I’m reading two books that Richard Twiss recommended, God is Red: A Native View of Religion by Vine Deloria, Jr. and Neither Wolf nor Dog by Kent Nerburn. Both serve as introductions to Indian ways of being and thinking. The first is academic writing, the second is more narrative. Many of Deloria’s themes are explained beautifully in Nerburn’s writing. The books explain that whites love the idea of being Indian, but only to a point. They want to experience enough to be able to pull out at any time and of course always maintain their leverage. Kent Nerburn is a white guy and is always conscious of this. Deloria’s book is an Indian theology on par with any European models I’ve read. I’m on his section on history, space and time right now. Quite good.
Guest post from Jeremy Nicholls
Millions of ghosts wander helplessly throughout our mega cities, remaining invisible and ignored. People are lonely. People are lost. People are forgotten. People are alienated. The Kingdom of God calls us to open our eyes and love these distressed individuals that live among the masses. Opening our eyes requires us to use our spiritual imaginations to address the different needs we see and the different personalities we encounter. There is a wonderful array of talents that have been drastically forgotten and there are the addictions and struggles which torture and hold in bondage countless souls.
The ongoing question that lingers in my mind is: How do I use my spiritual imagination to embrace and love (that being the love shown in God’s Kingdom) these roaming ghosts?
The gospels show Jesus taking time to embrace the forgotten. He would not let the bleeding woman go unnoticed. In a step of undeniable faith, she touched the hem of his garment and was instantly healed. She was judged and deemed unclean, and was therefore considered a social reject. With a love that was so compassionate, Jesus called this woman to himself addressing her 12 years of devastating alienation by assuring the masses that she was now clean. Jesus continually stopped his busy schedule to focus and love the disenfranchised. Amongst the bustling crowds he found an individual and healed him or her completely and holistically! Jesus accepted the Samaritan woman at the well, when she was planning and expecting to be ignored. Kingdom love squashed that assumption. Jesus loved and showed compassion to Legion, Bartimaeus and many other people who suffered isolating infirmities. This love is kingdom love, agape love; a love which reaches beyond our social circles and steps into the shaky and risky ground of lepers and tax collectors.
We need to keep our eyes open. We need to see the destitution that lies stagnant around us. A neighbor may hardly get out of bed because he suffers from depression. A classmate may be ostracized because she is haunted with delusions or schizophrenia. A person at work may silently be a helpless victim of an abuser. A reclusive lady riddled with paranoia may be living in abandoned buildings. Every night, a teenager at church may be trying to escape his suicidal tendencies, by drowning his sorrows with a bottle of vodka. The scenarios are plentiful. In my life, the Ahmed’s and Dan’s (who I’ve previously written about) continually knock at my door, but there are many restless quiet souls wanting relief, yet they are unwilling, ashamed and far too frightened to knock. That is where we need to be! Reaching out, and with creative instinct, compassionately love them with a love flowing forth from God’s kingdom!
Daily, I would walk past this 66 year old man named Fred! He would be slouched on the corner smoking cigarettes, playing lottery cards and quietly greeting the crowds that wander by. Freddie, a very gentle caring man, has an unappealing look: he has one eye, rarely changes his stained clothes, never showers, fingers are colored yellow by his endless smoking and he is an incredibly skinny and small man. Freddie also refuses to ask for help and does not want to be a burden. As a result of being an invisible person, his appearance was rapidly deteriorating.
It was late 2007, the weather was starting to freeze and Freddie’s coloring looked awful, he was thinner than usual and seemed very sickly. Beth, a few JPUSA’s and I had noticed this decline. People would come to me and they expressed a lot of concern about his well being and his apparent homelessness. I had known him for years and he had always told me he stayed at friend’s house and that I needn’t worry about him. One November morning, as I walked to work, I couched beside Freddie and asked him about his housing situation. Surprisingly, Freddie admitted he was sleeping behind a local dollar-store; he was concerned the approaching winter and feared being a victim of pointless violence.
Freddie accepted my offer and I took him to a warm and sheltered bed. Many at Cornerstone knew him and accepted him with open arms into our little homeless community. Ahmed was so elated that he actually gave him new clothes!
Thankfully, Freddie did not freeze to death that winter, which could have been the case. Through active pursuit, much talking and case management we discovered that he was entitled a pension. This was money that he could have received when he turned 65! Today, Freddie lives in his own apartment in JPUSA’s senior program. He pays rent and is getting three meals a day. Though he still doesn’t like to shower or change his clothes, he look’s a lot healthier and is experiencing the radical affects of kingdom love.
Some of my homeless friends, along with Bernice from a local agency, kept telling me about this quiet guy called Aaron. They feared his well being and kept telling him to come see me. He had been homeless for over 15 years and had lost 6 toes due to frostbite. He slept on a local loading dock and tried to make a few dollars hobbling around the neighborhood collecting cans in a broken down rusty shopping cart.
One autumn day, Aaron nervously came up to see me in my office. He was only 41 years old, but I thought he was 65. He used a walking stick, had on multiple layers of clothes and desperately needed a shower. I was unable to house him that day, but I encouraged him to meet with me on a monthly basis. We met a couple of times and we exchanged a disjointed and mumbling dialogue about his sleepless nights. He spoke how he would continually pray he wouldn’t freeze to death. Mental illness probably accounts for his severe lack of motivation, yet I was proud of his effort to come and see me. We set a few goals in an effort to escape this life of bondage. He was desperate!
These encounters haunted me. I was praying! But the prayers a few of us were praying needed legs. Aaron needed caring people around him and a warm bed. The Lord laid this burden on me. Beth stayed at home praying, as Darrell and I ventured out into the cold night to seek and find him. We had numerous hot spots to hit, starting with the loading dock. We expected to be gone for hours. Yet, only two minutes later, we find him a single block away pushing his cart. We walk him to the shelter and give him a bed. We speak of a plan to better his circumstances.
Fellow homeless shelter residents greet Aaron with open arms. They are thanking God (and us) for bringing in Aaron. I get hugged repeatedly.
There is a joy in seeing a bed-less brother now having a bed.
A helpless brother now has help.
A hopeless brother now has hope.
A cold and weary brother now has warmth and rest.
A lonely brother now has a bunch of guys giving him the beautiful reality of community.
That night, I left the shelter with remarkable peace. God had allowed me to be part of his miracle. I walk past Aaron smoking his cigarette, fellowshipping. He humbly thanks me and praises the Lord for His Almighty Goodness and Love!
Aaron’s story did not stop there. Through patient persistence, we pursued SSI with him. He managed to meet with doctors, outreach personal and mental health workers. He has a tendency to procrastinate, forget and ignore, so we continually nagged him, reminded him and drove him to his appointments. Over a year passed and he eventually starting receiving his benefits. In a surprising flurry, Aaron immediately moved into his own apartment and started paying rent. He remains there till this day.
The stable housing situations of Freddie and Aaron are modern day miracles. I also believe it was a miracle just to get them into our shelter. But we need to look, and we can’t let the Freddie’s slip through the cracks. Think of your Freddie! Think of your Aaron! These 2 are just 2 of the millions ignored and forgotten, who wander this world, as if born as ghosts.
Beth was sitting at church, when Antonio wandered in and sat next to her. It had been raining throughout the night and Beth noticed his musty smell and damp clothes. Living as a 60 year old ghost and battling Chicago’s outside elements for well over 10 years, Antonio did not want to burden a soul. We approached him, spoke and tackled some of his fears. He took a very courageous step by receiving a warm sheltered bed that night and he experienced the reality of kingdom love. This was a simple miracle that came through the observant loving eyes (and smell) of Beth.
This cannot just be a function of various individuals seeking and finding deserted loners. Kingdom love needs to stem from community. We need to use our eyes, ears and noses to recognize the need that flows ruggedly through the harsh terrain. Together, using our God given gifts, we can lift our sisters and brothers from the gutters. When people see and experience this sort of love and unity, we will be seen and known as the salt and light Jesus spoke about.
The silence of the Ghosts, who simply exist in the crowds, will never stop crying out. Despite the stories of Freddie, Aaron and Antonio, I live with the realization that I have bypassed too many ghosts. I repent at not heeding the Spirit’s cry to embrace and love a brother or sister in suffering turmoil. When I walk in my neighborhood, I am always flooded by the endless needs of extroverted personalities. It has become my challenge to look and see those silently screaming individuals waiting to be embraced with a word, a hug or a simple smile. As Christians, it is our calling to walk amongst the masses, find that invisible man or woman, and show them the love that can only come from the Kingdom of God.
How many people are longing to be noticed?
How many people are longing for love?
How many people are longing for another person to see their inner tears that are being wept?
The loneliest people are the ignored folk living in midst of the crowds. As Kingdom dwellers we need to pray for open eyes and an imagination to provide the help needed. We need to reach out, as there are many lost and lonely souls waiting for us to notice them and gaze into their vacant eyes, recognizing them as a person and truly love them; as someone beloved of God!
Maybe you’re like me and you’re thinking about the many people without homes this time of year. Here in Chicago temperatures have dropped below freezing with the wind chill, and this makes me appreciate every bit of warmth I’ve got. Have you ever considered that some people choose to live without housing? Ken Ilgunas has an article on Salon.com about going to Duke University and living out of his van in order to keep from going into debt. On Howstuffworks.com they have a post on how to live out of your car. At the very least all of this can help us think about how to live with much less.
Many people just can’t wrap their heads around why anyone would want to live with so little. Our very way of life here in America involves being padded against going without. Like poverty is synonymous with immorality. What is it that has caused this starvation complex among us? Why are we so afraid?
I have refrained from comment on the Manhatten Declaration, mainly because I was content to read blogs of friends who had very passionate opinions about it. I am weary of the culture wars and to me it smacks as the latest big campaign to gain political leverage. However, there are signers who I would not describe as right wing. Dr. Ron Sider who I’ve interviewed here is one of those. The document works very hard to be irenic and diplomatic. Even so, I won’t get behind for much the same reason I didn’t get behind the Evangelical Manifesto. True ecumenism is not finding like minded people to clarify and speak for the whole in order to gain more power. Under the FAQ on the Manhatten Declaration’s site I’d direct your attention to the answer to the question:
Isn’t this just a Republican initiative? How many of the signers would identify themselves as Democrats?
They respond:
“In most cases, we do not know the signatories’ political affiliations, if any.”
I don’t believe that. They don’t know Chuck Colson’s political affiliation? So, to sum up, the document does more to circle the wagons than to say anything new about the issues it raises. It is far less a pastoral statement or a call to social justice than a gauntlet declaring that these people will not budge no matter what sort of pressure is applied. For this reason, the action beyond the statement is open to interpretation. For that reason it’s not a call to do any thing in particular beyond what the signers already believe.
This is something I prepared to read for some of my family in Missouri this weekend. I wanted to share something that would cast a backward glance at our story and capture why Christmas is more important to me now that I’ve lived a bit:
As a child there was nothing more wondrous, more full of meaning, more certain than the expected joy of those wrapped gifts under the tree. Each year at least one week before the day, my sisters and I would gather under the tree to count our wrapped presents, touch them, shake them, turn them upside down, listen to them, and I’ll admit, when the suspense got to be too much and sisters weren’t around, rip the tiniest hole to peek and then retape it.
But by say age 12 the wonder and awe of Christmas was wearing off. There were only so many Hot Wheels, Tonka Toys and GI Joes in the world, and at the time I started learning that friends at school were going for the bigger ticket items, the electronic goods like video games, stylish clothes, basketball shoes that let you jump higher. And around that time I knew my parents were not even going to be on that page. They’d raised us as kids on the ten commandments and because the others (like murder, adultery, idolatry) were easy to obey, they put Coveting, the practice of wanting to possess what your neighbor has, on a pedestal. One thing that made that easier, and that I now practice with my own kids, was the banishment of advertising whenever possible.
So at age 12, having gotten off the toy carousel, my presents started getting smaller and flatter. Checks started appearing in cards with sums to be used for music lessons. Pants, socks and whatever else you give a pre-teen. So I’ll admit I looked around under the tree and felt like I was gypped. The number of my presents was drastically decreasing compared to that of my eight year old sister, still in the thralls of her toyland bliss. Then I looked over at dad, the guy who got the fewest presents. Was he faking his joy for our sakes? Was this whole show just a charade? He seemed to seriously enjoy watching us open presents when he knew we never bought him big ticket items.
It was truly a threshold moment when I learned that as my tastes in things changed it meant I was changing too. In a few more years I would sell the massive (to me) baseball card collection I’d spent years nursing and archiving. Life was moving fast and I was trying to make sense of my family. We were different than most. I had a hard time forming friendships with kids my own age. I had a different way of seeing the world, and where for other kids whose parents had “normal” jobs that drew a paycheck, my family lived in a community that held all things in common, threw massive parties for the needy at the downtown convention center, and shared our family with thousands of people on television.
At age 12 I didn’t know what a treasure our family was. I was growing up in a way I didn’t ask for, unsure of what I was becoming. But I had a strong sense that every year Christmas would come, presents would arrive from relatives in Texas and we’d all celebrate in a traditional way. My mother went out of her way to decorate and set everything in order. Looking back at the family she’d needed growing up, she made for this family, her family, the beautiful Christmas she hadn’t had for herself, year after year.
Now at age 35 I think back to what my dad got by looking at us open presents every year with more understanding. We were his great gift. A present testimony to God’s faithfulness again. No matter his personal struggles, no matter the weight he felt as a minister, no matter the battles he was fighting real or imagined, God was again faithful to us as a family. God was our provider, our portion in life, or sustainer.
In more recent years our lives have brought us seismic changes. My mother and grandfather have gone to be with Jesus and God has blessed my father with a new life to share with Debra. Jen and Nate have recently received the great gift of their firstborn son Henry and we all travailed long and hard with them in prayer over his arrival into this world. God has brought us all through great uncertainty into this new season with joy and expectation.
Christmas this year is again our point of orientation. We are at home with Jesus. I have found that our greatest gift each year comes with the knowledge that what’s under the tree is only a sign of God’s great love and provision through every new transition in our lives. We are God’s gift and we are meant to share it together.
My family and I have been traveling the last two weekends and will again be gone this weekend, meaning we’re missing church! And we hate it, especially over Advent. We’re doing the Advent calendars with our kids and we’re keeping up with the Scripture readings but, truthfully, missing the fellowship, worship, prayer and teaching sets us out of life’s rhythm. I’d like to visit a church this weekend, maybe my sister’s church if she’ll let us.
In other news, more Cornerstone Festival seminar podcasts are posted. I’m checkin out S00ng Chan Rah’s seminar on a Theology of Suffering and Keith Wasserman’s talk on homelessness. If you’re like me and want to download the actual .mp3 files rather than listening from a web browser, go to this link.
Also, on the musical angle I’m finally gettin into the music of the Sir Douglas Quintet. I first heard of Doug Sahm through Uncle Tupelo. This band was around for forever but I never heard of them. Don’t know why.
A Gangster, a Tainted Reputation, and a Kingdom That Loves
(guest post by Jeremy Nicholls)
I stood on the blighted corner of Broadway and Wilson chatting with Ahmed. This particular day, I could feel the judgment coming down from certain factions of society. Stares were aimed in our direction and it wasn’t just the rich and affluent young urbanites, judgment also came from the men and women who shared shelter beds, soup kitchen lines and the sidewalks with him. It was a strange, but not unusual feeling, yet I knew that love was calling me to give Ahmed my full attention.
Jesus speaks passionately about this: when he lived and spoke of the Kingdom of Heaven, Jesus displayed how irrational kingdom relationships will and need to be. It means inviting poverty stricken folk into our homes for a meal, fellowshipping with people of disrepute, cancelling debt and giving beyond all rationality! Jesus wants members of His Kingdom to befriend undesirable people and tainted folks by inviting them to banquets and feasts. Such fellowship will result in risking our reputations, being ripped off and losing more money than we may have.
When Jesus called Zacchaeus down from the tree, he demonstrated a form of subversive living. This simple action made an enormously radical statement by proclaiming Zacchaeus as someone who was considered vitally important within the Kingdom of God. Yet ironically, Jesus did not stop there, he went to his home and supped with him! Zacchaeus had a reputation; he was a tax collector, and was therefore known as a con artist, embezzler, bully and a thief; he was someone that all society (rich and poor, Jew and Gentile) deemed worthy of contempt, alienation and rejection. Through this act of kingdom love, Jesus also suffered consequences and was despised for it, yet Zacchaeus became a new man. What he told Jesus he would give back to the people he had robbed and the amount he was going to give to the poor does not make logical sense! Mathematically, it does not add up! The response of Zacchaeus was an irrational act of non conformity, and he began, that day, living out the agape love and generosity of the Kingdom, just as Jesus had done for him.
Jesus was rebuked, despised and scoffed at for associating with the tax collectors, prostitutes, sinners, lepers, beggars and demon possessed. Jesus sacrificed reputation and time by stopping to talk to the Samaritan woman at the well and another woman who had a bleeding disorder and he disgracefully allowed children to come to him. Jesus made it clear that his Kingdom is for people that society has rejected and abandoned.
Working at Cornerstone presents me with my own dilemmas. There are so many people with different personalities, affiliations, struggles and addictions that I find myself having to battle my pride continually. The daily question is; do I save face by ignoring or do I humble myself and fellowship with the alienated?
Shannon is physically obtrusive, he pulls my beard, cannot control his vulgar tongue and laughs insanely, while cracking jokes and singing Barry White songs in my ear. People cringe at his overbearing personality and stare, but he needs kingdom love. Lil’ Freddie sits hunched on a street corner with his dirty pants, snotty nose, unkempt hair and smoke stained fingers. He scratches his lottery tickets and tosses them in the breeze. When people actually notice this invisible man, they view him as unsightly and disgusting, they snarl when I crouch to talk to him, yet he needs Kingdom love. Daily, I walk the short block from Clifton to Broadway. I hug, shake hands, exchange friendly fists and stop to chat to people often labeled as prostitutes, crack heads, junkies, winos, gang bangers, loiterers and crazy homeless bums. Every time I fellowship with this rejected community, I risk being labeled and dubbed a detriment of society. Ironically, many wearing the rejection label also feel justified in questioning why I would consider stopping to speak to “that type of person”. Yet, all these “labeled” men, women and children desperately need the love that spills forth from the Kingdom of God.
If we live Kingdom ethics, the same questions the Pharisees asked of Jesus when he went to Zacchaeus house should be asked of us: Why are you eating with that thieving tax collector, that thug or that gang banger? Why? Because the box we put people in, a box which is built upon our judging of others, will rip open when we develop risky relationships with the love of God’s Kingdom; we will start to see their heart, their pain, their needs, their love and their amazing gifts!
Ahmed has a tainted reputation! He is known by police, the homeless community, condo dwellers, social workers and his fellow gang members as a ‘straight up thug!’ In his 42 years, Ahmed’s life has consisted of being chronically homeless, bouncing in and out of prison, struggling to conquer different addictions, violence, times of slinging drugs and earning a highly regarded position of General in one of Chicago’s biggest gangs. Exacting revenge and punishment is the known life and reputation of Ahmed! He was the one who punched Dan in the mouth! As a nephew of a powerful imprisoned gang leader, living the thug life seemed to be his destiny and it is virtually impossible for him to escape. When we walk and talk, people often approach wanting and needing his various services, whether it is cigarettes, revenge, advice, drugs or clothing. When the masses see us walking, what do they think? What do they think when they see me standing on a street corner with Ahmed as he is stopped by a group of local young gang bangers? Who do I become to them?
Ahmed lives with the brutal scars of gang and prison life. His body displays almost fatal knife wounds, because he fended for his life in some Illinois prison gang riot. Yet, his heart displays the almost fatal wounds of alienation, captivity, slavery and retaliation. Ahmed is in bondage and he continues his wrestling match to lift these devastating chains of despair.
Through this risky relationship I quickly discovered Ahmed’s real name is Leonard. Ahmed is his gang name and it is tattooed on his body. His many acquaintances only know him as Ahmed, yet I desire is to call him Leonard. He has a wonderful and beautiful side. It may take a coffee or some rib tips, but through simple communication and some genuine interest the thug is transformed into a loving caring child of God.
Due to Leonard’s criminal history, an alcoholic girlfriend with homeless children who struggle with similar issues and the ongoing pressures of his past gang life, finding a permanent job has proved fatalistic. He is a picture of perseverance, yet because he is man of commitment and passion, the above obstacles continually push him back. Part time positions and trainings have come and gone, yet he continues to fight. He wants, dreams, prays (yes, really prays) and hopes that someday, somehow, he can live a “normal life” with his own place, while supporting a loving doting wife and working a “straight up job”.
Leonard uses his leadership qualities, poetic gift of the gab, extreme courage and love to rescue fellow strugglers from their plight. We have spent hours trying to redirect his aggressive demeanor into a positive disposition, by using slogans like “promote the peace.” Through his compassion, energy and concern, he has often pleaded with me for assistance, so we can help and protect the “brother or sister” in need. We tracked down Tyrese on an insane crack binge and succeeded in detoxifying him. He brought me Cathie, who was about to be evicted with her sickly uncle and 2 children. He has advocated for dozens of men and women who were sleeping on the brutally cold hard Chicago streets and I was able to help a lot of them reside inside our (or another) shelter. We spoke of the passive Antonio, who had already lost 6 toes due to frost bite and we were able to give him a warm bed. When I brought him in, Leonard hugged him, shed tears of joy, cooked him a small meal, gave him a warm coat and set up his bed. He is a man who loves and cares passionately for Uptown’s voiceless and unlovable masses, yet he battles the cycle he finds himself in and is constantly looking to escape his present bondage.
Through developing a risky relationship with a thug named Ahmed, I found myself putting my reputation and fear on hold, so I can help him in his wrestling match to escape and be rescued from the addictive life of thugery I know love is a choice; a choice to fight his internal battle with him, somehow displaying the love of Jesus which breaks the chains of bondage! Kingdom love simply shows Ahmed, that he is God’s “fearfully and wonderfully made” Leonard` to me!
I heard Mike Roe talk about Washington Phillips during his set at Cornerstone Festival this year. If you haven’t heard his music yet, there are at least ten songs on youtube.com. For lyrics go here. This page discusses the instruments pictured here, though there’s considerable research and debate on his sound. All I know is, once you get this music in you, the songs will keep returning. It’s got this sort of ethereal heavenly sound to it that’s unlike anything else.
I suspect some people feel guilt at Thanksgiving that they have so much more than other people. But guilt doesn’t lead to responsibility. Americans are completely okay with feeling guilty. We’re conditioned to assuaging it all the time. What our bounty at Thanksgiving should do is cause us to practice gratitude with service. Volunteering is wonderful. Better still is forming and maintaining new friendships with people we’re most likely to ignore or run from.
