Haggart Street

Haggart Street is in a rough neighborhood in the Kensington area of Philadelphia. It’s undergone all types of demographical changes over the past 50 years creating a melting pot of Irish, Italian, Puerto Rican, African American and Asian residents. Beyond the racial and ethnic divides on this street are literally dozens of diverse opinions, tastes, styles and worldviews. Almost all the residents would be defined as “working poor”, on this street with the exception of a couple “crack homes” that house the addicts and homeless. Beyond the place in which the residents dwell, these people have almost nothing else in common.
Our mission team was in Philly participating in a short-term mission project that included helping out in a homeless shelter and leading a Vacation Bible School for neighborhood kids. Our team had come with the intention of bringing this street together . . .or so we thought.

It was the 4th of July and we were located smack dab in the middle of the city of “brotherly love" (or brotherly shove depending upon rush hour traffic) where the Declaration of Independence was signed. The pride of the city resonated strong within its residents on this day.

As missionaries for the week on Haggart Street, we led, connected, played, prayed and blessed. Things you would expect of a missionary team. But, later that day, something strange happened that short-term missionaries don’t expect. We were targeted, reached-out to and given an invitation. We were invited be special guests at a Independence Day block part on Haggart Street that stretched the couple blocks between Frankfort Ave. and Emerald St. We, who had come to give, invite and bless, found ourselves a grateful recipiants to special invitation where we would be blessed in a unique way. We, came dispensing the goodwill of the gospel...and found ourselves recepients of goodwill. God works in mysterious ways.

By 9 a.m. two strategically parked cars on each end of the blocks created the necessary road block and simply shut down all through traffic for the day. By 10 a.m. residents were scurrying around like ants dragging out their barbeque grills, sweeping their front stoops and wishing neighbors a happy 4th in preparation for a day of festivity, communion and celebration.
Although there were at least four different generations represented on the block and no less than five complexions of skin shades seen in the streets. . .all gathered together as one on their street. Old and young, black and white, man and woman joined together in sharing their grilling recipes in between plays of a great and rowdy game of “street football”.

One neighbor went house to house collecting every person’s favorite music CD's and proceeded to play the entire block's “favorite hits” on his stereo throughout the day. Music ranging from Puff Daddy to Frank Sinatra to Conway Twitty served as an audible reminder that we can co-exist and yes, even celebrate our personal differences. Although the street hummed different tunes that day, they all really sang the same song. It was the song of unity and harmony. And, this song was powerful and tangibly noticed in people’s smiles, embraces and generousity. For hours that afternoon and evening, the Haggart St. gang laughed together, danced together, shared stories together.

The unity and harmony I felt that day amidst so many stranges was, well. . .almost otherwordly. This was not some contrived unity where we all get along because we are all suburban soccer moms. Nor, was it a unity emerging from corporate perfection marked by the absence of brokenness and bruises. No, these folks were none of that. What I saw happening that day was a taste of unity that arose in spite of diversity….harmony despite imperfection.

As I walked up and down the street talking with the elderly, playing hacky-sack with smiling kids and bantering with men about how the Packers would take down the Eagles next season, what I felt was a kind peace that arises out of collective brokenness. Sort of like these Philly residents were saying, “yea, we got problems, and we’re not okay. . .but it’s okay. . .cause today we are Philadelphians and we choose to celebrate what unites us.”


As I mused on this amazing evening later, I began to think of Haggart St. as a metaphor of the Church. The Church must be a people who are collectively broken before one another…and before God. Like Haggart Street, the church is about a people in a specific locale brought together by a celebrative event (Christ’s ransom on our behalf), who share what they have in common and choose to focus on those things which unify (Christ) instead of that which divides (self-interest).

What a picture of the body of Christ I had discovered in Kensington Philadelphia. This living picture of a great block-party still resonates with me today. It continually challenges me. If a handful of people without Christ can put aside differences and become one for a moment in time. . .how much more those of us in the Body of Christ!

Haggart Street beckons me to ask what a Church without walls might look like. A place of true belonging where we are part of something larger than our own individual identities. A place where each is free to admit our mutual brokenness without fear of judgment.

How much does your church community look like Haggart Street? I'm convinced that Haggart Street can exist whenever we are willing to put aside our personal preferences for the prefences of Christ. His body was torn apart to bring us together.

What are you doing to create Haggart Street experiences within those places God has called us?