This summer we took the kids who come to our weekly Bible Club to a farm outside the city to pick raspberries. We wanted to give the kids an experience that most of them have never had before, to get out of the city, and get an idea of where their food comes from. After our Bible lesson we loaded up the vans and headed west out of the city on I-94. 45 minutes later we took the exit off the freeway. After a few miles the kids began to realize that they weren’t in Milwaukee anymore. The concrete sidewalks and rows of houses were replaced by barns, silos, and rows and rows of corn. They started asking questions. “Where are we?” “What is that?” “Where is everybody?” “Who lives out here?” As we drove on we just saw more and more fields. And then the horror movie references started coming out. “Jason lives out here!” (No, they were not talking about our pastor!) “I think I just saw Freddy!” “This is where the Texas Chainsaw Massacre happened!” Windows started to get rolled up. Doors got locked. I started to laugh as I explained how I grew up around a bunch of cornfields like the ones we were seeing. “But someone’s gonna come out of there and get us!” As we pulled into the farm the kids had convinced themselves that evil chainsaw wielding zombies would be coming out of the corn to decapitate us all. “We’re not getting out of the van!” After some convincing that no one was going to come murder us they began to get out. And we had an awesome time picking and eating raspberries. On the way home they talked about how cool it was to be on the farm and that it was so neat to see where the food came from. There was no more talk about evil zombies coming out of the corn to chop us into pieces.
Sadly, just as the kids had fear about the country, where they’ve never been, many people are scared of the city, where the kids live. The fear that zombies will come out of the corn is just as crazy to think as there’s nothing but drugs in violence in the hood. We all have fears of the things we don’t know. It’s different, so we put up walls and begin to think the worst. Our fears keep us away and separate us from those things we don’t know. But the kids from our Bible Club show us that when we take the time to experience what we’re afraid of, we might find something wonderful and beautiful. What we thought produced evil, scary murderers might actually produce the food that we need to survive. If we face the fears we have about the central city, we might find that what we thought was a dangerous, no good place, might actually lead us to loving, generous people who can teach us about life, and about God. Where are the places you don’t want to go, the people you don’t want to meet? Maybe you need to encounter the other, and find the beauty that God wants you to discover there.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
spat on
It was safe on The Outside. Before I knew anything. Before I'd ever stopped to think once about class or race, wealth distribution or justice, my calling and how that might impact more than just where I serve on a Sunday morning or Wednesday night.
But He drew me in.
With cords of loving kindness and the heart of a Father who loves His child too much to allow her to stay playing among the posies as the world just beyond her gaze wilted and turned to dust.
And so I began to see.
Like having eyes for the first time, I began to see the world beyond the grayscale in which I had been living. Shadows that had lurked around corners in the fantastically unaware world of The Outside became violent, corrosive problems that were not shadows at all, but rather a cancer eating away deep at the heart of humanity.
Pained cries and shouts of injustice that had but echoed faintly on The Outside now deafened my ears. I could hear nothing else but the heart of the Father whisper.
And so I was called.
And I pressed in.
I pressed in to see more clearly. To hear the cries to which I'm still turning deaf ears in the name of convenience. To understand. To experience. To follow my Lord.
Sometimes those who press in are spat on, those who dare to cross borders.
Sometimes we go unnoticed, unseen, and we are often misunderstood.
But we press on. Even when we're spat on.
The Son of God put on flesh and came to live with us. He pressed in.
It was safe on The Outside, but that wouldn't do. The calling of the Divine is higher than that of Smokey the Bear. We are meant for more than safety.
Son of God, put on flesh, come to dwell...and be spat on.
If I would aspire so high as to become like Christ, the meaning would reach beyond my language usage or how I spend my Friday night. Jesus came to dwell. He reached in, drawn by His own ties of loving kindness and moved in with the ones who spat on Him.
He went unnoticed, unseen, and always misunderstood.
He gave up home and security, comfort and consistency, all the beauty and power we've yet to even comprehend to be broken. Poured out like water.
Spat on.
Spat on by me to this day.
Yet He came. He lived. He stayed. His Holy Presence indwelling still.
It was safe on The Outside, but now I'm in. It's part of who I am, who we're called to be.
Living examples of the risen Christ, putting on flesh and moving in.
And living.
And staying.
Even when we're spat on.
But He drew me in.
With cords of loving kindness and the heart of a Father who loves His child too much to allow her to stay playing among the posies as the world just beyond her gaze wilted and turned to dust.
And so I began to see.
Like having eyes for the first time, I began to see the world beyond the grayscale in which I had been living. Shadows that had lurked around corners in the fantastically unaware world of The Outside became violent, corrosive problems that were not shadows at all, but rather a cancer eating away deep at the heart of humanity.
Pained cries and shouts of injustice that had but echoed faintly on The Outside now deafened my ears. I could hear nothing else but the heart of the Father whisper.
And so I was called.
And I pressed in.
I pressed in to see more clearly. To hear the cries to which I'm still turning deaf ears in the name of convenience. To understand. To experience. To follow my Lord.
Sometimes those who press in are spat on, those who dare to cross borders.
Sometimes we go unnoticed, unseen, and we are often misunderstood.
But we press on. Even when we're spat on.
The Son of God put on flesh and came to live with us. He pressed in.
It was safe on The Outside, but that wouldn't do. The calling of the Divine is higher than that of Smokey the Bear. We are meant for more than safety.
Son of God, put on flesh, come to dwell...and be spat on.
If I would aspire so high as to become like Christ, the meaning would reach beyond my language usage or how I spend my Friday night. Jesus came to dwell. He reached in, drawn by His own ties of loving kindness and moved in with the ones who spat on Him.
He went unnoticed, unseen, and always misunderstood.
He gave up home and security, comfort and consistency, all the beauty and power we've yet to even comprehend to be broken. Poured out like water.
Spat on.
Spat on by me to this day.
Yet He came. He lived. He stayed. His Holy Presence indwelling still.
It was safe on The Outside, but now I'm in. It's part of who I am, who we're called to be.
Living examples of the risen Christ, putting on flesh and moving in.
And living.
And staying.
Even when we're spat on.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Kids on the Block
People are looking at us. Not us. Me. I look suspicious. A white man driving a car full of black kids. In the most segregated city in the country. But statistics do not make people; people make statistics.
The girl in the front seat? A few nights ago she was crying on our front steps. I wondered how long she’d been sitting there. Kevin asked her what was wrong. Megan sat down and the girl pressed into her, eyes squeezed shut, as if wanting to be absorbed. Someone else’s mother called out. The girl walked over to her. “She just can’t find her mama,” the mother said.
The boy in the back seat? The other night he was holding his baby sister. “’Sup Ben?” He nodded, implying that holding a baby was now cool, because he was doing it. This is the same boy who recently rode his bike right in front of my car without looking. I imagined hitting him, holding his little body in the road, saying, No. No. No.
The boy sitting next to him? A couple days ago he asked, “Could you bring out the hoop?” I followed him to the garage, unlocked it, reached for the handle to lift up the door and stopped. “I’ve got to get a glove to lift it up,” I said, remembering how thin and sharp the handle is. “It’s fine, I’ve got it,” he said, gripping the handle and yanking upward. “You’ve got thick skin.” I told him. He smiled and held up his hand. It was bleeding.
“Does everyone have on their seatbelts?” I ask, checking the rear view mirror. I don’t see any kids. I lower the mirror and three little faces look back. While they are in my car I will keep them safe.
The girl in the front seat? A few nights ago she was crying on our front steps. I wondered how long she’d been sitting there. Kevin asked her what was wrong. Megan sat down and the girl pressed into her, eyes squeezed shut, as if wanting to be absorbed. Someone else’s mother called out. The girl walked over to her. “She just can’t find her mama,” the mother said.
The boy in the back seat? The other night he was holding his baby sister. “’Sup Ben?” He nodded, implying that holding a baby was now cool, because he was doing it. This is the same boy who recently rode his bike right in front of my car without looking. I imagined hitting him, holding his little body in the road, saying, No. No. No.
The boy sitting next to him? A couple days ago he asked, “Could you bring out the hoop?” I followed him to the garage, unlocked it, reached for the handle to lift up the door and stopped. “I’ve got to get a glove to lift it up,” I said, remembering how thin and sharp the handle is. “It’s fine, I’ve got it,” he said, gripping the handle and yanking upward. “You’ve got thick skin.” I told him. He smiled and held up his hand. It was bleeding.
“Does everyone have on their seatbelts?” I ask, checking the rear view mirror. I don’t see any kids. I lower the mirror and three little faces look back. While they are in my car I will keep them safe.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Mattresses and Ministry the life of me.
Mattresses… I had never really given them much thought before. I can sleep on pretty much anything and wake up the next day feeling fine. I’ve always appreciated my ability to sleep anywhere. Airplanes, trains, buses, the floor. I never ever thought that my first big boy job with benefits, insurance, and the delightful concept of a paid vacation would be selling mattresses.
When Meg and I decided that we wanted to answer God’s call on our lives to minister and love children, especially those from tough situations, and live among them I knew I was going to need to get another job as well. But mattresses…Really? Weird? I never grew up thinking about being a mattress salesman…
Having a calling and spending forty hours a week on something that’s not my calling makes for an interesting situation. In some ways it’s fantastic. The kids in the neighborhood see me get up, put on a tie, and go to work every day to provide for my family and that is a wonderful. They don’t often see examples of that type of behavior modeled for them and I love that aspect of my job. I have wonderful bosses that allow me to only work 4 days a week instead of five and still receive benefits and vacation time. They are flexible with my schedule and I was able to come to all of VBS this past week and that was fantastic and wonderful time to see God work. I get each Tuesday off so that I can be here at the house for bible club and be a part of what God is doing through that.
Other days it’s a little tougher. I missed a lot of basketball games that kids in the neighborhood wanted me to attend because I work eleven hours on Saturday and that’s game day. Some days the store is slammed and I come home really tired and all I want to do is sit inside my house and rest, not go and play cans with the 9 year old next store. Having to work the occasional Sunday afternoon and rush out of church as soon as the sermon is over. Less time to spend planning what I am going to teach on a Sunday morning in Sunday school.
All in all being bi vocational is working out really well. Megan and I love being at TCC and being a part of the community. We love being here in the neighborhood, seeing community built and racial barriers being torn down. God is blessing our ministry both here in the community house and at the church on Sunday mornings. We are seeing those two groups interact more and more and it’s a wonderful thing. Our bills are paid and we’re getting the chance to do what we’re called to do with our lives. Some days were tired and worn, but God and the community that makes up TCC fills and recharges our batteries. God has us exactly where he wants us to be and is working in ways we would never expect, like a mattress store.
When Meg and I decided that we wanted to answer God’s call on our lives to minister and love children, especially those from tough situations, and live among them I knew I was going to need to get another job as well. But mattresses…Really? Weird? I never grew up thinking about being a mattress salesman…
Having a calling and spending forty hours a week on something that’s not my calling makes for an interesting situation. In some ways it’s fantastic. The kids in the neighborhood see me get up, put on a tie, and go to work every day to provide for my family and that is a wonderful. They don’t often see examples of that type of behavior modeled for them and I love that aspect of my job. I have wonderful bosses that allow me to only work 4 days a week instead of five and still receive benefits and vacation time. They are flexible with my schedule and I was able to come to all of VBS this past week and that was fantastic and wonderful time to see God work. I get each Tuesday off so that I can be here at the house for bible club and be a part of what God is doing through that.
Other days it’s a little tougher. I missed a lot of basketball games that kids in the neighborhood wanted me to attend because I work eleven hours on Saturday and that’s game day. Some days the store is slammed and I come home really tired and all I want to do is sit inside my house and rest, not go and play cans with the 9 year old next store. Having to work the occasional Sunday afternoon and rush out of church as soon as the sermon is over. Less time to spend planning what I am going to teach on a Sunday morning in Sunday school.
All in all being bi vocational is working out really well. Megan and I love being at TCC and being a part of the community. We love being here in the neighborhood, seeing community built and racial barriers being torn down. God is blessing our ministry both here in the community house and at the church on Sunday mornings. We are seeing those two groups interact more and more and it’s a wonderful thing. Our bills are paid and we’re getting the chance to do what we’re called to do with our lives. Some days were tired and worn, but God and the community that makes up TCC fills and recharges our batteries. God has us exactly where he wants us to be and is working in ways we would never expect, like a mattress store.
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