Hoopin'

Sometime last spring a bunch of the kids in the neighborhood were talking about how they wanted a good hoop to play basketball on. At that time the kids had few options. Some of the kids tried to play at Washington High School, where there were so many kids playing that they would have to wait to get in a game. Some of the kids were too young to join in with the older kids that played there and others weren’t always allowed to go there to play anyway. The only other option was playing on an old, beat up hoop, so bent that it was better to shoot line drives through rather than giving your shot some arc.

The kids wanted a good hoop that would be easily accessible to them. So I began to ask questions about how much a hoop costs, and where they could get that money. The overwhelming majority thought that selling candy bars was going to get them the money to get a hoop. We set up a deal where I would buy the candy bars, and walk with them around the neighborhood to sell them. They would pay me back out of the money they made, and anything above that would go towards buying a hoop. After the kids learned that eating the candy bars wouldn’t help them make money, we started making progress. We sold a lot of candy bars. And we had one very unsuccessful lemonade stand. It took awhile, but eventually we had some money for a hoop. But then it started getting cold. Winter came, and I told the kids to wait until spring and we would get a hoop.

About a month ago I went out and bought the hoop and a few days after that we started putting it together. Despite the adversity of Tim coming by and seeding the backyard and thus watering us as much as the backyard, we got the hoop up.

Now the hoop is being used constantly. Everyday someone will come over and ask me to “take out the court.” It has been used almost every day from after school until dark, and all day on the weekends. The kids love having a good hoop they can play on. They are taking ownership of it too. They are keeping an eye on it and making sure that it is being taken care of, and put away safely at night. This is the hoop that they worked for.

Love and Justice

Leslie Newbigin is one the most influential voices in the area of missiology (the study and practice of mission). I was reading over some of his work in "the Open Secret" and again was amazed by the quote below. It is something the church needs to hear again and again.

I once heard someone say, "If we cannot hear the cry of the oppressed then we are probably the oppressors." The work of the church - whether local or international must be centered around the work of Christ's love for the world and God's desire for restorative justice. Salvation is only complete when the two held together like a double helix.

How can we hold these two together today in our context?

"Any talk of salvation apart from action for the liberation of the exploited is false. It is part of a false theology that is determined by an idealist philosophy and not by the revelation of God as he is the in the Bible. Wherever we look in the Old Testament we find that the prophets and psalmists speak of salvation in terms of actual historic happenings: deliverance from famine, sickness, danger, enemies, and oppression. Therefore, for the biblical writers, to “know the Lord” is not a matter of intellectual contemplation or mystical union; it is a matter of doing justice and mercy in concrete situations. When Jeremiah comments sarcastically on the kings’ building program, he contrasts the king’s conduct with that of the king’s father and says: “He [the father] judged the cause of the poor and needy; then it was well. Is not this to know me? Says the Lord (Jer 22:16). Those who claim to know the Lord but do evil are deceived. They are far from God. And the same teaching is given in the New Testament. There is no knowledge of God apart from the love of God, and there is no love of God apart from the love of the neighbor. “He who does not love does not know God.” Love and justice are distinct concepts, but where justice is denied love is certainly denied. If the economic order is such that the owners of land and capital can and do exploit and oppress the workers, then the commandment of love must mean more than marginal acts of personal charity; it must mean action to end exploitation. It must mean actions for liberation of which the Exodus is the model, and this must mean taking the side of the exploited and fighting against the exploiter. Fundamental to the theology of liberation is the refusal to allow a separation between truth and actions."

Leslie Newbigin “The Open Secret” p. 97

Dye

The week before Easter the rain descends upon the city. It gathers everything in its toothless mouth and gums until everything is glop. Across the street from our house, in a tree, there is a pale plastic bag hung on a branch. It looks like the shroud of a ghost. It sags as though it once carried something heavy and now is empty.

The local newspaper’s website reports that publicly funded food assistance is a fraud. Some recipients sell their food cards for cash. Some for drugs. The newspaper subscribers comment about what should be done.

A detective knocks on our door and warns of a young man in a dark hooded sweatshirt who has been abducting young women and assaulting them in abandoned garages. “Have you seen anything out of the ordinary?” He asks. I look around the neighborhood. “What is out of the ordinary?” I ask.

At Bible Study the children attempt to dye eggs and succeed in dyeing their hands; it looks like they have strangled rainbows. With water and soap they rinse and wash and rinse and wash but the stains are still there.

The week after Easter the rain descends again upon the city. Most of the bag is gone; a few tattered strips are the only evidence of it. Something must have carried it away.

Children of God

Even as a child I hated children. I saw them as messengers from Satan. He planted mockery in their moist minds and it bloomed out of their mouths and I kept that vile bloom in a vase. I grew up changing the water, giving it fertilizer, keeping it alive. Until as an adult I hated children.

Then God asked me to move into this community house, in a neighborhood swarming with children.

“God!” I laughed, “You are so funny.”
“I am,” He replied, “But now I’m serious.”

God has a sense of humor, but I have no sense, so often he is reduced to a running joke, which runs me over until I understand.

“God!” I shouted, “I’ll move in. Are you happy?”
“I am,” He replied, “Now do it.”

So I did. I took things down and put them up. I lifted things up and set them down. I sat down and I stood up. I thought, I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know why I’m doing it.

And the children came unto me. Loudly.

Actually, they came unto a weekly bible club. It's led by my 4 housemates, who in personality and/or appearance resemble a Doberman Pinscher, a Border Collie, a Golden Retriever and a Beagle. They make a good team.

I am the Chihuahua. At every child's squeal, my eyes bulge and my body trembles.

This week the leader is talking about how even though Jesus was God, He washed the feet of people. Even those He didn’t like. Even His enemies.

The leader requests that the children remove their socks. After reveling in a theatrical ecstasy of disgust, they do. He takes old ice cream buckets and fills them with water. His big hands lower their little feet into the water. Their squeals sound different.

“Could I wash someone’s feet?’ I say, but none of us hear me.

I watch and wait. I wait and watch. Long, longer, too long, long enough.

“Could I wash someone’s feet?’ I say again.
“Oh, I don’t think there’s anyone left,” The leader says.

Sadness settles around my heart. Something was opened for a moment, and I didn’t enter it. The children did.