Rev. McKinley L. Sims, M.Div.

Okay….so I’ve finished my first month as a chaplain at St. Elizabeths Behavioral Health Hospital in D.C. It’s one of the oldest mental health facilities in the nation, and Dorothea Dix is a prominent fixture in the wall of fame that lines the administrative office hallway near my office. After a few weeks of getting my feet wet, leading Sunday services, and facilitating groupwork and spiritual therapy……well, let’s just say this place brings out two reactions in me.

(after witnessing a woman screaming profanity at the top of her lungs and threatening to kill another person)

“Holy shit.”

(and after witnessing a man talk about how much God is working in his life despite the things he’d done to land him in the asylum)

This is holy shit.

~

At General Assembly in New Orleans, we listened to Bryan Stevenson give the keynote Ware Lecture. He knocked it out of the park, obviously, and his speech retold much of what is mentioned in his book, Just Mercy. He spoke about the four things we as religious progressives can do to stay engaged in the struggle for social change and stay committed to doing Kingdom work: get proximate to the poor and the excluded, change the narratives that sustain inequality and injustice, stay hopeful, and be willing to do uncomfortable things. St. Es feels like it checks all those boxes, and I say that not to make you think that I’m patting myself on the back for simply checking boxes and going about my day feeling good about my savior-ness.

No. St. Es checks all those boxes because it’s the most fulfilling, challenging, infuriating, hard, and holy place I’ve ever been. There’s so much pain and grace running through the veins of this institution most famous for housing serial murderers and the ghosts of Civil War era insane asylum residents. I’ve always struggled with how to help heal brokenness in the world, especially when I see it so close to where I live on streets of D.C. I’ve gotten comfortable with handing out coin or food when I have it, but I know it’s not systemic enough. I’m willing to listen and smile and hear stories if I don’t have somewhere to be, or if I’m not too scared or frustrated or somewhere else spiritually to engage with homeless siblings on the street. I could always do better, but I try to do what I can.

St. Es is a stop of last resort in the District. People in home transition with behavioral health illnesses can’t be turned away if they can’t pay for hospitalization or treatment. St. Elizabeths can be a sanctuary for poor and broken souls. They can come here and start on a path to recovery. That’s the best case scenario, anyway. Everyone here has an incredible story, and as a colleague told me, “everyone here is an exemplar of grace.”

Bryan Stevenson told us that he works with death row inmates, victims of brokenness and perpetrators of horrific crimes, because he’s called to do so. He serves broken people because he’s broken, too. I hope to follow that path at St. Elizabeths, extending grace to those whom society may feel don’t deserve it. That’s the damnedest thing about grace, though…it’s not deserved, but freely given. Given to me, despite my brokenness. I’m honored to walk in the footsteps of the Jesus tradition, getting proximate to the broken, poor, and excluded, to change the narrative and be uncomfortable. I’m always proud to stay hopeful and try to spread a little grace. May it be so for all those most in need.