Mercy Community Church

The interlocutors of Jesus questioned his authority.

But no one questioned theirs.

Theirs is the authority claimed by out-of-touch institutions and propped up by wealth.

The chief priests were the legacy families that control the temple, and the elders were the wealthy, landed gentry that pulled strings behind the scenes.

First, they interrupt Jesus, who is in the temple teaching the crowds. They demonstrate by their entrance—entourage in tow, no doubt—that his ministry and the people he cares for are of little import to them.

Of course the poor can wait and Jesus can be put on hold. Like all such forms of authority, their self-importance is staggering.

Next, they interrogate Jesus, demanding some validation for his right to teach, heal, gather crowds, or—and you can bet this is the real issue—flip the tables of the moneychangers.

But the authority of Jesus is different.

First, he doesn’t accede to their presumed right to judge his credentials or determine what he does.

Instead, he takes their question and asks another. He does not need nor does he look for their permission. Yet he is inviting them to move from interrogation to dialogue.

He is leading them into a different power arrangement—a sort of authority that is at home with honest conversation and relationships on a level footing.

And they will have none of it.

They have set a trap for Jesus—and it has ensnared them instead, revealing the warped worldview that dictates how they wield power.

They despise the crowds, the poor. But they also fear them.

And they will kill Jesus because of it.

The authority of Jesus, however, shows us something else, something rooted in life and human well-being.

Such authority is found in both the flipping of tables that exploit the poor—and in the setting of tables that invite us all to God’s lavish bounty.

May we be more like Jesus than the chief priests and elders.

May we boldly take up the cross, if that is the price of loving our neighbors.

And may we not be intimidated by the tired structures and greedy powers that wield crosses as their ultimate threat.

Talking the other day with a friend, he said something that really hits the nail on the head.

What makes MercyFest special?

It’s laid-back.

It’s easy-going.

It’s down-home.

It’s small enough, and slow enough, that we get a chance to just… be.

Be with each other.

Be around friends.

Be in conversations.

Be cared for.

Be in a beautiful place.

Be ourselves.

Be loved.

Thank you to our friends and partners, always.

It’s our coming together and lifting each other up that makes this kind of beautiful space in our world.

A place for all of us just to be.

Special thanks to Fleur + Forage Atl, Harriet Tubman Foot Clinic, Feet on the Street Ministries, he The Church at Ponce & Highland, and Edgewood Church!

Come celebrate, connect and imagine a way forward together!

Join Casa Alterna's Festival of Hospitality and Resistance - part of our 20th anniversary celebration - a time to listen, learn, and connect with others who are committed to building communities of welcome and belonging.

Saturday, October 3, 10am–1pm

🎤 Dianne Garcia, Pastor of Iglesia Cristiana Roca de Refugio, will share our keynote.

💬 Immigration Attorney, Sarah Owings and El Refugio Executive Director, Amilcar Valencia, will share reflections, and come together for a panel conversation about where we go from here in the movement for immigrant hospitality and justice.

🎶 And Chad Hyatt, Pastor of Mercy Community Church, will gift us with music to inspire and give us hope throughout the morning!

Come be part of the conversation—and help us imagine the next 20 years of hospitality and resistance!

📍 Atlanta Friends Meeting, 701 W. Howard Ave., Decatur
🍴 Light refreshments provided
💜 Free and open to all
🔗 More info and RSVP casaalterna.org/20th-anniversary/

Like the flower whose boundless beauty pushes through the cracks of the city sidewalk, our community thrives wherever we find ourselves.

Each Wednesday, we take to the streets and share good food and enjoy the community of sisters and brothers coming together to care for one another.

This week, we started something new.

We’re studying the Bible together on the streets.

Jesus said that human beings don’t live by bread alone—but by every word that comes forth from the mouth of God.

For over twenty years, our conversations around God’s word have shaped who we are.

We believe there’s no more faithful location to study the liberating good news of Jesus than the streets.

So come on out to Bonaventure Avenue next Wednesday as we gather around God’s word together!

We know how the story of Jonah starts: Jonah is called to prophesy to Nineveh, but instead runs away on a boat, swallowed by a big fish, spat out by said fish, and finally winds up in Nineveh, where he does his job.

But the story doesn’t end there.

The Ninevites repent like no other group in the Bible. Even the animals put on sackcloth!

And God responds to Nineveh with mercy.

While Jonah responds to God’s mercy with a tantrum.

Angry that Nineveh’s destruction was canceled, he parks himself on a nearby hillside in protest.

God grows a bush to shade Jonah, then has a worm eat it.

Feeling entitled to both his desire for violence and this shrub, Jonah tells God he’s angry enough about the plant to die.

The story ends with God’s question: shouldn’t God care more about a city full of people and animals than a shrub?

It’s an intentionally humorous story, but it’s also deeply relatable.

In our conversation, Ivan and Herman pointed out that Jonah is behaving like an addict.

He isolates himself, refuses to take feedback—much less accountability—and clings to lies of entitlement far past the point of absurdity.

The deeper we dig ourselves, the more impossible getting out of the hole feels, and the more overwhelming it becomes to acknowledge that we’re in what Herman calls ‘the pit.’

We quickly think of substance abuse, but it’s also true of our less-discussed addictions to violence. To revenge. To being ‘right’ and knowing for sure who’s ‘wrong.’ To all the systems of ‘-isms’ that provide a sense of security at the cost of our humanity.

Our addictions cut us down into bitterness, narrowing our understanding until we can only perceive what will or won’t keep us comfortable, what will or won’t get us that next fix.

They cut us off from wonder, from the ability to perceive new things, to grow and change and experience the aliveness of God’s grace.

Thankfully, God does not abandon Nineveh.

God doesn’t abandon Jonah.

And God never, ever gives up on loving all of us into the justice of healing and wholeness.

A few months ago, my friend, Jeri Austin, visited a MercyFest.

She hadn’t intended to stay long: just to drop by, say hello, see what we were up to, and show some love.

A few hours later, she was still smiling and engaging everyone in animated conversation.

Partly, that’s just who Jeri is.

But it’s also true that she was captivated by something about MercyFest that she had not anticipated.

She saw a community that’s really a community—folks from all walks of life who truly care about each other and aren’t afraid to show it.

She got to see folks who are quick with a smile and a hearty laugh—full of genuine, overflowing joy.

And she got to witness partners who come together, sharing their gifts with one another and for the well-being of the community.

Marie-Lies and her team at Fleur + Forage.

Christine and the good souls (and soles!) with Harriet Tubman Free Foot Clinic.

Pastor Maurice Lattimore and the amazing shower ministry he started and built up from the ground up.

The Reverend Allen Jones and the good crew he wrangles from the Church at Ponce and Highland to feed us a fine feast.

And then she got an idea.

What would be like to bring something like this to the community she loves and serves on the Memorial Drive Corridor?

Well, she’s done it.

Twice now.

This past Saturday was another wonderful gathering—with partners providing important and needed services.

And me? I’m honored to be along just to sing a song or two.

Check out our video, if you want to hear some of my warbling!

But know this: it’s good when good folks get together to do some good.

Surprisingly, the word ‘church’ doesn’t get used much in the gospels.

Only Matthew’s Gospel uses it.

And only twice.

Once, when Peter gets it right: Jesus is the messiah.

Jesus’ response? Hell itself won’t prevail against what God is doing in the ‘church.’

Then ‘church’ shows up a second time—when Jesus talks about reconciliation and forgiveness.

That suggests the business of the church, at least as Jesus saw it, isn’t buildings.

Or budgets.

Or programming.

The business of the church is transforming conflict.

And mending human relationships.

It’s working through the hard things and finding life-giving shalom.

And yet, few things confuse us—or get co-opted by the status quo and the powerful—quite like forgiveness.

For something that should be the heartbeat of church, we don’t seem to know what a practice of reconciliation might really look like.

But Jesus spells it out.

Here are some things we took away from our study on Sunday morning:

This process is open.

It’s honest.

It’s transparent.

It’s not based on winning an argument—but winning our sister or brother.

It puts a high value on our relationships with one another—and takes seriously that we will cause harm to one another—by calling for clear, direct, community-supported communication with one another.

The process makes room for freedom and disagreement and the setting of healthy boundaries—but it never comes to an end.

Treat the sister or brother who will not listen like a ‘gentile and tax collector’?

This is the Gospel that tells us Jesus was mocked for meals with tax collectors and sinners and whose Great Commission instructs us to ‘make the disciples of all nations.’

Even when it doesn’t seem possible to win our sisters and brothers, we never give up on the hope of reconciliation—of making community bigger and healthier.

Working through the hard things with our sisters and brothers is very little to ask of us—despite how hard and challenging it can seem—when viewed in the light of our own need for grace and forgiveness.

That’s what church could be.

At least, that’s what Jesus seemed to think.

Empire is always the same.

And so is God.

The God who hears the cries of slaves and leads us out in liberation.

The God who tramples every empire into dust.

Yet long before Pharaoh and his armies ‘got drowned in the Red Sea,’ as the old song goes,

There was Pharaoh’s daughter.

And Moses’ mother.

And his sister, Miriam.

And Shiprah and Puah, the Hebrew midwives.

Exodus from empire isn’t found just in the big, dramatic moments.

Liberation is in the little choices we make every day.

The refusal to obey.

The decision to resist.

Our song, ‘Revolution,’ is inspired by a small Bible study in Nicaragua where a peasant said of Mary’s ‘yes’ to God’s will for her:

‘Love is very revolutionary because it demands that we disobey everything else.’

Whatever is not love we disobey.

That’s the revolution.

We resist the powers that be, and their ignorant kings who rise up, not knowing their own history—the Joseph forgetters—fearful and fomenting fear, only to prop themselves up a little longer.

We resist by doing the right thing in the face of so much that’s wrong.

We resist by wily wisdom and mischievous creativity.

We resist by clever compassion and unlikely alliances.

By fearing the living God more than the threats of Pharaoh.

By love more than fear.

By little things more than big.

Because empire is always the same.

And so is God.

Good friends just get better with the years.

It was a joy to welcome Jeremy back to the streets this past Wednesday! (And Sunday, too!)

Pretty sure everybody should make a Mercy/DragonCon twofer trip a part of their annual itinerary!

And it was good to have Nikki back home again, after some much needed time enjoying the ocean depths and all of its tantalizing treasures in South Florida!

Plan a fabulous getaway yourself—or just a intown outing—and experience a little Mercy joy too!