A Confession

I got really angry today.  Not the kind of angry that causes me to yell at an umpire (that was two weeks ago) or the kind that causes me to take a long walk talking to myself the whole way, but the kind that makes you think you are about to do something irrational.  The kind that makes your blood boil.  The kind that makes you want to punch someone in the face.  And my anger was directed toward a group of Christians.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.  This week I have been reading "Barefoot Church" by Brandon Hatmaker, pastor of Austin New Church in Austin, TX.  (I would highly recommend that you follow him on Twitter, if you don't already @brandonhatmaker).  I had just finished the chapter on partnering with non-profits in his book (that chapter alone is worth the price of the book, especially since I found it for $3 at Mardel).  In this chapter he lays out for us just why most non-profits are hesitant to partner with churches.  Among the reasons?  We come with our own agendas.  We think we know better than the experts.  We show up once and then disappear.  Etc.  Hatmaker is incredibly generous toward the established church while still making his point that much is wrong with the church, especially when it comes to serving others.  It has been an enlightening read and my plan is to finish the book tonight.  Or tomorrow.

So this notion that the church does a great job of imposing our agenda on others' lives is fresh in my mind when I see this thing that makes me angry.  The kind of anger that makes your blood boil.  The kind that makes you want to do something irrational.  THAT kind of anger.

But before I get to that, I need to tell you a little cultural phenomenon that takes place every week in Lubbock.  I am not sure the backstory on this practice (if only I had access to unlimited information via the Interweb, I would look it up . . .), but every Sunday, several of our prominent street corners get taken over by homeless friends with newspapers.  Our local paper, the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal, has a deal with the homeless community here where the men (mostly--there may be a woman or two around town) sell the Saturday and Sunday newspaper together for $2.  When cars stop at the light, these homeless friends are there with their sign and their stack of papers.  My understanding is that they are out there until all of their papers are sold.  And they have a buuuuuuuuunch of papers to sell.  The Raintree children's ministry has stopped by several times to drop off bottled water and powerade to the guys out in the heat, so some of our friends have relationships with some of these guys.  They are out in the heat/rain/cold/wind all day, until those papers are sold.

And today was hot.  We were pushing 100 degrees today in Lubbock when I saw this thing that made me angry.  A blood-boiling, do-something-irrational kind of angry.  I had just dropped my girls off at a birthday party and was heading home.  As I exited the loop at Indiana, I came up on two of these homeless men selling papers.  And there it was -- a group of Christians (I would assume) surrounding one of these men with eyes closed and hands held together.  There they were, praying for this man.  And I got so angry.  Not because they were praying for him.  But because there they were, in the 100-degree heat, taking time out of this guy's work day to pray for him in the middle of Loop and Indiana traffic.  The stack of papers that the man still had to sell was at least 2 feet high, and it was almost 4:00 in the afternoon.  The traffic was stopped because it was a red light, meaning that this guy could have been selling one or two or three of those papers, which would have meant that he could have finished up his work two or three minutes sooner than he did.

I almost pulled my car over to where they were praying and laid on my horn.  But that would have been irrational.  All the way down Indiana, I was looking in my rearview mirror and swearing under my breath, which was the blood boiling.  Why such a reaction, you might ask?  This man was doing his job.  It wasn't much, but it was something.  And this group of Christians, desiring to make themselves feel good/look good/be able to sleep at night, came by to pray for this man, clueless as to his needs.  Why not first grab four or five papers apiece and head out into traffic?  The sooner this guy were to get those papers sold, the sooner he could have gotten on with his day.  And after you help him sell his papers, why not take him to dinner?  Maybe to a place like Furr's where he could choose what he ate instead of having to eat what the soup kitchen was serving?  Take a minute to hear his story over a meal, pray for him there, in the privacy of a restaurant.  Could you imagine a group of Christians in the express checkout lane at Wal-Mart deciding that they wanted to pray for the cashier for 5 minutes?  Every other person in line would be hollering and pointing and threatening!  But we can do that because this is just a homeless guy, and he's just selling papers?  He's doing his job.  I was angry!

But, in case you've forgotten, this post is entitled "A Confession."  This post doesn't sound very confessional.  Confrontational, yes.  But not confessional.  When do we get to THAT?  Well, in the midst of my driving, cursing, fuming down Indiana Avenue, I realized something.  Yes, it was a selfish approach to helping this man.  Yes, it was an approach that seemed to care very little about what the man's real needs were. And yes, it will probably be a one-time event in the lives of those brothers and sisters.  But it might be more.  There might be a backstory that even I can't imagine, and who am I to judge them?  But more than that, despite the misguided nature of their service, at least they were doing something.  I didn't even stop to buy a paper.  Shame on me.

A Place at the Table, day 12

A couple of our friends came over for dinner last night.  The fact that Wendy & I made my favorite dish (chicken macaroni casserole) didn't help with those struggles that I talked about yesterday.  That pasta looked so good!  Anyway, I'm finding that this Compassion diet is more of a nuisance than I would have imagined.  Our friends were over and ready to eat and I realized that I hadn't made anything for myself!  Praise Jesus for minute rice!  I had corn tortillas and white rice in an instant!

Before I go into the story, I need to tell you a little bit about our friends.  They are a relatively recently-married couple (2 years?) who have just moved to Lubbock.  She is a Lubbock native who has traveled to such exotic places as China and Israel as a missionary.  She is a tall blonde, so you can imagine that she kinda stuck out like a sore thumb in those places.  (Is there a better analogy for "sticking out" than the whole "sore thumb" thing?  I really have no idea what that means, but I use it all the time.  If anyone can help me find a better simile, you'll get a free copy of the book I write.  If I ever write one.)  Her husband is a Syrian refugee whom she met on the island of Cyprus.  He fled Syria as a younger man because of the political situation there.  He spent some time in political prison before fleeing the country.  He became a Christ follower while staying with a Christian family in Cyprus.

They are quickly becoming some of our family's favorite people -- especially for Tinsley and Scrappy.  (Our four-year-old and our dog, for those of you who are reading this blog but have never met us.)  And since the adjustment to Lubbock is a difficult one for them, we really want them to know that they have friends here.  So we try to hang out with them as much as possible.

Last night's dinner conversation began by talking about one of his friends whose family was taken captive by the government of Syria.  He found out about it a few days ago and then found out yesterday that, while the rest of the family was released, they kept the friend in custody.  This friend (let's call him Rahm) has been in prison before and was told that, if he were captured again, it would probably not end well.  That's why I'm a little paranoid about using his real name.  Not that international agents read my blog, but no sense in taking the chance.  Anyway, we prayed for Rahm and his family, and I would love it if you would stop here and say a prayer for them as well.  And then go and research the political situation in Syria so your international prayers will be better informed.  Go ahead and do that now.  This blog will still be here when you get done.

There's a lot more that I want to say about our conversation yesterday -- frustrations with the church, with how people treat one another, etc. -- that are fascinating.  It is always enlightening when someone from another culture/country moves in the neighborhood and you begin to see your culture through their eyes.  It's not always good.  But I want to reflect for a moment on how my eyes are constantly being opened by what God is doing here among & inside me.  Through this A Place at the Table fast, I have become sensitive to the plight of hungry people across the globe.  Through Living Water International, I have become attuned to the reality that clean water should be a right of every world citizen and that it IS the church's calling to make this a reality. (Maybe the verse should say, "If anyone gives even a cup of clean water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward." [Matt.10:42])  And through this friendship, I am putting a face to the reality that people are being imprisoned, tortured, and killed because they do not agree with the man in power.  And if I claim to be a God-follower who truly believes that Jesus is making ALL THINGS new, then these are not just political issues.  They are spiritual issues.  And my willingness to have my eyes opened to the plight of the oppressed DEMANDS that I do something about it.  And that you do something about it, too.