The pregnant woman I spoke of last week gave birth to a healthy boy. However, she was not allowed to keep her son given her history of drug abuse and her still present condition of homelessness. She wept bitterly as the joy of seeing her son was squashed by the brutal reality of her circumstances. At the risk of sounding cliché, I was reluctant to quote Scripture and use phrases such as: “I’m praying for you,” “I’m here to help in whatever way I can,” or “God loves and cares for you.” So many desperate have heard such truths before and found them void of meaning and power since they were spoken by superficial Christians who have not yet learned or refused to apply the truth they proclaim. I was afraid to ask if they had any church background or to use any religious terminology given the likelihood their exposure had been misrepresented or wrongly defined. I know too well the risk since I have, during times of intense pain and doubt, been on the receiving end of Scripture quoting charlatans, “…having the form of godliness but denying its power…always learning but never able to arrive at a knowledge of the truth.” (2 Tim. 5a, 7) I have been left wounded and wanting after being given only token offerings and empty promises by those who neither believed nor used what they were administering. I wanted them to know I was real. Since I was determined to be a real minister to these women, I was grieved when her friend cried out to me as I was leaving for the day, “Don’t forget us!” I first thought and started to say back, “As if I would!” But then I remembered others like her, and how often I had.
Regardless of the risk of sounding cliché and now the awareness of my own hypocrisy, I remained obedient in speaking the truth, still struggling to use terms and explanations that have not been misrepresented and defining terms that have. While wrestling with my emotions through prayer, meditating on Scripture and confessing my struggle to friends, I discovered the source most responsible for producing my unrest was not the cynicism of my audience but my own. God has been breaking and remaking me for his purpose for the past 5 years. I have learned the pain of divorce, loss of time with my son, exhaustion from hard labor, joblessness, loss of transportation, homelessness, hunger, abandonment, betrayal, violence, injustice, indifference and persecution. It always hurt the most when the source of pain came from my own family or from my own church. I remembered the depths to which I had to sink emotionally and circumstantially to find the level of surrender needed to willingly nail my identity to the cross and receive my identity in Christ. I most remember how often words and professing Christians were inadequate for providing relief. I wondered if all my efforts would prove equally ineffectual, if there was a way to inspire the hope that took so long for me to find and ultimately found while alone with God.
While a friend drove me home after church on Christmas Eve, I reluctantly called one of the men to whom I am ministering to inform him God had not led me to a source that would provide gifts for his children on Christmas morning. I hurt for him and told him so. I spoke of my disdain for the materialistic expectation our culture has imposed on children and the opportunity in the absence of provision to focus on the real meaning of Christmas. I truly believed what I said and prayed for him with conviction. But I was plagued by doubt, thinking how hollow the message must sound in light of the disappointed faces to whom he would have to confess in the morning, wondering if I spoke in a way he could understand. After confessing my doubts to my friend, she prophetically reminded me of the power of the Holy Spirit to change and heal lives and my powerlessness in the process. God had my attention.
Christmas morning, while meditating on what my friend said, I was led to Isaiah 55. I wept as the prophet Isaiah spoke to me of God’s purpose, the promise of his provision and the resulting transformation invoked by the power of his Word. Verse 10-11 says, "For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.” David preached Sunday about how much more sustaining, sufficient and satisfying his Word is than bread, especially in the absence of bread, and that we should feast on it. Yesterday, I was led to 1 Corinthians 4:19-20: “But I will come to you soon, if the Lord wills, and I will find out not the talk of these arrogant people but their power. For the kingdom of God does not consist in talk but in power.” God made abundantly clear to me the power to heal and transform does not emanate from my articulation of words, my presence, or my help. Yet again, I realized I was being taught the too easily forgotten lesson that it is not about me. My past and present weaknesses have been made irrelevant. I am not even alive. Christ lives in me and speaks through me with life changing power the very gates of hell cannot stand against. My job is to get out of the way. I can’t even do that well.
God has affirmed these truths as I have reflected on his working through and in me, apart from me. These two women trusted me though I am a man. They have looked at me and treated me with reverence since I met them. One said I look like Jesus. Both say they have never met a man like me. They have wept as truth has been proclaimed from my mouth. I have often wept with them, equally overcome by his power. I have loved them as my sisters and they have loved me as their brother, a familial love that is so pure it erases the distinction between male and female, rich and poor, black and white, high caste and outcaste. God has provided them and the baby temporary homes. Strongholds of addiction and emotional trauma are being overcome and healed in them to their own amazement. I met them only a week ago. Their testimony has encouraged the man I am working with since he has been a witness to their transformation, having known them and their reputation for years. He needed to be encouraged because his own struggles have only grown worse. He texted me last night that his wife is on her way home from the hospital and they have no food to eat. Though I do not have the means right now to get food to him nor have I been able to offer him much more than fellowship or prayer, he said he appreciates all I have done for him. Despite the big tough guy that he is, he ended his text with “love you man.” I truly love him too though I only met him two weeks ago. I can only give God the glory for all he is and has done because I know all this is so not me or anything I even could have done. I rejoice in God allowing me to see who he is and who I’m not, allowing me to praise him as a fellow spectator of his glory revealed through me as I wonder, “why me?” Then I laugh and remember again it’s not about me.
Having been there, I understand why the lost and needy find marginal Christians and their placebo cures just as distasteful as God who spews the lukewarm from his mouth with disgust. Those betrayed are tired of empty promises and false hopes and are leery of being taken in again. They must see proof the relief found in the depths of God’s love is more potent and sustaining than the erotic quick fixes found in drugs and carnal pleasures. Few will find fellowship with God as I did. Most must bear witness to and be led by Christ followers with genuine testimonies of the efficacy of the cure before they will believe the promises that they can be cured as well. Such proof is rarely adequate when limited to occasional visits from out of town sight seers; relationships must be built within community that adequately administers the guidance and instruction needed for healing and transformation. Relationships require personal investments of time and emotion, commodities far more valuable than money and even more difficult to share if already invested in the world. They need those filled with Christ to come be Christ to them, loving them, ministering to them, and showing them how to live in a community of followers of the Way. This is the vision I have had for years and now share with Brook Hills through the Radical Experiment and the many other members of a network of ministries already present. Now that he has shown me the powerful fulfillment of that vision, I no longer feel afraid of the risk of sounding cliché. I see now there is nothing cliché about it.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Where God Is
This is another timely article from my favorite devotional, A Slice of Infinity.
Where God Is
In a certain town there lived a cobbler, Martin Avdeitch by name. He lived in a small basement room whose one window looked out onto the street, and all he could see were the feet of people passing by. But since there was hardly a pair of boots that had not been in his hands at one time for repair, Martin recognized each person by his shoes. Day after day, he would work in his shop watching boots pass by. One day he found himself consumed with the hope of a dream that he would find the Lord's feet outside his window. Instead, he found a lingering pair of worn boots belonging to an old soldier. Though at first disappointed, Martin realized the old man might be hungry and invited him inside to a warm fire and some tea. He had other visitors that evening, and though sadly none were Christ, he let them in also. Sitting down at the end of day, Martin heard a voice whisper his name as he read the words: "I was hungry and you gave me meat; I was thirsty and you gave me drink; I was a stranger and you took me in. Inasmuch as you did for the least of these, you did unto me."(1)
Every Christmas, our family reads the story of Martin the Cobbler as an aid to our celebration. Tolstoy's words offer something of a creative attempt to capture the wonder of a God who comes near and helps us picture the gift of Christ among us in accessible terms. Notably, the story was originally titled, Where God Is, Love Is.
The Christian story that informs the Christian calendar gives its followers time and opportunity to remember the coming of Christ in a specific context—in Bethlehem, in the Nativity, in the first Christmas. But it also presents us with repeated opportunities and reminders to prepare for the coming of Christ again and again. Like Martin eagerly waiting at the window, the Christian worldview is one that asks of every day of every year: How will Christ come near today? Will I wait for him? Am I ready for him? Am I even expecting to find him? We are reminded to keep watch, to be prepared, and to continually ready our hearts and minds for the one who is already near. At the same time, the Christian story would also have us to remember how unexpectedly Christ at times appears—as a baby in Bethlehem, a man on a cross, as a woman in need.
In the book of Titus, we read that "the grace of God that brings salvation has appeared to all men." How and where will it show up this week? In order to stay alert to the rich possibilities, perhaps we need to keep before us the radical thought of all that God has offered us: a Christ child who comes down to us, a redeemer willing to die for us, a God willing to redefine what is near—all so that we might be where God is. Christianity is not an escape system for us to avoid reality, live above it, or be able to redefine it. Christianity is a way that leads us to grasp what reality is and, by God's grace and help, to navigate through it to our eternal home in God's presence.
The story God has given us indeed feeds the hungry, takes in the stranger, and orients the resident alien who is ever-looking homeward. The focus of Christ's coming is the message of Immanuel—God is with us. The focus of Christ's earthly ministry is the declaration of the cross—God is for us. And the focus of Christ's resurrection is the promise of a future and his imminent return—God will bring us safely home. Until then, God knows all, God is above all, and God is among us, even when it seems most unlikely.
Stuart McAllister is vice president of training and special projects at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.
(1) Story told in Leo Tolstoy's, Walk in the Light While There Is Light and Twenty-three Tales (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2003).
Where God Is
In a certain town there lived a cobbler, Martin Avdeitch by name. He lived in a small basement room whose one window looked out onto the street, and all he could see were the feet of people passing by. But since there was hardly a pair of boots that had not been in his hands at one time for repair, Martin recognized each person by his shoes. Day after day, he would work in his shop watching boots pass by. One day he found himself consumed with the hope of a dream that he would find the Lord's feet outside his window. Instead, he found a lingering pair of worn boots belonging to an old soldier. Though at first disappointed, Martin realized the old man might be hungry and invited him inside to a warm fire and some tea. He had other visitors that evening, and though sadly none were Christ, he let them in also. Sitting down at the end of day, Martin heard a voice whisper his name as he read the words: "I was hungry and you gave me meat; I was thirsty and you gave me drink; I was a stranger and you took me in. Inasmuch as you did for the least of these, you did unto me."(1)
Every Christmas, our family reads the story of Martin the Cobbler as an aid to our celebration. Tolstoy's words offer something of a creative attempt to capture the wonder of a God who comes near and helps us picture the gift of Christ among us in accessible terms. Notably, the story was originally titled, Where God Is, Love Is.
The Christian story that informs the Christian calendar gives its followers time and opportunity to remember the coming of Christ in a specific context—in Bethlehem, in the Nativity, in the first Christmas. But it also presents us with repeated opportunities and reminders to prepare for the coming of Christ again and again. Like Martin eagerly waiting at the window, the Christian worldview is one that asks of every day of every year: How will Christ come near today? Will I wait for him? Am I ready for him? Am I even expecting to find him? We are reminded to keep watch, to be prepared, and to continually ready our hearts and minds for the one who is already near. At the same time, the Christian story would also have us to remember how unexpectedly Christ at times appears—as a baby in Bethlehem, a man on a cross, as a woman in need.
In the book of Titus, we read that "the grace of God that brings salvation has appeared to all men." How and where will it show up this week? In order to stay alert to the rich possibilities, perhaps we need to keep before us the radical thought of all that God has offered us: a Christ child who comes down to us, a redeemer willing to die for us, a God willing to redefine what is near—all so that we might be where God is. Christianity is not an escape system for us to avoid reality, live above it, or be able to redefine it. Christianity is a way that leads us to grasp what reality is and, by God's grace and help, to navigate through it to our eternal home in God's presence.
The story God has given us indeed feeds the hungry, takes in the stranger, and orients the resident alien who is ever-looking homeward. The focus of Christ's coming is the message of Immanuel—God is with us. The focus of Christ's earthly ministry is the declaration of the cross—God is for us. And the focus of Christ's resurrection is the promise of a future and his imminent return—God will bring us safely home. Until then, God knows all, God is above all, and God is among us, even when it seems most unlikely.
Stuart McAllister is vice president of training and special projects at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.
(1) Story told in Leo Tolstoy's, Walk in the Light While There Is Light and Twenty-three Tales (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2003).
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
The Prodigal Dog
The previous occupants of the house where I now live in East Lake were evicted so they had to leave in a hurry. Often in an eviction, choices have to be made concerning what to take given the limited time, resources, and space to move and store all their possessions. Sadly, pets are frequently chosen as one of those expendable possessions to be abandoned, which is how I came to meet a dog neighbors introduced to me as Smoky.
Though abandoned, Smoky still thinks he lives here. With no one to take care of him, smart dog that he is, he has resourcefully taken to raiding all the neighborhood garbage cans. Even worse, he drags what he decides he wants either into the street or back to what is now my yard. Sunday, I arrived home from church to find a full bag of garbage (among other things) in the middle of the front yard that had just recently been cleaned up, an impressive though annoying feat for such a small dog. Needless to say, Smoky has earned the reputation as an unwelcome menace in the neighborhood and has been treated as a pest. His history of abuse is so severe he would not come within twenty feet of me when I first arrived, even when I was offering him food. My heart hurt for Smoky as I looked at him from a distance, recognizing his predicament as a lonely and rejected member of the community everyone would just as soon see dead. So, I decided to love him and try to find a way to take care of him. Besides, the landlord of this house, Tony, liked the idea of my adopting him since he thought he might make a good guard dog. Bonus.
After days of coaxing Smoky closer with food, I earned his trust enough (with the help of some Cajun turkey) to lure him far enough into the house that I was able to trap him by shutting the door behind him, to his horror. No amount of coaxing, with food or otherwise, calmed him enough for me to approach him without his dodging me and running to another part of the house. I finally had to limit his options for escape by cornering him in my bedroom. Shaking and uncertain, he relented to allowing me to get close to him and even to pet him. After some time and more turkey, he finally relaxed and began to wag his tail. Thinking I had won his friendship, I let him go so I could do some needed chores around the house. However, as soon as he was free, he bolted from the room with the same panicked behavior as before. I had to repeat the process of cornering him, feeding him, and loving him half a dozen times over a period of hours before I began to see even a small change in his acceptance of my love and care, but it was enough to convince me there was hope in winning him over. Now all I had to do was overcome the challenge of containing him for the sake of his safety and the sanity of the neighbors.
I had heard from the neighbors about his ability as an escape artist. Though my back yard is fenced in, there are several places at the bottom flexible enough for a smart and determined dog like Smoky to wiggle through. So, I first inspected and secured the weak areas I deemed possible sources of temptation before releasing him inside the fence. Confident I had blocked any potential for his escape, I freed Smoky in the back yard then left to go run errands. When I returned, I was disappointed but not very surprised to find him gone, but not for long, since moments later I saw him prancing up the street toward the house. When he arrived, he kept his distance as before but showed less fear. Hope was rekindled. Though not as easily, I managed to trap him in the house again, fed him, loved him, then went to work on the fence again. After releasing him, I went to go get my son Bailey for the weekend. When we returned, we found he had escaped again, but this time he was sitting very proudly in the front yard waiting on us; at least I thought he looked proud since I was so humiliated I had been outsmarted twice by a dog. To my amazement and as an added humiliation, Smoky immediately approached Bailey when he got out of the van and allowed him to pet him. However, my indignation was quickly overcome by gratitude when I realized I would not have to trap Smoky again. Leaving Smoky in my son’s charge, I went to work on the fence again. When we put Smoky in the back yard this time, I decided to change my strategy by watching him from the windows inside the house with hope I could discover his means of escape. Within minutes of his release, after sniffing and poking along the weak areas I had attempted to secure, he found a section just flexible enough to wiggle through. Outsmarted again. My son went outside to catch him again but I was sure Smoky would run since, smart dog that he is, he had to have figured out we were going to put him inside the fence again. Nevertheless, Smoky came right to him as soon as he was called. Even after going through this exercise about eleven times over the course of the weekend, Smoky returned and allowed my son to capture him. I’m wondering if he had begun to see it as a game. He’s even coming to me now. I hope he is enjoying himself.
I’m going to continue to try to find a way to adopt and take care of Smoky. I wish he could see I only want to love him, provide for him, and protect him. If he continues to run, he will continue to suffer the abuse of unwelcoming neighbors, the danger of being run over by a car, and the sickness that will only grow worse if he continues to feed on garbage. Why does he not stay after I have given him what he needs? Why does he not desire what I have given him more than the lifestyle he has known to produce such loneliness, pain and torment? I believe the answer is Smoky is just as much a product of this fallen world as I am. How often has God pursued me, cornered me, loved me, fed me, and provided me shelter, then let me go within boundaries he set for my care and protection, only to watch me cross them as I run away again? What is it about sin that compels me to run from God in pursuit of what I know not only to be inferior, but harmful? Why does God keep taking me back in when I come home, running to embrace me even though I reek with the stench of the pigs with whom I have been feeding? Why would he die to make me clean, knowing I would only go back and wallow in the mud again? Such is the mystery, sufficiency, relentlessness, and beauty of grace. Such is the grace I am compelled to show Smoky and the people who live here. You see, Smoky has been a meaningful introduction to my mission here but he is not the only one left abandoned, wandering the neighborhoods, wreaking havoc and feeding on garbage to survive. I have been able to begin building a few other relationships as well:
There is a mother, unemployed, recently released from prison after eight years, struggling to start again and looking desperately for support. She is grieving over the time lost with her children that cannot be regained. She remembers and desires the powerful role her Christ following father played as a spiritual mentor and counselor but is unable to restore that bond due to his moving away some time ago. She hopes to find that support here. She has given my information to some of her friends and brought one of them by Friday to meet me.
There is a man with construction experience who is unemployed. He has been able to find some odd jobs (some working with me), but is struggling to provide for his wife and stepson. He confesses himself to be a Christ follower and is open to being discipled for leadership. He is grateful for the work and fellowship I have shared with him and looks forward to being a part of the work God is doing here. He and I are very quickly becoming close friends as we share fellowship together in our common purpose.
There is a religious woman, charismatic in the praise of Jesus and the proclamation of testimonies that prove he is worthy of her trust in him. She also trusts God understands she is a sinner with needs so will not mind if she enters into a sexual relationship with a new friend since her second husband recently abandoned her. She says she knows what the Bible says and does not need to be told what to do, she can make up her own mind. She asked me to involve her in leading worship and evangelism. Young people in her extended family live with her. They are grateful, as their new neighbor, that I am friendly and say they are glad I am here.
There is a group of mechanics who work in a shop located behind my house. A couple of them approached me while I was working in the back yard to inquire about the plans for the house. As professing believers, they are grateful I am there and told me I am at any time welcome to visit their shop. One of them let me borrow a crow bar to tear out a rotten floor in the house and said he wants to support what we are doing because it is so needed.
There are two women who daily walk in front of my house, greeting me as they go by. Sometimes they ask for change to buy cigarettes. Both of them are homeless. One of them was pregnant until this morning. She slept on the stairs yesterday while I listened to the sad testimony of the other, filled with pain and loss, related to drifting from the immature faith she developed as a child. She doubted God would take her back given the depth of her sin. She cried as I reminded her of the sufficiency of God’s grace, the power of his redemption and his eagerness for her return. Unable to find a place for them to sleep out of the rain last night, I offered them one of the empty bedrooms in the back of my house along with my heater and some warm clothes to pad the hard floor. The pregnant woman went into labor this morning. By God’s provision, I was able to bring her to the hospital where I now sit in the delivery waiting room.
My failure to rescue and adopt Smoky has been a humbling lesson in the reality of my limitations and the unreliability of quick fixes. There is so much need here, so many like Smoky who need to be loved, fed and protected. They will just run if I chase them. They cannot be quickly caught, converted and contained any more than Smoky…any more than me or you. There is no government agency that can make them go away or keep them out of our yard because, out of their neediness, they have become a menace to our manicured structures of order and self-reliant sensibilities, tramps among suburban pure-breds. Like I sent my son to call Smoky and bring him to me, God is sending us outside of our comfortable yards to call the lost and abandoned to new yards he is building, equipped with the power of the Holy Spirit, the message of the Gospel, and the Way of the Spirit filled life. We are to invite all people to be adopted by our Master and to live with us no matter how different, dirty, untrained or unruly they may be, lavishly sharing with them the grace and abundant provision God has so lavishly given to us. Not everyone will come when called like Smoky came to my son. Nevertheless, we are commanded by God to invite everyone in the knowledge it is not for us to know or up to us to decide who will come or when. For those who do come, we are to make them family, loving them, sharing with them, and patiently guiding them according to the Way directed by the leadership of our Master. For you who has been given so much and trained so well, can you really do otherwise?
Though abandoned, Smoky still thinks he lives here. With no one to take care of him, smart dog that he is, he has resourcefully taken to raiding all the neighborhood garbage cans. Even worse, he drags what he decides he wants either into the street or back to what is now my yard. Sunday, I arrived home from church to find a full bag of garbage (among other things) in the middle of the front yard that had just recently been cleaned up, an impressive though annoying feat for such a small dog. Needless to say, Smoky has earned the reputation as an unwelcome menace in the neighborhood and has been treated as a pest. His history of abuse is so severe he would not come within twenty feet of me when I first arrived, even when I was offering him food. My heart hurt for Smoky as I looked at him from a distance, recognizing his predicament as a lonely and rejected member of the community everyone would just as soon see dead. So, I decided to love him and try to find a way to take care of him. Besides, the landlord of this house, Tony, liked the idea of my adopting him since he thought he might make a good guard dog. Bonus.
After days of coaxing Smoky closer with food, I earned his trust enough (with the help of some Cajun turkey) to lure him far enough into the house that I was able to trap him by shutting the door behind him, to his horror. No amount of coaxing, with food or otherwise, calmed him enough for me to approach him without his dodging me and running to another part of the house. I finally had to limit his options for escape by cornering him in my bedroom. Shaking and uncertain, he relented to allowing me to get close to him and even to pet him. After some time and more turkey, he finally relaxed and began to wag his tail. Thinking I had won his friendship, I let him go so I could do some needed chores around the house. However, as soon as he was free, he bolted from the room with the same panicked behavior as before. I had to repeat the process of cornering him, feeding him, and loving him half a dozen times over a period of hours before I began to see even a small change in his acceptance of my love and care, but it was enough to convince me there was hope in winning him over. Now all I had to do was overcome the challenge of containing him for the sake of his safety and the sanity of the neighbors.
I had heard from the neighbors about his ability as an escape artist. Though my back yard is fenced in, there are several places at the bottom flexible enough for a smart and determined dog like Smoky to wiggle through. So, I first inspected and secured the weak areas I deemed possible sources of temptation before releasing him inside the fence. Confident I had blocked any potential for his escape, I freed Smoky in the back yard then left to go run errands. When I returned, I was disappointed but not very surprised to find him gone, but not for long, since moments later I saw him prancing up the street toward the house. When he arrived, he kept his distance as before but showed less fear. Hope was rekindled. Though not as easily, I managed to trap him in the house again, fed him, loved him, then went to work on the fence again. After releasing him, I went to go get my son Bailey for the weekend. When we returned, we found he had escaped again, but this time he was sitting very proudly in the front yard waiting on us; at least I thought he looked proud since I was so humiliated I had been outsmarted twice by a dog. To my amazement and as an added humiliation, Smoky immediately approached Bailey when he got out of the van and allowed him to pet him. However, my indignation was quickly overcome by gratitude when I realized I would not have to trap Smoky again. Leaving Smoky in my son’s charge, I went to work on the fence again. When we put Smoky in the back yard this time, I decided to change my strategy by watching him from the windows inside the house with hope I could discover his means of escape. Within minutes of his release, after sniffing and poking along the weak areas I had attempted to secure, he found a section just flexible enough to wiggle through. Outsmarted again. My son went outside to catch him again but I was sure Smoky would run since, smart dog that he is, he had to have figured out we were going to put him inside the fence again. Nevertheless, Smoky came right to him as soon as he was called. Even after going through this exercise about eleven times over the course of the weekend, Smoky returned and allowed my son to capture him. I’m wondering if he had begun to see it as a game. He’s even coming to me now. I hope he is enjoying himself.
I’m going to continue to try to find a way to adopt and take care of Smoky. I wish he could see I only want to love him, provide for him, and protect him. If he continues to run, he will continue to suffer the abuse of unwelcoming neighbors, the danger of being run over by a car, and the sickness that will only grow worse if he continues to feed on garbage. Why does he not stay after I have given him what he needs? Why does he not desire what I have given him more than the lifestyle he has known to produce such loneliness, pain and torment? I believe the answer is Smoky is just as much a product of this fallen world as I am. How often has God pursued me, cornered me, loved me, fed me, and provided me shelter, then let me go within boundaries he set for my care and protection, only to watch me cross them as I run away again? What is it about sin that compels me to run from God in pursuit of what I know not only to be inferior, but harmful? Why does God keep taking me back in when I come home, running to embrace me even though I reek with the stench of the pigs with whom I have been feeding? Why would he die to make me clean, knowing I would only go back and wallow in the mud again? Such is the mystery, sufficiency, relentlessness, and beauty of grace. Such is the grace I am compelled to show Smoky and the people who live here. You see, Smoky has been a meaningful introduction to my mission here but he is not the only one left abandoned, wandering the neighborhoods, wreaking havoc and feeding on garbage to survive. I have been able to begin building a few other relationships as well:
There is a mother, unemployed, recently released from prison after eight years, struggling to start again and looking desperately for support. She is grieving over the time lost with her children that cannot be regained. She remembers and desires the powerful role her Christ following father played as a spiritual mentor and counselor but is unable to restore that bond due to his moving away some time ago. She hopes to find that support here. She has given my information to some of her friends and brought one of them by Friday to meet me.
There is a man with construction experience who is unemployed. He has been able to find some odd jobs (some working with me), but is struggling to provide for his wife and stepson. He confesses himself to be a Christ follower and is open to being discipled for leadership. He is grateful for the work and fellowship I have shared with him and looks forward to being a part of the work God is doing here. He and I are very quickly becoming close friends as we share fellowship together in our common purpose.
There is a religious woman, charismatic in the praise of Jesus and the proclamation of testimonies that prove he is worthy of her trust in him. She also trusts God understands she is a sinner with needs so will not mind if she enters into a sexual relationship with a new friend since her second husband recently abandoned her. She says she knows what the Bible says and does not need to be told what to do, she can make up her own mind. She asked me to involve her in leading worship and evangelism. Young people in her extended family live with her. They are grateful, as their new neighbor, that I am friendly and say they are glad I am here.
There is a group of mechanics who work in a shop located behind my house. A couple of them approached me while I was working in the back yard to inquire about the plans for the house. As professing believers, they are grateful I am there and told me I am at any time welcome to visit their shop. One of them let me borrow a crow bar to tear out a rotten floor in the house and said he wants to support what we are doing because it is so needed.
There are two women who daily walk in front of my house, greeting me as they go by. Sometimes they ask for change to buy cigarettes. Both of them are homeless. One of them was pregnant until this morning. She slept on the stairs yesterday while I listened to the sad testimony of the other, filled with pain and loss, related to drifting from the immature faith she developed as a child. She doubted God would take her back given the depth of her sin. She cried as I reminded her of the sufficiency of God’s grace, the power of his redemption and his eagerness for her return. Unable to find a place for them to sleep out of the rain last night, I offered them one of the empty bedrooms in the back of my house along with my heater and some warm clothes to pad the hard floor. The pregnant woman went into labor this morning. By God’s provision, I was able to bring her to the hospital where I now sit in the delivery waiting room.
My failure to rescue and adopt Smoky has been a humbling lesson in the reality of my limitations and the unreliability of quick fixes. There is so much need here, so many like Smoky who need to be loved, fed and protected. They will just run if I chase them. They cannot be quickly caught, converted and contained any more than Smoky…any more than me or you. There is no government agency that can make them go away or keep them out of our yard because, out of their neediness, they have become a menace to our manicured structures of order and self-reliant sensibilities, tramps among suburban pure-breds. Like I sent my son to call Smoky and bring him to me, God is sending us outside of our comfortable yards to call the lost and abandoned to new yards he is building, equipped with the power of the Holy Spirit, the message of the Gospel, and the Way of the Spirit filled life. We are to invite all people to be adopted by our Master and to live with us no matter how different, dirty, untrained or unruly they may be, lavishly sharing with them the grace and abundant provision God has so lavishly given to us. Not everyone will come when called like Smoky came to my son. Nevertheless, we are commanded by God to invite everyone in the knowledge it is not for us to know or up to us to decide who will come or when. For those who do come, we are to make them family, loving them, sharing with them, and patiently guiding them according to the Way directed by the leadership of our Master. For you who has been given so much and trained so well, can you really do otherwise?
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