said. “It’s brought that sense of brotherhood across the city.”
Pastor Daniel Moore reflecting as he prepares for his Sunday
sermon at Flint's Shiloh M.B. Church, where the community of
faith has become an anchor through the storm of the city's water
crisis.
          Trips to the Hispanic community have been led by two supply trucks, Haney continued, with one of them designated for the area’s senior citizens.
            “They have been so grateful that people are now reaching out to them, because, you know, they were isolated,” she said. “They didn’t know what was going on as far as where they could get resources.”
            Ray said that historically areas like Flint that are largely populated by African Americans and those in lower socioeconomic neighborhoods and cities tend to be forgotten by the rest of the country. Rallying around a perceived forceful attack on one’s community is one thing, he said, but it’s very difficult to succeed when that community is treated like it doesn’t matter at all.
            “Churches within the black community have been the single institution in which the values of the lives of black people was unquestioned,” he said.
         The point was echoed by Michael Wittmer, professor of systematic theology at at Grand Rapids Theological Seminary, who said that crises such as the one surrounding Flint have the power to focus the attention of those affected more directly towards their faith.
       “When the community does not trust the culture or government, the church becomes a center,” Wittmer said. “It can also be a leader in speaking out for justice, and holding the government and state officials accountable.”
            Flint’s cries for justice were answered by President Obama this spring as he wrote a letter to 8-year-old resident Mari Copeny that he would be visiting the city on May 4, according to NPR. “I’ll use my voice for change,” Obama wrote, “and help lift up your community.”
          The ensuing talk around town, however, is steeped more in resentment than relief, Haney said. Instead of celebrating the small resurgence of national recognition, residents of the city are asking themselves why the President’s direct attention had not come sooner, she said.
  “It took a child expressing her pain in only the way a child could,” Haney said. “Hopefully Flint will act as a beacon to shed light on other cities that are being affected in the same way that we are.”
          As the media flurry from the President’s brief visit quickly dissipates, Pastor Moore said he will continue to lose sleep while helping to comfort and support the members of his church in any way he can.
           “I can tell people that God can bring hope out of hopeless situations,” Moore said. “When you tell people that . . . people begin to think that maybe there is a light at the end of the tunnel.”



In Flint, the water crises knows no respecter of persons as children, adults and the elderly are affected, like those who attend Shiloh Missionary Baptist Church, are affected.