The love is in the delivery

We have a weekly meal at our church.  You've read about it before, the Sunday lunch.  All people from the community are invited to come.  The demographic is made up of about 60% families and individuals below the poverty line, 30% homeless families and individuals, and 10% other/church volunteers.  The meal is an embodiment of the coming Kingdom of God.  It is a place where all are welcome, faults/sins/failings are overlooked, and a true selfless community is taught.

A few Sundays ago we had quite the adventure.  Two homeless gentlemen who have been coming to the lunch for quite sometime showed up inebriated.  Our environment has become a safe place for an increasing number of families to show up to eat, so the use, possession, or influence of substances is strictly prohibited.  Upon discovering these two guys state, I approached one of them and said, "You are welcome here, but your alcohol is not.  You have to leave."  It was the first time I have had to escort someone away from our lunch and church.  A few minutes later I returned to see our police officer escorting the other gentleman out as well.

I realized that love looks different in different situations.  Was I still showing love to those guys, having to escort them out of our church?  I think so.  Was I also showing love to the 148 other people who were trying to eat lunch?  I think so.

The love is in the delivery.  People can tell when the things we say come from a cold heart or when they are birthed out of compassion.  I made sure to tell them that I loved them as Christ does.  And now, almost more importantly, they will see love and redemption in future encounters I have with them.

A Birthday Party

Roger fainted one Friday morning outside of a seven-eleven and that sent him to the hospital for a week.  Immediately, another one of Norman's homeless guys (who is the closest thing to a friend for Roger) came to the church to tell me what had happened.  Vickie (our senior adult minister who has known Roger for quite some time) and myself hurried up to the hospital.  We found a man who had been weathered by nearly a decade of homelessness.  

There were six of us in that room.  If you were to label us economically, we would be all over the scale.  But we came together as equals, as messed-up people who recognize that life is painful.

Roger got out of the hospital on his birthday.  So, of course, we threw him a party.  He turned 60 and his body has aged to the point that he would pass for a good twenty years more.The same six of us who gathered at the hospital were sitting around the table on the second floor of the FLC.  Who knows when the last time was that Roger sat down around a table with people that honestly cared about him, laughed, and ate ice cream.  The simplest, kind and gentle small talk is so good for people.

I believe Christ was there that day.  At first I felt him in Roger's loneliness, and then again in his laughter.

We even all signed a "thank you" card for the nurses that took care of Roger.  He said he wouldn't mind going back and letting them take care of him again.

Cross-cultural experiences

Cross-cultural experiences happen to us everyday.  And really, if my missions professor taught me anything in seminary it was that "cross-cultural" in most basic form means cross-perspective/worldview.  I interact with someone of a different perspective/worldview...well...every time I talk to someone other than myself (we all talk to ourselves, embrace it).
Begin side note: I've always thought that the most brilliant people in the world are probably the ones with the most involved, active, and witty inner dialogue. End side note.

Over the past few months I have developed a friendship with Steve, a semi-homeless, wholly-jobless, and thoroughly kind-hearted man.

Steve and his cousin came to our Sunday lunch two months ago in need of some groceries.  Being new to town, they needed a little assistance until they acquired their bearings.  We gave them a grocery sack and after dropping the groceries off at their car, they both came back into the church.  With a seriousness in their eyes, Steve's cousin said, "if there is ever anything you or this church needs, anything, give me a call."  And he handed me a slip of paper with their cell numbers.

A few weeks go by, and I receive a call from Steve saying his cousin died unexpectedly during the night.

After walking alongside him in his grief for the past week, discussing his native american religious beliefs, and sharing what we'll miss about his cousin, he tells me that his cousin has been cremated and he's going to spread his ashes in the region where he grew up.  But before he does this he will separate the ashes into separate vials and give them to people who meant a lot in his cousin's life.  I was humbled and a little uneasy as I tried to figure out how to respond to him wanting to give me a vial.  The more I sought to see the world through his culture and perspective, the more I appropriately knew how to interpret this gesture.

So now, I have this little capsule of Steve's cousin's ashes at work.  Is it weird? Nah.  It's a humbling gift from another culture, perspective, and worldview.  And I am honored to receive it.

Dentures and dignity

There is a friend of mine who inspires me.
6 months ago he was living in a tent down by the river (Chris Farley should be ringing in your ears).  Through a slow, difficult, and patient process he now has a steady job, roof over his head, and plans for his future.
Be careful not to think that I am glad he has a job, a roof, and plans.  Those are simply the signs in his life that something deeper is going on; the costume that a new creation has decided to don.  I'm inspired because he found something inside of himself strong enough to push through 20 years of addiction, 2 marriages, and 4 months of homelessness.
If you are anything like me you bring to this story an element of skepticism to the validity or longevity of his change.  Shame on us for hiding behind the cynical veneer of "being a realist".  Christ's first and only response is one of compassion and hope, and so should ours be.  Right?

Well, I have never seen this same friend of mine glow as much as he did this past Sunday.  His new set of teeth came in.  At first, I didn't recognize him.  Seriously, I thought he looked familiar but could not think of who he was.  And then I realized, it was my old friend with a new smile!  It showed me the intimate connection between physical and spiritual things.  His spirit found new dignity in a set of dentures.

He looked like a million bucks; you should have seen him.

The old man and the porch

A week ago news was buzzing in our poor community that an older lady, who is like a grandmother to everyone, fell and broke her hip.  You actually have heard a story about her before.  She is the woman in the story called "The Tithe" written a few weeks back. The news of this tragedy traveled fast through the community, and she was mentioned by several people at our weekly time for prayer concerns before the Sunday lunch.

There's hardly any need to know last names in this particular culture/community.  In some cases simply getting assigned a nickname suffices especially if you have a defining characteristic (I have not been assigned one yet, but perhaps maybe one day).  Being that absolutely no one knew Shirley's last name, we had no way of finding her in the hospital.  The good news was Shirley gets picked up on our Sunday Shuttle (a church van that travels around Norman picking up people without transportation), so we had an idea of where her "home"was.  

I had our staff sign a card for her, and I ventured out to deliver it with a small grocery sack.

What I found was her husband sitting on the covered porch in a rocking chair.  We talked about cigarettes, family history, and God for what had to have been an hour in the shade of his porch on a hot Norman afternoon.

I learned three things that day:

(1) You don't have to go to a different country to find people who are starving physically and socially.

(2) Fear keeps us from having so many life-changing encounters.

(3) Hope draws people together

Thanks for reading, everyone! (Shirley is recovering on schedule by the way)

Giving Back

Our goal is never to enable people to become leaches on the systems that are meant to help, but it will always happen.
Our goal is always to love and empower people to the point where they are overflowing with self-worth and respect, and this sometimes happens.

A few weeks ago a lady came to our food pantry and received a family sack of groceries.  As we talked I learned that she was a single mother of two and unemployed.  The next week she returns and says that she wants to give pack to our food pantry. "What are some needed items?"she asks.  I tell her some staples but insist that she doesn't need to do that.  She returns forty-five minutes later with peanut butter, canned vegetables, and crackers that she bought using her food stamps.
Since then she has offered her time as a volunteer in other areas of the Community Ministry.

I am learning how much harder it is to receive than give.
I am learning how invaluable true gratefulness is.

The little things

You never know what little things you choose to do throughout a day will end up making big ripples in the water of life.

Last week a kid (around 19 years old) came by the church because he got himself pulled over for speeding, arrested for drug possession, car impounded, driven 40 miles south of where he lived by the police, and making bail that day he found himself 40 miles from home without a car, stranded in Norman.

So here he comes, up the steps to the church office, buzzes in and says, "I need some help".  He was one of those teenagers that you can see past the actual events/consequences of some bad choices and know that he's really, actually, a good kid.

He mentioned that his phone needed to be charged so that he could call someone, get a ride back up north to his hometown, and not have to be homeless in Norman for the night (or next couple of nights).

Sure enough, we had the same brand of phone, and that meant that I had a charger he could use.  After spending about 15 minutes talking, I handed him the charger and suggested he go rest somewhere, charge his phone, make his calls, then bring it back when he was finished.  He looked at me with one of those you-are-actually-going-to-trust-me-to-bring-this-back expressions.  I said, "Here's your chance to make a good decision.  It's up to you."

I walked him out the front doors of the church; he kind of smirked and looked back a few times.  About three hours later I get a call from the office saying I have a visitor and he's coming down to see me (normally, a "visitor" is supposed to wait in our lobby area for me to come to them.  So, I didn't know what was up).  I stepped outside of my door and loe and behold, it was him, charger in hand, and a big smile on his face.  He had the look of someone who despite getting pulled over, despite being arrested, knew he could still make a good choice.

I know it might seem like a really insignificant situation, but I guarantee we underestimate the little acts of grace we could be showing people everyday.

And guess what.  A week later, he shows up again at the church, wanting to say thanks for what we had done.  He showed me his new haircut, shave, and nice attire (because he had to appear before the judge that day).  To top it all off, this time he brought his mom.  I met her and told her what a good son she had, how he had brought back my charger, and as if she was beginning to doubt it, tears welled up in her eyes.

If you're waiting around for something big to be a part of, remember, the big things are made up of a million little things.