The Wednesday Night Fast on Carver Street

For three years, the members of Mount Olive Baptist Church in Memphis held a Wednesday night fast. They gathered in their sanctuary, sang worship songs on empty stomachs, and prayed with impressive fervor. Meanwhile, four houses on Carver Street — the very block where their church sat — had boarded-up windows, sagging porches, and elderly residents who couldn't afford repairs.

One Wednesday evening, Deacon James Harris left the prayer meeting early to check on Mrs. Thelma Watkins, eighty-two, who hadn't been seen in days. He found her sitting in a kitchen with no working heat, eating cold beans from a can because her stove had broken months ago. Her roof leaked into a bucket by the bed.

James walked back into the sanctuary and interrupted the prayer. "We're in here fasting," he said quietly, "and Miss Thelma is next door freezing."

That was the last traditional Wednesday fast Mount Olive held. The next week, twelve members showed up on Carver Street with tools, insulation, and a new space heater. Within a month, they had repaired three homes on that block. They called themselves the Breach Repairers — straight from Isaiah 58.

The prophet's words still cut through our pious routines: "Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice?" The Almighty never asked for our hunger. He asked for our hands — extended toward the neighbor we have been stepping over on our way to worship.