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n the shadows of Philadelphia’s City Hall, the tall stone walls of Arch Street United Methodist Church glisten in the sun. Through the big red doors lies a sensorial attack. The emptiness of the space strains my eye as it tries to absorb every detail at once. The deep red of the carpet, the massive ceilings lined by beautiful tiles older than most people I know, and the stunning shadows cast on the walls by the massive stained glass window, dance around my pupils. The silence aches as the heavy door comes to a close, leaving nothing between me and the uncanny presence that sits lightly in the air. Every creak in the f loorboards, every exhale, every motion, releases some tension while heightening awareness. The old carpets and dust create a scent so familiar yet indistinguishable as I wander towards the alter. The church, in all its beautiful glory, offers home, shelter, and protection, while the silence and vast emptiness fosters discomfort and hesitance. Up the winding staircase and passed the secretary, is the office of the man who brings life, love, and hope to this sanctuary—Pastor Robin Hynicka. When I met Robin his smile illuminated his dim office. Without question, without hesitance, without so much as a blink of an eye, I was welcomed with open arms into his world. As I spent some time with Robin, his family, and his community, I stumbled across something truly beautiful—never before had I seen the reach and power faith can have. When used to inspire love, not hate, power, not suppression, and justice, not punishment, faith can heal all wounds. From the moment I met Robin I knew he was special. No matter what he was doing, he had a smile, cracked a joke, and delivered a message of hope that could withstand any challenge. I watched him preach to his people, organize events to better the community he loves so much, and care for his wife, Weslia, who is in the 18th year of her battle with aggressive Lupus. When I began this project, Weslia finally came home after being in the hospital for over 50 days after a leg amputation. Weslia’s condition has changed many aspects of their life, but the love and affection wrapped in their gaze was more powerful than anything physical. Robin’s story is not just a story of a pastor, or even a man of faith—it is a story of a human being who chooses to face life with love, and to never admit that anything is beyond the grasp of possibility. Robin is much more than a pastor; he is a husband, a caretaker, a friend, a confidant, a grandfather, a messenger of God, a sports lover, an artist, a lover of all things human, and his life is a soul stirring song.
“ I grew up on a small farm in Lancaster County, and was part of a family that
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had two brothers, an older brother and a younger brother. I was the middle child. We learned how to work really early. As soon as we could really hold a tool or contribute, we were part of the work force. Early on in our life we were kind of dropped off at Sunday school and my parents went home. My parents and brothers left that church. There were theological differences. That church wasn’t conservative enough for them, and it was a very conservative church. But I stayed.
“ I was a Junior in high school.
I made a commitment to the pastor of the church at the time and made the statement to my peers that I was interested in pursuing ministry. to relate to never seen folks saw suits you.”
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I always had this sort of ability all kinds of people and it was as something off-putting, but it as, “yeah, that’s right, that
“I was very connected not only with the church but the community in which the church is situated in. The context was as important as the congregation and vice versa.�
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“ There’s, teaching, there’s proclaiming, there’s prophetic witness, pastoral care, prayer, play--I think I’m a playful person.
“ I think my role is to help people discover God in themselves and God in each other. That creative spark, that image of God that’s talked about in “
Genesis, that’s the big picture role.
I think the 8:30 service is more engaging because of the physical space. I like preaching there a lot. You get to 11 service and you’re on that high pulpit and it’s this where you gotta really work to connect with folks.
“ We met through a church program. I started an initiative that involved middle school kids, and the idea was to put together
different experiences and opportunities for kids across race, culture, and class, within the United Methodist Church, to experience each other as neighbors, as friends, as fellow worshipers, and believers. And so I put together a group of 35 middle school kids from a variety of churches across eastern Pennsylvania, and Weslia’s kids were the age for this program.
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“ She called me to ask about it, and I fell in love with her voice on the phone. I loved her voice. She met me at the house, and she was coming just to be part
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of this and she says when she came through the door she felt butterflies right at that moment.
“ After the first year, I asked Weslia out, and she said yes. We went to see the movie Cinema Paradiso, and that was “
history. We had two more dates and I asked her to marry me. She said yes, and a year later we were married.
“ It really has had a profound effect on our relationship and how we interact with the world, the church, the family, and so on...major care giving responsibility for almost 12 years.
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“ She’s been diagnosed with Lupus I guess for 16, 18 years. And I guess for about eleven years now there has been a major surgery every year.
“ I think Weslia’s illness has made me appreciate vulnerability as a human condition that is not shameful, but rather strong and significantly capable of shaping your character. I think my character, who I am as a man, a person, has been deeply transformed by Weslia and by her strength and stamina in facing this disease and this physical condition. I’ve learned a lot about who I am and what’s important to me. It’s been a struggle, it really has. Sometimes her disease competes with what I want to do. My sadness is very private, only a few people ever see it, but it’s there. I’m a very trusting person, but I don’t reveal that side of me very much. And it’s not because I’m protecting people from it. I’m afraid just like anybody else of being vulnerable.
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“ I’ve been very angry at God. I’ve had times where I really just broke down and cried and sobbed, with just how unfair it is. I’ve had
moments where I’ve felt so betrayed by God I didn’t know what to do. I just didn’t know what to do. Where I felt so alone and out in a wilderness, I could find nothing comforting.
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“ We lamented, we cried, we prayed, you know. She said “I’m gonna miss my leg--it’s the leg that helped me bear my
children, it’s the leg that walked me down the aisle when we got married, it’s the leg that let me hike in Valley Green and the Wissahickon, but its now betrayed me.”
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removed, you just get to the point where this is not helping anymore. This is burden, this is a weight that needs to be rid of.
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“ You don’t think it that way at first, but after years of in and out of the hospital because of recurring infection in the part of that was
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and pharmacology, had a great job at Glaxosmith, having to go into disability.
“ She’s recaptured the creative side of her. So the painting and the fabric and the scrap-booking and the beading and the sculpture and the art class at PAFA
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“She’s reinvented herself and it’s been very interesting to see this very intelligent science-oriented woman, who finished her PhD at Penn in neuroscience
and other places have given her a sense of enlightenment. She likes botanicals, she likes nature. Most of her stuff is flowers and nature and landscapes.
“ I’ve learned a lot from her. She also just enjoys beautiful things and often times I’m just about getting the job done. I think she’s taught me how to “
appreciate beauty and appreciate that inner passion.
“ I think the biggest sacrifice for me was the time I missed with my family. That was to some extent my own inability to
balance home and work. I always had a double sense of duty and responsibility. Sometimes family was neglected. I think that was a sacrifice--more for them than for me, but also I think somewhat painful for all of us. It also was a unique part of this profession, that you are at the call to be present with people when they most need you and you can’t schedule that. For me my spiritual life and discipline, thankfully, is rooted in my developing and creating a message of hope, a message of justice that connects to that hope too. I believe that, and I think I practice that every week even if I don’t believe it that week. But practice makes it almost spiritual memory, muscle memory that sustains you when you’ve lost your way.
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“ Almighty and gracious God, we thought we were coming to sit and just be passive, to maybe listen to music and hear the scriptures read and hear the
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preacher speak. Lord, you have something more in store for us than just a passive experience.
“ POWER is a network of
37 congregations in the city of Philadelphia who are committed to economic justice, education reform, immigration reform, and public safety. We’re gathering because our elected officials are not acting responsibly enough or proactively enough to address the issue of poverty in our city.
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“ My friends, it is time for us to make a prophetic stand.
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“ I was a man before I was in ministry. I don’t think I wear that on my sleeve, I think people see me as down to earth.
“They are gracious, bold, centered, diverse, loving, kind, critical thinkers, careful contributors to community development, spiritually diverse, but strong “
spiritual people. Gay, straight, questioning, confused, rich, middle-class, poor, employed, unemployed, brown, white, yellow, red.
It’s any song or music that stirs your soul--that is what the congregation is.
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“ If I had to characterize the congregation, I would as a very stirring song.
To those who so graciously opened their doors, hearts, and souls for me to experience with them, thank you.
Meaghan Pogue