Brother James of Danville

“Good evening, church,” James proclaimed to our prayerful silence as he entered the front door of the house. He had arrived that Sunday afternoon with several of the others who were now praying in what was usually a living room but now served as a makeshift chapel. But while he had arrived a little early, he had lingered on the porch to finish a conversation. James had a knack for finding a conversation and luxuriating in it, understanding on some deep level that attention given in conversation is typically indistinguishable from love even when it’s just being polite.

When we didn’t answer back as James expected, he repeated himself, “Good evening, church!”
Breaking our silence to welcome him, we replied in a disjointed chorus, “Good evening, brother James.” Satisfied, James joined us, finding a folding chair in a favorite spot. Our thoughtful crowd of regulars had left the chair open, knowing that James tended to gravitate to one of the spots under the mantle and preferably “near his brother,” one of Grace and Main’s founding members. It was only after settling into his seat that James recognized we had been in the middle of our silence.

But silence gave way to song, as it most often does when we gather to pray. As was my practice, I asked those gathered, “does anyone have a song on their heart that we can sing together?” Waiting half a beat, James offered one of his own. Whereas others might call out a title, a first line, or perhaps a song book number, James liked just to start singing and let us catch up with him. After years of sharing life with James, we were accustomed to catching up with him.

“Soon and very soon,” we sang at a pitch that I could tell was going to be too low for us all to sing along, “we are going to see the King.” James loved singing and loved music. He was usually eager to share a new song, to line it out for us, and to sing as loudly as he could manage. Over the years, I’ve heard many requests for Grace and Main to put together a softball team or a book club, but only James ever asked us to put together a choir. He insisted that he would lead it and was disappointed when he found that none of our regulars seemed to share his enthusiasm.

It was pitched too low, but we sang anyway. We sang the verses everybody knew and then we made up some of our own. “No one homeless there, we are going to see the King” and “No nights sleepless there, we are going to see the King.” Ever since we met James, he’d been teaching us. He was, for all intents and purposes, the sixth member of Grace and Main and the first person experiencing homelessness to join the community in pursuit of the Kingdom of God. He taught us about our neighborhoods and about how people end up experiencing homelessness for years at a time. He taught us many new songs and how to pray. He taught us not to let our hair blow in the wind or to set a hat on a table. He taught us to take risks and wait for God to step in, always reminding us “Jesus’ pockets are deep.” James taught us how to be “serious as water” but also how really to enjoy a cup of coffee on the porch, even if he never really learned how to hold a coffee mug upright.

Mostly, though, James taught us that faith is a muscle and it grows through use. Whether that’s setting off on a walk to Milton to go to church or asking hard questions of powerful people because it’s the right thing to do, James placed his trust first and foremost in God and secondly in the people that made up his extended family in Grace and Main and around town.

Given the nature of our work, I am often asked if we “share the faith” with the people who fill our lives with community and love and solidarity. While I understand what they’re asking, I often want to give a much more nuanced answer to the question. After all, sharing goes both ways and the truth is that I’ve been immensely privileged for more than twelve years to “share faith” with James, even when he went by the name of Roland in our stories. Simply put: yes, we shared the faith with James because sometimes we had faith and shared it with him and sometimes he had faith and shared it with us. On the best days, we all had faith in the immensity and undeniability of God’s love.

James passed peacefully in his sleep just prior to the end of 2021. He’d been a part of our community for roughly twelve years. When we first met him, he was living in a stairwell downtown but he passed in a warm home with all the love and support he always deserved. It was our privilege as a community to walk the last miles with Brother James and to make one more trip to a small church in Milton to bring his remains to their well deserved rest. We do, of course, miss James very much and we give thanks for his life and all he has meant to us. But we remain connected to our Brother James and we continue to share faith with him and learn the many lessons he taught us.

Soon and very soon, we will see Brother James again. This time, maybe we’ll join the choir – even if he does pitch the songs too low.

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