Flesh and Spirit (Pt 3)

This is what it feels like to be in ministry most of the time: Running around from here to there, taking care of this or that, hoping that God will intervene at some point. When He does, I have no idea what to do.

Jennifer sits in the back seat, Ruthie and I in the front.

An hour ago, we registered over 60 kids for our afterschool program and gave out over 30 backpacks. Now we have a window of time to get Jennifer to Best Buy and help her pick out a CD for her fourteenth birthday before figuring out how to get backpacks and school supplies for the thirtysomething kids who didn't get any.

- Ruthie, my mom wants to know if she can send you something, Jennifer says.

- Send what? asks Ruthie.

- It's cause there's this picture, and it's so scary of Leslie. I couldn't sleep last night, and my mom was crying.

As Jennifer tells it, the story behind the picture is this: Jennifer's mom has a friend who lives nearby, and the kids play together while the moms hang out. Jennifer's younger sister, Leslie, has a white hoody which she wears whenever she can, even in the heat of July in Georgia. So Leslie goes with her mom to their friend's house, plays with the two younger kids, and goes home.

The next day, a picture shows up on the friend's cell phone. In the picture, the friend's two youngest kids are walking in the foreground, and a figure wearing Leslie's hoody sits in the center on the bed. But where Leslie's face should be, a pale, grotesque, masculine face stares straight at the camera.

- Well who took the photo? I ask.

- No one remembers it, Jennifer says.

- And you're sure it's Leslie? She was there on that day?

- Yeah.

- Did they have a mask or something?

- No, but that house is haunted, Jennifer says, there's a ghost that throws stuff and makes noises.

I tell Jennifer to send us the picture. I'm a bit of a cynic about spiritual manifestations, and I still wonder if my experiences in the Philippines were just vivid products of my sleeping mind.

Still, I feel familiar chills moving up my spine and crawling into my skull.

Afterschool Program Re-opens!

Flesh and Spirit (Pt 2)

There are the days when I can only believe in glimpses, and there are days when I can't seem to believe at all.

But there are words, with which I spend a great deal of time, because they build a story. If you ask me why the idea of God will not leave me alone, and why I give myself to the teachings of Jesus, I will respond that The Story is one that points to Him.

How it all adds up and fits together is a question I can't answer. The math is beyond me.

I find it absurd that a guy who can barely scrape together enough belief to keep living is here, in an international neighborhood easily overlooked by the Bible Belt that surrounds it, with the charge of living and speaking the Love of Christ.

But I am willing, and that seems to be enough for now.

Flesh and Spirit (Pt 1)

I sat behind the driver, on the passenger side. Outside the jeepney, vague yellow lights advertised a vacant city.

The vehicle looked like any other jeepney populating Manila's streets. Vivid patterns adorned the ceiling. Two cushioned benches ran along the sheet metal siding, from front to back.

He did not turn to face me. I only saw the back of his head, his hair black and shiny, typical of filipino men.

- I go to Faith Academy, I told him.

The small missionary boarding school felt as if it was around us in the dark, somewhere undefined behind the electric lamps.

Something entered the dream. I felt it lock me in.

The driver turned to me, his face pale, grey, hollow. I know your school, he said, as something dark worked its way around under his skin, like blood, rushing, cascading from top to bottom.

- We have several students there. Our blood runs in their veins, he said.

I could not breathe. I twisted, turned. His glare was gripping. It was all around me. It was the jeepney, the night, the yellow lights. He went on, but his words were deep, indistinct, a fierce growl, and I reached for the name of Jesus. I tried to call it out, but I had no breath. A rasp.

Jesus, I said from the bed. I was awake before The Name left my lungs. I was eighteen, sleeping in a bunk bed below Jon, across from Brendon. Faith Academy and all of its other dorms were asleep, except me and God and the Devil and only they knew what else.

Our dorm stood still atop its hill, and a GE wall fan rattled from side to side as I placed my feet against the cool wood of our floor.

Fortunately, Unfortunately

Monday:

After a great lunch meeting, I stepped out of my car by the mailboxes, and A---- yelled a greeting from the playground, which sits right next to the boxes.

I was surprised that he acknowledged me, since he was yelling at me last time we spoke. I had asked S---- about some gang graffiti in our hallway. Despite the fact that I had just asked if they knew anything about it, A---- and S---- got very angry and defensive while their posse watched from the stairwell.

"Yo, Ian, wanna play soccer?"

"Definitely," I responded, excited to be invited back into their circle.

We divided up into teams, and kicked back and forth for a while, trash talking each other and having a great time. When it was over, S asked me if I could drive them to soccer practice on Tuesdays, since there was a team forming at a nearby school. Glad for the opportunity to get more time with them, I quickly agreed.

Tuesday:

I drove the car to my mechanic this morning to check out a small problem and get it fixed before driving the guys to soccer, and after a wait of several hours, he gave me some bad news. Transmission problems. I delivered the car to another shop that specializes in transmissions, and they said they needed to hold it over night and check it in the morning. I handed over the keys.

I got a ride home with my sister, Lisa, who teaches a Bible study to some of the kids in our neighborhood. I arrived at our apartment feeling depressed about our finances. We were already about two grand in the hole from taxes, and now we have to deal with transmission repair costs, not to mention that we barely make enough to cover our regular bills.

I was so depressed that I completely forgot about agreeing to take A----, S----, and their friends to soccer practice until they came knocking at our door, dressed up and carrying soccer balls. I had to tell them the bad news. They left to try and find another ride.

Yesterday was one of those days that felt like everything clicked into place. Today felt a bit like it all clicked back out again. Hopefully tomorrow will contain another upswing. It's the pendulum of faith-based neighborhood ministry. We can predict and plan all we want, but circumstances always shift around us.

On days like today, the best we can do is believe that the Father has some perspective that we lack. We ask for his peace, and love and serve as faithfully as we can.

Refugee Beads Open Class

To those of our readers who look at the pictures below and think, why can't I be a part of this? we reply, "You can!"

On Friday nights, all those interested are invited to join Ruthie, Nivin, Purna, Esther, Juli, and their families for some conversation, music, kid time, and, lest we neglect to mention it, jewelry making.

Here are a few shots of our time on Friday Night:

Incarnation Station

13 miles into an 18-mile run/walk/jog on the Appalachian Trail, about four miles past total exhaustion, when we were tripping over small stones, running into trees, and laughing at dumb jokes, my brother Eric and I had a brief but rewarding conversation about theodicy.

Loosely translated and contexualized, theodicy is the ever-confusing and oft-asked question, "Where is God when the kids in our neighborhood get abused or neglected at home?" Variants of this include, "Where is God in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina?" "Where is God in Darfur," or "where is God when my BMW gets a flat on the way to my beach house?" - All asked with the same degree of desparation by those in the situations.

I spent an unsatisfying three years in Christian academia, where I banged my head against this question in all its different forms. Toward the end of my time at Moody Bible Institute, as my answers collapsed and my angst grew, I gave up on an intellectual solution.

As I traveled to New Orleans after Katrina and then later as I suffered under depression, I began to realize that, in the odd economy of the Kingdom, the answer seems to be "God is in us as we respond in love."

That was the beginning of my journey toward an incarnational ministry model, where we choose to live among the needy.

So much of God's character, so much of His perspective, so much of His logic seems beyond our reach. But when we move in love, His life seems to grow in us and connect with the world around us.

That's why I believe that so much of Jesus' teaching focused on Love. As small as we are, as limited as our understanding is, we must go about this confusing life focused on the central goal given to us- to live in love.

Then, within the context of that love, I believe that all other things find their place. Our intellect, gifts, interests, histories, weaknesses, and hungers all find their place in submission to the rule of divine love.