In A Land Of Deep Darkness ...
Stories
LECTIONARY STORIES
40 Tellable Tales For Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter And Pentecost
In almost any other setting Memorial's modern brick building, surrounded by neatly trimmed evergreen shrubs and an expansive lawn, would be considered picturesque, inviting: the kind of church you might want to visit if you happened to be driving around on a Sunday morning, looking for a place to worship. But surrounded, as it is on three sides, by row after row of austere, box-shaped tenements with peeling paint and littered sidewalks, it appears strangely out of place.
Pastor Guiseppe Basacca started the congregation as an Italian mission in 1916, beginning with night school classes in English, sewing and Christian doctrine. Worship services on Sunday afternoon were begun later. In 1919 the Evangelical General Conference made funds available, and a building was erected at 2011 52nd Street. First Church, as it was known then, experienced many years of persecution. Italians were subject to severe discrimination in Kenosha at the turn of the century. They were kept out of the good jobs and nice neighborhoods, and generally castigated for their foreign ways, like every other immigrant group before and after them. There were many difficult growing pains, but the congregation endured and their numbers increased greatly in the boom years after World War II. They soon outgrew the old building.
Land was purchased on the edge of the city in 1956, and the congregation built and moved into the present building at 3712 50th Street in 1960. They had high hopes. Kenosha was expanding rapidly, and the open land all around the new building was zoned for single-family dwellings. Their large corner lot allowed plenty of room for expansion. But a change was made in the zoning laws; the land across the street in front of the church was re-zoned for light industry. A trucking firm moved in, and its parking lot was soon packed with large car carriers loaded with new Ramblers from the American Motors plant five blocks away. The open land behind the church was re-zoned for multi-family structures. Developers began to build low-rent apartment buildings, one after another, year after year, until there were more than 90 buildings covering every available lot. No land was reserved for a park, backyards were small and shade trees were few and far between. Children played on the sidewalks and in the streets.
The apartments filled up fast as people came from all over southern Wisconsin and northern Illinois seeking to join the 15,000-member work force at American Motors. None stayed in the apartments very long. The high wages paid by the auto manufacturer enabled them to move into homes of their own in better neighborhoods with parks and trees. Then came the next wave of new immigrants: African-Americans and Hispanics. Like the Italians before them, they, too, were kept out of the good jobs, and so they have stayed in the apartments, raising large families in crowded conditions in the neighborhood that is now called the new ghetto.
Memorial's all-white congregation, which peaked in 1971 with a membership of 195 and an average weekly worship attendance of 118, has declined to 77 members and an average worship attendance of 44. Their high hopes for a growing program and additions to their beautiful building have not been realized, in spite of the fact that their neighborhood has more people per square block than any other neighborhood in the city. The barriers of race and poverty have proved insurmountable. They have tried over the years, with little success, to reach out to families in the neighborhood. People would respond once or twice, in small numbers, to a dinner or a service, but they didn't come back. The congregation watched with an everdeepening sense of helplessness as conditions in the neighborhood grew worse and worse.
Lately, gangs have moved in from Chicago and recruited local youths and children, some as young as eight years old, to assist in their drug deals. Break-ins, muggings, beatings and drive-by shootings are reported regularly. Gun shots are often heard in the night as gangs battle over turf. In the fall of 1990, a member of the Black Gangster Disciples was standing on the front lawn of the church when a group of Vice Lords fired at him once from a moving car. The local paper quoted him as saying he fired back at them six times, emptying his handgun.
In spite of all this, the church has not given up hope. It is determined to share its ministry with the people of the neighborhood. The building has been used for several years as a mealsite for the county's summer lunch program. In recent months, what is called the Church For Kids program is held on Wednesdays after school. About 50 children receive a nutritious snack before going to classes, divided by age level, to study Bible lessons and sing Sunday School songs. On Tuesday and Thursday mornings the church provides a nursery for children whose parents are trying to complete their high school education at the local technical school. The church has hired an African-American organist, and some families from the neighborhood have begun attending worship on Sunday mornings. Two adults have become members.
All of this has come about because of something wonderful that happened last year at the Christmas Eve service. It began with a suggestion the pastor made at the November board meeting. "Let's invite the neighborhood kids to a Christmas party," he said. "They are used to coming here for the summer lunch program. Let's give them a party on Christmas Eve and invite them to join us at the candlelight service afterward." Everyone agreed that it was worth a try.
Posters and sign-up sheets were distributed throughout the neighborhood. Parents were asked to register their children in advance, and to come with them to the party and the service. They expected about 50 children to sign up. But when the registration sheets started coming in, it was soon apparent there were going to be many, many more. Church members donated extra money for gifts and food. The Breakfast Kiwanis Club gave a generous donation. The church women's mission group gave the pastor a blank check. "Go get the gifts," they said. "Spend whatever you need to spend."
On Christmas Eve, about 20 volunteers from the church and the neighborhood met early to wrap the gifts. When the children arrived they were met at the door and divided into small groups with an adult leader who took them around the Fellowship Hall, from one activity to another. There was a storytelling corner, a table for coloring and cutting out Christmas trees, a visit with Santa, and, of course, everyone joined in singing Christmas carols around the piano. More than 250 persons attended the party, including 133 children. About $700 worth of toys, food and candy were distributed.
The congregation decided afterward that serving the cake and punch and opening the presents just before the service may have been a mistake. The children were so excited there was no way to get them to sit still or be quiet when they went into the sanctuary. Church members who came for the traditional, peaceful candlelight service were a bit overwhelmed. Some expressed outright disapproval. "We've been trying to keep these people out of the church for years, and now they have let them all in," was one comment that was overheard.
Those who welcomed the neighborhood families felt a deep sense of satisfaction as parents shook their hands and thanked them for giving their children a Christmas party, and, most important they said, for allowing them to share in the worship service. The pastor said he got enough hugs and kisses from children with sticky, candy bar lips, to last him a lifetime.
The full meaning of what happened that night, in their little white church in the neediest African-American neighborhood in the city, sank in gradually as they cleaned up the building, put away the Christmas decorations for another year, and drove wearily to their homes for Christmas celebrations with their own families in neighborhoods far from the church. They realized that, for some of these families, this was the only Christmas they would have. And they knew, now, why God had brought them out of their old Italian neighborhood and kept them faithful all of these years in this new ghetto - to give them this extraordinary blessing. Their lives and the church they loved would never be the same again. And they knew, too, that whatever the future might bring for Memorial United Methodist Church and the neighborhood around it, for a few hours on Christmas Eve, in a land of deep darkness, a great light had shined - and they had seen it.
Author's Note: Thanks to Memorial Church members Frank Splitek, Jackie Putman, Ethel Parise, Pastor Jeff Nicholas and former pastor Merun Hoeft, whose contributions made the telling of this story possible.
Pastor Guiseppe Basacca started the congregation as an Italian mission in 1916, beginning with night school classes in English, sewing and Christian doctrine. Worship services on Sunday afternoon were begun later. In 1919 the Evangelical General Conference made funds available, and a building was erected at 2011 52nd Street. First Church, as it was known then, experienced many years of persecution. Italians were subject to severe discrimination in Kenosha at the turn of the century. They were kept out of the good jobs and nice neighborhoods, and generally castigated for their foreign ways, like every other immigrant group before and after them. There were many difficult growing pains, but the congregation endured and their numbers increased greatly in the boom years after World War II. They soon outgrew the old building.
Land was purchased on the edge of the city in 1956, and the congregation built and moved into the present building at 3712 50th Street in 1960. They had high hopes. Kenosha was expanding rapidly, and the open land all around the new building was zoned for single-family dwellings. Their large corner lot allowed plenty of room for expansion. But a change was made in the zoning laws; the land across the street in front of the church was re-zoned for light industry. A trucking firm moved in, and its parking lot was soon packed with large car carriers loaded with new Ramblers from the American Motors plant five blocks away. The open land behind the church was re-zoned for multi-family structures. Developers began to build low-rent apartment buildings, one after another, year after year, until there were more than 90 buildings covering every available lot. No land was reserved for a park, backyards were small and shade trees were few and far between. Children played on the sidewalks and in the streets.
The apartments filled up fast as people came from all over southern Wisconsin and northern Illinois seeking to join the 15,000-member work force at American Motors. None stayed in the apartments very long. The high wages paid by the auto manufacturer enabled them to move into homes of their own in better neighborhoods with parks and trees. Then came the next wave of new immigrants: African-Americans and Hispanics. Like the Italians before them, they, too, were kept out of the good jobs, and so they have stayed in the apartments, raising large families in crowded conditions in the neighborhood that is now called the new ghetto.
Memorial's all-white congregation, which peaked in 1971 with a membership of 195 and an average weekly worship attendance of 118, has declined to 77 members and an average worship attendance of 44. Their high hopes for a growing program and additions to their beautiful building have not been realized, in spite of the fact that their neighborhood has more people per square block than any other neighborhood in the city. The barriers of race and poverty have proved insurmountable. They have tried over the years, with little success, to reach out to families in the neighborhood. People would respond once or twice, in small numbers, to a dinner or a service, but they didn't come back. The congregation watched with an everdeepening sense of helplessness as conditions in the neighborhood grew worse and worse.
Lately, gangs have moved in from Chicago and recruited local youths and children, some as young as eight years old, to assist in their drug deals. Break-ins, muggings, beatings and drive-by shootings are reported regularly. Gun shots are often heard in the night as gangs battle over turf. In the fall of 1990, a member of the Black Gangster Disciples was standing on the front lawn of the church when a group of Vice Lords fired at him once from a moving car. The local paper quoted him as saying he fired back at them six times, emptying his handgun.
In spite of all this, the church has not given up hope. It is determined to share its ministry with the people of the neighborhood. The building has been used for several years as a mealsite for the county's summer lunch program. In recent months, what is called the Church For Kids program is held on Wednesdays after school. About 50 children receive a nutritious snack before going to classes, divided by age level, to study Bible lessons and sing Sunday School songs. On Tuesday and Thursday mornings the church provides a nursery for children whose parents are trying to complete their high school education at the local technical school. The church has hired an African-American organist, and some families from the neighborhood have begun attending worship on Sunday mornings. Two adults have become members.
All of this has come about because of something wonderful that happened last year at the Christmas Eve service. It began with a suggestion the pastor made at the November board meeting. "Let's invite the neighborhood kids to a Christmas party," he said. "They are used to coming here for the summer lunch program. Let's give them a party on Christmas Eve and invite them to join us at the candlelight service afterward." Everyone agreed that it was worth a try.
Posters and sign-up sheets were distributed throughout the neighborhood. Parents were asked to register their children in advance, and to come with them to the party and the service. They expected about 50 children to sign up. But when the registration sheets started coming in, it was soon apparent there were going to be many, many more. Church members donated extra money for gifts and food. The Breakfast Kiwanis Club gave a generous donation. The church women's mission group gave the pastor a blank check. "Go get the gifts," they said. "Spend whatever you need to spend."
On Christmas Eve, about 20 volunteers from the church and the neighborhood met early to wrap the gifts. When the children arrived they were met at the door and divided into small groups with an adult leader who took them around the Fellowship Hall, from one activity to another. There was a storytelling corner, a table for coloring and cutting out Christmas trees, a visit with Santa, and, of course, everyone joined in singing Christmas carols around the piano. More than 250 persons attended the party, including 133 children. About $700 worth of toys, food and candy were distributed.
The congregation decided afterward that serving the cake and punch and opening the presents just before the service may have been a mistake. The children were so excited there was no way to get them to sit still or be quiet when they went into the sanctuary. Church members who came for the traditional, peaceful candlelight service were a bit overwhelmed. Some expressed outright disapproval. "We've been trying to keep these people out of the church for years, and now they have let them all in," was one comment that was overheard.
Those who welcomed the neighborhood families felt a deep sense of satisfaction as parents shook their hands and thanked them for giving their children a Christmas party, and, most important they said, for allowing them to share in the worship service. The pastor said he got enough hugs and kisses from children with sticky, candy bar lips, to last him a lifetime.
The full meaning of what happened that night, in their little white church in the neediest African-American neighborhood in the city, sank in gradually as they cleaned up the building, put away the Christmas decorations for another year, and drove wearily to their homes for Christmas celebrations with their own families in neighborhoods far from the church. They realized that, for some of these families, this was the only Christmas they would have. And they knew, now, why God had brought them out of their old Italian neighborhood and kept them faithful all of these years in this new ghetto - to give them this extraordinary blessing. Their lives and the church they loved would never be the same again. And they knew, too, that whatever the future might bring for Memorial United Methodist Church and the neighborhood around it, for a few hours on Christmas Eve, in a land of deep darkness, a great light had shined - and they had seen it.
Author's Note: Thanks to Memorial Church members Frank Splitek, Jackie Putman, Ethel Parise, Pastor Jeff Nicholas and former pastor Merun Hoeft, whose contributions made the telling of this story possible.
