The Struggle

Sunday, I said to Steve McKinney, “it’s going to be a good summer.” I was all hyped up about the warm weather, the pretty skies, the green everywhere that comes with summer. As soon as I said it, though, I regretted saying it. This dark cloud popped up, and I began thinking, “how can you be so naïve? You have no idea what could happen. You thought moving to Louisville was a good idea. You thought you and Melissa would have grandkids running around…” on and on it went, to things like, “Who knows what could happen to John or Joe? Sure Jessica is young, but…”

It really got to me the rest of the day.

But then I had an insight. I do think it will be a good summer. I can’t explain to you, except by faith, why I am basically happy. You can have all kinds of good things in your life, along with bad, and come out some kind of balance of all that. But sometimes you find your way to joy through the Holy Spirit. And strength comes from that place.

I determined not to let the evil one have any kind of laugh. He can kiss my butt. It is going to be a good summer, come what may. That kind of faith drives the evil one nuts, and it keeps me going.

Goat Dinner

I am totally freaked out by what happened tonight, by how the Lord blessed us. We had our Thursday night dinner, but we did it in the garden. Mapigano was cooking—goat kabobs. People weren’t real sure what to think, but everyone that tried it really liked it.

Ok, so all week, I was asking people, thinking that having it in the garden is a little less intimidating for a guest than having it at my house. So I asked Stephanie and her kids (Jessie is becoming friends with Stephanie, and her daughter is in John’s class.) I asked Cliff and his family.

Leo worked like a dog with me setting up tables and chairs, getting it all ready.

Mapigano, Gabin, and Don Ellis put the kebabs together.

Over 60 people came. 19 of them were first-time visitors. People came off the street. One family came because Cliff told them about it! I was totally freaked out. Mapigano and I were cooking, and of course not getting to eat, and so we set aside some kabobs for us. We ate off the same kabob, and there was something intense in that, pulling goat off the stick it was like communion.

So there we were, young and old (there must have been 25 kids there. It looked like school was in session!) Eating goat. African, Hispanic, Anglo, African-American. Over the fire, I joked with Madame Itoula that one day there will be so many Africans in America that we’ll all eat goat and think we invented it, because finally, that’s what makes us so strong—everyone comes and adds to the potluck.

So I had lots of opportunity to witness, to invite. Lots of time to laugh, and just be as relaxed as I ever get. You know, you could start a church with all the people we had. Man, how I would love it if every Sunday , 1/3 of the people were brand new, didn’t know Jesus. It works if you work it.

I wish I could be really eloquent in this description. But I think I am too blown away that this many people came, that we ate that much goat, that kids played so hard without fighting, that groups were forming that we’ve never seen before.

And get this: Foti let us hook up the hose at his house, and the garden got watered. Can you believe it? We’re cooking goat, loving Jesus, talking, watering. My goodness, all we did was plant some seeds and plants. What’s going on here!?

I need to give a shout out to my kids who carried tables from the garden to the church: Samstress, Elijon, Seamus, Matthew. They work hard for me and it’s really something to see.

Fish in a barrel

So Cliff and I are hatching plans. When he came to work in the garden, we got to talking about crazy schemes to deal with high food prices.

EXCURSUS: Back in the day (about 20 years ago), I was convinced things would get bad in this country, and it would be necessary to learn to survive. So I went on a crash course of gardening, hunting, and fishing. The latter two are not the best ways to survive—useful here and there, but not long-term. I also was interested in alternative forms of energy and food production. One that really pumped me up was growing fish, either in a pond or tanks. I think you could make a killing raising trout and selling them.

Back to me and Cliff. So this idea that we should really be learning about raising fish is going somewhere. Cliff comes back to the garden with a 55-gallon metal drum. He can get them from work and he cleans them with steam from the steam plant at UK, where he works. And get this, this is how easy it is:

Get a metal drum. Cover it with a glass top. Put in a pump that aerates the water. Grow catfish. Like 40 in a barrel. Drain out 5 gallons a day from the bottom to get rid of waste. Add water back. The waste is largely nitrogen, so use it to water your garden plants!!! Oh, and catfish love worms. So grow worms—feed them your table scraps (Joe Dongell, the guy who married me and Jessie, is the worm guru in these parts!). So you raise worms that make compost for the garden and feed your catfish, and the waste water feeds your garden. And a 25-ounce catfish yields 1 lb. of meat. My guess is the worm bins and fish barrel take up 15 sq. feet tops. Everyone has room for this in their backyard.

Can you imagine the savings to the families that need it? I mean, what if we taught people to garden and raise catfish? They could put high quality protein on the table for next to nothing.

If you have followed the news about high prices and the apocalyptic mindset it puts some folks in, you’ll notice that the “survival” mentality usually moves out to the hills and sets up an isolated base. They are out of the way to avoid people, the hordes that they see rampaging thru cities when the defecation hits the rotary oscillator. The sensibility is very much surviving for self. There will come a time for that, I suspect. But there is a chance that we can teach people here in town to grow a little bit here and there, to offset the high costs, to go to almost no cost, because God just makes things grow!!!! I wonder if we could begin that process whereby we get back to one of the most powerful evangelistic witnesses the church has ever had: the pagan Pliny wrote of the 2nd century Christians, “there are no poor people among them… if someone is hungry, the rest will fast until there is enough to eat…” And perhaps we could teach people how to garden rather than just giving them some tomatoes.

I think about Cliff a lot, how he is kind of the point of the direction of the Rock. We’re trying to make a push into the community, to be the church in and for the community. Generally, churches have not known what to do with neighborhoods like ours, ones that are on the downhill slide. We abandon them, or our worshippers come from outside the neighborhood. There’s nothing wrong with people coming from outside, but if it means that we don’t worship with people from the neighborhood (i.e., we can’t just provide social services for them; they should be the bulk of our worship—can we welcome them back in their own neighborhood?), we have a problem. I have said repeatedly that the people who know best what the community needs are the ones who live here. And in Cliff’s case, as we talk about the impact of high gas and food prices, he knows the impact in personal, daily ways. And when we talk about possible solutions, he is right there with the equipment and the willingness. We just may figure this thing out.

All that was a few days ago. We just had our awesome dinner in the garden, and Cliff and I spent some more time talking, and I think we are just going to go for it in his yard. He’ll be the pilot program. He wants to raise some serious fish. Man, this is getting out of hand. Me, Jessie, and our neighbor Tom are going to get some beehives. It hit me. I have a card I pass out with the vegetables that says, “taste and see that the Lord is good,” from Psalm 34. I started thinking how cool it would be to pass out some natural honey, in little jars with a little bit of honeycomb in it. “The law of the Lord is perfect, the ordinances of the Lord are sure… they are sweeter than honey, than honey from the comb” from Psalm 19. Cliff said that if we could start multiplying fishes it would be like “passing out love.” I about fell over. He gets it better than I do!

persistence

Here’s how Memorial Day played out. It was a lazy morning. I am getting over some messed up infection that they gave me steroids for, and so I am really tired in the mornings until I can get my next dose. So we puttered around and afternoon, we went out to the garden. Our sweet potatoes arrived, so we planted them and watered. The Highfill boys were, of course, faithfully there. I am not sure the garden would work this year without them. They saw a friend on the playground and he came over a bit, but he was bored. He kept asking Matthew and Robert if they found “this exciting.” He was shocked that they just walked around watering and pulling weeds. I guess I am, too. Maybe it is boring, but I have never felt that way. I think, finally, Matthew and Robert just like hanging out. Plus, they have specific responsibilities, and those responsibilities are going to taste really good!

When we wrapped up, we went and talked to Foti and Rebecca. We stayed a while and Rebecca brought out some Indian donuts in rose syrup as well as some masala tea. We knew Sarita would be coming over for dinner, and we invited Foti and Rebecca. I took a chance—he has never accepted, and does not like being around too many people. But he said yes!

So I fired up the grill for some serious chicken. I have been working on getting the skin crisp and keeping the inside moist. I am getting there. Anyway, Foti brings some brats and Greek salad. So we ate like kings.

The boys were soooo dirty. I had to drain the tub and run new water halfway through! It was full of dirt, grit, sweat, and a day of fun. It’s gotten to this: they both get out of the tub, dry off and get dressed. I don’t have any babies anymore

The best part is this: Foti and Rebecca stayed to almost 1 a.m.! We were up discussing. Well, debating. All kinds of things—politics, economics, ethics, religion. You’d think we’d never be friends after all that. Jessica especially was in on it. They were bulldogs about their positions. A telling moment, when Jessica said that if they could not agree on a basic premise then there was no point in arguing any further. Foti had a disappointed look on his face as he said, “True. But let’s argue some more!”

By the end we were talking about ethics and economics in the Kingdom. Praise God. There will be more topics to discuss, more time to argue, more chances to get to the Kingdom’s answers to all our problems.

As Jess and I took a deep breath after all that, I said, “I have been waiting for this night for two years.” This is another piece of what evangelism looks like. You knock on a door. You engage spiritual discussion. You see that there is a spark. You come back now and again. You get invited to a birthday party. You go out to lunch. There’s interest developed about why a church grows a garden and feeds the hungry. Then you have a bar-b-q and hang out and talk. This is all, simply, what Jesus said to do, what He said would happen if you did it. It’s not that complicated, but somewhere churches got hung up in committees and vision statements and… next thing we knew, we no longer fired up the grill to eat with publicans and sinners.

The Accidental Garden

The boys, Jessie, and I went out to the garden this morning. We expected to be out there for maybe an hour, just puttering around with some stuff. I had already been up early, working out with the guys. I thought we’d do a bit in the garden with Matthew and Robert and move on. Wrong.

Next thing I know, people from the neighborhood show up. We had 19 people out there today, most working, a few passing through and talking. 13 of us were there for 5 hours. I wanted to get to the church yard sale, but could not leave the work—not the garden, but the work of ministry! What other chance am I going to have to talk for 5 hours with one family about Christ?

Here’s the garden work: weed-eating the edge of the garden—thanks Chris Zoch.

Weeding the tomatoes—Cliff, Robert, me. Cliff and I had some good talks, some imaginative talks. Cliff is right on board with the idea of the garden—getting food to people. He really knows the impact of the high price of veggies and fuel. He suggests (and seriously, no input from Jessie here) that we should be able to keep goats in the city for milk! We started dreaming about how to get aquaculture going so people could have some good protein! And we talked a lot about Jesus.

When Tanya came by, she and I got to talk about her kids and extended family. She and Jessie hit it off. And of course, there was time to talk about the church, about how maybe we could meet their needs.

Jessie was putting stray rocks and bricks (the garden is on a few old house lots) along the walk ways. Cliff and Tanya’s girls and their two friends got into it and were hauling loads of rocks in buckets. Then they went and got their wagon. They made repeated two-block trips back to their house brings brick and broken cinder block pieces. So now, the garden is edged and run through with bordered pathways. John and Joe scavenged some gravel for a nice spot in the middle. They think we can put a grill there. The idea now is to have one of our Thursday night dinners in the garden.

I have had this quirky idea to put up a door at the garden, just a door standing there. No reason, other than I think it seems at once inviting and jarring. Anyway, Robert and Chris helped me set it up, Katie cleaned it, and the kids want to paint a little on it. “Community Garden” is what Katie wants to put on it. Flowers and vegetables are what John wants. I wonder what other spontaneous artwork can erupt? I think on the back, the part you’d see in the garden or on the way out it should say, “garden of the people, for the people, by the people.”

Chelsea weeded the cucumbers, squash, watermelon, and okra. The garden is now about 90% weeded. It was in pretty grim shape last year. Something about having a year under our belt has made it known, made it a happening.

The funny thing is, this all came about by simply taking Jesus seriously when He said, “feed the hungry.” I like to garden, there is always an abundance… give it away. And then you find that people like to see things grow, they like to work and play together. It just happens. God has so much in store when you are faithful. It’s almost never only about the obvious; it has been about way more than feeding the hungry.

Pumping Iron

Almost a year ago, Roz and I began putting together a gym downstairs. It got used a little bit. But now is about to get doused in sweat. I have wanted to get some of the youth together to lift weights and go deeper spiritually. You can do some serious praying under the discipline of the iron.

So we have met twice. It looks like we have a core of 7. I hope more will come. But right now, we have this group, and it’s time to teach them about their bodies—muscles, nutrition, form, how the Bible links physical training to spiritual training.

Some of our kids need the chance to have a place to work out to get ready for sports.

Some need it for the focus.

It’s awesome to see the joy on their faces when they realize they can do something like this. It’s awesome to give them a goal. I see a determination in their faces that is not often there. I see them coming together to encourage each other. I like to see the pain when I make them do overhand curls. I like it when I hear them repeat what I said, that they would not be able to hold a pencil the next day, that when we do squats (tomorrow) they will wish they never met me. They are freaked out at how hard Jessica hits the punching bag, how she teaches them to square up, hit head on, and lean into it.

We do a devotion at the beginning. We pray at the end. A boy who has had a tough row to hoe with us is coming around. He is focused. Strong, and will get stronger. He steps up and leads by shouting encouragement. He prayed for the group at the end. To my knowledge it is the first time he prayed like that. In a few weeks, they will start leading the devotions.

You know my garden mania is ultimately about getting good food into the bellies of folks whose nutrition is what’s cheapest. These kids—they don’t have the same chance to play sports that I did. It’s not just that I played soccer—we had the money to feed me. When I’d lose 7 pounds a game, my old man didn’t care that I’d drink a gallon of orange juice, eat 4 or 5 bananas and ask for a triple bacon cheeseburger. That’s not an option here. Roz and I are rabid about getting these kids some good protein into their diets. “You bring the peanut butter, I’ll bring the milk,” he said.

Grillin' and Chillin'

I think in our Thursday night dinners we may have reached the point we’re trying for—whatever is signified by the abused and almost meaningless word, “community.”

Community is not hanging out.

Community is not talking to people you know and share interests with.

Community is not talk.

Community is not getting to know people.

Community is not …

It is a word that gets thrown around like a bomb. Some people read a book and become experts on it.

I don’t know what we have. Wait, yes I do. We had minor Pentecost. Dinner was: grilled tilapia (about which more later), rice with curry seasoning, some kind of Indian deviled eggs, and green beans.

Dinner was: Americans, young, old, poor, not so poor (ok, let’s face it, I am rich), African, Hispanic. It looked like our church in its better moments.

So Mapigano and I have always talked about how much we are alike. Melissa was, like Noella is to David, much taller than me. We have two boys that frustrate the devil out of our attempts to get them to behave. We like soccer. And then we find we love to grill. And eat goat. He haltingly learned to say “grillmeister.” I found an awesome deal on tilapia (feeding I guess 15 people on about $9 worth of fish. Rubbed in chili powder, lime, and salt. While Mapigano and I grilled, he started saying how happy they were that I had lenga lenga in the garden. Then we talked about how good goat is on the grill. He asked if he could cook next week. “We’ll go see The Arab,” he said, “and get a whole goat, and share it half and half.” And later, “When I eat goat and fou-fou, I feel good.”

On the one hand, it can be hard to handle—the blur of languages, the kids running through, the different foods. It could be hard to enter. But the riches of it all! To see us brought together around common knowledge—the Cubans know all about the problem of Cabinda, because Cuban troops fought in Angola. And it looks like goat will cross some lines—maybe some of us Anglos won’t know what to do, but oh well. It can’t all be hamburgers!!

Garden

Today, Jessie and I worked in the garden. It was simply marvelous, to have her there, to work beside her, getting work done, work that is building something important, sometimes intangible, sometimes expected like the harvest, sometimes surprisingly unexpected and real.

We had to lay out about 400 feet of hose to get the watering done. The school was having field day and so we got to cheer the boys on as we worked. We got a lot of weeds hoed. Larry Stewart had been in the garden earlier in the week and his section of tomatoes sure looked good. Jason Dillard planted the other corner of maters, and he left a good depression around the plants, a bowl where you could water and the plant soaks it up.

Onions are getting bigger, potatoes are ready to be hilled. Mapigano is totally pumped that we are growing lenga lenga.

After school, John, Joe and Ben ran around the garden and just got so tired. I mean little boy tired. There is nothing rowdier or grumpier than little boy tired. And it is so cute when they finally just pass out.

We have a big garden. I am not sure about the square footage, but I am going to guess 3000 sq.ft. It took me, Jessie, Kelly and Sawyer about 3 hours to get the watering done. Of course, it’s my zen watering that takes a while—dripping a bit on each plant, letting it soak in the way rain does. I guess it’s cruel, but I like to think I am watering the plant and starving the weed. I guess it shows God’s grace—I sure wouldn’t make it rain on the unrighteous, ‘cept for me…

Who are Kelly and Sawyer? I thought you’d never ask. Kelly is the woman Andres and I met DOING EVANGELISM last week. (I put DOING EVANGELISM in screaming caps so just maybe, somehow someone will realize that until we get out on the street we will not meet anyone.) [I put that last part in parentheses to explain that it is simply impossible to be serious about the Kingdom without going, seeking, all that Jesus stuff.] I think I gave her a pseudonym. She said she did not get into organized religion, and I said we were actually pretty disorganized. Anyhoo, she was pushing Sawyer in his stroller (he’s 22 months and cute) and she saw us up there. We got to talking about a lot of stuff. She’s been a river-rafting guide in parts west, a science teacher in Honduras (where she and her husband were doing some sustainable agriculture), and spent time in Terlingua, Texas. Ha, Terlingua. She was stoked that I knew where it was. My mom and I have a history with Terlingua. Let’s just say it involves a sheriff and an ill-conceived trip to Del Rio. It’s not quite “No Country For Old Men;” more like “A Fistful of Dollars.” I’ve said too much already.

Why is it that the garden is this meeting place for me and people not quite on the way? Kelly told me to make sure to tell her whenever we’d be in the garden so she and her husband can come along. Wow. Maybe all of us know it started in a garden, and we get back any way we can.

Random Notes

The boys are outside having lots of fun. They’re at that age where everything outside is magic. The neighbors over the fence have boxers and the boys love the dogs, and the older couple love the boys, and give them a stuffed animal whenever they see them. We’re building a “sunflower forest” for the boys in the backyard, 15’ tall sunflowers to make a secluded spot for them.

Today, Joe came in with a bunch of flowers he had picked for Jessica. Just wildflowers he had found. The boys love her, and it’s easy to see why. She’s pretty and they like that! She wrestles with them, and they love that. She snuggles with them, and they need that. She’s added a woman’s touch to this house, and they run around saying, “That’s pretty!”

John just came in soaking wet. He and Joe got in a water fight at the hose bib. Way more fun than video games.

I had a neat thing happen this morning in prayer. Roz and I have been praying about Matthew 11:12, what it means and how to preach it. As we prayed the Lord’s prayer to day, when I prayed, “Thy Kingdom Come,” it was like God just threw all this stuff into my head in an instant, faster than I could think it. I won’t tell you what all that is now—come Sunday.

It’s a lazy Sunday, getting ready to grill with Kulothungan and Faith, the Indian couple visiting us, and also Eliseo will be coming over. So we’ll eat steaks, baked potatoes, salad, watermelon, and praise God for all He does in us and through us.

One year later

Yesterday was the first anniversary of Melissa’s death. I was not sure what the day would bring. I was pretty sure that I was not going to say anything to the boys about it, and I didn’t. On her birthday a few weeks ago, we had a party, with cake and all that, telling stories, laughing. But I did (do) not think that the little guys could do much with the anniversary of her death, other than be sad to no point.

I stayed busy most of the day, pushing through. I was worried what would the night bring, because I have found you can only stay busy so long and then you have to stop, get ready to fall asleep and deal with yourself. But nothing. Well, there was something. I was surrounded by family and friends. It was the Thursday night dinner; Jessie and the boys, John, Laura, Ronnie, Shelly, Elijon, and Leo. So we had a full house and the mood was light.

Someone close to me said, with tears a few months ago, “I just hope your life will work out.” The set-up to that was various disappointments and hard times in life. Nothing out of the ordinary, but stuff no one wants to go through. I, however, was a bit perplexed by the worry. I feel that my life is rich and blessed.

And I felt that way even in Melissa’s illness, at her death, and in the terrible days after. It is true that no matter how much you prepare, you are not ready, it still comes as a shock. But I can say that Melissa was at that point (even before she got sick) where she knew Jesus was waiting for her. Can you understand that? Have you seen that kind of faith? She knew where she was going. She did not want to die or leave us here. But she did want to go to Jesus. She just left sooner than she wanted. When I think about that faith, that assurance, what can I say except that I am blessed? I, too, share such faith. There’s not much else you can say, other than that even then, my life was working out. Or rather, God was working things out in my life. This is an amazing gift.

So mom, don’t worry. I am ok, always have been, it just doesn’t always look like it.

Tonight, for some reason, I feel like praising God for saving me. Praising the God who saved me. It’s funny what started this trip: I went to the garden and potatoes are coming up. I planted some potatoes and onions three weeks ago, and the potatoes are up, and the onions are doing well. If we can grow some good potatoes, that will be awesome—those are nutritious and rib-sticking. I would love to grow a lot of potatoes.

And I think, too, I was really encouraged by talking to the principal and assistant principal. The conversations just happened and both mentioned that they were pushing for the architects to make the garden a permanent part of the school, integrate it into the learning process. Wow. How awesome would it be to not just teach biology, math, or science, but also life skills in cooking and canning, and then showing the kids how with a little effort, they could grow their own food. It seems to me that we are getting to the place where many people are going to have to grow their own.

It reminds me of the reason I got into all this stuff. On the one hand, some of it is family influence. My grandfather was a farmer, and I remember my uncle talking about how we could feed the planet if we were serious. But on the other hand, there was also this sense starting when I was a teenager that things in this world would get bad, like no civilization bad, and if I was going to make it I better learn to survive. I still say that if the stuff comes down, I will be on the Gulf Coast, ‘cause you’ll never starve there. I remember fishing with a Vietnamese dude, Trang, and when we pulled the net up: flounder, eels, calamari, anchovie, shrimp.

But I digress… food is expensive. It takes oil to run the tractors on the farms, gas to get it to market. Gas to get feed to the animals, gas to get the animals to market. Gas to grow corn to feed cows, gas to get the milk to market. Maybe this will make things get local. If I get a little weird, I see small gardens on Northside, maybe even an orchard spanning a few yards. Chickens and goats in backyards.

So anyway I am praising this God who pumps me up.

Evangelism Ranting and Raving

Andres and I went out visiting today. We had some run-of-the-mill visits—the kind where someone says to you that they go to such and such church (they don’t) or they’re a member of a church in a town far away (so not really caring about God is ok as long as you are a member of a church far away) or they can worship God on the golf course or fishing as well as they can in a church (you can’t). I generally pound these types. To the first, I let them stumble as they try to make up a name for the pastor of the church they “go to.” To the second, I ask them how often they get to the far away town, and why do they go far away as if the gospel is not presented anywhere but the Apostolic Church of the Narrowdoor in Sharkey, KY. And to the third I ask them if they believe in the Bible. Of course, they do. Then I point out Hebrews 10:25 “Let us not give up meeting together as some are in the habit of doing.”

Then there are some honest types. As Andres and I were walking along, he mentioned that he thought it was easier to work with someone who flat out denies Christ or religion than it is to deal with the person who “believes.” Just as he finished saying that we meet a woman we’ll call “Anne.” Anne was outside her house putting her baby in a stroller. I said “Hi,” and she was friendly enough. When I said we were from church she said that she and her husband did not go to church. When I asked why she said it was because they did not believe in “organized religion.” I said truth be told, we’re pretty disorganized. She smiled and we were in.

She mentioned that she did not like wars and churches were part of that. She said she did not like one group thinking it had the truth (there was so much to mine in this visit, I did not even say to her my usual response, something like that “is it true that it’s bad to think you have the truth as opposed to others?”) The end result was that she said that they like to go out in nature and look at all God had made. Anyway, they have a cool garden and I mentioned our garden and she lit up. “I heard about that and wondered who was doing it. The neighbor across the street told me about it.” I said I’d be glad to bring them some produce. She said excitedly, “We’ll come work with you in the garden.”

As Andres and I were processing the fruit of the day’s visits, he asked an interesting question. With so many people who reject God or play around with him, how can we say, “God Bless America?” Good question. It’s tough to have deep discussions across our language barrier, but we try. Andres talked a bit about the American future and made a downward motion with his hand.

I think I have found another litmus test for conservative or liberal theology. I usually use Leviticus. Conservatives love chapter 18, hate 25. Liberals the other way around. You have to take both. No picking and choosing. Well, after thinking about what Andres said, it hit me. There are some people who think God won’t bless America because we are at war in Iraq, and somehow because of our “superpower status” we are Babylon or Rome or whatever. Maybe so, but I rarely hear the same folks say we’re going downhill because of the people I meet on the streets who have no regard for the Lord.

Maybe we could go further and say if your commitment to justice means agitating for government sponsored programs to erase poverty or some such, but you claim that there should be separation of church and state (no prayer in school, for example) then you can’t honor God. He wants Justice and Worship. Not one or the other. I had a guy tell me that the message of the Cross is subversive to American power. I can agree if while at the same time we ask for legislation that comes from our faith that we ask for their to be evangelists and chaplains paid by the government… “You shall have no other gods before me.” Or perhaps we should stay away from Caesar altogether lest the blood that stains his hands stains ours as well.

Who says evangelism is boring, outdated, or something for weirdos with tents in the backs of their pickups? It touches serious issues when you realize that if you really want to be a friend, a neighbor, you’ll have to call sinners to repentance.

A comment from Lew on a comment from me

oh aaron, yes we can. first we have to find love for Jesus by receiving His great love for us... then we have to let that flood wash us of love for this world. then on to staying under the flow, tipping out to neighbors who don't know father, loving one another...

this life just goes deeper and deeper... we're really going to be "grubbykupps" like 2 cor 4 and following... death will work in us, but life in others...

God is father to the fatherless. Who heeds Isaiah 1 and 2 and takes up their cause? Certainly moving into the hood is a good start, church! What if a flood of people awoke to the simple reality that we are all being sent by God into the world? What if a small percentage of American christians really did sell all and go? Go 20 minutes toward downtown? and live more cheaply and keep our jobs and have our hearts transformed by the presence of Jesus in daily neighborhood interactions?

What to Do?

Click over on the link to Lewbert, my man Lew Ross to read something really sad about downtown communities and schools.

While I am thinking about it, I need to get something off my chest, to confess as it were.

There is a person I deal with, someone who oftentimes drives me up the wall. More than that, this person has the ability to make me feel ashamed that I am human, for surely we are not the same species.

And yet I have a special bond with this person, a love that flows from Christ and draws me in, making me both approach and now confess to this ambivalence. This person taxes not only my patience but my perspective. And yet at the same time, this person validates my approach to ministry, to throwing down boundaries and letting people in you would not let in unless God had compelled you to do so.

I sense this person’s desperation, a long history of events genetic and historic. I sense that the world steamrolls my friend on a regular basis, that it moves too fast, that our society demands too much, and this person will spend a lot of time circling the drain, living that inevitability masked in carelessness.

It is this foolishness, this carelessness, this ignorance that wears me down and makes me love. I am wondering what the Lord is up to with placing this desire, nearly a vision to call this person to my home, to my life, to say that my house is a home. Wherever my house is and whenever my house is, it is a home for my difficult friend.

It’s a bit like the frustration Lew is expressing; so many people need a father, a new family.

Some lines from a RUSH song (“The Larger Bowl”) float in my head in these times:

If we’re so much the same like I always hear

Why such different fortunes and fame?...

Some are blessed, some are cursed,

The golden child or scarred from birth

While others only see the worst

Such a lot of pain on the earth

Hard Core Evangelist

So last night me and the boys are going out with Roz and the Church Plant Team to pass out bread and do some basic first contact evangelism. As we’re getting ready to go, John accidentally closed the car door on Joe’s thumb. Right on the joint at the base of the thumb. It looked pretty grim. Lacy and Vanessa ran in and got him some ice. I drove off to take him to the hospital. He could not move his thumb, and it was twitching. The skin was broken in two places—not bad, just a little blood.

Joe was wailing til about halfway to the hospital. We got into the ER and he kept saying he felt fine. We took the ice off it, and sure enough—no swelling, no bruise, and he could move it all around, even put it in his fist, the stuff that would really hurt if it was in bad shape. He kept saying, “Let’s go, Daddy, I’m fine.” I thought he wanted to go home. No, he wanted “to go back and pass out bread with Rosario.”

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Garden

Saturday, we planted the community garden, 2008 edition. A few days ago, I was wondering where I was going to get the money to buy plants for the garden. Then we get a check from Ellsworth Kalas, president of the seminary. He sent us a check last year after hearing about our garden, and was similarly moved this year. Once I had the money in hand, I began to wish I could spend it not on plants, but on some “capital improvements” for the garden: hoses, tools, trellises, etc. Then a lady who has a small farm in southeast Fayette County said she’d like to donate a bunch of plants. She has the job I guess I would have if I weren’t preaching: running a small farm growing specialty greens and vegetables for restaurants around town. She has lots of heirloom varieties. She sent me her list of available stuff and I went into shock. I had tomato paralysis and simply could not choose. I told her to just send along whatever. So we got some great tomatoes, peppers, watermelons, and eggplants. Wow, I never knew eggplant could be so interesting.

Anyway, the day of planting was awesome. I got to the garden at 8:30 a.m., to get ready—do stuff like get some rows staked, cut up seed potatoes, set out plants in order. Anyway, Robert and Matthew Highfill, two neighbor boys who come to church were already there! I put Matthew to work cutting seed potatoes. Both boys are usually kind of high-strung, but they were so intent on the work. Once I showed Matthew what I wanted, he did it and we had a huge pile of seed potatoes. Robert went to work setting up rows for beans. It was really neat to be able to leave them there while I went and got the rest of the plant. And when I came back, the work was done. We gathered stakes and put all the plants and tools in a central location. We did a lot of work before anyone got there, and it was good to have that time with the boys.

Then people started showing up. I was a little worried because I forgot to announce it the week before. But about 20 people came, and we banged it out in about 2 ½ hours. Once again, it brought together people from all services and the neighborhood. Foti even came over. Ruth and Larry Stewart bought pizza for all of us. It was just a good morning all the way around.

I think we have more in the ground this year than we did last year. I packed it in a little more closely. I guess that’s the California in me—jam it all in and grow as much as you can. We didn’t lay things out in rows, more like in blocks—different shapes, rows running different directions. I am hoping (and here my lack of visualization skills comes in) that we will have a garden that looks and feels more like plots, more like discrete spaces than one big garden.

We have an awesome variety of stuff: tomatoes, beans, peppers, eggplant, cucumbers, squash, watermelon, okra, onions, potatoes, and something called “lenga lenga.” It’s an African green, and I can’t wait for harvest!

We had huge storms this morning, and thankfully no damage to the garden. I hope that the garden will continue to do its work: feeding people and drawing people together. The legend emerging is that Jessica and I met in the garden. That is sort of true. It was a time before we knew anything about each other. We ended up weeding and picking beans, and had a long time to talk. When Rosario asked our friend John to come help, John said, “No thanks. I have a wife.”

Evangelism stories

I have another story about evangelism that shows how the work happens. I guess one of the things I like about my job, about the calling to reach the lost, is that I get to meet a lot of people, I get to have a sort of running tab in my mind about all the ways people resist or are blinded to the Gospel. It's worth more than any books you can buy about post-mortemism, sociology, people-groups, whatever.

Back in December of 06, I met a woman who was having a hard time because her daughter died. I was referred to her by a family in the church who had had some contact with her years before. I went and ministered to her. I have seen her a few times since. And then, about a month ago, she started coming to the Wednesday prayer service. She told me that her husband is just not doing well at all with their daughter’s death. So I told her I would come by.

Dro and I went over. We spent some good time with them. They were indeed having a hard time. We dug into some deep hurts in their lives, beyond the present pain. I tried to share with them how Christ is the answer. They have been subjected to a fundamentalist gospel, and so they are not too keen on church.

I did not recognize the husband from the time I saw him a little over a year ago. He has not cut his hair, because his daughter always cut his hair, and he is afraid if he goes to get it cut, he will just break down, “and look like a fool.”

As we left, I heard the husband say, “Those fellows were pretty nice.” “That’s what I have been telling you,” she said.

The lesson here is that evangelism takes time. Oh sure, you can get people to show up, maybe even baptize them, but then they will be gone. The work of discipleship means going out and finding the people who do not know Christ, then getting to know them, showing them that Christ is the way. This takes time. The days when people knew essentially what the gospel is about are over.

An interesting thing happened as we talked with them. We moved away from talk about their daughter. We even got beyond the kinds of questions you get about “How could such a thing happen?” We were in the territory of wondering whether or not God is really for people in their situation—not just grieving a daughter, but facing alcoholism, poverty, disability. There is a God, they know this much. But what they do not know is that the Cross is God’s solidarity with us. When we receive Christ by faith, redemption goes deep into our lives.

Church Plant Visits

Tonight was an evening of visiting. We went out to a bunch of houses with loaves of bread to introduce Rosario’s new church plant. Everything about the visiting was instructive. First, the bread was baked or provided by many people at The Rock. Then, some people who are key to the church plant (Dro White and Jason and Tawndee Dillard) were out visiting with us. Then there was Jessie, the boys, me, Jenna and Jody, part of the Rock. Antonio is a guy who has been coming for a few Sundays to the Rock, and heard a call to ministry in the community. Then there’s Robert. He doesn’t go to church at all; Roz met him in the gym, and when he heard what Roz was up to, decided he wanted to help.

What saddened me, though, was that so few people from the Rock came to help. I wonder what’s up there? I mean, here we have this precious Gospel, this precious salvation, and we keep it to ourselves.

Two visits stick out to me tonight. The first is a fellow who I can only describe as a puzzled intellectual. He did not want to take our bread. He told us that he is an atheist, that he had thought about it for a long time. You can think about something, no matter how long, and still be wrong. I was ready to just walk away, because knowing these kinds of guys (I was once one), I knew there was not a lot to be gained in such a short time, with no real relationship. But Jessie asked him a little bit about why he was attracted to Buddhism. He babbled on a bit about it not being a religion, being an open, peaceful thing, the Dalai Lama is not dogmatic, and is willing to change his mind if something in his faith is not reasonable, etc. I asked him if he thought that Christians don’t do that. He said Christians are arrogant about what they believe. I asked him how it was possible for him to criticize us for arrogance for being certain about what we believe when he was certain that he would never have faith (as he said earlier in the conversation). I mentioned that I, too, had spent years thinking about it and had come to the opposite conclusion. One of us is right and one of us is wrong. I’ll admit that up front.

One of our first conversations was with a woman I’ll call Agnes. She was so happy to get a loaf of bread free, to have someone talk to her about faith (Joe was the one to hand her the bread and say, “My friend Rosario is planting a church) that she not only had prayer with us, she actually gave us an offering for the work. Wow, someone who does not go to church cares enough, was touched enough to give to the new church that doesn’t really exist yet.

Bikes

We are now a biking family. My mom and dad buy the boys bikes when they grow into new ones. I think I get as excited as the boys do when we get their bikes! Bikes are such an elegant piece of technology, such a piece of Kid-dom. They each have Giants. Jessie brought her mountain bike over, a North Face. Today, I found a Diamondback mountain bike. I was thinking about a road bike, but was also thinking that a mountain bike could be more versatile.

Then I found a deal that could not be passed up. No way of getting a bike that good that cheap anywhere. So I bought it. Diamondback Outlook if you go to the website and want a look.

This weekend, it’s just Joe with us, John is at Mammaw’s. Joe and I walked around a little this morning. When I came back with the bike, Joe and I went for a ride, the same route we took for our walk. I guess it’s the longest ride Joe and I have taken.

It was really fun and sweet. And then there was just a second where I remembered that I used to walk behind John and Joe as they rode their first bikes through our neighborhood in Louisville. Those were tough, desperate times. Everything—every decision about what to do involved a wrenching choice. That is, there was no balance. Work, boys, Melissa. Each one kept me from the others. It was the terrible times when I had to do something with the boys meaning not with her, and time is short all around. In the end, what I appreciate most about my life with Melissa was that she was all about the boys. She never begrudged me the time.

I think it has been a good thing to have Joe here with us by himself. I think both boys can use that kind of time apart from each other and then with us.

Roz is living with us until his place is ready, and that has been a lot of fun. The boys torture him in the morning when they wake up. We spend a lot of time ruining each other. Sara Smith will be staying with us for the summer as she does work in the Hispanic ministry and with the kids. The boys are looking forward to having her around.

We had 23 people over for dinner Thursday. Had a great chance to get to meet some new folks. We’re surrounded here. Both by the Lord’s people and the people who don’t yet know they are the Lord’s…