Important

Last night I had a bit of a tough time deciding how to spend my evening. I haven't been doing so hot in my Medieval and Asian Art History class (imagine that...), and my teacher was offering a 100 quiz grade to anyone that came to an art show on campus. But at the same time, I knew that there the soup kitchen was, once again, calling my name. I was even going to bring a friend with me to the soup kitchen last night. After a lot of thinking about it, I knew that I needed to seek the things that are IMPORTANT, and when I asked myself what Jesus would have done, I knew that it would have been to feed people.

So I went to the soup kitchen. And was blessed for it.

I met Eric and Francis first. I had a really good time talking to both of them. I asked Francis if she knew Ms. Ida (from last week's post), and sure enough she did. "She's right over there, actually!" Francis said. She called out to Ms. Ida, who was out of my sight from where I was sitting, and Ms. Ida turned around and when she saw me she just lit up and waved really big. I went over to sit with her, and talked to her for a while. It was like a reunion with an old friend. It is so obvious that God is blessing me with amazing friendships in what the world would consider "dangerous."

When it was time to start serving the food, Jan asked Alan, one of the regulars to the kitchen, to lead a prayer for the food. I have never heard one of the men there "say grace," but it was one of the most real prayers I have ever bowed my head to. When he prayed for thanksgiving, you could tell that he MEANT IT. And the "amens" and the cries that went out from the people in that room as he prayed were moving. When he said the last "Amen," I lifted my head and couldn't help but smile. Then Alan came up to me and said, "I did 'Grace' tonight. Can I get some food?" And I was more than willing to oblige.

About halfway through the serving period, a man came up to me and said, "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" I told him, "Sure," and he proceeded to pull me to the corner of the room, away from everyone else. He explained how he has been really low on money, and he has a car, but can't put gas in it. He was just needing some gas.

I'm not naive. At first I was a little suspect, questioning his real motives. But he explained he wouldn't take cash; he just needed me to go with him and get some gas. I rolled the thought around in my head, weighing out the perceived danger against the cost of discipleship, and told David, my brother-in-law, that I'd be going with the man.

We went to the nearest service station (I followed him in my car), and he pulled up to the gas tank. And what followed was heart-breaking. I started filling the car up with gas, and when there were just a couple of gallons in it the man shouted from behind the steering wheel, "Stop! Stop! That's enough! I'm not trying to hustle you out of your money!" But I said to him, "I'm not going to take you to a gas station and not fill up your car." He leaned out of the window and looked up at me and said, "God bless you." And I replied, "He already has. He bless all of us."

The man quietly and soberly said, "Yeah... He's a good God."

He told me the story of his family. He said that he had two heat strokes in a row, but had to go right back to work as soon as he could to try and support them. He said they were living in a motel right now, and that things were hard. About that time, the tank read "Full," and he motioned me to come to his window. He stuck out his hand to shake mine and said, "My name is Wayne, and I am so thankful for what you've done." I told him it was no trouble, and then Wayne asked, "Russell, will you pray for me?" This is something that I've gotten before, and I just said, "Of course I will!" And then Wayne just paused and bowed his head. A little confused, I asked, "You want me to right now?" Wayne said, "Yeah!" So, clasping his hand, we bowed our heads

in the middle of the gas station

and started to pray. There were thugs all around, blaring rap music out of their cars and, I was sure, looking at us really funny. But right there, on the spot, Wayne and I prayed. I prayed "Thank you" for our blessings, and that we would always use our blessings to bless others. At the end of the prayer I said, "God, we just love you." At this Wayne let out a loud, "Oh, AMEN!" Once the prayer was over, we just shook hands again, exchanged our "God bless you's" and went our separate ways.

I went back to RIFA on fire. I talked to some of the guys outside for a while, served food to more of the people inside. I met some familiar faces (Phil was there!) and got a big hug from Ms. Ida right before she left. The whole night, a man named George Hickerson was set up in the corner of RIFA playing guitar and singing songs. The people there loved it! George said they were the best crowd he ever played for. Lindsay brought Coby, the little 5 year old she babysat, back to RIFA this week. It was awesome to watch a 5 year old serving people, loving people, and even cleaning up when we were done. I think that that's the best way to raise a kid.

So a night of great prayer, an awesome "concert" (best one I think I've ever been to) while we were serving, and being together in community with friendly faces.

Somehow I feel like this is what Jesus meant. Somehow I knew that this was what was important. Somehow I understood that this was what offers purpose.

I guess I made the right decision.

Gospel

Last Thursday I went back to the soup kitchen. It's amazing how, even though I've done it a few times now, I argue with myself in the car over whether or not I really should go. Come time to go, I can think of hundreds of reasons to stay in Henderson. Going to the soup kitchen is something that makes me feel uncomfortable, out of place, and strange. But as I riffle through the reasons to stay, there always sticks out one huge reason to GO.

And His name is Jesus.

That's how it is for most things. We argue with ourselves and, in a way even, with God over all of the reasons that we want to stay. Sometimes the reasons sound legitimate, but we know that the truth is that they are all a facade, a mask, of the real reason deep down in us: to be complacent, to be lazy, to not change, to remain the same. We don't want challenge; we want comfort. We don't want strain; we want ease. But to fight that inner tendency is to seek the heart of God. To fight that inner tendency is to be willing to step up to the plate and, as Gandhi encouraged, to be the change that you want to see in the world.

Jesus is daring you to move.

And every time that we move, though it may be uncomfortable, it is always rewarding.

Things were pretty normal at the soup kitchen all night. There weren't a ton of people because Room at the Inn (a homeless-sheltering project that different churches came together on in Jackson, which I got to be a chaperon for this past Saturday night) had started, and many of the homeless were already gone. But there were around a hundred or so that came through. Most of them were all really nice and polite. There were a few that had had too much to drink or were possibly still strung out on some drugs, but that was normal. So as the night dwindled down, I decided to pull up a seat at the table of an older African American woman who was sitting by herself.

Her name was Ms. Ida.

Ms. Ida told me all about her family history. She told me about her daughter who still lived in Jackson and visited her sometimes. She told me about her grandson, and her great grandson, whom she was very proud of. She asked me several questions about my own history, which I opened up to her. We shared some laughs and some more small talk, and then Ms. Ida started talking about church.

Really, God?

It wasn't long before Ms. Ida was spilling out all of her religious ideas and spiritual views. But this was not some aged woman rambling on and on or going on senseless tangents about how she sees God; this was the Gospel as I hadn't heard it in a while. This was the Gospel according to a poor woman, who had lived a broken life, but still had reason to smile and have hope because of the great love that she found in God, and the love that He inspired others to have towards her, and her towards them. This was the Gospel coming from the mouth of one to whom, I imagine, Jesus would have taught it to directly in His ministry on earth. This was the Gospel from one who was blessed for her meekness, spirit-lifted according to her Messiah, and joyously sharing it with anyone who would listen!

This was the Gospel according to Ms. Ida.

I think that we all have a "gospel according to ." It's the way that we live our lives. It's the way we talk about Jesus. The story, the message, the idea is no different than originally written; but it is breathed new life into it, and put on display, by the way that we share it with others - hopefully assuming that we DO share it with others.

Ms. Ida challenged me; it was uncomfortable to sit with her at first, and it's uncomfortable now to think of the thoughts that she left me with. If my life is a Gospel, what am I telling other people?

No Thank You

I guess I have some catching up to do.

A couple of weeks ago I was back at the soup kitchen in Jackson. My sister has started working there too, and that night we decided to ride together. We weren't that early, but the people that had the keys to unlock RIFA were a little late. Which left us standing outside on the street with some of the people anxiously awaiting their supper.

And, to many people's probable surprise, they didn't bite :)

I met John, who was a very tall and thin blind man with a beard that looked like he belonged in ZZ Top. His friend, I think his name was Jake, stood beside John the whole time, with his arm linked to John's. John did most of the talking; he was a very friendly person. Jake just stood there sucking on the last dregs of his cigarette, quietly looking off into the distance. But when it was time to get to go in, it was Jake that I saw Jesus in. Jake was by John the whole time, never letting go, always slowing up for him, and watching out for his every step.

I think that, when I am blind, Jesus is my Jake.

We served out hot plates of lasagna to the delight of many of the homeless people there. But when I was done serving for a while and got a chance to sit down, I of course chose to sit down with John (Jake was nowhere to be seen after he had sat John down; I thought it was weird at first, but just wait to hear the rest). I was really enjoying talking to John when a stranger came up and sat next to me and him. He didn't look at me, but just started talking to John. At first I thought he was a volunteer because his clothes weren't too shabby and he knew John by name and spoke to him kindly. But then Jake came back to the table and sat beside us. I turned to Jake and asked him where he had been, and he said that he had been in the chapel (the small room adjacent to the dining hall) praying. At this, the stranger perked up and, after choking down some more of his free lasagna, said, "Praying.. Yeah right. If you believe in all that bull s***."

My first reaction was one of anger. I didn't say anything, I just tried to keep talking to John and Jake. But even after I left the table and went back into the kitchen, I couldn't forget what this man said. How dare he come into a Christian-run facility where good people serve him a free, hot meal and curse the name of the God that they are doing it all in, with no "thank you" at all!

That's an understandable train of thought, right? Until I thought about it more in coming days...

I have started to realize that I do the same exact thing as this stranger

every

day

of

my

life.

God gives me so much. And I think that that is the biggest understatement in the history of time. America is blessed beyond belief, and for some reason so many of us think of these blessings as being entitled to us. But they are NOT. They are gifts from Him, graciously poured out, and we consumed His blessings and, more often than not, turn around and curse His name by sinning against Him, despite His gifts, and at the very least we do not say, "Thanks."

That's a problem.

Later that night, I was talking to a man in the chapel who seemed to be very uncomfortable in a "spiritual" atmosphere. It was obvious that he was coming off of a high, and it was a little bit difficult to talk to him. But eventually he opened up about his spiritual frustrations, and began cursing religion. When I asked him what it was about religion that made him so mad, he replied, "Because they [religious people] don't see us as humans. It's like they don't even care. We're people, man. We're people!"

And I think that that's the answer to the problem.

God has given us so much. And I think that the best way for us to say, "Thanks," is to turn around and see the other human beings on this earth as PEOPLE, and bless them with our blessings for the souls that they are.

Say "Thank you" to God by doing something for someone else today. You may not get a "Thank you" in return, but in that state of not receiving any gratefulness you will be more Christ-like than ever before. He pours out blessings without expecting any return, and so should we.

Steve

Sunday finally rolled around again today. And you know what that means (if you don't, read the blog entry titled, "Tithe," before you continue on this one).

The collection plate.

And I don't mean the one that they pass through the pews either.

This morning, on my way to church in Jackson, I stopped at a gas station to pull some cash out of an ATM. I made up my mind that I was going to start giving more back to God, and I wasn't going to hold back on my "tithing" promise today. So I got a $10 out, bought a 98 cent cup of coffee, and got back on the road to church. I sat through class, I sat through service, and the messages were good; but I was waiting on the chance to give.

I was waiting on the chance to give back to my God.

And so the collection plate came around to me in church. I looked through my wallet and saw the $9 left. It was decision time; do I just put it all in here, or do I obligate myself to doing something more with it. I finally threw in $4 and kept back $5. It was a hard thing to do, because I knew that I was placing a yoke on myself that would later become uncomfortable. But it was also something I was looking forward to.

So after church, I ran a couple of errands in town. But before I went to my sister's for lunch, I knew I was going to have to find a way to give the $5 burning in my pockets back to God. And my opportunity finally came when I was thinking about giving up chase and just going to her house.

I saw a man on the side of the exit ramp holding a cardboard sign that said, "HELP ME, PLEASE".... Which makes me think, how many times have I sat on the side of the metaphysical road of life and had others pass me by... I couldn't pass this man by. I started wrestling within myself, thinking that I had to get to my sister's apartment on time, thinking that it was going to be too much of a hassle, thinking that $5 wasn't going to do anything. But finally I decided that this was a chance from God and that I would regret passing this man up for a very, very long time.

So I pulled over into the parking lot of a nearby restaurant, parked my car, and started walking down the highway to meet this man. It always amazes me to see some of the incredulous faces on the people in the cars who drive by, windows up and doors locked, and see me talking to ragged-looking homeless people on the side of the road... But I came up to this man, who was wearing a cut off shirt revealing all of his tattoos, had a scruffy beard, an old trucker's hat on his head, and dark leather skin from sitting in the sun for so long. I asked him how he was doing, kneeling down beside him. He replied, "I can't lie, brother, I've been better." I extended my hand and introduced myself and asked him his name, which was

"Steve."

God... bless Steve.

I started to reach in my pocket to get the money and started saying, "Look, Steve, I'm sorry man, I don't have much but-" and then Steve cut me off and said, "Oh, hey, brother, I don't want to cut you short. If you don't have enough for yourself, don't worry about it. God will take care of me."

And when he said that, and even now just thinking about that sentence, there is a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach... How often do I blow money on myself for stuff that I never needed, and probably will continue to do so, and here is a homeless man telling me that I should keep a few dollars for myself in case I "need" it... Wow.

But I said, "No, no, Steve. I want to give this to you. I just wish that I had more to give you. It's just $5..." Steve smiled and almost laughed a little. "You don't understand, little brother," he said, "It may not seem like much to you, but to me, it means that I get to eat today."

I was dumbfounded. I just said, "Well, then there's nothing I'd rather do with this money." I put it in his hand, and we shook hands again. Steve said, "God bless you." Most homeless people say that when you help them out, but Steve was different; he didn't stop there. He said, "I'm a firm believer in the Lord; I have been since I was young. I've fallen on some pretty hard times, obviously. Our economy is all messed up, and things are just bad in this world. But I always trust in Him to take care of me. And He always does." I smiled and said, "That's so true. He always takes care of us." Steve smiled and added, "But I am still waiting so bad for ol' Gabriel to blow that trumpet and end this game down here that I'm in. I'm looking forward to going bass fishing on the Crystal Sea. I'm so ready to be done with all of this stuff here... Russ, would you do me a favor?" I said, "Sure."

"Would you just... pray for me?"

I said, "Of course. Steve, you can count on being in my prayers, day and night."

He just said, "Thanks."

It broke my heart to witness all of this great and powerful testimony of God's providence and diehard faith and hope in Heaven. I didn't know much else to say. Steve started to turn and walk away. He said, "I'm going to go and get me some food!" very excitedly. All I could say was, "God bless you, man." But at this, Steve stopped, turned around and looked me in the eye and said,

"He already has, little brother. Through you."

And as I walked back to my car, fighting tears, my heart felt like it was just on fire, burning strongly for the Lord. So many people have been blessings from God in my life, and Steve helped me to realize that God can just as much use me to be a blessing in the lives of others. And that is what the kingdom of God is like, to me at least.

God, bless Steve. Take care of him. Watch over him. And, in the end, rescue him.

But God, help me to be a blessing to people every day of my life. There are so many more that need rescued. Help me to be that rescue.

Amen.

Faces

I am a better person now than I was two hours ago.

Let me explain why.

I don't remember if I said this in an earlier blog or not, or if I just vented to one of my friends about it one time, but I am realizing a trend in my life lately: I am sooo very busy at school, which is a good thing mostly; I enjoy being involved. But I usually start the week out strong and as the tasks and to-do's pile up as the week wears on, I start getting pretty week by the time it all comes to a close, and then just recharge on the weekends. Well, today was my day where things finally started falling apart under all of the stress. I was kinda bitter, and struggling a lot (I haven't read or prayed in a while...). I was headed for a melt-down.

Until God stepped in.

I got an e-mail reply from Shaun today. Shaun is the director of the Regional Inter-Faith Association (RIFA) in Jackson. I had visited with him some about volunteering, and earlier this week I e-mailed him asking if I could help out this Thursday night. And today I got the "go ahead." But by the time rolled around to actually go, I had a lot of temptation to just be complacent and not do anything at all. But I knew that it was going to be something that would knock me out of my comfort zone and back into a stronger relationship with Christ, so I got in my car at 4:45 and headed to RIFA.

I walked in, not knowing what to expect, and found a kitchen bustling with volunteers from other churches. And they were all such awesome people. Lindsey was an episcopalian who was going to the peace corp next year; Jan was the head of the team, a methodist, who really felt called to this work and had been doing it for nearly four years; the rest of the men and women there were from First Baptist. They were all really nice, and put me to work getting the food and drinks ready as soon as I got there.

Within five minutes of opening the doors, the little warehouse-dining room was full of homeless people from the community. I was expecting we'd serve them in line like a cafeteria, but we got to do something much, much better. We had them all be seated, Greg led a prayer, and then we got the food and drink and dessert and took it to them to their tables. It was a really cool way to serve so many people. And I didn't know what to expect; it was obvious that the majority of them were on drugs, but for some reason I felt very comfortable and natural with them. So I started asking how they were doing, said, "God bless" as they left, and thought that that was that.

Until William walked in.

I'm a photographer, if you didn't know. And one day, last year, I was in East Jackson ("bad" Jackson) shooting some pictures of houses, when I met a homeless man sitting on the front stoop of one of the houses, reading his Bible. I stopped and talked to him for about thirty minutes or so, we got to be good acquaintances, and I took his picture and told him I was a photographer. He thanked me for the conversation, and we parted ways eventually. But I never forgot the face of the homeless man reading the book of hope that day: William.

And so here is this man who comes in to the drink line, and it was dimly lit, so at first I wasn't sure, but eventually I knew it had to be him. So I just exclaimed: "William!" He looked up kind of confused (Lindsey and Jan stopped filling cups for a second with looks of "you know this guy?" on their faces). He said, "How do you know my name?" I said, "William, it's me, Russell. I took your picture last year in East Jackson." He smiled real big, "Oh yeah! Wow... You remembered me?" I laughed and said, "William, how could I forget you, man?" He smiled even bigger and said, "How are your pictures of homeless people coming?" I told him that I was getting published this November. He congratulated me, we small talked a little more, and then he had to go sit down because a lot more people were coming in behind him.

After that, I really started talking to people. I started sitting at their tables after I'd passed them some food. I met a lot of kind faces tonight; more faces that I don't think I will forget. Faces that I thought I was blessing by my service to them, but they were the ones really blessing me. Faces like that of Immanuel's. He was very skiddish, scarfing his food down and rarely making eye contact with me. I finally said, "Immanuel... That's a good name. It was Jesus' name, you know?" He said, "Oh yes, I know!" And I said, "Right.. It means, 'God with us.'" He just kept eating in silence for a while, but eventually sat up and asked, "How long have you been volunteering?" I said, "This is my first night actually." Then he finally looked me in the eye and said, "God is going to bless you greatly for doing this."

Yeah, I don't think I'll forget Immanuel's face any time soon.

Or Phil's face. Phil used to be in contracting. He lost his leg at some point, and was bound to a wheel chair now. We talked a lot about construction work; I shared some of my construction experiences from interning in Honduras this past summer. We laughed a lot, remembered good times where we worked hard all day and came home to a good supper and slept great at night. I probably talked to Phil for a good twenty minutes.

I don't think I will forget Phil's face either.

Or Andy's. Or David's. Or the other David's, haha. Or Damien's. I won't soon forget any of them. And I won't soon forget William, as he was leaving, saying to me, "It's good to see you again. I'm glad you remembered me. I hope that I'll be seeing you here more often." And then he paused and said, "Well, hopefully not too often... I'm trying to get off of these streets, man. I'm tired of this..." I patted him on the back and said, "Trust in God, follow after Him; He can get you out of it if you really want to." He looked me in the eye and said, "Those are real encouraging words, man. I won't forget those..."

And I won't forget tonight. I won't forget what it felt like to serve people like I imagined Jesus would have; I won't forget what it felt like to spread Christ's love; I won't forget what it felt like to connect with people... I won't forget their faces.

Oh, and... I'm not so bitter or worn out, emotionally or spiritually, anymore. Amazing how God can help me overcome my stubborness or sin or stress just by filling me with love in order to hand it back out to other people...

Maybe that's because THAT is what it's really all about.

Tithe

I read something in Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz that really hit me, and I want to share it with you today, and how I tried my hardest to carry it out.

Miller wrote about a friend of his who very rarely frequented a church building and yet held a strict policy on "tithing" (the act of giving back from your money to God, usually through church). Miller asked his friend why he tithed when he saw a large glass jar on his desk full of money that was considered "unusable" because it was money he was going to someday give to a church. His friend replied, "How can I not tithe, Don? It's God's money!"

That really hit me. The blessings that I have are not mine; they are God's. And I need to give of them back to him. And I love how Miller discusses how that doesn't always mean dropping a couple of bucks into the collection plate on Sunday morning. So yesterday I went to the ATM and got out some cash and decided that I was going to REALLY tithe today. I was going to find some way, other than the collection plate, to give this money back to its rightful owner.

I went to church in Jackson with my sister and brother-in-law, and then afterward we went out to eat in celebration of my birthday from last week. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I knew that it was now or never; I had some money burning in my wallet and I had to find a way to glorify God with it. I drove around the usual places that homeless people typically hang out at on Sundays, and I didn't see any. I was very discouraged... I started to get on the exit ramp and head back to school, I switched it to "Give Me Your Eyes" by Brandon Heath on my iPod, and got back on the highway.

I didn't make it a mile before God showed me what I was supposed to do today.

I saw a ragged-looking man with a large backpack walking down the road just before Casey Jones' Village, and he had a small puppy walking with him. I pulled into the parking lot at Casey Jones' Motel, and climbed the embankment up to the interstate to greet the man.

He was so thankful just that I was saying, "Hello."

His name was Jim. His dog's name was Niche. Jim had dark, tanned and leathery skin. He had a thick, gray and black beard that hung down to his chest. He had maybe four teeth, big wide eyes, a shirt advertising a motorcycle rally and a beat-up cap. He was sweaty, and extremely dirty, and smelled strongly of alcohol. I asked him what I could do to help him, and he said that he was so hungry and needed a place to stay for the night. He told me that he'd been trying to hitchhike out of Jackson for a few days now, but that it was proving to be no luck. He had been sleeping behind an old abandoned gas station just down the road from Casey Jones' Village. He didn't know what to do.

I walked with him back down to Casey Jones' Motel and said I'd try to get him a room for the night. The woman at the front desk seemed shocked to see me walking in with this man. She said that they couldn't allow him to stay because they had a no pets policy. As I walked out, we caught eyes, and she was looking at me with a look of bewilderment that I won't soon forget.

Jim and Niche loaded up in my car and we drove down the road to Days Inn. Jim got out and asked the lady at the front desk if they allowed pets, and they did, and so he happily motioned for me to get out of the car and come in. We left Niche outside for a little while and went in to talk to reception. Jim filled out the paperwork for the room, giving the lady the I.D. that he had from a homeless shelter in Colorado. I noticed a Honduras flag hanging on a necklace around the lady's neck (how "ironic," God), and asked her about it. She said that her boyfriend was from Tegucigalpa. I explained that I had been a missionary there that past summer. It was almost as though once I started talking about being a missionary, it all clicked for her. As she handed the room key to Jim, she just looked at me and smiled. I smiled back and said, "Have a great day" as I exited the door. She added quietly, "Yeah... you too..."

:)

I helped Jim get his stuff out of my car, and he unhooked Niche from his backpack and stood up straight to say goodbye before he made his way to his room. He looked me in the eye and said, "You will never know how much I appreciate what you have done for me. I have been so stressed out lately trying to find a place to stay that, look," he stopped and showed me his hand, which was shaking violently, "... Look, I'm shaking I've been so stressed out." Then he paused for a moment and looked at me again and said, "You are sent from Heaven. God bless you." I shook his hand and returned the blessing, gave him a little cash for some supper, and wished him a good, relaxing night's sleep and a good breakfast tomorrow morning. He laughed, "I've been so stressed and worried for so long. But for tonight, I get to just kick back and relax. I don't have to worry about anything! I'm going to take a shower, and get some food... It will be great." And with that, Jim went back to his room. And I got back in my car. And I drove away.

And I cried.

I turned the iPod back on, and "Give Me Your Eyes" was still playing, and then "Instead of a Show" came on, the car still smelled like the bitter mixture of alcohol and sweat, and I just... cried. I cried for Jim. I cried for Niche. I cried for all of the broken people and situations and circumstances that are in this world.

And so I ask God, "God, help me to bring Heaven here. Help me to spread your love to everyone that I come in contact with. Help me to restore things to what you meant for them to be. Help me to make things better. Even if it's just for one night."

So here: have your money, God. You do better stuff with it anyway.

"'Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this,' says the LORD Almighty, 'and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have room enough for it.'" - Malachi 3:10

Church

A week ago (last Sunday), I experienced church. And it was pretty cool.

Let me back up. I had been discontented with a lot of "church" stuff lately. I was seeing a lot of hypocrisy, a lot of showiness, a lot of bright and shiny faces sitting in pews while the minds behind the eyes were brooding over the hurts and sores and sins they were unwilling to confess to anyone because they were still too busy playing

the stained-glass masquerade.

I had been attending the "conservative" congregation in town, the "bulwark of the faith" for the area, boasting nearly 1000 members on Sunday mornings and yet... Not really helping make life changes in any of them. I was so tired of conservative Christianity arguing all of the time about the dangers of heresies such as liberalism, idealism, and worse still... the Democratic party. So my reaction was to get away from that and go to the other end of the spectrum. I started attending some of the more "open-minded" churches in the area, trying to find a better balance between Christ's teachings and Christ's true purpose in life: to love God and love others. I figured the conservative churches had the teaching but were missing the purpose, so I went to hang out with liberals I thought would get the purpose.

They weren't.

I realized that they were just the other side of the same coin, arguing all of the time about freedom in Christ and how the "conservatives" were so full of division (not seeing that by labeling them as "conservatives" they were dividing from them themselves). They were arguing the other end of the spectrum on the same exact issues and

nobody was looking anything like what I thought Christ died for.

So after my day of fasting, I went and talked with my campus minister from back home. We talked about a lot of things, but one thing that I really wanted to discuss was my disillusionment with church. I was so tired of what we had changed the community that Christ intended for us to have as brothers and sisters in Christ into, and I told him that it was greatly crippling my faith. He told me something I will never forget, "Don't let the church get in the way of your relationship with Christ."

I needed that one.

But at the same time, he said, this messed-up, hypocritical system of "church" was EXACTLY what Christ died for. He died for messed-up people, to try and bring them into a better way of life. And the church is disfunctional because it's full of people: people that are still trying to figure it out. And he encouraged me to not give up on them, but to lead them.

That's when I remembered that someone once taught me, "Church isn't about what you get out of it, but about what you put into it."

So I'm done with the labels. I'm done with "conservative," and I'm done with "liberal." There is no "conservative" or "liberal" in God's eyes. Those are terms we use to add shades of gray to His spectrum of black-and-white, absolute truth. Someone isn't "conservative" or "liberal," they are either right or they are wrong. And it's my goal to do what's right and encourage others to do the same, regardless of what that might mean for the labels they've been wearing in church for so long.

And so I came back to school last Sunday afternoon and I decided that I would find a church where it could be about what I put into it instead of what I got out of it. So where did I go? You'll get a kick out of this one: the nursing home down the street. They had a service at two o' clock in the afternoon. So I showed up in my holey jeans and unwashed button-down I'd been wearing that weekend, and the little, blue-haired old women accepted me just fine. They were just glad that I was there. There were only three of them. The minister from one of the local churches was so excited to see fresh faces that he was encouraged too; he even had me pass out the Lord's Supper to the old women. We sat and chatted, we sang songs, we read Scripture and prayed and I walked away feeling recharged. And it wasn't at all because I went to some magnificent or glorious or elaborate service; it was because I connected with other people who were trying to connect with God.

And I think that's what church really is.

Flood of Justice

The Friday before last I committed myself to a fast.

It's not the first time I've done it; it hopefully won't be the last. But it was definitely the first one that I ever felt like I did "right." I have given up food for longer periods of time than even one day, but this day... was different. Let me back up for a second.

The Thursday before last was bad. I have gotten so involved at my school that by the time the week starts drawing to a close, I'm pretty much stressed out and exhausted. What's worse is that I have probably gone a whole week, by that point, without really taking in any of God's word for myself or spending much time in prayer (that makes me a horrible person, I know, I know). And the Thursday before last was no exception. So when it came to a close, I was pretty much already closed; closed to God, closed to sensitivity to Him, closed to holding on tight to faith and love and hope. I was struggling, and I was failing. It wasn't a good day.

So I decided to fast on Friday. Normally when I would fast I would devote the day to reading and praying, but since I was feeling still sort of numb to God, I didn't do that. Instead, I gave up everything: food, TV, books, computer... Everything, and decided that I would just try and live the day as I thought God would see best, even if I couldn't feel Him. As C.S. Lewis talked about in Screwtape Letters, the biggest threat to evil is when a man does not see, feel, or hear God, and yet still follows Him despite it all.

So when a person is fasting... what is it that God really wants?

Isaiah 58 comes to mind. A true fast isn't about what you give up... so many Christians think that being a "good Christian" is about what you give up... but a true fast is about what you DO. And in that chapter, He says that He wants those who fast to bring forth justice to the peoples, and to be broken and humble in their hearts. So I left town after my first class and went to Jackson to look for ways to bring justice to people, to be humbled, to be... Him.

I decided I'd let God guide me. And He did. I pulled into a warehouse labeled "RIFA" ("Regional Inter-Faith Association") and parked my car in sort of a sketchy-looking neighborhood with a sketchy looking crowd standing around. But I smiled and got out and walk into the warehouse. I met Shaun, the director of RIFA, and immediately we started talking about ways to get involved. He showed me around the warehouse, and I got to meet several volunteers; but what was awesome was to go back into the soup kitchen, where I'll be working more than anywhere else, and meet the people there. It was a truly humbling experience. I watched the director of the soup kitchen standing at the door, smiling, shaking hands, and saying "God bless" to everyone who left. I watched the lady serving food behind the counter look at me in the eye and just give one of the biggest, most genuine, and yet snaggle-toothed smiles that I have ever seen. It was a great thing to be back in an environment where I felt I could make a difference.

When I left RIFA, I wasn't content to be finished with my adventure yet. I pulled my car further down the street into the Farmer's Market and parked it there. I walked around, talked to the farmers and the "interesting" people that were hanging out by them, bought a few tomatoes and peppers (just because I was fasting doesn't mean I wasn't thinking about making omelettes for Saturday morning), and spent a lot of time talking to one farmer who was obviously a very lonely, old man. Eventually I walked back to my car and... it wouldn't start.

Oh God, why are you doing this to me in this part of town...

But looking back, it was a blessing. I was approached by a ragged looking man on a bicycle, asking if he could bum a few cigarettes off of me. I told him I didn't have any, and he was pretty sad about that. But I gave him some money and wished him well, and that cheered him up. And yes, he probably went and used that money for cigarettes or alcohol, but I am not troubled by this thought; I gave him the money, and what he does with it is his business. It was my blessing to him, and I hope he uses it wisely, but whether he does or not will not stop me from trying to be Jesus to somebody.

I went back to school for my afternoon class, then packed up the bare minimum of stuff from my dorm and went home. My parents were in England, and I thought the house would be a great place to unwind and reflect. That night, I took three naps, and in between each nap I read Scripture. I really started connecting with God that night. It's hard not to when you've been trying to show His love to people all day and then you open His word; it's like the connection becomes a little easier.

At about 12:30 AM, when the fast was officially over, I woke up and went to Huddle House. I sat at the table and read Scripture while I ate my eggs, toast, and hashbrowns. The waitress was kind, and talked with me for a bit about me reading Scripture. As I left, I left her a tip that was more than my meal and wrote "God bless" at the top of the check. She saw it, and looked at me as I was walking out the door. I just smiled. And she smiled back; a very real smile.

If you haven't ever heard it, I recommend that you listen to (or at least read the words to) "Instead of a Show" by Jon Foreman.

And if you hear it (or read the words) and think that it's idealistic, or liberal, or anything other than the truth, check yourself: its from Zechariah 7. The Lord doesn't want your showy worship any longer; He wants your heart broken, and for you to spread a flood of justice to the people in His world who have been overlooked for far too long.

Start

Let me tell you why this blog exists before I go any further.

This blog is a continuation of another. From May 28 - August 2, 2008, I kept a blog at honduruss.blogspot.com to track my growth and adventures as an intern for TORCH Missions in the third world country of Honduras. That blog was started as a journal that I was going to turn in for college credit for my experiences. I published it on the web to let my parents and my sister know what I was doing. I never expected it to take off like it did. I started getting Facebook messages from people that I didn't even know talking to me about one of my latest posts, and my church back home even picked up on the blog and started keeping up with it, as well as the minister using it for small group Bible studies and even preaching from it in the pulpit. I never wanted to post any of it for my glory or recognition, so it was a little embarrassing at first to hear that so many people were reading it; but I realized that they were reading and benefiting from it because I was just telling the world how I was finding God and how He was displaying His love for others, so I don't think I saw the blog as a prideful journal to boast about anymore at all.

And that's where this blog comes in. I want to share with anyone who picks up on this where I am seeing God today, and how I am realizing His love and His purpose and His mission in my everyday life. Because I am done with Honduras; but I am never done with faith. And as long as I have faith, I have reason to serve God and others, and hopefully inspire you to do the same.

When I came home from Honduras, I started seeing things a lot differently. I see the church differently, and I know that I'll share some of that with you in future blog posts; I see people differently too; I see poverty differently. I made a commitment within myself to never go past a homeless person and not try and do something about it; I made a commitment to try and really connect with people, and in so doing, shine a little bit of Heaven's light into this dark Hell that we've made out of a broken world through our sins.

And so I write this blog: a blog about a blind person trying to open his eyes, trying to find clarity and have Christ's vision, and trying to lead the church that he perceives to have become so blind to do the same. It may be offensive; it may step on toes. But if it challenges you to grow, then it's worth it. It may sound at times like I'm boasting in myself, but let me assure you up front that I think I am the sinner of sinners, I am unworthy to even be a Christian, so any good that I may do does not come from me but from the God I serve; so praise His name, not mine.

Enjoy.