Stories, failures, and learnings

"The human brain works in stories, not theologies." Fr. Ben Beltran (sorry for the previous misquote)

Recently, I've been challenged to be humble, to be a learner, to see everyone around me with the eyes of God, and to be a servant (currently reading Cross Cultural Servanthood which I got from Urbana, very good and convicting right now). These are some stories of what's been going on in the past few days. They are failures, they are ambiguous, but I want to learn from them. As I was recently reminded, falling down isn't so bad. Staying down is. Here are a few falls:

Jr. High Winter Camp:
After an exhausting Urbana, tedious week, and bizarre bus ride, as our speaker was talking on Friday night, all I could think of were his lousy examples. His intent and message was good, but the means were off. Stories that carried a shade of truth parading as the fullness of it. Concepts that were partial, but sounded complete. The virulent 9th grade test taker in my mind was circling false after completely reading each of the following statements. "You're just trying to trick me: this has some truth, but this part is wrong, so the statement is false. Hah! 100% coming my way."

We had a lot of cabin time. I and another counselor, an awesome senior in high school, were paired with the 7th grade boys. After vainly attempting to get them settled down for discussions, we would talk and discuss what had been said. There was a lot of focus on evangelism, something I've always struggled with. I was shocked and encouraged to see many of the kids were sharing about Jesus with all of their friends. Even my fellow counselor had many non Christian friends at work and shared with them frequently too. Over the course of the weekend, by God's grace, I began to get over my judgment and began to see the kids as they were and where they were at.

One of 7th graders had recently lost his mother to cancer. He shared a bit about how the doctors thought his mom would die within weeks, but with lots of prayer and faith, she lasted for 2 years beyond their expectations. While she still alive, she went down fighting; sharing with all the nurses and doctors in the hospital she ran into.

The last session of the camp ended with a story. Imagine there is a big carnival, being on the outside is no fun and you can't get inside without a ticket. Jesus comes and buys you a ticket and you get inside. Then you sit down on the bench right next to the gate. There are tons of rides and goodness ahead, but you just stop inside the gate. You are content sitting on a bench looking ahead but never getting on the rides. The parallel is that the outside corresponds to when you are not saved, but if you accept Jesus' sacrifice, He brings you in. God gives you all these great promises and life in him, but so often you just stop at the bench and never pursue God any further than being saved.

Now obviously, anyone who desires to live a godly life will suffer and face persecution. So the ride analogy breaks apart there. But, lets go with it. In cabin time we asked the kids where they were?. On the bench, outside, on the rides? Most answered merry go rounds. And what can you do to go farther, we quieried? The standard sunday school answers came out: pray, go to church, share with people, etc.

Somehow the discussion flowed into the vein of living this out in hard times. My mind immediately flipped to the parable of the man who built his house on the rock, and the man who built his house on the sand:
Luke 6:46-49
"Why do you call me, 'Lord, Lord,' and do not do what I say? I will show you what he is like who comes to me and hears my words and puts them into practice. He is like a man building a house, who dug down deep and laid the foundation on rock. When a flood came, the torrent struck that house but could not shake it, because it was well built. But the one who hears my words and does not put them into practice is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation. The moment the torrent struck that house, it collapsed and its destruction was complete."

I read this to the kids and asked them:
"What is the foundation?"
"God, Jesus" came the chorus reply
"Is that what it says?" I asked
Blank stares.
"Let me read it again" and I read it again. "So what is the foundation?"
"Jesus?" a little less sure this time.
"Is that what Jesus is saying here?"
"I'm stuck!" and similar comments of exacerbation followed.
"Let me read it again...." and I read it with the huge emphasis. "What does Jesus say the foundation is?"
"Putting his words into practice?" came a few voices.
"Bingo!, its not so much just hearing Jesus, its hearing and doing that makes the solid foundation that can stand in the storm."

And they got it. "So what can you do now? What can you do when you get back?" I began to ask them.

"I'm going to disagree with you, Cameron" chimed in my co counselor. "Jesus is the foundation."
And thus began a slight tussle between us on the subject of faith and works. We were thinking on different subjects, he salvation, and I the life already in Christ. We eventually got it figured out , after a brief tour through mormonism, and read Ephesians 2:8-10 with a strong sound of support after saved by grace from my co, and emphasis in v 10 on my part. We had to leave the room to go to a meeting for the counselors. The kids asked us what was next and we suggested getting packed up and cleaning.

On the way to the meeting, my co-counselor and myself talked it over. He acknowledged I was right about the foundation, but he wanted the kids to not get confused and so went to say Jesus had to be everything. I apologized for forcing the issue and agreed that it made sense to get the fundamentals down. At the meeting, the speaker told a story:

The was a tour guide working in the Louvre. He would walk around, show tourists and critics alike the great masterpieces, give their origin, talk about the life of the artist and context in which the painting was created. As he was showing one particular work, he received and inordinate amount of questions. He answered them with clarity and eloquence. As the questions poured in about the piece, he began to shift to center of the crowds attention. He basked in their attention and soon found himself in the middle of everyone's gaze. At that point, someone in the back informed him he was completely blocking the painting and asked him to step aside so they could see it. The point of the story is for us not to block out God. We need to let Him shine and for us to reflect His glory. We are to guide everyone to Him and let them see Him and not take His place at the center.

I felt like I had been standing in the way of the painting. It is so easy for the kids to look at people but not God. I hope when they see me they see God in me, but at the same time, I cannot be God to them. I am a failure, I am broken, but God still uses me; He gets all the credit for that one.

I tried to say as much to my co-counselor and he felt the same so everything was good between us which is such a great place to be. There is something so difficult, but something so freeing about confessing and forgiving. When we got back to the cabin, it was spotless. The kids had cleaned it completely through.

At the Park:
I work close to Veterans Memorial Park. I go over there for lunch everyday. There is a large congregation of "homeless" there. Very few are homeless, most are just there to hang out and drink beer. Some are retired and live off of social security, some are mentally ill, some are vets, many are ex-convicts, some are drug dealers, some are brawlers, some are to shy to say anything, some are just there every now and then. Men, women, young, old, employed, unemployed, mothers, children, and even a few dogs.

I don't want anyone to think that these folks are the only "type" of homeless people you might run into. In fact, these are the only group of "homeless" people I've seen that I certainly would never give money to since I know it will go straight to alcohol. They send the most scraggly looking guy to the corner with a sign to get money for lunch. Do they have money already? Quite possibly, but maybe not. I offer them parts of my lunch but they rarely take it. They offer me parts of their lunches if they have them.

Aside from this specific group of people, there are many homeless people who are forced into that situation beyond their control. They are not trying to drink their lives away, many are single moms working extremely hard trying to take care of their kids. I can tell you one thing, once you are in that position, there are far to many hoops that you have to jump through to try to get out. I have yet to see one system or care facility that really cares about them and doesn't impose unjust and impossible rules that perpetually keep them down. You'll see what I mean in one example here. None the less, no matter who they are, or their motivation, as I stated in the post about human rights, we were all lost at some point, yet God offered us grace. As such, we extend that grace unto all, no matter who they are or what they have done.

Back at the park, it took me a long time, months, before I began to regularly have lunch with them. In SLO, I was extremely timid about approaching people and talking to them. It wasn't until a friend invited me to ask a homeless guy out to dinner that I got over that fear. Since then, I became much bolder in approaching any homeless person.

But here in this park, there never was a single individual, there were a ton of individuals. There were clique's, arguments, laughing, people leaving and coming with great accolades. People already knew each other and how was I (not doing anything related to what they were doing or living) supposed to enter this group? It simply took a long time. A smile here, saying hi there, getting rebuffed and licking my wounds for a week and then trying again. I'm not one of them, and never will be unless I go totally incarnational (which I so want to do, but I feel God's call to that overseas). None the less, most of them know me now as the guy who comes for lunch. It's a day by day struggle of asking God to give me courage to go up to people I don't really know or fit with and sit there with them. But praise God it gets easier every time and He's been faithful to get me there.

It's been brutally cold at points this winter leaving no one there when I drop in. But early this week it was pretty warm and I had two encounters which particularly struck me. On Tuesday, there were four folks at one of the picnic tables. I said hi and sat down. I had met Steve a few times. He always has his dog cowboy with him. Today he looked particularly down and had nearly killed a bottle of Kaluah. He had just lost his trailer home, a complicated situation with a now ex-girlfriend. He now found himself homeless. He went to apply for unemployment or some program that helps out the homeless, but first, he went to sober up at a sober house. Well, since he was at the sober house, he wasn't homeless and therefore didn't qualify for the other deal. So here he was, out in the park, drunk, (his problem by his own admission) and without a place to go. And even now that he was homeless, he couldn't go back to the program since he wasn't sober. The more he talked about it, the more worked up he got and sad his situation became. Two of the folks departed at this point leaving Steve, cowboy, a quiet, older man I had never seen before, and myself. We threw the football for cowboy to chase and sheepishly return. We tried getting a hold of Steve's brother but with no success. Steve had spent the night in the park and was hoping his brother could help him out since it was going to get very cold soon. He grew quiet with a blank stare. In the silence another guy showed up, quite the talker to. Talked about the last football game, his hopes for a new job, some advice for Steve and so forth. I now had to head back to work. I looked over my shoulder as I was walking away and saw the talker and the older gentleman ambling off too, with Steve left alone.

I see why incarnational ministry is so important, you don't have to leave. Its not just a dash of time here, a word there; it is your life in service and sacrifice. Also, I see how much Steve needs Jesus and how much Jesus is needed among these guys. He is the only way to have power over alcohol and depression. He is the only way to bring hope where there is none. He is the wisdom to help make wise choices so that they don't end up in situations like Steve's. And ultimately, Jesus is the true friend, with a love that does not walk away.

I haven't seen him since Tuesday. I'm still kicking myself for not stopping by after work. I didn't see anyone there as I drove by, but still. Surely there is something I can do, or at least be there for him in his time of need. But more than that, I wasn't bursting over with emotion or mercy for him. My prayer became focused on seeing him and everyone else with God's eyes. What does He see when He looks at Steve, or the guy who just cut me off, or the lady at the checkout. I confess that it feels like I've lost a lot of my love for people. That scares me more than anything. Service without love is a fast track for cynicism. But God is being faithful, bit by bit, yet I need more. God, what do you see?

Wednesday, only Lloyd was there. He's one of the older folks. It was a cold day. I walked up to the table as he sat with his head hung low and body hunched over. An empty 24oz can rolled in the wind by his feet while another stood on the table next to the skeleton of a baked chicken resting in a plastic tray.

He startled as I greeted him and sat down.
"Why are you out here in the cold?" He asked me.
"To eat I guess. How are you doing?"
"I'm doing ok" said the mouth in such a soft manner, but the face pulled together in a compressed grin saying otherwise.

He mentioned his social security check and how that compared with rent, and a discussion of rent and housing in the area ensued. He lives right across the street with his own room. $400 buys a room, with kitchen and laundry privileges, and nothing extra for utilities. He slowly stood up and started to make his way to a nearby tree. The way I was seated, the tree was behind me, off to my right, so I didn't see him as he fell, but I did hear him go down.

I ran back to find him face down, his pants stained with mud. I helped him up as he spoke "I'm ok . . . I'm ok . . . I'm ok . . ." He repeated it so softly and with such pause between the phrases. Once he was up, I returned to the bench and sat facing away from the tree. I wanted to help, but to help him stand while he pissed would have taken away any dignity left in him. I sat there, chewing my sandwich in the cold, hearing the sound of urine against bark behind me. He finished and walked past the table.
"I hate to leave you out here, but I better get home"
"Can you make it?"
A short, indistinguishable reply was all that I heard. Again, the question of dignity rose in my mind. Help him, or let him make it on his own. I stayed seated. I now wish I hadn't. He never showed a sign of stumbling. His housemates met him just before he got to the street, each of them taking one arm across their shoulders and asking what happened, was he ok.

I still don't know. Help or dignity? Is dignity an excuse? The chapter I've been reading in Cross Cultural Servanthood is about openness. Openness is the the ability to make someone feel safe in your presence. If I'm helping him, when he doesn't want (more accurately, express want for) help, is that being open? Can I just accept him and let him fall on his own accord and let him be "ok"? Am I free to tell him he's not ok since we both know it? Will he just blow me off if I tell him that? What is the right thing to do in this mini culture? All I can do now is observe and learn, but I know there is such a need for Christ. But how do I bring them to Christ, or rather, how do I bring Christ to them?

I finished lunch and picked up the chicken and beer cans and was about to throw them away when I heard a honk. I looked over to see a beckoning motion from the window of an old pickup. I sauntered over, holding the cans and chicken, figuring it might be one of his housemates wanting them for some reason. Actually, it was a woman from the neighborhood trying to give them some old jackets and blankets she had. She had finally mustered up the courage to come and see if they needed any. I don't know if she assumed that I was one of them (holding two beer cans and a scarfed chicken would have been a good clue), but since there was no one there, she couldn't give them away. None the less, the gesture was awesome and I asked her to try again later. I just now realized I could have tried Lloyd's house and seen if they wanted them. Dang it. Falling and learning.

Jr. High Bible Study:
I help lead the Jr. High Bible study on Wednesday nights. Overall, it's been a great experience and challenging in many ways. However, this last meeting scared me a bit. Somehow or another over the past month, I found myself doing everything. Writing the study, leading it, organizing games, playing the games, being the discipliner, keeping everything organized, etc. There are parents there, but they simply inform me "It's probably time to get started."

I just realized this after getting back from this last study. I would appreciate it if they did stuff too. I don't think its a very good example of how the body of Christ works if one person does everything. Fortunately, I had lunch the day after with the assistant pastor who is the interim youth pastor. We got to talk about the issue and hopefully that will be resolved.

But what bothers me more is that I get too much attention from the kids. I noticed they started using phrases I use, they always want me on their team, they remember stories I tell, but never the scripture we study. I'm the center of their attention and I absolutely shouldn't be. Its frustrating because I lead the studies and lead the games and be their friends as much as I can, but all they ever see in those rolls is myself. It was great at the conference to have two counselors for each cabin, have a designated speaker, and have the parents administrating the whole deal. It was a group effort, not a sole leader.

In the same way, we as a body have distinct roles to be used together for the good of all. I am just one part, I shouldn't do everything. Primarily, its unhealthy for kids since they only get one source of input. They can so easily make heroes out of one person as the ultimate authority. "hero said this ..." and it becomes ultimate truth. Instead, Jesus should be their hero. Second, its unhealthy in the sense that the western model of the individual doing everything gets reinforced. This is such an unbiblical, human centered way of living its not even funny. Jesus was not the Marlboro man. Third, its unhealthy for the other volunteers doing nothing since they are not exercising their gifts that the Spirit has given them. Plus, they miss out on the joy of edifying the kids through their gifts. Finally, its bad for me since I have to do everything, and as such, I can't do a good job at any one particular thing. For example, I'm ok with chaos if I'm having a good talk with one of them. To me, that talk is more valuable than a lower decibel level. But to others, the lower decibel level is more important.

I'm reading up a lot on the missional church, specifically as described by Alan Hirsch. Check out his blog at http://www.theforgottenways.org/blog/ It talks a lot about the current western church model and the ways it needs to be changed. Very interesting reading and I like the general idea, but implementation I can see being difficult.

The bible study this last week, I felt, went pretty bad. Actually, I'm glad for that. The last thing I want is for the kids to think I'm perfect or good at everything. We'll be having a meeting this Sunday with all the volunteers to talk this over. I'm praying that we can not just model, but be the body among all the volunteers, and with the kids as well too. We need them, probably even more, than they need us.

Morning Yell:
This morning, I heard the forecast that it would be from 20 to 30 below in some mountain areas with windchill. I have never been in a spot where it had been that cold and was super excited by the extreme temperatures. I let out a rebel whoop and holler. Unbeknownst to me, my dad had sat down right in front of me at the table. He jumped and grimmaced. "You can't be so loud!" "Sorry, I wasn't thinking"

As I left to head out for work, both my parents were sitting on the couch strangely quiet.
"See you guys later. Everything ok?"
"Mm, you split dad's eardrum"
"What!?"
"No you didn't, don't overreact" his words brushed away as he got up and left. "Do you really think its split?" he quietly asked mom as he passed by.

I feel terrible. I don't want to hurt my family at all, and I did it so carelessly. Me just being me, what pain it can cause! I feel like George from "Of mice and men" Another eye just popped off the mouse from debilitation affection. How I wish I could be painfully uncomfortable in this house. I need to learn to serve my parents in their home, not my house. I'm not in college anymore, I can't act the way I want to. It is such a struggle to live in your home when it is not your home. Living in another culture might be easy since there are always the reminders that you are somewhere different, it is not familiar, it is their ground, not yours. Living in the house you grew up in, you become you. There is no second thought on the way you act, the way you leave dishes in the sink, the way you shout or laugh or yawn. How do I get outside of myself in a hall of mirrors? It is such a difficult lesson to learn and fail at since your failures never disappear.

Thankfully my dad's ear was ok when I got home. I had a good chat with my mom about this topic about living at home and not being free to be yourself. I guess that's the key to getting up. Not wallowing, but working out of it. Talk it over, work it out, whatever it may be. A kind word covers a multitude of wrongs.

Psalms 37:23-24
The steps of a good man are ordered by the LORD,
And He delights in his way.
Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down;
For the LORD upholds him with His hand.