Hypocrite

I overheard a story a guy was telling in class a few days back. In P.E. class at our school they were scuba diving and in the last class a girl almost drown. She was swimming 12ft underwater when her harness slipped off and around her ankle. The air tank weighed her down as she struggled franticly to get to the surface and she had also inhaled some water. A kid on the side of the pool saw what was happening. He quietly mentioned to the person beside him (the person telling this story in class). Hey, is anyone going to do something? That girl is drowning. She finally got up and was sobbing horribly, she was blue, and was choking on water when the teacher pulled her out and got her medical attention. All was well and everything turned out ok. The person telling this story in my class started to rant about how much of a loser the guy was for just sitting there not doing anything or even bringing notice to the fact she was drowning.  Personally, I was upset with the guy who was telling the story. He didn’t do anything either.  A little later he said that he was thinking about going over to see if she was ok, but it was cold in the pool room and the water was warm. He didn’t want to get out of the water.

Now, this would normally outrage me and move me to write about what hypocrites the storyteller and the other one watching were. But something happened to me before class that day that made me view this from a slightly different perspective: Before I got into class, I was walking through freshman hall and right in front of me, this guy shoved a girl passing by into a locker. She hit the locker and almost fell down holding her head. I stood in shock and watched as she stood up punched the guy in the stomach and then they both laughed. Apparently, they were friends but I still felt horrible. Why didn’t I do something? Why did I just wait around to see what would happen instead of intervening and protecting her? Why didn’t that enrage me immediately and cause me to act?

Now, I started to get angry about the girl in P.E. class, but I started to realize that I was the kind of person that I despise the most. I’m the bi-stander with plenty of excuses not to get involved; I’m the one not to bring attention to the problem, and not stepping out of my comfort zone. I think a lot of us fall into this category. We don’t act because of several reasons:  either we don’t want to “get out of the warm pool” (our comfort zone) or we don’t want to have other people’s problems become our problems. Maybe it’s because we just don’t know what to do... that cannot be our excuse. What integrity does our Gospel have if we don’t back it up with our actions?

 Thoughts to ponder:  Am I a bi-stander or a defender of those who cannot defend themselves? Am I an on-looker or a rescuer? Am I someone who stands up for what’s right or am I only concerned about what’s right for me? I’ve been proven guilty and am ready to change. Are you?

All Over Your Face!

The first time I took the initiative to Love the poor on my own without a mission trip or a Christian event was in early March on a Saturday afternoon. It was windy that day so I made my way to the bridge by the highway to see if I could find some shelter from the wind. Sitting alongside of the bridge were two men drinking some liquor and smoking some cigarettes. One of them had grey hair and maybe three teeth and the other wore sunglasses and a baseball cap. I walked up and asked if I could sit beside them to get out of the wind for a bit. They nodded and there was a very awkward silence that proceeded. I introduced myself and they didn’t say anything. After about ten minutes I looked over and asked if they were from here or not. They both replied no. Silence rendered its awkward head once again. I felt God tell me to ask them what their story was. I told God that obviously these guys were trying to give me a hint that they didn’t want to talk to me… I sat there and argued with myself for a bit and finally blurted out, “So, what’s your story?”

“My story?” the man with the grey hair replied. “Why the hell do you want to know my story?”

I stared at him blankly I started to mutter an apology. “Sorry, I just….”

“You’re a Christian aren’t you!?” he shouted. I almost wet myself. I thought he was going to hit me or something…I wasn’t ready to die.

“I can tell.” He said with as he cracked a smile. “I see His Love all over your face.” I sat with them for two hours sharing laughter and good conversation. They talked about their past, and what they do currently. I asked them what their plans for the future were. Without missing a beat one of them said that he was going to stop drinking. I looked over at the three empty liquor bottles leaning up against the brick and he noticed my glance. “It has ruined my life.”

In the New Testament the gospels talk extensively of Jesus’ miracles. When I read that Jesus said that we will do even greater things then he did (john 14:12) I was perplexed. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t raised anyone from the dead recently. I haven’t walked on water in a while either.  Shane Claiborne said something in his book, “Irresistible Revolution”, which really stuck out to me:

“I started to see that the miracles were an expression not so much of Jesus mighty power as of his love… The last significance was not the miracles themselves but Jesus’ love. Jesus raised his friend, Lazarus from the dead, and a few years later Lazarus died again. Jesus healed the sick but they eventually caught some other disease. He fed the thousands, and the next day they were hungry again. But we remember his love. It wasn’t that Jesus healed a leper but that he touched a leper, because no one touched lepers. And the incredible thing about that love is that it now lives inside of us."

Jesus wasn’t saying that we would do even more impressive magic tricks, he was talking about Love. When Jesus left he gave us the Holy Spirit and the ability to show his God-sized Love to people that need it desperately. I got a call two months later from one of the guys telling me that he got back on his feet, he had quit drinking, and he was starting to live again. He was living at a halfway house and working downtown. Lesson I learned: follow God’s suggestions even if it is “awkward”.   He has a world to change and we are the hands. 

Base Jumper

              I came into the building expecting to see a few friends. I lead worship at Springs Rescue mission about every third week or so and I have come to know several of the regulars that go there for a warm meal. I looked around the room and noticed that it was a new crowd that night. I took a seat next to a man named John Agnos. He was wearing an old baseball cap, he hadn’t shaved in a few days, and he walked with a limp. I introduce myself and I started to ask him about his day to day life. He lives in the springs in a small apartment, survives off his disability checks, and does work for a roofing company when they need an extra guy. I asked why he was on disability. John Agnos used to be a base jumper. He jumped off a casino in Vegas and broke his foot and injured his back severely when he was 40. I did some research online and found out that he had done two jumps after his recovery as well. He did a jump off of a rock in Garden of the Gods that ended poorly, and the last one he did was off a 2000 foot cell phone tower that almost ended his life. His parachute got caught on a wire about 200 feet off the ground. I found the 911 call he made while he was dangling on the wire and listened as he told the person on the other line that he was going to die and that he wanted her to call his parents.  While on the phone I heard John say a prayer under his breath. “God I don’t want to die, please not today.” That day was his birthday. A few hours later, Fireman John Clark got him down and saved his life.

                While I was talking to John at Springs Rescue, he told me about his relationship with God. He struggled with drugs and alcohol his entire life and doesn’t know why God let him live because why would God let him survive only to barely make rent, barely get money enough to buy food and live off a disability check that barely arrives on time. His back and feet have gotten worse with age and he said that he had lost everything. His wife of 16 years, his well paying career, and his passion (base jumping). I think he lost something entirely different though. His greatest loss wasn’t his career. John is reaching his late forties and he still doesn’t know why he's alive.

                In the course of his career John had done over 1500 jumps. Was it the three jumps he failed that caused him to lose it all? Or was it a loss of hope? When our hope is in ourselves or our performance, and our humanity fails us, our hope is lost. When our hope is in Christ, it means that our hope isn’t dependent upon our circumstances but on the goodness and power of God. If you are reading this and consider yourself a Christian, then congratulations, you carry the hope of the world. When God gave us the Holy Spirit, he gave it with the expectation that we would use it. The hope that lives in us is meant to be shared with the world. My conversation with John was cut short when he went outside for a smoke. I strongly believe God isn’t done with John. God is fighting to be his hope.

Tessa??

Two freshman girls approached at school during our free period. I was sitting with Peter and Nathan and they came over to say hello. Peter said hello and I introduced myself. They asked if we had any money to go towards preventing domestic violence. I was all for preventing domestic violence but I wanted to see if they knew anything about what they were advocating for. I asked what domestic violence was and they responded, “Wives who are abused and stuff.” I asked where the money was going specifically and they told me they didn’t know and to just give them money. They held a medium sized jar with the words “freshman class” written on it with sharpie. I told them that I wanted to know where the money was going before I invested in their cause. “It goes to a home called Tessa or something.”


“Is that where the women are?” I asked

“Yes, give us money.” They responded.

“Are there children there too?” They started to get rather frustrated with me and called me things like “Meany Face” and “Jerk face”… I don’t know what was specifically wrong with my face per-say, but I could see why they were irritated. I frankly wasn’t interested in giving my money to some place called Tessa that helped women and maybe children with domestic violence somehow.

I went online that night and did a little research on “Tessa”. Found out that it was a home for women and children who were victims of domestic violence. I read all about their program and what they were about and went back and found the girls a few days later. I told them how I would like to donate now that I knew a little more about it but they turned me down saying that the contest was over and it didn’t matter… My heart broke.

It disappoints me to see people who are sympathetic towards the poor but don’t actually care. I would guess that the girls weren’t seriously interested in helping women and children get out of domestic violence, they wanted a pizza party. Is that wrong? I think it is. I believe my generation is capable of more than half hearted attempts at helping women and maybe children at some home called Tessa. I believe that we can make a huge difference as youth to change our communities and our world without the motivation of pizza parties.

Young Thomas

I arrive and park next to a bike with at least five backpacks tied to the back that smelled strongly of tobacco products. My dad asked me to play a few worship tunes at Springs Rescue mission and I was running a little late. I walk into the crowded room and see my dad in the back waving at me telling me that we were right about to start. I unpack my guitar and pass out word sheets as fast as I can. My dad approached and mentioned that the speaker was running late and we had a little time to mingle. I walk toward the front of the room and see a guy who looked like Jesus. Long hair, thick beard, blue eyes, white skin...ok, so maybe not exactly like Jesus. I sit down and introduce myself and he greeted me enthusiastically! His name is Corry. He introduced me to his friends Russel and Mike. Russel being a very tall man with an exceptionally long beard and Mike being a very charming/drunk character that instantly made me smile. We started talking and Corry started requesting worship songs. I was surprised to find that he was into a lot of the more popular more "current" worship tunes that I was accustom to. He mentioned that he goes to Newlife. I started to dig a little deeper and he openly shared his story. He grew up in prison. From the time he was 14 he went from one Juvenal Detention to the other until he was too old and was sentenced to Federal prison. He spent 15 years there. Four years ago he was released and a "Newlifer" family picked him up drove him back to the springs. They asked him to come to church with them that next Sunday morning. Corry felt obligated. He went and something happened. He describes it as being touched by the holy spirit. He gave his life to Christ and was changed. He devoted his life to disciplining and ministering within the homeless community and lives his life to proclaim Jesus. He also participates in "the Thorn" the easter play that Newlife puts on and he plays the part of "Young Thomas". The conversations we had since then have been talks that have been life changing. A thing he says that I like is that it is uncomfortable to stand up against injustice. It takes courage to stand up and say, "you are treating this person poorly, and it is wrong". He is spending his time building into the younger generation of homeless and the punks like me who come down to the park. I love talking to him. It is a treat to find a man that the gospel he preaches is backed up by the integrity of radical actions. The reason he fights against injustice and poverty is because God himself has anointed him to preach good news to the poor. He truly inspires me.

City Wide Night of Worship

I walked towards the line of water coolers and saw an elderly man sitting on the faded brick eating a hot dog with a lot of mustard. The mustard colored the bottom tips of his mustache as he enjoyed the hot dogs, pastas, and casseroles provided at the potluck. He looked out smiling at the crowds of people eating together. I approached him with a smile and he looked at me. I saw his eyes. They were bloodshot and tired. You could see his story from the way he looked at you. I introduced myself and learned his name, Gene. He proceeded to tell me a fraction of his story. Tales of the war in Vietnam, his enslavement to alcohol, drugs, and cigarettes as a result of the experiences he had in war that were to much for him to handle. He described him self as a screw up. I looked at him and realized what Jesus meant when he said in Matthew 25:40 whatever we do unto the least of these we do unto him. This man was made in the image of God and I realized then what an honor it was to be speaking to him. "You have family here," I said with tears welling up in my eyes. He looked at me. I could tell that was one of the first times he had heard that. I asked him if I could call him Grandpa Gene. He reached out his hand and I took hold. He shook it firmly and began to cry. He said that it would be an honor.

A friend came up to me later in the evening that had just got done talking to Grandpa Gene. Grandpa said that there wont be a day that goes by that he wont remember last night. It wasn't food that changed his life, nor was it the fact that the church played a bunch of clever worship songs. The thing that impacted my Grandpa Gene was Love. We as the Church of Christ have the greatest gift that this world can't handle. The overwhelming Love of God that lives inside our hearts.