Rock Ministries grew from a youth boxing club to City Hall’s outreach ally in Kensington. Here’s how.

Kevin Bernard looks like he could be a cop on Kensington Avenue: 6-foot-2, 260 pounds, with a crew cut. But these days, the retired Philadelphia police sergeant is leading a platoon of Christian chaplains around Kensington’s open-air drug market.

Their to-do list on a recent Wednesday: Sing “Amazing Grace” on a street corner overrun by drug dealers. Visit a mother whose toddler recently fell from a second-floor window. Along the way, try to get Kensington’s homeless and addicted population to accept drug treatment.

Between stops: Sprinkle in the Gospel.

“If you woulda told me five years ago that I would stand on a corner to sing songs and pray in front of drug dealers, I woulda told you someone is gonna get killed,” Bernard said. “Today I would tell you it works … and they move.”

Many people know Rock Ministries, or simply the Rock, as an evangelical church that runs a lauded youth boxing program on Kensington Avenue. Since 2003, the Calvary Chapel affiliate has offered at-risk kids a pair of gloves and a Bible as an alternative to drugs and crime.

Over the last five years, the Rock has grown, drawing more than $1.2 million in contributions in 2022. The nonprofit has also acquired nearly two dozen properties in Kensington, won its first state redevelopment grant, and opened a drop-in center to connect people to drug treatment, housing, and other services.

The community chaplain squad, a key part of that expansion, draws missionaries from across the country to preach peace on Kensington Avenue. And it has also made the Rock an ally for City Hall.

As Mayor Cherelle L. Parker continues her ambitious cleanup effort in Kensington, the chaplains have become an unofficial partner for local police, who call on them to assist during homeless encampment closures and after tragedy strikes in the neighborhood. Some perceive that the Rock has a level of access that other Kensington nonprofits do not, while others criticize their outreach methods.

Mark “Buddy” Osborn, the Rock’s 65-year-old founder and pastor, said he is gratified by the Rock’s allies in City Hall and the police department. He views the church’s expanding mission as a divine calling, and points to treatment numbers as evidence of success: The Rock connected 730 people to drug treatment programs in 2023, he said, and is on pace to match that figure this year.

“We don’t have any special seat. We just have the experience,” Osborn said. “Half the church comes from addiction.”

Osborn and Bernard both grew up boxing in Kensington. In the 1980s, one run-in almost ended with the future pastor punching out the future cop.

Bernard bloodied a man in a fight outside a neighborhood bar. He later learned the man was a good friend of Osborn — an “enforcer” for the notorious roofers union, and a rising boxer headed for national prizefights.

“I thought Buddy was gonna stuff me in a trash can,” Bernard said.

Decades later, the men reunited in middle age, bonded by their newfound faith and the deep challenges facing their home neighborhood.

Osborn had his own redemption arc.

» READ MORE: Fists, faith and Rock Ministries: Kensington's boxing church under the El

He often says the Rock dates back to his federal prison block. Osborn did five years for his role in the 1980s roofers union racketeering scheme, after the FBI caught him on tape beating up a man on behalf of his local. He found God after his release.

Bernard retired from the department in 2020. As a highway patrol officer and, later, a sergeant, he had locked up droves of drug dealers. Yet, Kensington remained Kensington.

Through the Rock, he saw another path. He began volunteering as a boxing trainer, convinced that his skills as a veteran cop would make him an asset. Osborn made him mop the floors.

“Sometimes in boxing, egos can get in the way,” Osborn said. But Bernard cleaned the Rock’s toilets without complaint, and the Rock pastor soon saw in him a shepherd who could lead his growing flock. He asked him to volunteer as chaplain leader.

“He’s a Kenzo like me,” Osborn said. “He understands the neighborhood. He understands the people.”

Bernard thought his first day on the job would be his last.

After reversing an overdose in McPherson Square, the victim, likely shocked by opioid withdrawal, spit in Bernard’s face. Appeal to reason, the ex-cop thought: “I was saving your life,” he told the man.

But when the man began gathering another mouthful of saliva, Bernard “slapped the spit out of his mouth,” to the horror of his chaplains standing nearby.

Since then, he said he has come to find tenderness. He learns from watching young chaplains like Katie Breen, 23, a missionary from northern Virginia.

On a sweltering Wednesday afternoon, Breen knelt next to an abandoned building to comfort April Stack, who had turned to opioids to cope with PTSD after a sexual assault. She eventually lost her job and became homeless. At 49, Stack has now stopped using and started taking Sublocade, a popular medical treatment to curb withdrawal. But housing remains out of reach.

“I’m just so sick of the broken system,” Stack said. “You feel like you’ve been abandoned for so long.”

Breen extended a hand, inviting her to come to the Rock: “You’re not alone. You’re my sister in Christ.”

» READ MORE: How speculators fueled a nightmare for Kensington residents — and could soon cash in

Police officers arrived to disperse a group of unhoused people on a corner where the chaplains had just offered services. Bernard said it was coincidental.

But the chaplains have recently faced scrutiny about their ties to the department. In May, police allowed chaplains into a restricted area during an encampment clearing, while non-city personnel were barred. Bernard said his team was escorted to reach someone who requested services. Police commanders sometimes call the Rock to help, but he said he does not receive special notice about police initiatives, noting the Rock was as blindsided as other neighborhood nonprofits about the department’s recent quality-of-life sweeps.

Bernard said the chaplains try to walk a line between rendering aid and restoring sanity.

Last year, his team rallied behind residents on Hart Lane who were contending with a notorious real estate speculator. They fenced off vacant lots to build a community garden, and showed up in court to oppose the property owner, whose neglected properties became havens for drug use.

Still, Bernard said he hears criticism from all sides: Some neighbors accuse the chaplains of being too gentle toward the homeless, while drug users sometimes get angry with them for asking them to move or stop using.

“If somebody has a bad experience, we need to show them another light,” Bernard said. “We’re learning it as we go.”

Rosalind Pichardo, a harm-reduction advocate who runs a drop-in center called Sunshine House across the street from the Rock, disagreed with the Rock’s large-group approach to outreach.

“It’s intimidating, it scares people,” she said. “A lot of folks out here have been hurt by a church, and they don’t necessarily trust pastors or people from the church.”

Five people with whom the chaplains engaged on a recent Wednesday told The Inquirer they appreciated the group’s efforts. By day’s end, no one accepted their offer to seek help with treatment. The chaplains were not deterred.

“Sometimes that happens,” Breen said, “but we’re planting seeds, watering them.”

Outside Osborn’s office at the Rock hangs a map of Kensington with colorful thumbtacks showing the Rock’s properties — the boxing gym, missionary houses, community gardens, and storefronts.

With the support of area lawmakers, the nonprofit recently secured a $250,000 state redevelopment grant to build its “Youth Factory,” a multiservice community center. The project will cost $1.7 million to build out of a warehouse on Kensington Avenue that once housed a legendary boxing ring called “the Blood Pit.”

Osborn also envisions opening a barbershop and a bakery. He’s in talks with the development firm Keating about an affordable housing project to prevent displacement of longtime residents. The pastor, who also serves as the chaplain for local building trades, wants to help young boxers find work as electricians and carpenters.

“We have connections to people, but we’ve never had any special treatment,” he said. “Do people respect the Rock? I would say so, yeah, because not here to rob the community, or for notoriety.”

On Aug. 10, Osborn hosted the annual “Rock the Block” party on the Avenue, and fittingly, it was the Rock’s biggest to date.

For six hours, police closed half a mile of the Avenue to vehicles. Kids played in bouncy castles and boxed in a makeshift ring while Rock chaplains preached through loudspeakers.

Osborn climbed into the boxing ring at 3 p.m., the Rocky theme blaring under the El. As the music crescendoed, he dropped to his knees and pointed to fingers up in the air — pointing to his higher power.

Then, to Kensington, he said: “This is where I wanna die. I wanna finish my life here.”