Worlds Collide

This week had a much different dynamic than the past two. One group was from a church in Murfreesboro, TN and the other two were from Community Church Without Walls and East Lake, two inner-city Birmingham churches. When the groups pulled up, I immediately became nervous about how they would all interact with one another.

Unfortunately, I felt like I had been transported back to the 1960’s on the first night when after the evening program was done there was a very clear line down the middle of the room separating the groups into the white kids and the black kids. I became even more discouraged when during evening programming on the next night the youth minister from Murfreesboro completely turned his back and ignored a groups of inner city kids when the groups were told to combine into one larger group.

On Monday I went with a group to Highlands United Methodist Church in Five Points. We served nearly 140 homeless individuals bagels, coffee, fruit, and juice. Highlands has a wonderful homeless ministry and is doing great things to reach out to the homeless population in Birmingham. Volunteers serve breakfast six days a week at 9 a.m. There is also a clothes closet where people can get clothes as well as a laundry service where people can have a load of laundry done every week. Because many do not have a permanent address, people can choose to have their mail delivered to the church. Highlands also has an I.D. ministry. They help people who are homeless and no longer have documents such as a birth certificate or social security card get a new copy. Without these documents it is impossible to get into many treatment programs or get many available jobs.

Even though getting to serve breakfast was a humbling experience, getting to sit down and talk with many of the individuals was even more humbling. The first man I met was a man named Herman. Herman reminded me of Nathaniel Ayers, the main character in the movie The Soloist. Herman and Nathanial are both rather eccentric in their choice of clothing. Herman had on short, colorful shorts that reminded me of something a professional wrestler might wear. Combine that with the British flag tied around his waist, over-sized leather vest, and shin-high leather wrappings on his legs and you've got a Nathaniel look alike. I’m not sure if he’s ever been diagnosed, but Herman spoke in long, unrelated sentences as if he too was schizophrenic like Nathaniel. After hearing about his wife, eight children, and how much he hated Birmingham, I left Herman to continue his job of making sure no one stole the sugar canisters at the coffee table. He took his job very seriously.

If you haven’t seen The Soloist, I highly recommend it. Here’s the link to the trailer. http://www.soloistmovie.com/

After getting the scoop on Herman’s life story, I talked with Kesha and Raquel. Kesha looked to be in her mid fifties, Raquel in her late twenties. We talked about the weather and other surfaced things. As we talked different people would walk by. “That’s my nephew,” Kesha would say. “That’s my brother,” Raquel would point out. I guess the confusion on my face was evident because Raquel turned to me and explained that everyone who lives on the streets is family. “On the streets, we really are family. We take care of one another. If one of us gets something that other people need, we share it. It’s not like the corporate world where people say, ‘That’s my doctor, my co-worker, my lawyer.’ On the streets we call each other brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers. Sometimes I think we’re the lucky ones.”

I heard story after story of spending time in jail and being released only to find that everything had changed and there was nowhere for them to return. I heard stories of drug addictions, sleeping in doorways, and being assaulted by police officers just because they looked like drug addicts. The morning ended with two men playing the piano and flute together. For a moment, it seemed not like 140 homeless men and women surrounded me but that the world was exactly like God intended it to be. “Let the fellowship of Christ examine itself and see whether it has given any token of the love of Christ to the victims of the world’s contumely and contempt, any token of that love which seeks to preserve, support, and protect life,” says Bonhoeffer. I thank God for Highlands United Methodist church being a body willing to respond to a need, err on the side of grace, and be a people of faith instead of fear.

Later Monday afternoon we began work on Mr. Chambers house. Mr. Chambers is a recluse who suffers from seizures and is afraid to get behind the wheel of a car for fear of hurting himself or someone else. He rarely leaves his home. He looks a bit like the Unabomber, but I assure you their personalities are completely different.

For programming on Monday night we did a poverty exercise. In the United States, the poverty threshold for a family of four (including two children) is $21, 834. The goal of the exercise was for the kids to try and make a budget for various, unconventional families with a poverty threshold income. Many of the kids from West End and East Lake were from families much like the ones in the exercise. It was good for the kids from Murfreesboro and Birmingham to work together in the exercise and for their worlds to collide.

For information on poverty in Alabama visit www.alabamapoverty.org. Be sure to check out the facts and myths section! (P.S. – Alabama is the only state that has a tax on food – 4%. We tax our poor, but that’s another blog entirely.)

That night, the Berlin Wall again erected itself in the middle of the common room. After a fight had been broken up between Eric, a 4’10’’ 160 pound boy, and LaQuisha, a 5’11” 200 pound girl, one of the boys from East lake asked their leader as he looked across the forbidden line, “Don’t you sometimes wish you had a group like them, Cheryl?” She looked at him and said, “No! I had that once, and I chose you.” She had tears in her eyes when she told me the story. I don’t think I will every meet someone with more grace, patience and silent strength as Cheryl.

By Wednesday, my frustration and anger with the youth minister from Murfreesboro had become almost debilitating. His lack of interaction with and love for the kids from Birmingham had pushed me to my edge. Then I realized I was becoming idealistic, and I was no better than him. I didn’t love him the way I wanted him to love the Birmingham kids. It’s a dangerous place to be when you think you’ve got Christianity, love, and grace figured out. It’s as if we are equating ourselves to God when we do that. In a way, it’s easier for me to love the homeless man or the small child from West End than it is for me to love the privileged youth minister from suburbia. Yes, God calls us to love “the least of these,” but in doing that I don’t think he intended us to forget about those who have more in this life. So, I now step off of my ivory tower because when you’re up that high, there’s nothing left to do but fall.

Christianity knows no borders or people groups. In the words of Rob Bell, “We see all of the differences first, and only later, maybe, do we begin to see the similarities. There should be only one label: human. And, there should be only one response: love. With every action, comment, or gesture we are inviting either heaven or hell to earth regardless of whom we encounter.

One more week, and I’m beach bound. Peace and love.

Jesus Lives in West End

Week two has come and gone. We had three groups this time. The difference in the kids this week was like night and day. They all arrived around the same time Sunday afternoon. After dinner, orientation, and a couple games of Egyptian Rat Slap (a card game), I could tell we were in for not just a productive work week but a productive growing week as well.

We started work on Ms. Gibson's house on Monday. She is a woman in her late forties to early fifties. She lost her job as a result of the poor economic times. She was recently elected president of her neighborhood and had a beautiful garden that brought a sense of hope and brightness to her otherwise run down street. As we pulled up to her house, a red bird flew in front of my windshield. It reminded me of my Gran and gave me a feeling of affirmation in what I have chosen to do this summer. Gran loved red birds. I miss that woman. I miss the sight of her hands - arthritic ridden and curled as though she was constantly holding on to an imaginary something. I miss the sound of her voice and the feeling of love and belonging I had when she called me "Sweets." I miss her smell. She always smelled so clean as if she had just applied non-scented lotion not minutes before. Sometimes when I'm home, I'll catch a faint lingering of her scent. I always pause for a moment to allow myself to fully inhale the clean scent that was once hers.

I tell that antecdote to attempt to describe the woman my grandmother was. I'm thankful for the red bird I saw that day not just for the nostalgic feeling and sense of purpose it gave me but for the reminder of the importance of grace and hope it gave me after the last frustrating week. Never had there been a woman filled with so much kindness and grace towards people and hope for the future like my Gran.

We made fabulous progress the first day on the site, and my group was determined to finish the house by the end of the week after seeing how much they had accomplished in one day.

On Tuesday night, Michael spoke about his life growing up during the Civil Rights movement and his struggle with drugs. He talked about being arrested multiple times for marching and protesting in Birmingham. He talked about first becoming addicted to marijuana and then moving to more hard core subsintences. "Life will probably be a struggle until the day that I die," he said. When he bagan to talk about his children and being addicted to drugs when they were younger he started to choke up. It was his daughter that finally pushed him to get help. With tears in his eyes he told us that she looked at him one day and said, "Daddy, I'm tired of people saying bad things about you. When are you going to wake up?" With that, he got help from a local church and lived there for eight months while getting clean. He and the pastor then formed a program that 1,400 drug addicts came through to get help. Michael helped lead the program and every one of them in their struggle to recover. Dietrich Bonhoeffer says in his book The Cost of Discipleship, "As Christ bears our burdens so ought we bear the burdens of our fellow men." Michael is the perfect example of one who is filled with grace and lovingly lets that grace overflow to others through the bearing of their burdens.

Michael used to sing in various gospel groups. He still loves to sing. After his talk, with tears still in his eyes, he sang a song. As he sang, he stood with such a commanding confidence that not an eye could look from him. The tears then transferred from his eyes to my own.

By Wednesday, most of the big work on Ms. Gibson's house had been completed except for small trim and touchup work. When we brought her outside to show her the look of pure joy and appreciation on her face was indescribable. She bought small thank you gifts or all of the kids and gave the group a beautiful wall hanging and card. In the words of one of my favorite authors, Geraldine Brooks, "And so, as it generally happens, those who have most give least, and those with less somehow make shrift to share."

On Thursday, I took my group to the community garden, a garden in the middle of West End where people can come work for an hour or so in exchange for fresh produce. Families can also rent small plots and grow their own food. Fresh produce is hard to find in West End.

Jesus lives in West End. I saw him on Thursday. Her name is Tamisha. As I dropped my group off at the community garden some of the kids from the Urban Kids Program, an enrichment program for 25 urban children during the school year and summer, were walking towards the building. Tamisha and I were about five feet away from each other when I got out of my truck. As soon as she saw me, her face lit up with pure joy. She gave me one of the biggest, most heart-felt hugs I have ever received in my life. I had never met Tamisha until that day, but the love that she looked at me with and hugged me with was unmatchable.

Later that night I was thinking about Tamisha and our encounter. I had done nothing to deserve such an act of love and kindness from Tamisha. I had never even met her until that day, but she showed me a kind of love in that one hug and five minutes we spent together that is rarely felt. I think that is what Jesus was getting at when he said, "Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." The older we get, the harder it seems to become to show people unwarranted love. I'm thankful for Tamisha, not for just the love she showed me but for the lesson she taught me.

Whereas my last post was more about grace, this one is more about love - the love that we receive and don't deserve and the love that we possess but fail to give. That's my goal for the next week - to flood these groups and West End with pure, unwarranted love.

With that said, I love all of you! Peace.

And So It Begins

Apologies to those of you who have read this in an e-mail. After sending and resending the same e-mail at least ten times last night, I thought this would be a bit more efficient to keep all that care updated on my summer.

We don't have internet connection in West End, so the updates might be sporadic at best. Regardless, I hope you enjoy.

I started work at the Joe Rush Center for Urban Missions, a program run by Urban Ministry, two weeks ago. For those of you who are still a little unsure what exactly it is I'm doing this summer, let me explain. Urban Ministry is a Methodist based ministry in West End, Alabama. West End is a municipality of Birmingham. It is the poorest municipality in the Birmingham area, only one in four households have a car, and 80 percent of released prisoners live there. All of that being said, Urban strives to help people in West End both in the short and long term. From a hot kitchen, to a community garden, to helping residents pay bills when life hasn't exactly worked out as they might have hoped, Urban Ministry is caring for the least of these just like ol' Jesus Christ calls us to do.

Anyone that gets off at the Birmingham Southern exit will tell you, "Don't turn right when you leave campus." Turning right leads to West End. Single mother homes, drugs, and violence are the way of life. Emergency sirens and screeching tires are the melody of the lullaby that soothes West End to sleep. Why is it this way? I think it's a mixture of things. It's partly a result of not being able to live in harmony with one another and white backlash from the Civil Rights era. I'll spare you all my tangent on that one. Mostly, however, it's a lack of love and grace. I have hope, though. Hope that better things are in store for West End and places like it. As Jim Wallis says, "History is most changed by social movements with a spiritual foundation."

My job will be working with the Joe Rush Center leading different groups in painting houses every week. The first week was spent training, receiving first aide and CPR certification, and painting a shed with John Carl and Michael. MIchael is a full-time employee at Urban who is a recovering drug addict and alcoholic. He just turned 64 and is full of life, love, and most profoundly grace. His stories, at times, are hard to listen to. After each one, I'm thankful to have heard it. It makes the situation in West End real to me.

This past week we had our first group. I didn't realize long it had been since I had been around a group of junior high students until their energy and attitudes became almost unbearable by the last night. My group worked hard for the most part. We completely repainted a house in two days. Painting houses all too often feels like we're just putting a Band-Aid over larger problems. I can only pray that a new clean exterior gives people hope. Hope is contagious, after all.

I found myself getting frustrated very quickly. The kids this week were blatantly disrespectful for everything and everyone but themselves. I was constantly wondering why they had even bothered to come. From pushing each other out of the way to be the first in line for dinner, to having no motivation on the job site, to talking about one another behind each other's backs, my frustration mounted as each day passed. I don't know that I was so much frustrated at them as I was the situation. I felt like everything I had said and done the past week had fallen on deaf ears and none of it really mattered.

Then, I not only began to question why they had come but why I had. I didn't come to Urban to paint a house every two days or even to try to instill compassion and servitude in young teens - though both are a great bonus. I came to give and receive grace and love. So what if the kids attitudes were terrible? That's my opportunity to love a little harder and show someone a little mercy and grace. Did I do that well this week? Not at all. In fact, I nicknamed one of the girls Queen Bitch in my head. She thought she was a queen. I thought she was a bitch. All of that aside, I can only hope they saw a little bit of Jesus in me, that I will be more freely giving of grace, mercy, and love next week, and that Ms. Bailey, as dilapidated as her house still is on the inside, now has a little bit of hope.

So what are the themes of this post? You got it. Love, hope, and grace. That's the theme of this post. That's the theme of the summer.

Love and peace to all of you!