It’s time again to thank God for his faithfulness to us for these many years. This Sunday we’ll meet at the Silos at 11:00 of worship and a special meal together after the service. Bring friends and join us.

Suzii Paynter, longtime advocate for children will speak at the anniversary. Paynter now serves Prosper Waco’s new CEO, after a short time as co-director of Pastors for Texas Children. She was the third executive coordinator of the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship (CBF), serving from 2013 to 2019 as chief executive for this 1,800-congregation network.. She also serves on the executive committee of the Baptist World Alliance and chairs its Human Rights Advocacy Committee. It began as a small Bible study with five homeless men in September of 1992. The church is now a diverse congregation of “black, white and brown, rich and poor, educated in the streets and the university, all serving the same God, who makes us one.” Church Under the Bridge moved from underneath the I-35/S. 4th St underpass in March of this year after the announcement of the construction of six miles of interstate expansion. While looking for a new place to worship during the estimated three-year construction, Chip Gaines invited the church to meet at their Magnolia Silos, which is closed to the public on Sundays. We’re hoping you will join us for worship and celebration at the Silos.

The advent of year 2000 is causing unprecedented evaluations of our past, present, and future. Prophecies and predictions already abound and more will follow in the months ahead. These examinations and forecasting are also helping churches to look within at who they are and where they are going. But beyond our casual self-studies, a disciplined church study is needed. Until we seriously look at who we are, we cannot gain adequate honesty and courage to face what we wish was not there or admit what we wish was not.

According to futurist Tom Sine, the number one problem of our churches is a “crisis of vision.” In the face of so many urban and moral dilemmas, the church has retreated to a “fortress mentality.” Instead of seeing the problems of our decaying neighborhoods and communities as challenges, many have accepted status quo as normative. Maintaining membership and budgets have replaced the aggressive call of declaring war on the sins of the city. Fear of crime, drugs, and poverty have been hidden by a safe theology of privatization and protection of self and family.

But the church is our only real hope for the city. “Churches with vision and tenacity are reversing the trend toward urban decay and social disintegration. Even non-Christian community developers admit that now. “There is no substitute for the resources of energy, enthusiasm, political clout.” Corporate leaders and government officials are enlisting religious institutions more than ever, primarily because the statistics show that churches are the most powerful agents of change in decaying areas. “The National Institute of Health shows that teenage students who attend religious services at least once a month are about half as likely as other teenagers to participate in socially destructive behaviors. Richard Freeman of Harvard University shows that among black males, church attendance is a better predictor of who will escape the destructive cycle of poverty, drugs, and crime than any other variable-including income, sports, and family structure.” (Signs of Hope In the City, p. 6) Catherine Hess, director of New York’s first methadone program for drug addicts, concluded that Christian drug rehabilitation programs which emphasize prayer, conversion, and the Holy Spirit are much more effective than secular programs. Even community and economic development that is grounded in the church has a higher success rate. “I will never again attempt to help people with economic revitalization unless it is under the umbrella of a church” said a well known developer in New York. “It makes no sense to leave the church out. It is the most important institution we have.” (p. 8)

Yet the church is still mostly uninvolved. A Lilly Foundation-funded survey on “church and family life” showed that among the churches that identified crime, drugs, unemployment, and AIDS as major problems they faced, only five percent have programs that directly addressed these problems. Single or disconnected programs are not enough because they are not mutually reinforcing. “Community revitalization is not achieved through a housing project here, a new school there, a job program somewhere else. It begins to look like a circle of things.” (Churches, Cities, and Human Communities, p. 286) Groups like Mission Waco, Lawndale Community Church in Chicago, Bethel New Life, Inc. in Chicago, the Nehemiah Project of East Brooklyn, and others have discovered the “circle of mutuality.” At Mission Waco and Jubilee Center, job and computer training, children’s programs, youth development, G.E.D. classes, alcohol and drug rehabilitation, Church Under the Bridge, small groups, and other programs all feed each other. Community problems are “systemic”, i.e., they are tied to other issues and realities that must be examined from a holistic view. For example, a group of gang-related teens in one city agreed to turn in their guns in exchange for jobs. Getting to the root causes requires sacrificial commitment and resources. Token band-aid ministries or an occasional mission trip will do little to offer real hope. It takes church leaders from various denominations to struggle and pray together at the same table. It takes leadership skills from various walks of live including religious, social service, city planning, political, and neighborhoods to acknowledge, then overcome their differences to bring healing and hope back to the decaying neighborhoods. It calls for a renewed biblical theology that sees the city from God’s compassionate eyes.

by Jimmy Dorrell

The night lasted forever. Traffic zoomed by amid occasional sirens, honks and backfires. The rocks underneath the sleeping bag seemed to grow larger through the evening. In and out of sleep, rolling over and over in an attempt at a short-term comfortable position. The hours of darkness dripped away so slowly. Finally morning.

The annual “sleep out under the bridge” is a harsh reminder of just a few hours in the life of the homeless. It is a night when those of us who normally sleep in comfort are profoundly reminded of those in our own city, state and nation who have no place to call home.

In a nation of plenty, over 2 million men, women and children sleep each night under bridges, in shelters, on friends’ couches, or in the back seats of cars.

Who are they? Why are there so many more today? Though the myths of poverty and homelessness abound in the midst of a love-hate relationship with the general public, the truths are clear to anyone who really wants to know. They are more than people without homes. They are disaffiliated and caught in a cycle that is difficult to overcome. Unlike the stereotypical skid-row bum, only about 5 percent are really “lazy and shiftless.”

Instead, today’s homeless are baby boomers or younger. They are not transients, but mostly local residents. Most are single men with significant problems. One-third of all homeless are mentally ill, outside the institutions available two decades ago. Forty percent are alcoholics.

WIDE SPECTRUM
Most of the chronic homeless are usually dual-diagnosed with alcoholism and mental illness. Forty percent suffer from disabling physical disorders. Ten percent use drugs. One third are veterans. Women and children are the fastest growing group. Most get little or no public assistance. Almost all lack support systems.

Yet with all the media and public attention that goes to them and with more people than ever standing on street corners with their sins, homelessness is still mostly misunderstood and untreated. Because of the pervasiveness of the issue, which won’t seem to go away, most Americans have grown weary of the problem. They waffle between “compassion fatigue” and blaming the victim. The 1990s are now being characterized as a decade of “anti-homelessness.”

Alice Baum and Donald Burnes, in A Nation in Denial: The Truth About Homelessness, write that denial is the state of the art when it comes to policy about this problem. “In the face of compelling evidence, the primary issue is not the lack of homes for the homeless; the homeless need access to treatment and medical help for the conditions that prevent them from being able to maintain themselves independently in jobs and housing.” Alcoholism, drug addiction and mental illness are national health problems among all socio-economic groups, yet particularly hard on the poor. The cost of alcoholism alone accounts for an estimated $85.8 billion a year in reduced or lost productivity, not to mention the 300 people who die each day from alcohol-related causes.

Yet small group homes like Mission Waco’s Manna House, which offer free alcohol-drug treatment in a Christian atmosphere for homeless or poor men, struggle for funding because of the denial of the real issues. Often, helpers would rather provide blankets or soup kitchens instead of attack the more difficult root problems, solutions to which are more costly and do not provide immediate results.

Support for Compassion Ministries, Salvation Army, Mission Waco, Caritas, and other providers which help the poor, is important. But new programs and initiatives which target the most vulnerable people of our society are critical.

or “Church Without Walls”
by Susan Finck-Lockhart

“Turn my passion for this world into passion for You. Gentle longing for the things of your heart. Turn my passions in this world into passion for You. Sweet devotion for the things of Your heart. Teach me to turn it loose; the things of the world — unfold this mystery of your love for me.Turn my passion for this world; into passion for You. Gentle longing for the things of your heart.” — Janet Dorrell, one of the founders of Church Under the Bridge, Waco, Texas

At 9 a.m. on Sunday morning the concrete space underneath the I-35 bridges over 4th and 5th street is empty. By 10:30 a.m., a mix of cars, trucks and vans have jumped the curb and are parked in a random pattern around several hundred well-worn folding chairs arranged in rows. Behind a large U-Haul style trailer emblazoned with “Mission Waco,” several folks are setting up microphones and music stands on a flatbed trailer, while fifty or so others dine on pancakes, sausage and fruit.

The congregation gathers.

Welcome to Church Under the Bridge or “CUB” in Waco, Texas – a church that lends new meaning to terms like ‘seeker sensitive’ and ‘come as you are.’ A large contingent of Baylor University students joins with homeless folks, recovering addicts, and a cadre of young couples. Several families and a few bikers — one with an enormous wooden cross that he pulls behind his Harley — complete the picture. One young African-American man in his uniform from the McLennan County Correctional Facility takes a seat next to a 60-something white man with wire-rimmed glasses, clad in a polo shirt and ballcap. The attire spans the gamut from shorts, T-shirts and torn jeans to a few skirts and even a sprinkling of starched button downs.

The worship team climbs up on the flatbed and begins to play a mix of 70s Jesus songs, traditional hymns, and contemporary praise songs. Also spread throughout the songbook are original songs composed by Janet Dorrell, who founded CUB with her husband Jimmy nine years ago and leads the singing with a hint of country western flair.

The chief ‘usher,’ not a centimeter under 6’6″ and clad in a Church Under the Bridge t-shirt and old jeans, smiles at us through his chest-length salt and pepper beard as he hands us a bulletin. His shirt reads: “…black, white, and brown, rich and poor, educated in the street and educated in the university… all worshipping the same loving God who calls us to himself.” Several other worshippers sport a second style of t-shirt, which reads: “These are my church clothes.”

It smells of the street. Exhaust mingles with after shave, cologne and the “natural fragrance” of those whose last baths are a distant memory. Cigarette smoke wafts through the air: My daughter is horrified, “Mom, there is someone smoking– during church!!”

“We’re just ordinary folks under an ordinary bridge all made holy by Your Presence,” Pastor Jimmy Dorrell prays. He evokes the image of the Great Banquet from Luke’s Gospel as he invites us to worship. As he prays, we hear the grinding of eighteen-wheelers shifting gears and the sound of cars whizzing by overhead. Folks hang around on the periphery, some standing, some whispering to each other; some finishing up their food from the meal that is served each Sunday prior to worship. No silver offering plates here. Ushers pass around a coffee can covered with contac paper.

When it’s time for Sunday School, children pop up from among the crowd and gather by a woman holding a bright yellow rope. They line up, holding the rope, and cross the frontage road, processing through the Mobil station parking lot and disappearing into the Clarion Hotel. (The Clarion donates a room for their use each Sunday.)

The message from the pulpit at CUB “afflicts the comfortable and comforts the afflicted” in a wholistic, balanced way. The forgiveness of the cross and the transforming power of God in Christ are front and center. Bulletins feature sermon notes on the back with summaries of key points. One Sunday, Dorrell preached a hard-hitting message from James about the tongue. Several youth groups were there who had been working at various outreach ministries associated with the church. Dorrell hit on sins from “buying too many shoes at the mall” to “doing too much booze or slipping back into drugs…” Another Sunday, the worship team equipment was removed from the flatbed, and Dorrell preached on Samson “WWF Style.” Clad in a green wig with flowing hair to his waist, and a sweatshirt stuffed to look like bulging muscles, Dorrell wrestled several large men from the church playing the part of “Philistines” as the congregation catcalled and roared with laughter. “Delilah” appeared in a later scene – a church member clad in tight leather pants and a cleavage-revealing top. In between ‘scenes’ Dorrell’s message was driven home: “Moral impurity, deceit and rebellion affect one’s character. And “an immature faith built on emotions rarely leads to strong character that honors God.”

CUB was spawned out of Mission Waco, a Christian-based non-profit organization that provides more than 20 programs to empower the poor and mobilize middle-class Christians. Dorrell serves as Director for Mission Waco, and many of those involved in CUB work for Mission Waco; the two have recently become organically separate.

Jimmy and Janet Dorrell and a couple of others began the church as an outreach Bible Study for the homeless men who slept under the I-35 and south 5th street bridge across from Baylor University. The church celebrated its ninth birthday during a recent Sunday morning service. “Ushers” passed out small vials of bubbles, and as the worship team played, a “bubble offering” drifted up to bless the traffic overhead. Couples have been married and babies dedicated under the bridge.

Lives have been changed here also. Dorrell proudly tells the story of one woman whose prostitute sister died a violent death. The woman herself was addicted to drugs and living with a man. Through loving Christian relationships, she eventually surrendered her life to Christ, but beating the drugs took some time. Finally, she broke free from drugs and married the man she was living with. She and her husband continued to be discipled and grow in their walk with the Lord. They are now small group leaders with CUB.

CUB operates according to nine “Core Values,” including being a church based on the revealed truth of God made manifest through the Scripture, illumined by the Holy Spirit and confirmed by the Body of Christ.
Other core values include:

2) being church to the unchurched
3) ministering to the poor and marginalized
4) keeping Biblical justice as an overriding theme
5) celebrating multiculturalism as a foundational pillar
6) de-emphasizing attractive or ‘holy’ buildings
7) emphasizing discipleship through small groups
8) being an interdenominational congregation
9) affirming the call to ‘life together’

Twelve small groups meeting throughout the city, usually in homes, and small group leaders meet regularly for training and accountability. One Sunday during announcement time, Dorrell announced the formation of a new Christian-based recovery group for anyone struggling with drug and alcohol addictions. “We have some flyers on this; if you want one, raise your hand,” he invited. Immediately, eager hands went up all around me. “How refreshing to be at a church with this level of honesty,” I thought to myself.

For those desiring a deeper commitment to CUB, six “Covenant Community” classes are offered. To be a part of Covenant Community, members must be baptized by immersion, complete the six classes and be involved in a small group. At present, there are “about 40” in Covenant Community, according to Dorrell.

With the exception of a part-time secretary, all leadership at CUB is volunteer. Although titles are not used and Dorrell’s name is not listed on any bulletins, he functions as the ‘senior pastor.’ He and two others function as the ‘covenant council,’ which Dorrell describes as “the closest thing to deacons in the Baptist church or elders in the Presbyterian church.” They are aiming for a ratio of one council member for every twelve covenant community members.

Soon the service will be over. We will all fold up our chairs and stand in line to hand them to the men inside the U-Haul style trailer. Soon that space under the bridges will look just like it did on Saturday night. Church Under the Bridge reminds me that as Christians we are a “pilgrim people” – on a journey with Jesus. It recreates for me the sense of transience and impermanence of traveling with Jesus and his followers. It reminds me of how Jesus sought out “the last, the least and the lost,” as my seminary New Testament professor used to say. As a middle class person with an abundance of education and possessions, it reminds me weekly of what is truly important. My ‘problems’ seem miniscule — they are put into perspective when I come into contact with folks who are homeless, addicted or struggling to make it.

As worship concludes, I look to my right, at the steeple for the new seminary chapel gleaming in the Texas sunlight. All through church history, great cathedrals and church edifices have been built to glorify God. But in Waco, Texas — the heart of the Bible belt with a church seemingly on every corner — it seems to be holy irony that God would show up in such full measure under a bridge each week.

We sing our closing hymn, “Holy, Holy, Holy,” as the semis change gears overhead. The traffic to our left turns green and the cars surge forward. I close my eyes and lift my hands. It is indeed holy ground.

Susan Finck-Lockhart is a freelance writer living in China Spring, Texas. She is an ordained minister in the Presbyterian Church (USA) and served small churches for twelve years. Susan and her husband Bill, a new professor of Sociology at Baylor University, homeschool their four children.

Church Under the Bridge Builds a Bridge to Those In Need

About fifty of us gather under the northbound Interstate 35 bridge. A freezing mist fills the air on this chilly morning, making the sky as gray as the concrete above our heads. The recovery group that had been huddled in a circle picks up their folding chairs and joins us. The food crew dishes up the last steaming bowls of red beans, sausage, and cornbread.

The cold has thinned the ranks of the 300 or so who usually attend Church Under the Bridge. Today it was just the “lean and mean” hard-core regulars, some Baylor students, a group of teenagers from Amarillo, and a few first-time stragglers who are asking ourselves why we picked this day to visit a church that meets outside. We stand in a sanctuary carpeted with gravel and cigarette butts, while above us the arched concrete roof vibrates with the Sunday morning roar of 18-wheelers.

A well-known writer on poverty has said that the poor in America are indistinguishable from everyone else because they don’t wear rags. This morning that statement is not exactly accurate. I find myself standing rather uncomfortably on the edge of a deep social chasm. It can be difficult to find the words to say to someone whose lifestyle of addiction and mental illness is communicated by the clothes they wear.

“Everybody find a chair.” the pastor booms. “If hell is very hot, then we must be in heaven, today!” As we shuffle toward the battered folding chairs, the worship band continues tuning up. Suddenly they kick into a loud, fast version of “Power in the Blood.” The song strikes us with an almost palpable force, like a blast of warm air on frozen faces. The truth of this old hymn has never seemed more pertinent than it is this morning.
Would you be free from your burden of sin?
There’s power in the blood, power in the blood.
Would you o’er evil a victory win?
There’s wonderful power in the blood.

I have not come to this place expecting to encounter the Holy Spirit, and the incongruity of his presence is as jarring as it is welcome. Hope seems to sweep through the crowd. With the twang of electric guitars, the band moves on to the ancient promise spoken through the prophet Isaiah.
I will change your name.
You shall no longer be calledwounded, outcast, lonely, or afraid.
I will change your name.
Your new name shall be
Confidence, Joyful, Overcoming One.

A worn, middle-aged man standing next to me in the bitter cold, mutters, “That’s a good song.”

“Yeah. Are you from here? Do you have family in Waco?” I ask.

“Yeah, but…” he pauses. “I was strung out on drugs and alcohol for a long time…”

“They didn’t think you could change?”

“Yeah, but God can change anybody.”

The band transitions to an up-tempo Spanish song. The Mexican family in the row ahead of me smiles and glances shyly at the faces of those around them, most of whom don’t attempt the words. They just move to the beat.

“Y’all sit down and let’s sing People of God.”

“Pico de gallo?” yells a comedian in the crowd.

“Same thing,” shrugs the worship leader.

We’re the people of God, called by his name.

Called from the dark and delivered from shame.

One holy race, saints everyone because of the blood of Christ Jesus the Son.

The ragged guy at the end of the row puffs nervously at his cigarette. The message of these songs is, after all, both healing and unsettling. They offer a powerful vision of hope that is so unlike life on the streets. It’s the paradox of the gospel—strength perfected in weakness, honor bestowed on the humble, wisdom given to fools. Do you believe it?

The crowd sits down as Pastor Jimmy Dorrell introduces a guest speaker. She’s a white-haired poverty activist from Chicago who’s been leading a workshop in Waco. She exhorts us to pray, to be politically active, to peacefully confront violence and poverty, and to let God give us eyes to see possibilities for helping people. Good advice for the caregivers, but it doesn’t seem to be connecting with this crowd?those who desperately need care. They sip coffee and seem to be lost in their own thoughts. The lady has a plane to catch and concludes her message to polite applause. Dorrell takes the mike and assures us that what she’s doing in West Chicago is much better than what’s happening here, but I doubt it.

It’s communion Sunday, and Dorrell reads a scripture with his toboggan cap pulled down to his eyebrows. He urges us to examine our hearts before taking this communion. Do we have the courage to admit to God that we have anger, dirty mouths, and other sins that need forgiveness? He prays and we form a ragged line to receive the Lord’s Supper. I bend down to snag a cup of grape juice, while a strangely dressed lady breaks off a small piece of bread from the loaf that she clutches in both hands. Beneath a straw hat decorated with colorful bits of rags, her face radiates good will as she gives me the bread. As we sit with heads bowed before drinking the juice, I notice that the girl next to me has stuck a huge wad of green chewing gum to the rim of her communion cup?just too good to throw away. It’s an appropriate metaphor: God has come to us, but we have this treasure in jars of clay?another day in the life of the church.

We are dismissed and the pastor moves through the crowd greeting people with jovial good humor. Jimmy and Janet Dorrell have an obvious affection for their congregation, but they are straight up with the message?sin, repentance, salvation, and discipleship. The people aren’t victims but men and women with potential.

There is power in the blood.

A Few Facts

While working for the Campfire organization back in the 1980s, Jimmy Dorrell began offering weekend poverty simulations?a couple days and nights on the streets without housing or money?in an effort to instill compassion for those who are the least and last of Waco’s citizens. A timely grant from Christian Mission Concerns allowed Dorrell to move into this effort full-time. By 1991, this had grown into Cross Cultural Experiences/Mission Waco as Dorrell and his wife sought a way to grapple with the problem of poverty in an affluent society.

It was in the following year that Dorrell struck up a conversation with some homeless men who were sleeping under the 5th Street bridge near Baylor. He began to teach them the Bible as a means of bringing healing and transformation. Over time, a weekly Bible study turned into a full-service church?one with a broad foundation of feeding hungry bellies and thirsty souls, sponsoring missions, recovery groups, and promoting racial reconciliation. Today, Church Under the Bridge is probably the most well-rounded church in the city. Their stated goals are to renew the life of the church in America while having a few laughs along the way. You don’t want to miss their annual touch football game, “The Toilet Bowl.” As Dorrell likes to say, they are “organic, not organizational.”

While they are now two separate entities, both the church and the mission are thriving. As many as 500 volunteers a year serve at Mission Waco, which offers after-school programs for students, job training, men’s and women’s residential recovery programs, free medical clinics and social services at the Meyer Center (the old Central Presbyterian Church), and?still a big favorite?a weekend of simulated poverty.

For the complete story, see their websites:

www.churchunderthebridge.org and www.missionwaco.org

In 1992, a Christian couple from Waco and a Baylor student spent some time getting to know several of the homeless men sleeping under the Interstate 35 bridge. Over the next few months, the men accepted the invitation to meet fort Bible study on Sunday mornings at the bridge. Over the weeks and months, the small group grew to include more homeless folks, other lower income people, and local community persons who either had no church experience or felt like they did not fit in other local churches. Many of the basic needs of the lower income and homeless were met through the shared resources available. Within a couple of years, the Bible study group realized God was doing something more than just a Bible study. Thus, Church Under the Bridge acknowledged its existence and began taking on more responsibilities as the Body of Christ.

In 1998, the Church realized it’s need to establish its vision statement, core values, and basic leadership structure. The Covenant Community was created for those who sensed God’s leadership and call to this particular church. Those interested in being a part of the decision making and servant leadership were asked to complete six weeks of foundational class and become active in a small group of the church. In 1999, the Covenant Community selected three among themselves to shape the vision and direction of the church, deal with difficult issues, and oversee basic principles. The Covenant Community generally met monthly for discussion, prayer, affirming others, and fellowship. The decision was made in 2006 to end Covenant Community and Covenant Council and continue as a pastor-led church, and efforts are being made to develop a pastoral team and mobilize leadership from a diverse representation of the church.

Church Under the Bridge attempts to avoid denomination, cultural, economic, or racial distinctions. We are a multi-cultural church committed to the Lordship of Jesus Christ and the unity of His Spirit. We welcome folks from wide and diverse backgrounds to love God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit with all their heart, soul, and mind, and to love their neighbors as themselves.