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.