Late Nigth Adventure

So Darrell has been creeping towards rehab for a good few weeks. I think he has been before. Over the past few weeks, tho, we have been pushing him pretty hard. He would get close but could never take that final plunge, did not want it badly enough.

Saturday afternoon, we saw him and he had a bottle of mouth wash—that’s what he was reduced to drinking. I asked him to give it up, no way. Curtis asked about him a little while later, and it spurred me to go visit him. So about 9 Saturday night, Jessica and I went over to his house. He was drinking mouthwash, and that is a foul smell, oddly enough. We talked to him a bit and he got more agitated with us, especially when I read 1 Cor 6:9-11, where it says drunkards will not inherit the kingdom of God, but that there is a way out through Jesus. This huge wave of defiance sprang from his eyes and he took a big swig of mouth wash.

I thought there is no way I am going to take this, so Jessica and I started praying over him. He started bucking and swaying, but I had a “claw” on his head and would not let go. We prayed that he would be delivered from the demons oppressing him. He calmed down after a spell, and actually gave me his mouthwash. I headed out the door after a few minutes and poured it out. We kept pressing him to go to detox and then into a treatment program. No dice. He had some peace, but no submission. We got worried about clearing out one demon only to have him return with 7 of his buddies.

We left. I think we left too early. Harper and I walked the streets of downtown, debriefing. We felt maybe we left too soon. At the McDonald’s on Lime, I realized God was calling me to preach a different sermon than I intended.

So Sunday comes and Darrell shows up towards the end of the service. He comes in and then stays in the narthex for a few minutes. Then goes out the door. I got Roz to go after him. But Darrell was just standing outside the doors. Roz brought him back in. I gave the altar call and went back and got Darrell. He did not want to come forward, but we took him anyway.

I asked Julius to get Tom Monroe, and then Abigail, Butch, Roz, and Jessica came and prayed. I told John to play music until other folks were done at the altar, and then to give the benediction, because we were going to pray for the long haul. I was not going to leave too early. We were going to finish the job.

Again, he was bucking and swaying. We prayed. Roz brought anointing oil (he lives for stuff like this… hard core). We started calling out demons that torment him. Darrell was able to repeat some confessions about Jesus. He was sweating hard and about to puke. After a while, we took him to a pew. The church was empty except for those of us there. We had asked him if he would go to detox and treatment. He said no. He kept saying he was feeling some real peace. Tom had pressed him earlier that if he were serious, he would submit and do what I asked him to—to go to detox and rehab. But he had stipulations. He was not going to go to the HOPE Center. He wanted a specific place which would not take him without insurance.

We called an ambulance because he was really looking bad. When they came, of course, he was looking and feeling better. So they could not take him unless he told them he really needed to. He did not want to. What did he want? Why did he come? Why was he so resistant to come in?

EXCURSUS ON DEMON POSSESSION

Most mainline Christians do not believe in demon possession. It gets written off to a sort of symbol or primitive way of describing what we now know as specific medical disorders. In a sort of vicious circle, no one who is possessed by a demon will come to a church to get help (they usually end up on the Board…), because they know they won’t find any help from people who don’t believe they have demon problems. We’re too embarrassed to even pray to cast those little suckers out. So we don’t believe in it, and we don’t see it and we don’t see it so we don’t believe in it. All I can say is that the panty-waist gospel preached in too many places will get steamrolled here. Demons get a kick out of it when they get off scot-free because we don’t “believe” in them.

BUT, UH, BACK TO THE LECTURE AT HAND

So I told Darrell that if he did not go get help, he was free to hang out with us, but we were not going to help him anymore. No more food or anything, because each thing we provide frees up money for drinking.

He showed up Monday at the Mission Night. Had his bags packed, said he was ready to go. I asked where? Detox. Treatment? Sure. Even if it meant HOPE Center? Yes. Wow, he came to us, ready to go, ready to go anywhere.

I called the Rescue Mission and John Ferguson said he’d have a bed for him. Awesome. Darrell was overjoyed to think he could go to a smaller, more intimate place, a place with lots of connection to the Rock.

Jessica and I took him to Good Sam Hospital. The intake clerk was pretty rude, but we thought it looked good. So we left him there and 20 mins later he calls and says that they say it will be hours before they get to him. We were in a prayer service, so I sent Harper back to get him. She brought him back to my house, because we thought it would be better for him to stay there. My boy Lew was in town from Cincy, and we knew we’d have some prayer power on hand.

Well, Darrell was not really too happy at my house. He was afraid of how he’d get, coming off alcohol. He did not want to be that way around the boys. So Josh MacDonald got him set up to go to the HOPE Center…

HOPE Center can’t take him because he has some meds he needs to take but is not taking. Darrell keeps pestering me to take him home. NO way. He’ll just drink, and we can’t miss this chance. I tell him we’re going to UK.

On the way there, we are faced with a car in the wrong lane, coming right at us . I lay on the horn and they turn onto the sidewalk. What a mess. Darrell looks at me and says, “Shit, they say I’m the drunk.” We started laughing. He went on, “That’s why I always wear two pairs of drawers…” What a sense of humor!

Ok, so we wait at UK for a while, but he is ultimately admitted. There are a few stories worth telling.

First, we read a lot of Scripture. The penitential Psalms. He really found some kinship with Psalm 32 and 38. And then we read 1 John. He kept asking why did we love him at all? Why did God love him?

I texted a bunch of people to start praying. (I know, Shooter. Whoever thought I would text? Yeah, I know.) Pretty soon, my phone started beeping as people responded. I told him each beep was someone praying for him. He was really excited, waiting for each beep, keeping count.

He laid down on the bed and I asked him if he wanted me to tuck him in. He looked at my like he could have slugged me. I asked him if he wanted a bed time story. Same look…

He sweet-talked the nurse into letting him go outside to smoke. When he came back in, I asked him in a baby voice, “Are you going to crawl into your beddy-bye?” He chuckled. “Maybe I can get another bed time story.” You can see that Darrell sober is a lot of fun.

They admitted him… and sent him to Good Sam, because UK and Good Sam work together. Classic.

We saw him today and he is doing ok, we’re hoping and praying this sticks. Anyone can quit drinking. It’s just staying quit that’s hard.

Prayer Revolution

There is a quiet prayer revolution going on in our church. It has happened without planning. We wanted it, that’s all, The Holy Spirit wanted us to want it, and it came. I can’t say where it started. The obvious break-out was Wednesday evening perhaps a month ago. We found ourselves praying more fervently, singing more powerfully, not wanting to leave. There we were, Africans, Hispanics, Anglos, singing and praying, having a spine-tingling peace descend on us. It has been going on ever since.

But there were earlier signs. You can’t have an altar call every week without serious prayer. So, there were a number of people praying. There are many fasting (our prayer and fasting services have been growing in strength and devotion) as well. And then I find that there are spontaneous prayer meetings cropping up here and there.

We cry out for guidance. I pray that God will break the teeth of the evildoers in our community. We cry out for clean hands and hearts. We seek peace and power. I am not sure what else to say except that it is prayer, prayer as more than formality, prayer as more than devotion to the time and place.

A few years back, the Lord spoke that church leaders would be revealed to me in prayer. Not that I would receive their names, but that they would be the ones who pray. May it be so, that our leaders are prayers.

Mornings With Leo

Leo Bartlett is our custodian. He has been at the Rock for a while. He is 4 years sober (4 and a half, I guess, now). He was homeless for a while. He works part time for us, and he and I are usually the first ones at the church. So we sit in the parlor and go over what the Lord is doing in our lives and what "brother Oswald" (My Utmost for His Highest) had to say to us that day.

And then Thursday nights, Leo comes to the community dinner, and he sleeps on the couch, wakes up with us in the morning. I think he loves it when we get to the church, and the boys say, "Bye, Mr. Leo" on their way to school.

Leo is not at the center of leadership in our church. But he is. His presence is a testimony. And it is always good to talk to the people who are not leaders, to see what is really going as opposed to what we think is going on, or what we would like to influence going on.

There's a special bond with Leo, because he and Melissa became friends quickly. She met him only once, I think, but she was quick with a hug and Leo said she looked at him like he was a person. Somewhere in all that, Leo really wanted to get to know her.

Leo, it turns out, is a fierce Jenga player. I can't really do justice to the richness of my life, because of the friends the Lord has given me.

Making Cheese

Last Saturday evening, Jessica and I made cheese. It’s something I have threatened to do for years, but never got around to. My mom kept saying I was going to kill myself with some weird mold. Back in the day, I used to make my own beer and wine. She called it “bath-tub gin.” I loved the creative outlet, the time doing something fundamentally human, something that was living and breathing, without too much technology. Cheese, I figured, would do something similar for me. Plus, there’s really nothing like fresh and homemade anything. And usually, whether it’s beer or cheese, the stuff you get at the store is the lowest common denominator—how little taste can it have and still be called beer or cheese? [Let it be stated that I do not drink alcohol anymore. I just use the lack of taste as an example.]

We made cheddar cheese (we think. In another month, we’ll see…) It was pretty simple, really. Cook milk, add rennet (to make the proteins coagulate), dump out the whey (sad, because it tastes really sweet—all the solid stuff removed, sugar water remains). Salt the curds. Press them into a mold. I bought a cheese press to put the required pressure on it overnight to squeeze out moisture. Then let it air dry until it has a rind on it. Then wax it, which we did last night. 2 pounds of cheese.

We had so much fun, I think we’ll do it again tomorrow, with the boys. I think we’ll do another cheddar, to keep getting used to it. What we’re really looking forward to is making mozzarella when the first tomatoes come ripe…

I have found a supplier of fresh milk a few miles up the road. Milk straight from the cow… I can’t wait to take the boys up there and let them milk cows. And then, to make one of the soft cheeses, with raw milk. If I get to fantasizing, I think it would be nice to have some goats and have fresh milk right outside. Harper thinks we can have two goats here and two goats back on 12^th Street. I can see it now, The Mad Goat Lady of Lexington, shepherding goats back and forth across the 05 to rotate “pasture.” She’s more than half-way there, y’all.

I’ll let you know in a month how things turn out. Maybe there will be a tasting for the few, the brave…

A simple job description that stares at us from the beginning

The activities of deacons in the early church: “most of their real work lay outside the sanctuary…. In particular they looked after the poor, the sick, the mentally deranged, widows, orphans, Christians who might be in prison. In the second half of the fourth century, this had become an enormous responsibility…. [Chrysostom] was to claim that [the church in Antioch] had to maintain upwards of three thousand widows and virgins, not to mention a host of prisoners in jail, people who were sick or in hospital, others who were impoverished or maimed, others still who crouched by the altar in desperate need of food and clothing.”

Who will help us?