City of Brotherly Love? Part II

Carl is a heroin addict. I know this because he told me. Actually he told me he had just shot up about five or ten minutes ago. We were in a neighborhood called Somerset. According to the group we were working with that day it is the worst drug corner in Philadelphia. Police had a mobile unit set up and rode around on bikes. When the cop disappeared around the corner a flurry of activity picked up until a spotter saw the police coming again. We were there handing out sack lunches and listening to people's stories.

Carl was the first person I met as we piled out of the van. He was more than happy to take the lunch as he hadn't eaten that day. He wondered why we were there, in Somerset, at night, talking with heroin addicts. I just said we were there because God loved us and we wanted to spread a little bit of that love, if only with a pb&j and an open ear. At this point Carl started crying and asking God why He would love a heroin addict and a failed father like him. At first I wanted to say something to him, to help him understand that love a little more, but Carl had already clasped his hands, tucked them to his chin and through a sobbing voice thanked Jesus for that love. I've said thank you for your love. I think at times, very dark times, I've said it out of all sorts of desperation and craving, but Carl cried out from the bottom of a barrel surrounded by needles and self-hatred. I don't know that I've ever seen such genuine, raw, worship of God.

Carl started to sway back and forth as if losing his balance, then he started actually losing his balance. We helped him to the ground where his eyes rolled back into his head as he convulsed. A friend of his came over and told us he has these caesuras every so often and that we shouldn't call the ambulance, Carl wouldn't want that. After about thirty seconds of kneeling over Carl, feeling his shoulder's weight convulsing on my foot, he rolled over and vomited up the half sandwich he had eaten on the sidewalk. After a couple of minutes we helped him back up and started the conversation all over again, "Why are you here?" This time the question was more about disbelief than curiosity. I repeated my previous answer, which sent him into another bout of praises to God. As he hugged me and buried his head in my chest, in my incomplete love I was disgusted by the thought of his vomit rubbing off on my leather jacket. In the face of the urger to push him away I forced myself to embrace him more. Carl then asked who we were and why we were there. His short term memory and sense of reality was shot, which only makes me think of his praise as more genuine.

Allow me to explain.

The only surgery I ever had was the removal of my wisdom teeth. This being my first time going under, I was rather nervous about saying something stupid in my state of anestesia, especially because the nurse administering the drugs was rather stunning. She had freckles; I'm a sucker for freckles. As I counted backwards from ten I yelled at myself to keep my mouth shut. There is something unnerving about the prospect that your darkest thoughts might be unearthed.

After what felt like three minutes later, I started coming out of the fog. I was sitting in an office with my mother and the cute nurse with freckles. We were talking about after surgery items, like keeping mass amounts of gauze in my mouth and not chewing gum for a while lest it bust open my stitches or get stuck in the new holes in my head. And as the doctor rambled on I started regaining my memory and realized what happened as soon as I came to in the OR.

Freckles: "Hey there. How are you feeling?" *said with a voice that would sail a thousand ships*

Me: "Uh," yawn "Good. I didn't say anything stupid did I?"

Freckles: *adorable giggle* "No. No you didn't. Those were your first words."

Me: (Thinking to myself, but apparently out loud) "Good, I was afraid I was going to say something embarrassing. You know since your so hot."

Back in the room with my mother and Freckles I fought the urge to palm my face. I stopped looking her in the eyes. The point is, I think, that the things we establish in our sane moments are revealed in our delusions, which makes me think that what meant more than anything in the world to Carl was the outlandish idea that God loved his heroin pumping heart.

P.S.

It comforts me to know that there is a man named Harry who heads down to that corner with his wife every Friday night with a sack lunch and words of love for Carl. Harry has already helped Carl's sister get into rehab and he continues to encourage Carl to do the same. Harry, who formerly visited Somerset as a customer, works with a group called Inner City Missions (www.innercitymissions.org) which is run by people from that neighborhood who were once part of the drug problem but now desire to see people freed from the chains that once held them.

City of Brotherly Love? Part I

Over the next few weeks I'll be digging up stories from my time in Philadelphia with a group called Urban Hope. This is my way of processing everything that happened, so really you're just joining me as I try to figure out what it is that I've learned.

My drive toward Warsaw, Indiana was a bit unnerving. I knew practically nothing about the trip, other than we were going to Philly. I also had no clue who was going on the trip with me. With the exception of one informational meeting, I knew no one who climbed on that old BlueBird school bus, which motivated me to stick my nose in a book for most of the ride.

Just before leaving, Courtney had recommended The Same Kind of Different as Me, the autobiography of a man who grew up as a sharecropper in the south, hopped a train at thirty to the city, succumbed to drugs and homelessness, spent every night for over a year praying beside a dumpster for a close friend, and went almost daily to a nursing home to care for and clean up a severely racist old man who only referred to him as 'nigger.' There is more to it than all of that, and you should probably read the book, but I think it represents the tension of love and addiction that I encountered on the streets of Philadelphia.

It's easy to pretend the world is a simple place, that people are homeless because they are lazy, or do drugs because they make the choice to do so, and that all drug dealers care about is an easy dollar. This sort of oversimplification makes it easier to deal with life. If I see a man on the street with a sign it's easier to look away if I think that he should have known better, or worked harder, or paid attention in school instead of doing drugs. I can reassure myself that I am helping him by not helping. If I give him a dollar, he'll probably just buy drugs. Besides, he probably makes $30,000 a year begging. We can always find excuses. But as I learned in Philly, if we actually stop and listen we will find that there are individual people with individual problems. Who knows, they might even become a mirror.

So I will be telling a few of those stories that I was able to listen to; like Sean, who apparently did two drug deals while we talked about him, or Carl, who worshiped God over a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich before and after his heroin induced caesurae, or Gino, who had turned down a salary because he was still afraid of what money would do to him.

I have to warn you, my experiences were limited in time and scope. While I hope this serves as an inspiration to further understand the complexity of poverty, as well as people, consider this as about as comprehensive and studied as the recent Kony phenomena. There is simply no way that with my limited experience I will be able to do more than broach the subject at this point. I'm just trying to process the things I did see and hear. I hope to do some more reading on the topic myself, and I'll be sure to pass on whatever resources I come across.

May I learn to look people in the eye and listen.

Jason's Letter to the Church in the US

Please understand my title as tongue in cheek. I am not the voice of God. Do, however, listen carefully because I think I am asking questions that try to get to the heart of God.

Political season is gearing up, or rather already has been. The Republican primary has turned into a circus. We will soon be finishing up the spec and moving into the main event, kicked off by renewed 'birther' controversy that will probably hit the fan within a day or so. And I cringe.

Not because I think the ongoing controversy is possibly idiotic (I do), but because of what I fear the church will do with it, and this new election.

I fear for the church, not so much that it will entirely fall apart, but that we will sink into another political cat fight. You know that whole thing where everyone else accuses everyone else of not being a faithful follower of Jesus because they didn't vote a certain way. I have a specific church in mind that had members leave because of their disgust with the acceptance of a political diversity. Though it comes from both sides, the reality is that the louder voice of contention comes from the religious right.

It seems I have tipped my hand. I am obviously an Obama advocate. No, not really. I don't find him to be the idiot that most Christians I talk to claim, but my ideals actually line up the most (which in this case is about 25%) with Ron Paul. Mostly I just like that I know exactly what Paul has thought about things for the last twenty years. However, you should take this 'endorsement' as nothing more than an acknowledgement that if we sat and expressed personal opinions about things, we would agree slightly more often than I would be the case with other candidates.

But really, I'm not exactly here to talk about polotics.

I'm here to talk about why I intentionally did not vote in 2008 and may not in 2012 It's not because I'm being lazy about it. In fact I'd like to think I've been following polotics quite well.

And why didn't I vote?

I think it is important to be involved in the political process, to give one's opinion, and to appreciate democracy. I encourage people to be thoroughly informed, something more than just spouting off whatever Rachel Maddow, or Glenn Beck said this week (Which Beck actually recommends himself). However, my priority is a kingdom that is not of this earth. The Bible says that we are aliens, ambassadors, passers-through on this planet. I think those terms (among other items) should place a weight on us about our role on this earth that reminds us that political ideals take third or fourth chair in relation to God's kingdom. I repeat, be involved, and vote, but realize that the voice you lift up as a Christian in politics can affect assumptions people have about Jesus in ways that may not necessarily be true of Him.

I've heard it said that if you don't vote you can't bitch. Well in the case of the kingdom of God, I decided to not vote so I could bitch. Essentially I didn't want the concerns I raise to be confused with bitterness that my team didn't win. Whether that was the right decision or not, God knows. It is what it is.

So these are my requests -no, my pleas for the church in the United States.

1) As Jesus prayed for us in his final hours, may we seek unity. Jesus compiled a group of political opposites, revolutionaries, Roman IRS agents, secessionists, and blue collar workers, and made the kingdom of God their priority. These radically different men added thousands of Barbarians, Scythians, Slaves, and Millionaires to this body of misfits. I believe that priority is still present today.

2) While I don't advocate the issue of 'political correctness,' I do advocate the unbending love of God that is perceptive and compassionate, seeking to convince others of Christ, removing any obstacles to that person seeing the savior more clearly. Have political discussions, be honest, but allow the Spirit of God to let you know when your disdain for 'political correctness' might keep someone from encountering God.

3) Recognize that it is God who establishes authorities, and not just the ones you like. We are told to honor the king, and to pray for him. This language comes out of a Roman concession to the Jews. Instead of offering sacrifices to the emperor, they offered sacrifices on his behalf to God. You may not always like the person in power, but God has called you to live in the tension of giving honor to the one you disagree with. It's helpful to remember our problem in that tension tends to be failure in the honoring category. We don't seem to have problems letting people know what we don't like.

I'm sure there is a lot more to say, but these (in my opinion) are the most important.

I'll leave Gungor to add a final point.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-WybvhRu9KU

Recognizing Misconceptions

It's easy to think that when we talk we are saying something obvious and clear. If someone rejects what we say they are clearly rejecting what we think we are communicating, right? Not necessarily.

Speakers at very large youth seminars like to talk about how we shouldn't be ashamed to tell everyone who Jesus is, all the time. Just lay it out there and let people accept or reject it.

I think Jesus would have had a problem with this. Jesus recognized that people often have certain hangups that take time to get past before they can hear about an idea. Jesus himself actually did this. On multiple occasions Jesus told people not to tell others that he was the Messiah. So Jesus was ashamed of himself? No, not really. He was considerate of other people and their assumptions.

Jesus knew that the Jewish perception of the Messiah was so far off target that he avoided the term, even though he was in fact the Messiah. Instead he used an obscure term hidden in Daniel called Son of Man. He then told them who the Son of Man was and what he would do, that he would tear down the temple and rebuild it in three days. After his death and resurrection his followers went around telling people that the Son of Man was the Messiah. Youth pastors that look like Brad Pitt would like to tell you that you shouldn't care what people think, but Jesus did care.

And here we are today, and if I'm honest I hesitate when people ask for quick responses about faith. Not because I'm ashamed of what I believe, I just realize that it takes anywhere from good hour of conversation to a lifetime to even begin working past assumptions about what "Christians" are and who Jesus is.

I want people to know who Jesus is, but I want people to know who Jesus is, and that takes more than thirty seconds, especially when all the little Jesus people have been running around for so long yelling that dirty people are a nuisance to him.