Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve

In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to his own town to register. Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. Luke 2:1-6(NIV)

The part of the Christmas Story that intrigues me is the last ten words of the scripture, “because there was no room for them in the inn”. I often wonder if I have left enough room in my heart for Jesus. I love Jesus, I believe in Jesus, I want to follow Jesus; all of those things are true for me. However, Jesus’ words from Matthew 25:40 (The Message), haunt me, “Then the King will say, ‘ I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.’ ” The question for me is not if I have room for Jesus, the King of kings and Lord of lords, but whether I have room for Jesus who shows up in “the least of these”.

I talk with many people day to day and hear about many others who need more help than I can provide. In Kokomo there are homeless families that have no place to go. Single homeless men, yes, homeless mothers with children, yes, but intact families (the very thing the church says is important) have no place to go. There is no room. There is no room for battered fathers with children, no place to go. The under-resourced remain on the edge of society, virtually invisible. There are problems obtaining reasonably- priced food because of transportation issues. It is not just low-income neighborhoods that have needs. In neighborhoods all over town there are concerns to be addressed.

There are lonely older s, there are folks who can’t care for their homes and need some help upgrading or cleaning up their property, and there are scores of kids in elementary classrooms who need tutoring. If we listen to our neighbors they will tell us where they need help. Jesus also says in Revelation 2:7 “anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches”. Maybe to reach more people for the Kingdom we need to make more room for listening, first to God and then to others.

December 23, 2006

Empty Porches

The air is crisp, clear, and clean. Darkness is settling in, as the sun is now going down earlier and earlier. It’s 6:30 PM and the sun seems to be trying to hang on, but it is losing. Those who live on the porches are all but in tonight. It’s windy and fifty-five degrees, but it feels much colder; the forecast is calling for a low of thirty-nine degrees. Those in the apartments are never quite sure when the heat will come on. There seems to be some arbitrary formula of when the old boilers in the basement of each apartment will come to life (usually sometime at the end of October). It is common for the neighbors to turn on the gas stove in the kitchen to take the chill off the apartment. In my mind’s eye, I see a mother trying to wake up her children, prying them out of their warm beds into the chilly bedroom. I see children in their sweat shirts and sweat pants, finally, rising from bed to go to the warm kitchen for a bowl of cereal before going to school. Afterwards hair and teeth are brushed, clothes changed, jackets zipped into place, book bags packed, then out the door to sit on the porch and wait for the bus.

With winter approaching I know about the only time I will see my neighbors is while they are on the porch waiting for the bus or as the children play in the snow. I know that soon the porches will be empty until spring. Tonight as I gaze at the empty porches I wonder how my friends spend the winter. Fondly, I look at each porch, remembering all the people who have shared so much with me. I will cherish the memories made on the porches - - - laughter, conversations, cookouts, wedding receptions, baby showers, bugs, games, and even the heartbreaks. I look forward to the spring when new life not only returns to nature but also to the neighborhood.

Now as the end of the year approaches we all have a chance to look back over the past year and remember. If you are like me and my neighbors, you can think of all the struggles and difficulties and the times that hopelessness was experienced; yet when the positive memories are added, hope is created. I am learning to let all memories, both good and bad, teach me about life. I think on Christmas Eve, I will think about all the gifts that God has given me - - - Jesus, my family, my friends, the gift of memory, and will be thankful.

Andrew

Andrew

He is never on the porch, rarely seen in the neighborhood, all but invisible. Andrew lives in the living room of his mom’s one- bedroom apartment, sleeping on the couch. Andrew struggles; his is an everyday struggle. Growing up without a father seems to be where his struggle originated. Andrew was and is invisible to his father as he is to most in the neighborhood. Andrew works at jobs that are invisible - - - fast food, back room types of jobs. He was invisible in school, disappearing in the ninth grade, with few noticing that he was even gone. Andrew gravitated toward those who could see him, who would validate him, and who would accept him just as he is without judging. Andrew has a handful of friends. Andrew was married for a short time and has a six-year-old daughter that spends every weekend with him and his mother.

I have the awesome opportunity to visit Andrew every week in his living room. I have experienced a side of Andrew that few have seen. Andrew is very, very intelligent. With a little coaching and some math review, he could easily get his GED, and there is no doubt he could go to college. He would like to be a social worker. He has a passion for music. He plays a bass guitar and writes music. He has the dream of having his own apartment, buying a car, having a full-time job, and taking financial responsibility for his daughter. He looks for the day when he can buy a left-handed bass guitar and get back to his music. His guitar was pawned long ago so that he could survive. He wants to live a “normal” life and he wants it now, though he is learning to take one day, or should I say one step, at a time. He is actively working on securing his own place to live and is jobhunting. I am encouraged in our weekly visits by the steps that he is taking to become self-sufficient. He reminds me of my children when they were learning to take their first steps. At first they were hesitant, sort of afraid to start. We would hold them by their fingers and sort of help them and steady them. Once they took their first steps we celebrated. They could sense our joy. Each step produced more self confidence, each step, gave them more independence, each step freed them to explore, learn, and experience more of life. Andrew is taking steps. Andrew has come to the realization that if you want something in life, you have to take the necessary steps to obtain it. Steps take time. don’t come easily and sometimes you fall and have to get up, brush yourself off, and start again. Life is not easy for Andrew, but then again it is not easy for anyone. He is learning to stand and walk on his own.

Each time I talk with Andrew he becomes more visible to me. I have a feeling he will become more visible to you, too. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him on a local stage,playing music, or in the front row listening to others play something that he has written.Even though I am a pastor, Andrew and I have never really have talked about God, the Bible or anything like that. I have never prayed with him, or preached at him. We just talk, which is fine with me. However, I do pray for Andrew privately and I know that Andrew knows something about God, as his mother took him to church as a kid. You, like Andrew, may feel that you are invisible, but you are not. God sees you, even when we don’t see him. God is walking with you each step of the way. You may wonder if Andrew has achieved all his goals. The answer is “No”. I think that taking steps toward something is actually more important than obtaining it. Andrew is achieving the goal that I have in my mind, for him to take steps, even small ones. Whether he knows it or not, God is helping Andrew take steps toward a new life. Even now, God is nudging and calling Andrew to
do something special for him. I can sense it.

Thoughts on Christmas Trees

It’s about that time of year again. Time to put find the gloves, search for the hats, put on the heavy coat, jump in the car, and drive about ten miles to the Christmas Tree Farm. For twelve years we have cut our own tree. We have cut trees in three different towns at several different farms. We have forged into the farms in the freezing cold, pouring rain, and sometimes even while it is snowing. It takes only about five minutes to cut down a tree but well over an hour to find just the right one. When all three boys were home, the five of us would drive in two cars to the farm - - - one car for the passengers and one car for the tree. I can remember many times pulling into the farm, picking up the saw, and then, like ants, we would swarm in all directions, looking for the right tree. I like tall thin trees, my wife Chris likes big fat trees, and my sons all have different tastes. My oldest son is looking for a starlight tall, perfect tree. My middle son looks for the lonely “Charlie Brown” tree. My youngest looks for the funky, fun tree, something
really unusual. Actually last year, our youngest took the tree, cut off all the back branches, and hung it upside down on the wall, decorating it with fruit. I think their tastes in trees reflect their personalities or maybe it says something about their birth order. We would often find one we liked only to leave it to check out the next row and then “losing” the one we liked either to another “lumberjack” or to the fact we just couldn’t find it again. My life would be so much easier if God made all Christmas trees exactly alike.

I am reminded that there are trees that are exactly alike; we call them “artificial”. At the end of this Christmas season I want to buy an artificial tree when it is on sale for next year, since my kids will all be gone. That would make life a lot easier. I suspect, however, that boredom and sameness might take over after a couple of years. The monotony of going to the basement, retrieving a tree, putting in the branches, making sure all the branches are twisted and turned so tree will look real, is just about more than I can fathom. I wonder if I have the same attitude with the people I encounter, especially those on the porch. It would be great if I could make them to be just like me. That would be so much easier. If I could force them into my mold, making them all the same, they would have the same personalities, hopes, dreams, and desires, just like me. Maybe cloning is a good idea. If everyone were cloned from me (white, male, middle class, all-around nice guy) then we could get rid of all the “isms”, no racism, sexism, etc.
But then again, that would be artificial. It soon would become boring, monotonous, and I would get on my own nerves. I am learning more and more each day that God is very creative, and I am experiencing God’s creativity through the diversity that is my neighborhood. The Christmas tree farm is full of trees and our neighborhood is full of people. As with the farm, where all the trees are different, so it is with our neighborhood. I can say that my life in the neighborhood is far from boring, and I don’t think I would want it any other way.

I do have an idea for my Christmas tree issue. Buy an artificial tree, decorate it, and when Christmas is over drag it into one of the empty bedrooms and bring it out the next year. So easy. I will have to see what Chris thinks about my idea. Unfortunately for me, if you know Chris, you know her thoughts. 12The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body. So it is with Christ. 13For we were all baptized by one Spirit into one body—whether Jews or Greeks, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink. Now the body is not made up of one part but of many. 15If the foot should say, "Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body," it would not for that reason
cease to be part of the body. 16And if the ear should say, "Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body," it would not for that reason cease to be part of the body. 17If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be? 18But in fact God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. 19If they were all one part, where would the body be? 20As it is, there are many parts, but one body. Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it. (1 Corinthians 12:12-20)

Back to inspiration

Ding-dong. It rang again, the dogs began to bark, and I rose from my desk to answer the door. It was the back door; it is always the back door. There she stood - - - a little nine-year-old with jet black hair, big dark eyes, and a smile on her face. She had made me a “God’s Eye “and wanted to give it to me. I asked her about school, her mom, and her brother and sister, yet she was focused on the “God’s Eye”. I told her it was beautiful and thanked her. She ran down my back steps, across the street, and back to her porch. At this very moment I have her “God’s Eye” on my desk. I tried to describe in writing what a “God’s Eye” is, for those who may have never seen one; but it was too hard, so I scanned it. Often God’s Eyes are made by children at Church Camp or Vacation Bible School. They are normally made with craft sticks not popsicle sticks. They are used to remind kids that God has his eye on them. Unlike Santa to see who is or nice, God watches because he loves us and wants the best for our lives. My God’s Eye was made with love. It was made with real popsicle sticks, saved from a summer day, probably eaten under the big tree in front of this little ’s porch. As I look at it carefully I can see on the horizontal stick that the treat was orange, and obviously the “eater” had been playing hard because of the fingerprint on the other end. When I look at this God’s Eye, I am reminded that God is involved in everyone’s life not just those whose lives appear to be neat and clean. God can take the messy stuff of our life and turn it into something beautiful. Just like this God’s Eye. This nine-year-old has experienced more “life” than those three times her age, often kind of messy. Yet she will tell you she has it good. She has a good mom, Jamie (remember her story?), and she has been a rock in her family, helping in ways that most nine-year-olds won’t even think about. The one thing that Sierra will tell you if you ask is that her life is good, very good because Jesus loves her and watches over her. She really believes that - - - sometimes I forget.

We Interrupt Inspiration for Information PT. 2

We Interrupt Inspiration for Information Pt. 2

My family and I have been trying to live incarnationally in our neighborhood. We are exposing ourselves to the culture, struggles, and hopes/dreams of those in the neighborhood. I often walk through the neighborhood, meeting people on their porches, listening to them share their stories and their dreams. Children often run up to me and hang on me or just talk with me. Now that I am beginning to know my neighbors when I see them outside the neighborhood, they recognize me and we often talk. When I am outside the neighborhood I usually see my neighbors as they are working. Just this week, I spoke to a woman who was cleaning a hospital room, a man putting together a Big Mac at McDonald’s and another man sacking my groceries. In the check out lane next to me was another man I knew, a woman checked me out at a Dollar Store, another woman was working in a doctor’s office, while yet another woman brought me ice
tea in a restaurant. I am learning that my neighbors do work, and have just learned that if they don’t work at least thirty hours a week at a job, the government requires monthly community service as well as paying rent. The community service rule does not apply to those over sixty-five or those that are disabled.

(click on the above for a clearer and larger image)

The housing complex next to me is run by the Federal Government, in every city of any size the government provides the same sort of housing with the same rules. The church has a great opportunity to see lives transformed as we walk with those that are under-resourced. As I have been given several opportunities to speak in various venues and as the stories of the under-resourced are shared, listeners are shocked by the great need. Unfortunately, the under-resourced are almost invisible to the community at large. Even in their entry-level jobs, they are people we see every day but do not notice. As you look at the chart6 (on the previous page), you will be able to see many places where the church could step up and make a difference. I have a hunch that if the church would work with individuals to move through these steps, then spiritual transformation, also, would take place.

We Interrupt Inspiration for Information PT. 1

We Interrupt Inspiration for Information
(Click charts to make them larger and easier to read)

A few months ago I met Brenda sitting in a chair in front of Gloria’s porch. Brenda is single, fifty-something, has a car and works two jobs. In the past she has gone from being self-sufficient to being homeless. For the past several years she has been living in public housing and really has a positive outlook on life. She cleans offices in a factory those that would have trouble getting a job elsewhere. Brenda makes $6.55 and works 40 hours a week. She has no benefits. She makes enough money to care for herself but not enough to get out of public housing. I am learning more and more about what it take to be self-sufficient in our town, it was a surprise to me. A devotional booklet is traditionally chock-full of inspirational stories, as I hope this booklet is. If you know me, you would know that I am not too traditional, so for the next two days are we will interpret the inspiration for some information.

“Self-Sufficient Guide of North Central Indiana”, published by Workforce Development Strategies Inc., is a document used by social service organizations all around the state that defines what it means to be self-sufficient. According to the document
the Self-Sufficiency Standard:

• Includes the costs ofhousing, food, transportation, medical care, child care, miscellaneous costs, taxes, and the benefitsof tax credits.

• Is a basic family survival budget, with no frills – no take-out pizza, no movies, no budget for emergencies, car repair, or long-term savings.

Most of those in the neighborhood function on welfare or part-time minimum wage jobs, several work full-time.

The chart below shows how much is needed per hour to be self-sufficient. It is very difficult to move to self-sufficiency when $14.00-$21.00 is needed. 5 It is no wonder that there are so many working poor in our community. It is not really a matter of being lazy; the issue is having little hope that working will make a difference in one’s lifestyle.




My new-found friend Brenda is close to self-sufficiency; however, she is seventy-three cents short per hour which is $29.00 dollars a week and $1518.00 a year. The $1518.00 per year would move her away from government assistance to self- sufficiency - - - but for her it might as well be a million dollars.

*Not Again

*Not Again

It happens each year. First there is a knock on the door and then the boxes of Christmas presents are delivered. It is a God-send. Sometime around Thanksgiving the children come home from school and start to tell all who will listen what they want for Christmas. Just like every other child, they want what they see on TV. They write and rewrite letters to Santa, they sit on Santa's lap, and they don't hesitate to tell Santa what they want. The excitement builds until Christmas day. Meanwhile the mom has to sign up for gifts, bringing in the necessary documents to be sure they qualify. She leaves the names and ages of the children and she knows that by Christmas every child will have a gift under the tree. It may not be exactly what they asked for but there will be something. Year after year, while others are waiting in line to buy their presents, the "underresourced" wait in line for the "free stuff". The "free stuff" has been given by generous people who want to make a difference. It is a year in the making: dolls cleaned up, dressed and hair fixed, games sorted to be sure all the pieces are in place, stuffed animals washed and cleaned. It is all good stuff....really good stuff. It is much needed and
much appreciated. When the children open their packages on Christmas Day, the excitement
increases as they rip open one package after another. Their house is filled with joy! Well, almost. The man of the house sits on the couch and watches his children open the packages. He senses their joy. He helps them put together the gifts they just opened. He enters into the fun, pitching the ball back and forth with his small daughter. He is thankful for the help. However, his stomach aches, and what is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year is awful to him. It is a yearly reminder that he doesn't make enough to provide for his children. He thinks of himself as less than a man. When the children start talking about Christmas he thinks, "No, not again". He works every day but the $5.15 he makes an hour ($180.00 per week take home pay) barely keeps food on the table. The odd jobs in the evening keep him away from his kids, but at least he is able to buy them shoes. Christmas comes and reality hits him: he will never make too much more than he makes now. It is the same year after year.

He keeps a folder in his sock drawer where he places his pay stubs, his monthly bills, along with the family's birth certificates and social security cards. He keeps everything together so his wife can easily grab it: the folder is her ticket to secure "free" school supplies, "free" school clothing, "free" food from the local food pantries and “free" Christmas presents. He knows nothing is "free". On the day the toys are delivered, he stays in the bathroom out of sight. He tries to keep some of his pride and reminds himself that everything that is "free" costs something. He learned long ago that "pride" is a small price to pay to see the joy on his children’s faces. On Christmas Day he is thankful, thankful for the gifts that his children are enjoying, and thankful that Christmas comes only once a year.

*This is a composite of many stories I have heard over the past year. Someone told me about the folder in the sock drawer, another told me how her boyfriend hides in the bathroom when the gifts arrive. Others have shared their difficulty of working for minimum wage. The elements in this story are true, but the family is fictional.

On Single Fathers

On Single Fathers

Scott

The large shiny cross necklace hung around his neck. It seemed so big for such a little guy. He was being held by his father who, by the way, had on the same kind of necklace. Scott is a single dad raising a nearly two-year-old boy. They both look alike, dark crew cut hair, same eyes, nose, and sheepish grin. Scott also has a daughter. His daughter lives with his wife and his son lives with him. Scott’s tattooed arms, goatee, the bling of his jewelry, and his dark clothing make it obvious that he is not a “Ward Cleaver” kind of Dad. Those who don’t know him might never guess it, but he did more than father a child. He is a dad, one of the best I have seen. He pulls his son in a red wagon all over the neighborhood. Scott is a quiet man, sticking near his apartment, full of wisdom, and seems to be making good decisions. He holds his son with pride; he loves him unconditionally. He strives to do what is right. He protects him from the harsh realities of life that sometimes surface in the neighborhood. He spends all of his spare time with his son. He is the kind of dad that every child longs for, a dad who is building a child who will grow into a man who will respect others and be a man of integrity.

Joey

Sitting on the step of her apartment is a beautiful black-haired wearing a frilly white dress. She had been watching me knock on all the doors of the apartment building. As I came to her house, she informed me that her father was home and it was OK to knock. I knocked on the door and he opened the door. I explained that I was collecting food for Katrina hurricane victims to be loaded on a truck and sent to Mississippi. He invited me in; his apartment was neat and his kitchen was clean. He opened his cabinets and began to pull out food, a can of beans, some corn, and a dented can of tomato paste. He gave me all that he could spare. In our conversation, I learned that he worked at a meat-processing company about twenty-five miles away. He thanked me when I told him he had a beautiful daughter. He looked so young. I took a bold step, asked his age, learning he was twenty-three years old. When I asked about his daughter, he proudly told me that she was six. I’m not too good at math but twenty-three minus six leaves seventeen. A seventeen-year-old with a child. I had trouble imagining that. He then told me that he had raised her by himself since his daughter was a baby. I immediately asked if he diapered her, feed her, and bathed her. “Of course”, was his answer. “If not me then who?” He explained that the ’s mother abandoned them and he doesn’t know where she is. He tried to stay in high school, work, and raise a child on his own. That didn’t work well so he quit school. He, too, is a good dad, who is concerned with his daughter. When gas prices got too high, he collected soda cans at the cook-outs. Times are very hard, yet he works everyday. He worries about raises, because it causes his rent to increase. He tries to get ahead but he soon finds himself behind. He is often tempted to give up, but he goes on for only one reason…..his daughter.

Marcos

Marcos was living the All American Dream. He and his wife are college-educated, were holding down good jobs, living in a middle-class neighborhood, in a nice house, driving nice cars, living a good life. They had two sons who could easily pass as twins. Everything was going well until the older one contracted cancer. The strain of doctor appointments, hospital stays, and chemo treatments became so difficult that the marriage fell apart. It was so stressful his wife disappeared, and there is little contact with her. Marcos had to quit his job in order to drive his son to Indianapolis several times during the week for treatment. He soon lost everything and was forced to move out of his house into public housing. He had no idea that he would lose it all. Marcos is a single father who refuses to give up. He keeps moving forward. He scrapes each month to provide his boys with the necessities of life. His sons are polite, well groomed, yet all boy. Marcos is always positive. His great love for his children caused him to sacrifice, not just some things but everything. By the way, his son is in remission.

Male Role Models Needed

Male Role s Needed

It is the time of the month that makes me sad. For most of those on the porches it is a relief. It is the first day of the month. The money has arrived. For families who have had little to nothing for the past ten days, the first could not come soon enough. Some young men in the neighborhood refer to this day as “Mother’s Day” (the day that mothers get paid). It is the day when most will live a normal middle-class life: minutes are added to pre-paid phones, personal hygiene items are purchased, McDonald’s Happy Meals and pizza arrive, and other “normal” things are obtained. The part that makes me sad is seeing - - - tickets littering the alley. I’m not worried so much about the litter; it is the thought of spending money trying to win their way out of poverty. I personally have not met a “winner”. I am sad when I see the big cars with tinted windows, usually from out of state, driving slowly up and down the street. I am sad because I know that in about eight to ten days “normal” life will have slipped through the hands of many of my neighbors.

However, what saddens me most is what “Mother’s Day” does to little boys and men. Absent fathers seem to be the norm in our neighborhood and for many in poverty. There are only a few positive father figures in the lives of most of the children. All children, but especially boys, need a male to look up to, to mentor them, and to help them figure out what it means to be a man. s are able look at their mothers to learn about women; yet they too, are lost on what real men are like. It is not that the mothers don’t try to be mom and dad, they try hard. However, when most the other boys have their dads at a scout meeting, fishing clinics, or coaching little league, a mom just isn’t the same. Boys growing up in this culture experience shame and humiliation, from other boys. Eventually, because some of these boys grow up without the positive discipline and example of a father, they can become angry and violent. Their lives are not like the other children in school. Even in families where there is divorce, there are often weekend visits, child support, birthday gifts, and Christmas presents. Intact families usually fare better.

When boys grow up with too much time on their hands, they get into trouble. They often find that cigarettes, , alcohol, and make them feel like real men. Run-ins with the law and jail time are common. As a young with little education, having not learned about work, and with little skill - - - options become limited. Some will end up homeless, living on the street. Others have no option but to move back in with their mother or someone else’s mother, which means that many men live with single moms and their kids, trying to be a “father” but really not knowing how. I wonder if the cycle can be broken. I wonder if we in the church spend more time caring for our buildings than we do building into someone else’s life. I know that all is not lost as I do know many good fathers and have met some remarkable single fathers in our neighborhood. I know of at least three; tomorrow you will meet them.

Autumn

The little girl with the long blonde hair, wearing a pretty dress and white coat with white fur trim, came running up to me in the church hallway. “Pastor Jeff! Pastor Jeff! When can I get bap-pa-tized? “I smiled to myself as she said the word. I explained to her that she could be baptized and I would have to talk with her mom and dad to see when it could happen. We talked a bit about what baptism means, and I told her that we would have to meet to talk about it some more. She was one excited girl.

Autumn has been coming to church for some time, first on Sunday nights and more recently on Sunday mornings, too. Over time she has learned more and more about Jesus. Her grandmother reads to her from the children’s Bible that Autumn received at Vacation Bible School. Autumn is a very blessed little girl. Although her mother and
father are divorced, they both are involved in her life. Her mother has her during the week, and her dad and grandmother care for her on the weekend. Many of the other children in the neighborhood have been all but abandoned by their fathers. Not so with Autumn. Autumn has a good father. Her grandmother is the one she leans on a great deal and her grandmother is the one who teaches her that Jesus loves her. Her mother and father get along better than many divorced couples and both love her; she knows that.

Autumn understands the importance of being part of a family. She is in a good one. After all, much of what happens at Christmas revolves around the family - - - family gatherings, meals, and gift exchanges. Jesus was born into a family that loved and nurtured him. So was Autumn! Autumn knows this: when she is baptized, God will place his hand on her claiming her as his daughter. What a Christmas present for Autumn - - - along with a great earthly family, she will join the family of God.

Maggie

The heat of the day had subsided and I was out for my evening walk. Walking through the neighborhood is therapy for me. Walking helps me clear my mind, giving me time to think. Besides, it is good for me. It was summertime. The sun stays out past 9:30. The people that live on the porch don’t really come out of their apartments until after 3:00 in the afternoon as it begins to cool off a bit. Most go in about midnight or so. It is not unusual to see the well-lit playground full of children late at night. On this night I was rounding the corner heading home when I heard it. It was faint at first but the closer I got the louder it got. “Jeff, Jeff”. As I turned my head toward the sound I saw who was calling out my name. It was a woman I had talked with many times before. Her white hair seemed brighter as the sinking sun was shining brightly on her west-facing porch. Her hair was perfect as usual, her makeup just right, but I couldn’t help but notice, as she sat in her lawn chair, that her ankles were swollen again. “Hi, Maggie”, I finally answer her.

She tells me about her day, shares some information about some other neighbors, and reminds me of the Annual August Night Out block party, insisting that I attend. I assured her that I would be there. She and another neighbor had been planning the event for a long time. She was working with the police who would co-sponsor the event. There would be food, games, and a drawing for prizes at the party. Maggie had been working on it for several weeks and it has seemed to take a toll on her ankles and feet. I asked when she would start dialysis. “Never”, she replied in her stern voice. Maggie is not afraid to speak her mind and almost everyone knows what’s on it. Maggie has a sense of pride in the neighborhood and knows the neighborhood could be better if everyone would take pride in it. She petitioned to put trash cans at the playgrounds; however, someone bent the cans into an unusable heap. She tries to encourage residents to take care of their pets by registering them with the Housing Authority and keeping them in the apartments not running wild. She is not afraid to knock on a door and get someone to turn the music down, nor is she afraid to call the police. Honestly, there are several neighbors that really don’t like Maggie, but do you know what? She really doesn’t care. Not only is Maggie strong-willed, opinionated, and a bit stubborn, but she is known by many as the “Grandmother of Gateway” (In the early 40’s Gateway Gardens was built to be used as military housing. After that it becomes the homes of low-income families. In 1996 the name was changed to Garden Square. Almost everyone in the apartments calls it “Gateway”, as does almost everyone else in town.)

Maggie is a grandma and is very proud of her grandchildren. She also has a couple of hundred grandkids in “Gateway”. It is not unusual, seeing Maggie playing with a child, holding a hand, having a conversation, blowing a nose. Or correcting a rule-breaker. Like Mary Poppins she appears to have a magic touch as she shows a small child how, when she touches a street light it comes on. How she does it nobody knows. She is loved by children. August Night Out is an example of how much she cares not only about her neighborhood but the children. Maggie went to local businesses gathering donations for prizes, food, and drinks. Maggie doesn’t have a car and struggles to put on shoes, let alone walk; but she worked hard to pull off August Night Out. When I went to August Night Out, I was very surprised to be presented with a plaque that read "In appreciation to Pastor Jeff for your loving service. Garden Square Residents 2006". I also received a card that said "Thanks a Million" on the front with the words, "and then some" on the inside. It was signed my almost every resident in the complex. I was very touched, honored, and felt appreciated. I was able to share this story in a newsletter to remind supporters that they are appreciated. Our work in the community is not a one-man show. It wasn’t until a few days later that I learned that it was Maggie who stood on every porch securing signatures for the card, knocking on the doors of everyone, friend or foe. If that were not enough, she had to take the shoestrings out of her sneakers, pull the tongue forward, and squeeze her swollen feet into a pair of shoes that had become a couple of sizes too small, to do something nice for me.

Thanks, Maggie.

December 12, 2006

Worthy

He preaches exactly ten minutes and then sits down. He condemns sin, but never steps on anybody's toes. Works from eight in the morning until ten at night, doing everything from preaching sermons to sweeping. He makes sixty dollars per week, gives thirty dollars a week to the church, drives a late model car, buys lots of books, wears fine clothes, and has a nice family. He always stands ready to contribute to every other good cause, too, and to help panhandlers who drop by the church on their way to somewhere. He is thirty-six years old, and has been preaching forty years. Is tall on the short side, heavyset in a thin sort of way, and handsome. He has eyes of blue or brown (to fit the occasion), and wears his hair parted in the middle, left side dark and straight, right side brown and wavy. He has a burning desire to work with the youth, and spends all his time with the senior citizens. He smiles all the time while keeping a straight face, because he has a keen sense of humor that finds him seriously dedicated. He makes fifteen calls a day on church members, spends all his time evangelizing non-members, and is always found in his study if he is needed.

Some time ago someone forwarded this to me. Perhaps the sender was trying to send me a message. I’m not sure. People want to be sure they get their money’s worth.I know I do. When it comes to working with those living in poverty we want to make sure we get our money’s worth, too. Robert Lupton, an urban community worker, paints a great picture of a truly worthy poor person.

A truly worthy poor woman: A widow more than sixty-five years old living alone in substandard housing. Does not have a family, or relatives to care for her. Has no savings and cannot work; has an income inadequate for basic needs. Is a woman of prayer and faith; never asks anyone for anything but accepts with gratitude only what people bring her. Is not cranky.

A truly worthy poor young man: Is out of school, unemployed but not living off his mother. Diligently applies for jobs every day; accepts gratefully any kind of work for any kind of pay. Does not smoke, drink or use drugs: attends church regularly. Will not manipulate for gain either for himself or his family; is dependable and morally pure. Does not act “cool” or “hip” like his peers on the street. Has pride in himself and is confident; may sleep in alleys but is always clean and shaved.

A truly worthy poor young woman: Lives in public housing (only temporary). Has illegitimate children conceived prior to Christian conversion; is now celibate. Tithes her welfare check and food stamps; is a high school dropout and manages well with limited resources. Places a high value on education and nutrition for her children. Walks everywhere (grocery store, church, welfare office) with her children to save bus fare, and keeps her sparsely furnished home spotless. Occasionally runs out of food at the end of the month, but will never beg for handouts.

A truly worthy poor family: Is devout, close-knit. Has a responsible father working long hours at minimum wage wherever he can find work. Has a mother who makes the kids obey, washes clothes by hand (saving the expense of the laundromat), and will not buy junk food. Lives in overcrowded housing. Will not accept welfare or food stamps even when neither parent can find work. Always pays the bills on time. Has no automobile. Has kids that do not whine or tell lies.

Many want me to be sure that those who receive items really deserve it. No one wants to be lied to, manipulated, or taken advantage of. On the other hand, I don’t feel I need to degrade someone by checking their “worthiness” in order to give them a loaf of bread, a coat, or a pencil that was donated to me. I am so glad that Jesus doesn’t check my “worthiness” before I am forgiven or blessed. If that were the case I would be still living in poverty, spiritual poverty. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8)3

December 11, 2006

Jamie

Bang! Chris, my wife, heard it. A gunshot. It was 12:15 AM, on Sunday Morning; Chris was up watching TV and I was in bed. She didn't see anything, but at 1:00 AM she got me up as the police had put up crime scene tape right across the street from our house. We didn't see much action outside; however, we were sure it had to do with the neighbors we knew the best. We went to bed and at about 4:30 AM our doorbell rang and it was John, the finance of Jamie, who is the mother of three elementary-aged children. John explained that he was jumped and as he was fleeing they shot at him. The bullet hit a tree; he was OK, but wanted me to talk to Jamie, who was very upset. It was the first time I was invited into an apartment. The apartments are very small, the kitchen was about six by eight feet. The stove, refrigerator, table, washer, and radiator took up all the floor space in that room except for a walkway in front of the kitchen sink. The living room was filled with smoke. I could see her on the couch, crying. It took awhile
but she was able to talk and she did calm down. From that point on, I was welcomed into their family as we welcome (note given to me a few days after fired shots) them into ours.

Jamie has had a rough life. After high school, she married and began to have children. Alcohol and an abusive husband destroyed her marriage. With really no options, Jamie moved into government housing. Jamie is one of the lucky ones: she has a three-bedroom apartment for her son and two daughters. Jamie struggles as do most of the neighbors. She is probably an alcoholic but recently completed a rehab program. Jamie is responsible and tries to understand and follow all the government-imposed rules. To follow the rules she often walks downtown to keep appointments with social workers, therapist, and even lawyers. When a bike was secured for her, she was able to get around town more quickly. Jamie has to work hard to care for her children; it is not always easy, as her son has special needs.

Jamie’s kids are in church all the time. In the morning and at night, recently, Jamie has begun to attend with them. Jamie knows about Jesus and is spiritual. She is one of best volunteers in the outreach. It is not unusual for Jamie to pack groceries, put away groceries, unload trucks, or load trucks. I have seen her sort potatoes, clothing and cans of food. She has washed tables, dishes and counter tops. She painted three classrooms in one day, not to mention carrying bags and bags of clothing up three flights of stairs. Jamie works circles around most of us.

Jamie will be the first to tell you she has made some bad decisions, some with dire consequences. Jamie spends a great deal of time untangling her life, trying straighten things out, putting her life back together again. She gets a great deal of encouragement from “Pastor” Gloria who gives her advice and is a mother figure to her. Then, there is a woman who attends the church and works in the outreach who has taken Jamie under her wing to mentor her. Now Jamie is attending church saying that there she gets the strength to get through another week. Jamie, whose life seems at times so hopeless, is allowing God to surround her with people who bring hope. One of the goals in the outreach is to create a culture of hope. I wonder if we could offer ourselves as “givers of hope” to someone who needs hope. Not that we can “fix” somebody, but maybe we could walk with somebody ---- listening, caring, sharing, and showing compassion. Maybe the best Christmas gift we can give is not found in a store or purchased with a credit card. Maybe giving ourselves to someone else is the best Christmas present we can give. I know that gifts purchased in a store are faster, easier, and less messy, but they are not eternal, or as rewarding.

Postscript: On a recent Sunday morning, as I was reading the scripture, I could see Jamie
was choking back tears. As the sermon progressed I could see the tears streaming, down her checks. By the end of the sermon she was being comforted by those around her. We prayed for Jamie. The scripture for the day came from Luke 7:36-49, “Now one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, so he went to the Pharisee's house and reclined at the table. When a woman who had lived a sinful life in that town learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee's house, she brought an alabaster jar of perfume, and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them…Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, "Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven - - - for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little
loves little. "Then Jesus said to her, "Your sins are forgiven." Other guests began to say among themselves, "Who is this who even forgives sins?" Jesus said to the woman, "Your faith has saved you; go in peace." At the end the service, Jamie told us that she never expected to hear her story in church, let alone experience the love of Jesus in such a powerful way. Jamie left a new person.

December 10, 2006

Josh

I was just beginning to write about Josh when he rang my doorbell. He needed to borrow an extension cord to work on his car. Josh and I talk a lot. He has shared his life with me, much of it dark and depressing - - - abuse, drugs, jail, and only he and God know what else. I remember seeing Josh move his girlfriend and her three children into the apartment right across the street from me. For some reason, right from the start we hit it off. Josh and I talked one night about what it would mean if he married his girlfriend. We talked and after a bit I told him that if he got a marriage license I would perform a wedding ceremony. One night the doorbell rang and it was Josh with a marriage license in his hand. I knew a wedding would happen before the day was out. At first it was going to be in our backyard but soon it was moved into the church. While those on the porch helped the bride get ready, my son and I prepared a "surprise" reception. We bought a cake, iced down some sodas, and found a card table and tablecloth. The day before someone had given us some plastic ware wrapped in a napkin and tied with a brightly colored ribbon. At the agreed-upon time, we went into the church and they were married. They celebrated all the way home. My son and I quickly set up the reception in his front yard. As my son and I slid into the shadows, we saw the neighbors join the celebration. Cake was cut, cokes were shared, and congratulations were heard all around the neighborhood.

Josh will tell you he struggles. Money doesn't come easily for him. He makes his money selling blood plasma, making $200.00 per month if he goes twice a week. He worries about his family and sometimes wonders where the money he needs will come from. He finally got a break; he enlisted in the National Guard, working very hard to complete all the requirements that are needed to get in. He and his wife have both secured jobs. He is working on his car to get it ready to go to work. His wife will drive to work. He will ride a bike to his new job. Josh is generous; he has helped me many times, mowing the grass, unloading cars and trucks that often show up at the church filled with donations, sorting clothing, and loading trucks with stuff that will be given out throughout the neighborhood. His wife works right along beside him. I have a great deal of respect for Josh. He really wants to do the right things, support his family, and be happy. He often struggles, has doubts, and is tempted to go backwards. Josh can have a temper; his wife sometimes says she has four kids as Josh is bouncing off the wall again. Each day my respect grows. When I look at Josh I see a man who is not afraid to take chances, does not easily give up, a hard worker, and a man of his word. Josh is a great example of what can happen when given a second chance. After all, isn't that what Christmas is all about? It is about a God who loves us so much that he is willing to give the world another chance to know him. Jesus was sent into the world not to condemn the world but to give the world another chance. What a gift - - - another chance. And there is more: God gives us a third, fourth, fifth, hundredth, or even a millionth chance. Just like Josh.

December 9, 2006

Mrs. Wright*

Urban legend? Myth? Gossip? Not sure. Somehow, however, her life seems so familiar to me. The story begins with the death of Mrs. Wright. Mrs. Wright was a fragile elderly lady, very thin, with white hair she wore in a bun. She was found in her small house, alone, dying in her sleep. Her house was full of stuff: newspapers, magazines, trinkets; there was so much stuff that the EMT's had trouble wheeling her out. (A lot of stuff.) The windows were covered with blinds that were pulled to the floor; above the blinds were curtains that were sun bleached and very dusty along the top. In the bedroom closet there were grocery bags full of money. There was a chill in the air as the heat wasn't on and it was only forty degrees outside. There was no food in the refrigerator, just some oyster crackers at her bedside and a little bit of water. Her neighbors
said she rarely left the house.

Her neighbors share that when her daughter was little and her husband was alive the little house was painted a bright yellow with white shutters. There were flowers in the beds around the house. The windows were always open and the wind would blow the handmade curtains into the middle of the small rooms. Over time things began to change. Her daughter grew up, moved away, and died. Some whisper that it was a drug overdose; others say suicide. No one really knows. Just a few months later her husband passed away and her life caved in. Actually on that day, she died, too. She shut herself in her home. Her house began to fall apart. Over the years the yellow paint faded and peeled until there were only streaks of paint left on the house. The windows were locked, room shades installed. Mrs. Wright started hording. All she had was her stuff; stuff gave her comfort. The outside world was changing; as the neighborhood changed, she become more and more frightened. She added locks on the door and secured the windows. She began to worry about money. She was utterly alone in the world. What if she needed the money for the nursing home? What if she decided to fix up her house? She spent very little, putting the money in grocery bags and keeping them in her closet. When folks would try to meet her or help her, she was short with them. She spent the last years of her life hording and barely hanging on. All the thingsthat she held dear were gone. All that was left was her house and stuff that reminded her of the past. She clung to the past when times where better, when she had joy. She never dreamed her daughter would go before her; that shouldn't happen, but it did.Everything was gone. Now Mrs. Wright had died, too. It is sad, as there were no survivors. Her house was sold to an antique dealer who opened an antique store in the old house. Her whole estate was inherited by the State. Years later few people even remember that Mrs. Wright existed.

I wonder if the church is going down the same road as Mrs. Wright. I wonder if the church has moved from serving to preserving. I wonder if the wonderment of following the leading of the Holy Spirit has shifted to a pre-packaged program. I wonder if caring for people has been reduced to a line in the budget that is to be doled out little by little each month to those we feel are truly deserving? I wonder if ministry has been relegated to paid professionals much like people who tire of caring for their lawns hire a gardener. I wonder if we are hoarding assets and stuff while the needs of others go unmet. Could it be possible that the resources held for the rainy day should be used, as it is raining right now? Could it be that our children who we thought would be the heirs of the church have slipped away with little interest? Has the world changed around us while we barricade ourselves in the church? Could it be that the church has been dying from the inside out? I'm not sure. I do know that many people I have met feel as if God has forsaken them. Perhaps they are not God-forsaken, but church-forsaken. Could it be that we in the church could find new life as we give up anything that is keeping us from reaching others? After all, Jesus says, "For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it". (Matthew 16:25)

*In Lupton's book he tells a sad story of the death of Mrs. Bailey (pp 95-97). After reading his story, I wrote the story of Mrs. Wright, while this story is fiction, it paints a picture of the way I see many churches of today.

December 8, 2006

Justin

The last of the line is being served. The last hotdog of the night just came off the grill. The dinner hour seemed longer than usual. It was our fifth week having a cookout right in the middle of the apartment complex. About an hour before we had set up the table, brought in the food, lugged in the plastic chairs, unloaded the grill, and started grilling hotdogs. Families stood in line to receive a hotdog, chips, a cookie, and a can of soda. By the end of the night we had served about 125 people which was a lot when we first started; twenty weeks later we served closer to 200. Over the summer we served about 3000 meals. That's 3000 paper trays, 3000 napkins, 3000 drinks. We generated a great deal of trash. We recycled cans, but everything else went into the trash cans we provided at the cookout site.

It was because of trash that I met Justin. Justin lives right across from where we have our cookouts. He is about twelve years old with blonde hair and always had a big smile. Getting rid of the trash is hard for us. The church doesn't have a dumpster (can't afford it) and the two city containers that we have at our house will hardly take care of the trash we have, let alone the large amount of trash generated at a picnic. After meal #5 Justin wanted to help us clean up. He pulled the black plastic bag out of the trash can, tying the bag like a boy scout tying knots. He knew precisely what to do to keep the half-eaten hotdogs and the ketchup-stained trays contained in the bag. He would twist his lips and roll his eyes and with a quick twist of the wrist, “voila”, the trash was secure. He asked me what he should do with the bag; I suggested he put it on the truck. Suddenly, I remembered that our trash containers were already full and the city will not pick up loose bags. I was in a quandary - - - what to do with all the trash. I quickly called him before he got the trash loaded. I asked him if he could put it out with his trash; he assured me he could and would. Those in the apartments have no limit on trash. They do not have to put the trash in the required containers, and they can pile it high. The containers are meant to beautify Kokomo; it seems that beauty for the apartment dwellers is an unnecessary expense. They put their trash on the side of the road on Sunday night, and by Monday morning it is gone. After that week, if Justin was home, he took the trash away without being asked. I would turn around and the trash can would be empty. If I looked quickly enough I could see Justin dragging the bag out of sight. I never really saw where he put it but for me it was gone. One less worry, for me.

Justin reminds me of Jesus. Jesus takes the trash out of my life. He bags it up, ties it up, and takes it away. He takes a messed-up life and makes it right. I know Jesus forgives sins and the Bible says that our sins are removed. I don't know where Jesus puts all the garbage that I accumulate in my life. However, I am sure that there have been times when I was ready to have the garbage of my life removed; and before I could even ask for help, I would see Jesus dragging it out of sight. "For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions
from us. As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him."

Postscript: In mid-October, the apartment residents received new trash containers. I’m glad they did not have them last summer or I would not have met Justin.

December 7, 2006

Frankie

Running late for a lunch meeting, I scan the porches as I rush out the door. I see a crowd on a porch but I don't see him in the crowd. It's like playing "Where's Waldo”, scanning, seeking, looking at each face. Finally I spy his face in the midst of a bunch of others. He is sitting on the bottom step. One more step up and he would be on the six-by- four foot square porch, a very large porch, for those in the neighborhood. His face is worn, his hair is graying, and he looks somewhat confused. I know that this fiftysomething African-American man has lived a rough life; he looks much older. I don't know his story. You can see it in his eyes. He spends a good part of his time repairing bikes, tuning mowers, and drinking. He knows he drinks too much but it has dogged him all his life. He can't shake it. However, it doesn't stop him from sharing what he has with so many people.

Need a meal go to Frankie’s? Evicted? Stay with Frankie. Need a place to hang out? Sit on Frankie's porch. Sometimes there are five, six, eight or more people on the porch with music blaring, yet Frankie welcomes everyone as a friend. It is not unusual to see Frankie sweeping out his 350-square-foot apartment once everyone leaves in a day or two. Sometimes when I see all the people sleeping in Frankie's house, I wonder why I as a Christian would be uneasy letting those in need stay in my house, especially the kind of people Frankie lets stay with him: the homeless, the hungry, addicted, left out, lonely, the evicted, the depressed, and the drunk. He doesn't judge; he just practices hospitality. I don't know what Frankie's faith background is or even if he is a Christian.

I know he doesn't go to church because I see him most Sunday mornings sitting on the porch drinking from a bottle covered with a paper sack as I walk over to the church. We can judge Frankie, but when the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his throne in heavenly glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

“Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'

"Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'

"They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?'

"He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.' "Then they will go away to away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life." (Matthew 25:31-46)

December 6, 2006

*Signs

I was driving through a nearby town on the way to a meeting, had some time to spare and stopped at an old downtown, run down, thrift store. It almost looked closed as it was dark inside. I guess they were trying to save electricity. I enjoy going to old downtown stores to view turn-of-the-century architectural elements. I love it when the wooden floors creak under my feet, and I can gaze at the high tin ceilings. From the outside it looked like I hit pay dirt. As I approached the door the first thing I saw was a sign. We've all seen signs in stores and in churches; usually they have kind of adouble meaning. The sign on the door said, “Cash Only" (which really means too many bad checks and you can't get credit). "OK, fine", I think "I've got a five". The next sign I encounteredsaid, "Children must be controlled by parents" (that really means you're a bad parent and your children are brats). "MMMMMM" As I turned around I saw another one, "You break it you buy it (don't touch our stuff; it was donated to us and is very, very valuable)." The signs got stronger the farther I moved into the store, "DON'T ASK US TO MARK ANYTHING DOWN!!!!! (we can't help it if you don't have the money)”. Soon it seemed like all I saw were signs, “No public restrooms" (we have restrooms but not for you, you might get them dirty or something). "All shirts $2.00 except on this rack, priced as marked (we save the nicer stuff for those who really don't have to shop here). As I left, there was a sign at the cash register that said, "No refunds!!!!!" and right below it said, "Jesus loves you and so do we" (sure you do).

One of the challenges of working with the under-resourced is to care and help without it becoming a degrading experience for both of us. When we give to those who do not have, we can give in a way that sends a message, "this is for you but you have nothing of value to offer to me". The givers often feels like they are intruding into the private lives of those who have trouble caring for themselves, and it is uncomfortable. The receiver is exposed and vulnerable. Of course we can't stop giving, helping, and showing compassion. Perhaps the whole system needs to be rethought. What would happen if the large number of retired baby boomers who have business sense were to help folks start small businesses? What would happen if church benevolence funds were given to fund the endeavor? Perhaps experienced folks could share their expertise with those who would like to move from life "sustaining" jobs to life "giving" jobs.
Could communities be transformed by providing day-care centers, janitorial help, window
washing, roofing, yard care, small grocery stores, or even thrift shops that would
be owned or at least managed by and employ folks who need jobs that will give some
self esteem?

Maybe the sign we as Christians put up says, "We care for you". Do we care for you (meet your needs) or care for you (love enough to become involved in a life working side by side to improve a family's lot)? Maybe we do both, meet needs while enabling those in poverty to fulfill their calling. Jesus' sign says, "I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly". (John 10:10) Maybe that is our calling - - - to help people not just survive life but to have it more abundantly.

*Recently, I read a book called, Theirs is the Kingdom by Robert Lupton, (San Francisco: Harper Publishing, 1989) in it is a chapter about church signs (pp 48-50), it reminded me of my experience in a Thrift shop that I visited while traveling some years ago.

December 5, 2006

Gloria

She sits on her small porch that has enough room for her plastic chair and for the door of her apartment to open and close. Two steps down sit neighbors talking with Gloria in chairs that Gloria has provided. Gloria listens intently as neighbors ask questions, share stories, and seek advice. Meanwhile, Gloria's granddaughter, along with other neighbor children, run all around the small front yard playing tag, swirling around Gloria and those relaxing in the chairs. Suddenly, one of the children spies a praying mantis hanging on the large tree in the front yard. The insect hangs on the tree, like those sitting in Gloria’s yard hang on her words. Gloria's granddaughter runs to retrieve an old jar with a warped plastic lid resting on the top. As she bends over to pick up the jar from near the porch, she yells, "Is it a boy or a queen?” One of the other girls responds, “It's a queen”. Gloria's granddaughter quickly switches jars to the "Queen Jar", as they have to keep the boys separated from the girls. Adding another insect to their collection is great fun and brings great joy. The other adults sitting around Gloria pay little attention to the children, but briefly stop their conversation to see what was up with the kids.

Gloria is what I call the neighborhood "Pastor"; she listens to the concerns of her neighbors, gives advice, and explains to young moms how to cook the strange produce that often arrives in the neighborhood. She gives tips on child rearing, advises the women not to put up with men who do not respect them or their children, and tells stories of the things she has gleaned from her sixty some years of life. It is not unusual for Gloria to be in church on Sunday, even though it is a struggle to walk across the street and get up the long flight of stairs.

For you see, Gloria is no stranger to life's struggles. She grew up in Kokomo and married the love of her life. She gave birth to children and lived a typical upper-middleclass lifestyle. Her husband was an executive in a large company and provided his family with a very nice house and much of the good things of life. Gloria was living the "American Dream". Gloria's husband worked long hours, having little time for his family. Over the years things became strained, one thing led to another, and their marriage dissolved, along with the lifestyle to which she had been accustomed. Soon she foundherself in every government program possible to care for her family, including public housing. While times were difficult, she kept her faith in God, putting one foot in front of the other, never giving up. Over the years, she has learned that life happens and you have to make the best of it. She has learned that you can be bitter or you can live in
joy. She has learned that difficult days don't last forever, but the decisions you make today often have "forever" consequences. Gloria is a Believer, a survivor, a lover of life. I wish I could say that Gloria never struggles; she does. I wish I could say she doesn't have bad days: she does. I wish I could say that Gloria is perfect; she’s not. She is just like everyone else, but Gloria also gets back up when she is knocked down. She has learned to seek forgiveness as well as to forgive. Gloria has learned to live with little, yet she lives abundantly. Gloria is blessed.

The Spirit of God swirls around Gloria and her life, just like the children swirling around the yard. The Holy Spirit empowers Gloria to love God and neighbor in a way that creates a culture of hope in a place that seems to have little hope. As I look across the street I see "Pastor Gloria" at work in her little congregation. I see a mother with a baby in a stroller listening to Gloria share words of wisdom. I see Gloria talking to a single woman who works long hours cleaning a factory, encouraging her that things will get better. Later, Gloria might prepare a meal for her family and invite the neighbor lady to join her and maybe even play some cards after dinner. Her advice is sought out, sometimes heeded, sometimes not. As with any “caring professional", she wonders if she is making a difference and can be frustrated with the volume of her "business"; it can get tiring. At the end of the day, long after the sun goes down, Gloria goes into her apartment to finish a book and get ready for bed so she will be ready for whatever tomorrow brings.

I know when I feel discouraged I can look over at Gloria’s porch and get a free wave and smile; when I see that - - - I have just seen Jesus.

December 4, 2006

Hurricane Katrina and the Neighborhood

Watching the news, nonstop, is something I do when a tragedy strikes. I did it on
September 11th and I did it as Katrina blasted through the South. When it was all over I
wondered what I could do to help. I soon learned that a truck heading to Mississippi
would be loading up here in Kokomo and heading out to aid those who need it most. I
had to think of a plan.
(Items collected in neighorhood and being prayed over)
I was pretty new in the neighborhood. We did not actually move into the house until
the end of July of 2005; we had been here one month when the hurricane hit. We had
seen all the people on the porch but really had not met anyone yet. I knew God had
called me to neighborhood ministry, but I had no idea what that would look like or how I
would go about it. I prayed and decided that I should collect canned food and other
needed items from my neighbors. I put together a flier, explaining I would be picking up
the needed items on Saturday afternoon. I walked the neighborhood, not just the apartments
but five square blocks, delivering the handbills. When Saturday afternoon came, I
began to knock on doors in the apartments. Chris (my wife) drove our car with the
hatchback open, and Jonathan and Andrew (our sons) were on hand to help. Most of
the neighbors remembered receiving the flier, but few were prepared to give. Actually
no one gave: I finally had one family give me a can of beans. I couldn’t figure out what
was going on. Surely, they realized that they were helping people that had nothing. I
went to one door and a very young mother with a newborn answered. I asked her if she
had anything to give and she was sad to say she didn’t. I told her I understood, and
reminded her that she needed to care for her baby and herself first. I thanked her and
she closed the door. As I was walking off her porch, she opened the door again, motioning
me back. With tears in her eyes, she said she could give me half of a bag of
diapers. I told her that that was O.K.; she needed to care for her baby. She told me she
had another pack and she thought she could make it to the first of the month. I accepted
the diapers, and when I turned to walk back to the car, to my amazement people from
houses we had already contacted were running out of their apartments into the street to
put items in our car. I could not believe that we collected over 500 items from the
neighborhood and those in the church (19 that day) added 500 more items. On Sunday
we took the 1000 items to the semi. After a few more weeks I learned that at the end of
the month, many families have their own food issues. Food is scarce, as food stamps
are gone. What was given was not out of abundance, but out of sacrifice. The hurricane
opened the door for me to meet almost every neighbor in a non-threatening way
and it taught me some things that I honestly did not know. I learned that hunger is an
don’t come easily and sometimes you fall and have to get up, brush yourself off, and start
again. issue in Kokomo and that most of the under-resourced are caring, compassionate, and
generous. I often wonder why it is easier for me to give my time, my finances, or my
stuff out of my abundance rather than give sacrificially.

December 3, 2006

The Church Next Door One Year Later

On November 16, 2005, Trinity UMC took the bold step to redefine itself. On November
21, 2005, we opened the church basement to neighborhood children for a meal and a Sunday school class. We were expecting 10-15 kids. We had 55 kids plus 2 s. Three days later we served Thanksgiving Dinner to about 125 neighbors and we were able to recruit 70 volunteers. Because the Salvation Army had used all of their funds for Hurricane Relief, they were not providing Thanksgiving Food Baskets in 2005. We picked up the slack and provided 50 families with food. In the first week of the new plan we served 325 people, involving 100 volunteers from 7 churches and donations from 3 businesses.

We continued week after week serving meals to children and teaching them about Jesus. There was some concern due to the fact that the refrigerator went out in the church and there was no money to purchase a new one. We were fortunate to have an unheated stairwell off the kitchen leading to the outside that served as our cooler. When spring neared God provided not one but two refrigerators! The church has become the home base for Kokomo Urban Outreach; much of what we do comes in one door of the church building and out the other.

We now have two neighborhood families attending church each Sunday. One recently experienced the saving power of Christ in her life; the other just became a member. Attendance has doubled, giving is up, we have never missed the opportunity to give our tithe, and there is new hope in the church. One of the most exciting things for me is that the church members have surrendered everything (action point 3). Classrooms that have not been used in years have been transformed into a children’s area, a clothing giveaway room, food pantry, offices, and storage areas for various ministries. Rooms have been used for guitar lessons, art classes, dance lessons, Spanish-speaking Bible studies, and Bible studies. There has been Kool-aid spilled on the carpet in the fellowship hall (even red), restrooms are well used (extra supplies have been needed), and of course the added utilities. We do have volunteers that clean up after each event. No one in the church has registered a complaint to me. There are no signs posted in our church with a list of rules of things that can or can’t happen. The building is being used not only to transform individual lives but also to transform a community. By the way, many neighbors call us “The Church Next Door”.

December 2, 2006

The Church Next Door

“Fading vision, institutional mentality, resource loss (people and finances) and a broken relationship to the surrounding community: these factors are symptomatic of a larger ailment that becomes like a cancer virtually causing the church to become ineffective. When Trinity United Methodist Church was founded, eighty years ago, there were practically no customs, traditions, or established infrastructure. Rather, it was the excitement of day-to-day hard work that drove those who started the church and its charter members to reach new people for Christ. It was the vision of a new church, reaching out to as-yet-unknown people in order to build a sustainable community of faith, that united and governed the founding body.
Over time, the church began to achieve its dream of drawing members and putting together programs to attract others to the church. Programs helped organize and develop Christians: Sunday school classes; Bible studies, United Methodist Women, youth groups, choir, and even a kindergarten. With all the programming came the infrastructure, developed to help the church carry out its mission and fulfill its vision. Boards and sub-boards, committees and sub-committees were approved and organized. Due to the great growth, the building needed to be enlarged, remodeled, redecorated, and protected. As a result, time that used to go to outreach was now spent directing and coordinating the organization and building.
As the church grew, less time and focus tended to go toward attracting new people, and more energy was spent on providing for those who had already arrived. Here is where the trouble started. When the church’s focus shifted from a missionary orientation (outreach) to a maintenance orientation (inreach), the church subconsciously began to isolate itself from the community around it. Now it has gone on so long that the church has lost touch with the interests, needs, and value shifts of its surrounding community. It has trouble speaking to unchurched people, anywhere, let alone in the surrounding neighborhood. The church no longer understands or responds to the changed interests and needs of those who live within blocks of its own doors.
Increasingly unable to speak to non-Christians, due to the fact the church now is entirely inwardly focused, it began to decline. It has been a slow, natural process with some people moving away, while others passed away. As the church declined, those who remained have become focused on sustaining the church they all enjoy. They look around each Sunday and see the dwindling number of people attending, wondering what happened. The church has tried to reach out over the years, but with little success. It is hard to understand the needs and desires of the secular culture that has changed, creating great disappointment and the feeling of failure. One year from now (Nov. 2006), if things remain as is, the church will no longer be able to maintain itself, financially or in terms of human commitment, and it will have no option than to close. The story of Trinity echoes the story of thousands of other churches across the United States: the majority of churches are in decline and in a few years will be standing where Trinity is today. Even the stronger churches of today are leaving their neighborhoods to relocate in a ten-acre cornfield on the edge of town, with no neighbors in sight, often abandoning those that need the Gospel the most…” Last November I wrote these observations of the church that I pastor which is located right across the street from the porches. A year ago the church was in a pretty precarious position; at that time things did not look so good. However, a plan of action was developed, supported and implemented by the congregation. In the church office, crammed around some tables, huddled around a space heater as we could not afford to turn the heat on for just a group of twelve, the plan was conceived - - - we would work on becoming “The Church Next Door”. It was in this meeting the following action plan was developed:

Action Points

• We will mobilize a prayer group within the church, praying that God would guide us.
• As of November 19, 2005, we will give 10% of our weekly offerings will be mailed into the
Conference monthly, with the check being written weekly, before any other check.
• We will vote to stay open by not only giving of our financial gifts, but our willingness to make sacrifices (time, attitudes, and desires).
• We will let go of the past, not blaming, pointing fingers, gossiping, or living in it.
• We will take on the attitude “it is not about us”; it is about Jesus and others.
• We will listen to those outside the church with the desire to meet their needs. Everything will be put on the table - - - worship times, styles, and other issues that we hear. We will be open to new people and new ideas.
• Our concern will not be keeping a building open; our concern will be about reaching the lost for Jesus.
• We will consider ourselves to be missionaries and our church a mission base. Our church building will not just be for church but be used as a community center, too.
• We will be encouragers, standing together, working side by side to accomplish God's will.
• We will depend on God to meet all our needs.

December 1, 2006

Life on the Porch

The air is crisp, clear, and clean. It is early in the morning, very early. The darkness is giving way to a thin ray of sunlight that seems to struggle to break through. I look across the street and see the porches, empty porches. Just yesterday those same porches were full of people - - - sitting, talking, and listening. The children, too, spend a great deal of time on the porch and in the postage-stamp-size yard, laughing, crying, playing, and fighting. When the children fight, often their parents referee the skirmishes. Children are quieted and, just like a court of law, both children are heard: then the "judge" (the hearing the case) passes judgment. The children listen to the lecture and life goes on. In the summer there are cookouts on the porch where food is shared along with life. It is on the porches where community is formed.

I look over to the porches, squint, and look again, and to my surprise there is someone on his porch. Most of those living on the porch went in hours ago, but not on this porch. The man on the porch is sitting staring into the sky, watching intently, and waiting on who knows what. It appears he has been out all night probably sleeping on the porch. As the darkness fades, more and more people open the doors of their small apartments to the outside world. Children with backpacks appear at doors and slowly, sleepily come out to wait for the bus. Mothers with "hoodies” pull up the hoods over the top of their heads and their arms recoil into their sleeves as they huddle to keep warm. As soon as they see the bus leave, they move back into apartments, perhaps to sleep a little longer or care for younger children. As the day warms up, the porches become more active. Soon the porches will be full again with most doing about the same thing they did yesterday.

Many in town look at the porches and see those who live in public housing as people who are uneducated, lazy, uncaring, and undeserving. I really don't see that. After living in the neighborhood for over a year, I see "real" people who are generally honest, caring, under-educated, under-resourced, lonely, struggling, joyful, hopeful, helpful, wise, deserving, and generous. I know that my neighbors are not perfect, but neither am I. The vast majority of my neighbors are good people. I would be less than honest if I were to say that things are ideal; they’re not. However, over the next twenty-three days I want to share the positive side of the neighborhood and share some observations that I have made. Each story is real. Sometimes the names of folks have been changed, and the subjects of the stories have read and approved
them. I want to share their stories and my observations as many of you have shared
your resources with us.

Introduction

This Advent Devotional is much different than most devotionals. Usually, each day, there is a scripture, a story, and a prayer. I chose not to organize this devotional in that way. I chose to create a devotional guide that is open ended. Each day a story is told; there are no printed prayers or daily suggested scripture readings, however, some stories do contain a scripture passage. During Advent Isaiah chapters 52-53 can guide you in the right direction. After you read the story, sit in silence. Is it as hard for you as it is for me to be quiet before God? In the silence, perhaps, you will meet God. God could give you ideas of how to pray or for whom to pray. On some days God might give you a scripture to think about. On other days God may give you some sort of insight to ponder. Maybe you will sense God stirring you to action. In this on-line version I will post each days devotion the day before it is to be read and will leave it up the whole season of Advent. It could be helpful for you to write down some of the things God is revealing to you during your quiet time. By Christmas Eve you would have had twenty-four quiet moments with God and I believe you will find yourself a bit closer to God.

My God bless you during this Advent season

Jeff and Chris Newton

PS: Thank you to all who read, re-read and edited this writing. I will respect your wishes to remain unnamed, however, I do appreciate your hard work. Thank-you.

“Permission is expressly granted to any person who wishes to download, print, and distribute this document for her or his personal use as long as it is not sold for this or other commercial purposes.” © 2006 Jeff Newton