a l i v e & a w a k e

This is a good question asked by a lawyer to Jesus. His answer was challenging  for their ears and circumstance and I think it is no easier an answer for us today in ‘western society’, specifically Brampton

I’ll start with a story of a single woman named Winifred.  She lived in a quaint little suburban home on a quiet dead end street. She landed in Brampton in the 80’s from England. Her strong accent was still prominent even 20 years later, but was soothing with her soft sweet voice. She was well into her retirement years and her aged body spoke of a full life.

She would spend most of her week puttering around her little home, making food, cleaning and having her best friend Gladis over for tea and grocery shopping.  Gladis came over every two days. On the surface it seemed Winifred was content with her life. At parties (which she sometimes went to), she would arrive, sit quietly with hand bag on her lap drinking the warm ‘Guinness’ she had brought with her. This was her life in Brampton.

One day after Gladis left Winifred to unpack the groceries and Winifred had stroke. The ambulance arrived on the quiet street one day later to rescue Winifred who lay lying on the floor in her kitchen.  She died on the way to the hospital. 

Winifred died not because of the stroke,  but because she lay neglected and alone for so long. Dehydration and the nutrients needed to recuperate from the non fatal stroke were not available to her, even though her groceries were probably all around her on the floor. She needed some other body to help her. She needed a neighbour to watch out for her. So this asks the question, “Who was Winifred’s Neighbours?

In Brampton we are lacking as a healthy community(generally speaking). Like anything this was not something that happened overnight. It was more like a slow growing yet deadly cancer formed by rapid growth, consumerism, poor community planning, prejudice, people looking out for themselves, busyness,,,, and the list goes on. Brampton has 40% of the population moving in 5 years, most of the working population (88%) are commuting, which complicates our lack and needs exponentially because it is rare to find anyone who has ownership in our city.  In the end though, we can identify quickly enough that we are quite apathetic to community (again, in general). Now let’s go Back to Winifred’s neighbours.

Who were they? Did they not care? Were they too busy? Was self focus keeping them from having an awareness of the ones who are marginalized? Maybe they were so dealing with their own problems and ambitions so much that they had to get busy to be successful in life in Western society? If you had the chance to talk to them, what would you say?

Well, I was that neighbour. Winifred was at our backyard party with her Guinness and sweet voice. We chatted only a few times, but I was busy. Busy doing what?  I worked in a ministry at the time for youth at-risk. I was too busy doing ‘good kingdom things’ at such a pace, that I left no margin for my neighbours.

We were shocked to see the ambulance and to finally hear the news that Winifred was gone. I asked myself “How did this happen?” but more importantly I started on a journey to ask “how can I grow in my awareness of others?” –especially those who are marginalized and excluded.

SO I go back to the questions the lawyer asks Jesus “Who is my neighbour?”  (Luke 10:29) Jesus goes into the story of the good Samaritan.  My take in this story is that the too busy and too religious people are shown how to do effective kingdom ministry by the outcast of society.  Jesus could have chosen anyone to play the role of the ‘hero’ to help the man who was beaten, yet I have to believe he was deliberate in casting this character for the hero.  I quickly lead to this- who are the Samaritans of today?

By Samaritans I mean the ones who are the outcasts of the ‘in group’ (Christian, Church goer, Ministry worker). They may be people who we are near each day, but have a deep and profound lesson to show us through attentiveness, awareness and care for others. IT could be as simple as the one who opens the door, who lets someone else go first, who shovels the driveway of another to things like;  giving someone a ride, giving food or money to those who need it or even visiting the elderly.

I jump quickly here but I am struck by the challenge once again not to think of myself the only carrier of the ‘Kingdom’, but to actually partner with those who are living around me regardless of their belief, abilities or differences.  I could maybe learn from their attentiveness and care. I could actually grow in my relationship with Christ because of them. And maybe Christ is withholding His complete nature from us unless we deliberately partner with the Samaritans of the day?

The other thing is who is the Winifred’s of our society today? Maybe the alone, marginalized, forgotten/neglected, the poor, the hurt, the hungry, the abused. How can we have  more attentiveness and awareness of one another?

Thoughts?

I have been celebrating in my journal time recently about the stories of lives that are growing in a relationship with Jesus. Some are stories of an arousal to spiritual things by investigation of where God is active. Some are stories of awakening by committing to following Jesus, and some are stories of a growing alertness and attentiveness to a relationship with Jesus.  Some are stories of compassion that meaningfully encourage and bless people. Some are stories of reconciliation in broken relationships and some are stories of life focus and moving forward. Overall the impact we are seeing through the Brampton community is a story of Jesus continuing His mission.

I am personally challenged and encouraged by these stories. In fact I find myself fed in a spiritual way I have never had in my entire ‘Jesus following’ life.  You see I have a problem. I call it Spiritual Narcolepsy.

My Grandfather had Narcolepsy. There are many stories of how our 'Papa' (that's what we called our grandfather), fell asleep at different places or during many activities. Some of them are quite humorous like when I was a child, papa and I would go out on the snow machine at night for a cold ride. One night in particular I remember we were out and the moon was very bright. He took me around a field zigzagging through the field and all of a sudden he started leaning to one side and we tipped over for no reason and there was snow in our faces and snow suits. I laughed and went to papa and kind of jumped on him as to say, "Hey you did that on purpose". I now look back realizing that he had fallen asleep driving and I woke him by jumping on him (this wasn't the only time).

My dad would also tell me that when he was a boy, papa would fall asleep at the wheel of their truck and they would head into the ditch. The bouncing truck and jolts would wake him and luckily they could back out of the ditch (although sometimes they had to get help). He would look to my dad and say, "Don't tell your mom." There were also many times he would fall asleep at the dinner table. We laugh now when we talk about those stories. Some of this story is serious and sad because my papa died on the lake fishing when he fell asleep on the water and drowned, we think it was related to the narcolepsy.

This is kind of like life sometimes; spiritually speaking. Our spiritual radar falls asleep without being aware until something jostles us out of the subconscious mind. It’s the distractions, busyness, tasks and other important things that keep me from being fully awake to the work and presence of God all around me (and I get paid to do this, so how much harder it is for those who aren’t paid!)

I think spiritual narcolepsy is a great analogy for the church’s condition (which is actually curable, unlike physical narcolepsy). Apathy is killing the church and especially western society. The stories of others sharing how they are seeking and responding to Jesus can be a wake up to consciousness and the activity of God. We need to also find better ongoing ways to keep us from nodding off with daily wake up practices. Spiritual companions, and groups, can help us with our common condition of spiritual narcolepsy.

Questions:

How do we cultivate environments of alertness and attentiveness to Jesus in our  setting?  (Could be worship times that celebrate Jesus’ story working in and through us)

How do we place a day by day jostle and jolt mechanism in our lives as to keep us awake in our spiritual lives? (Spiritual alarm clock)

Just recently had a leadership retreat where an analogy was given by a woman. It was of our society and the hidden/sheltered hurts of people. The picture was of a river in a park and all the houses around were distanced from the river. River is a picture of a life source, the homes are a picture of the society which values separation and our 'little castles'. 

We have had three youth closely connected or a part of our community commit suicide in this last month. Many ask the questions, 'why' and 'how did we not see this?'  We are so affluent and we have all the technology that allows us to feel connected to each other (the youth who committed suicide were active with cell phones and facebook, etc). Yet we are 'alone together'. It seems to keep hurts more hidden. There is a sense of being too late to help people.

 It has impacted me and reminded me of this story that had many hidden hurts. It took many years for the story of Tina to be known and unfold. There were many people involved in this story and I tell it from my view (as one of the many).

Tina

She first came to the drop-in within the first month of us opening.  Very quiet at first, but once you got to know her she would talk and talk.  It seems she had no one to listen to her all her life.  At the age of 15 she had seen more than most at age 40. 

Her father was an alcoholic and verbally abusive. Her mother was physically and verbally abusive.  Her father would also beat her mom.  She remembers her one brother being beaten to a point of where he didn’t come out of the basement for a day.  She learned to leave the house or find a quiet corner to avoid her fighting parents.  Her one brother after being beaten, walked out in to the cold and froze himself to death.  When Tina was in young, her dad killed a man in a drunk driving incident. She was ostracized at school and everywhere she went.  Even her cousins who lived close to her didn’t talk to her.

Her two brothers went out for a car ride one day and got into an accident.  The youngest died and the older brother felt so guilty, he committed suicide in the house the next month.  This was her life and all she knew.  She reflected this pain in her choice for boyfriends. They were also abusive. She was rarely without a boyfriend.

She probably attended the drop-in the most out of anyone and truly felt it was her home. Tina helped out in the work crew and came to any event that would help the drop-in. She even cleaned the drop-in with a gang of youth to keep it tidy.  We didn’t have many volunteers and so I was left to open the drop-in by myself.  Tina would come as soon as I opened the drop-in, way before anyone else would come. (I spent a lot of time out the deck---for accountability reasons-not to be alone with a girl).  She would spend hours telling me a lot of things and drivel information to pass the hours over a game of scrabble. The information would every once in awhile share from dark places.  Her escape was art. She would draw for hours and was very good at it. She filled much of our art wall with her pictures.  She had a very low self-esteem. She could never see herself of any worth because her dad always called her useless.  She would come many times to drop-in dressed in a way to attract the boys. Her style of dress prompted her dad to call her a ‘little whore’ or a ‘slut’.  She was always worried about her weight and would starve herself sick. At many times she would have nervous break downs and would be crying on the couches many different days.  She would call me when she wasn’t at the drop-in at times bawling over something her parents called her. 

She came to me to become a Christian. She has seen me spending a lot of my time with other youth who had become Christians.  I asked why she wanted to become in a relationship with Christ.  In the end she was doing it for me. I realized I had become her father figure.  She didn’t become a Christian at that point.

She started dating a guy named Steve who was an alcoholic.  She got drunk for the first time with him and showed up at the drop-in.  She was laughing and giddy.  She could see I wasn’t impressed.  They went back to the house where they got drunk and she sent a friend to see what I thought of them coming in drunk. I relayed on to her that I was disappointed.  The whole group came back crying and full of sorrow for what they had done.   She needed to talk to me as a daughter to a father.  We had to go for a walk to get off all of the guilt that was on her. I forgave her which seemed to help. 

She ended up attending a lot of the bible studies and came once to church with me.  She never ever came to me to inquire of how she wanted a relationship with Christ again.  She needed to belong.

Her parents avoided the drop-in and became very suspicious about what the drop-in was all about.  They would lecture her for hanging out there so much. I once made the attempt to come their vehicle to talk to them. They seem reserved and distant.  It wasn’t until the mother came to a fund-raiser event for the drop-in that I would make some connection.  I met the mom and she was put at ease over what the drop-in was about.  I finally went to the house and met her father. He helped me with repairing my old car and soon became trusting of what the ministry of drop-in was about.

Tina has since struggled with meaning and value for her life.  Many could have not known this story without years of trust building and her feeling a sense of dignity and belonging. They would have kept judging from a distance, by her dress, her families appearance and other surface measures.

Concluding thought

Our community has been trying to be just that--community. It means that our lives have to be available and watchful to what God is doing and to listen to the stories of those around us. This will sometimes take a lot of time and many people. It will be messy. In the drop-in we have said 'it has taken many years for the youth to get where they are and it will take many years to get back'. We are experiencing this messiness. This time and effort is worth it.

It is the need of our community right now. 

I am saying in our community over an over right now "The most devastating in our western society right now is not homelessness, abuse, gangs, poverty, grieving, oppression. The most devastating thing is that people are going through all these circumstances alone- with out community.

Praying for those who have lost or are losing someone this month.

I have resurrected this blog 5 years later and still see the challenge of this painting and what it means for me in my life (family, street, job)

Once I was given a picture by someone that seemed pretty plain. I read their explanation for giving me this and it became alive and it still has me very deep in thought. The picture was a painting called "The Gleaners".

The plain scene and dull colours are purposeful in depicting the emotion of the women in the field 'gleaning' the crops. The write up beside the picture from a friend we'll call 'Doctor Love' read like this;

"At the end of the day, we often feel like those sad looking workers in Jean Millet’s painting that are stooping over attempting to pick up what looks like.......well, practically nothing.   The typical feeling is one of hacking a path through dense jungle with a machete.  We focus on the work and forget that maybe there are others waiting behind us to follow in our footsteps; folks who need a road even more than do — imagine that!"

The Harvest

The harvest has already been taken in. Others have gone before some time ago and have reaped the golden, bountiful crop. They celebrate as their barns are full and rightfully so because the harvest was ready and they were there to take it in. The farmers didn't take it all in, but some practiced leaving some for the poor/gleaners and some didn't want to use the effort to go back and 'glean' the rest would be wasteful and they have enough for winter. These women don't and/or are not going to let perfectly good seed and sustenance go to waste.

The Field

What was once teaming with golden practical riches, now lays trodden, reaped and barren. The dirt now is exposed and the wind can touch the earth which was once before protected and sheltered. The birds of the air can see clearly into the soil and the farmers are walking away from a land that can not offer anything else to them. The use of the land has served it's purpose for this season, and maybe the attention will be given back to the region once it shows potential for use once again. This seems to be the cycle of this land. Slowly over time, over the years the soil is losing it's ability to give. It will produce once again but some care, rest, fertilizing, plowing, and planting will be needed before that can happen again. It is only given to, because it can give back and then left.

The Women

Are these women poor? Are they wise in their work? Have they been hired to 'glean' the field? Or have they snuck into the field at the exact moment the horses and carts moved to the barns in plain daylight? Regardless, their work is for what was left from the harvest. They are not dressed in the best of clothes and their posture, -stooped over- does not have dignity of women who would come from wealth. The wealthy have a way of carrying themselves differently. They leave themselves open for comment by all who see from the farm hands to the village people.If they are poor and granted access to the field, they are an example to all who watch because they have found value in a 'seemingly' barren field. The poor always have a way of finding value in wastelands or the metaphorical deserts in the wilderness. Their determination and attention to detail is not a value but a survival mentality. Yet that survival mentality puts them in possession of valuable sustenance and potential fields of their own. The potential of what they grab makes them richer than what it seems, because what they hold could next year give there own field to harvest. The poor have a way of finding potential value in all circumstances, people and themselves. Maybe it is the farm hands who are 'rich' with the harvest can learn from these women -maybe we can too.

The Gleaner in Me

I have to say there is something 'holy' and truthful about this painting that speaks deeply to me. In a season of reflection (fall 2005), I have thanked God for His faithfulness to me in eleven years of ministry with 'youth at-risk'. In so many ways the parallels and lessons apply to the demographic of youth who have been used, overlooked, looked down on and they find themselves trying to 'glean' in their own way for something of value. That is not what speaks so deeply to me though.

It is the 'gleaner' in me that I am faced with. I am the land, I am the women, and I am the left over grain. At many times I feel God has allowed me, like the land, to produce amazing crops in my life, -in ministry, but now I have not much to offer and it is time to go through a winter and take comfort in being covered by a thick blanket of snow, to heal, to rest and to protect so that the gleaners don't take my last remnants and reminders of great harvest times. I need the rest.

I also have felt like the women who have worked and are still working with diligence towards their survival and greater times. I have felt the benefit of this kind of discipline even though it means my efforts may be looked down on by others. They see me bent over, not having the best equipment and the parade of all those who took in the harvest. No one has come to help gather the measly remnant. There has just been a few who have seen this value with me. They are not my competition but coworkers. They are not my critics but my company. I can see the harvest in the back ground as others have been quite successful. This could be a reminder (and has been) of what I can not have in such abundance. Lately in my reflective state I see that harvest giving me vision that can not be touched. It is the vision of the seeds I have found, gathered and possess will soon be the huge mounds of harvest that will store and supply many. My fingers will get sore from repetitive picking and bare scratches that come from stubble left by the harvest. My back will be sore from the constant bending and leaning. This is a position of humbleness and servant hood. Somehow as noble as this all seems, I complain and feel like all my best is being taken -even robbed of that which is necessary. Those are on the bad days when it seems the vision of the harvest has been stored away, out of sight and the heat has blurred the potential of what I hold.

My biggest fear is I think like all who are in ministry. Is what I am doing significant? Does it really help or hinder true and good growth. Has the heat gotten to my head? Do I have the energy to go on being bent over? Do my eyes and fingers hurt from the precision detail of the small harvest? Are my companions feeling the same?

I write this now with in my first full week of my new job as a 'lead' pastor. I am welcomed in the midst of adjustment and some uncertainty. I am also feeling great comfort from this painting "The Gleaners" because I realize that what I have learned,,, what God has implanted in my heart through the years of drop-in work with the marginalized is what will be a testimony to me and others through this work at The Meeting House Brampton. Jesus came to be the one to give abundant life, victory and transformation. Those who looked for successful 'harvests' saw a poor man with no home, positioned as a servant, and made to be physically broken up. They invested into more visible harvests of wealth and power. At times Christ probably felt like the land just being 'used' for His healings, food and words that tickled ears but didn't touch their hearts.

This is what I see God has for me in Brampton. To be the 'Gleaner', to be His gleaner that gathers and serves in a field that seemingly has no value. The work is not enough to keep me going but the presence and voice of Christ in this field who has some small seeds that need to be taken, blessed, cultivated and released to become a harvest in Brampton, in the heart of those I work with, and in my heart.  In this way the workers for the small harvest are in that which is being harvested in me and in the field. Look back at the overall painting,,, do you see the rich colours? Do you see the great potential?

-joe -Jan 06
 

This is the ongoing story of a family that the Home'less' Home Church helped out last spring with some renovations on their house. They had some major financial struggles and health issues and really needed a hand. A helping family let the home'less' Home Church know about the need and they were really encouraged by the renovations.

This family has continued to have financial struggles due to the mother’s health and the need for father to be at home to care for her. They had their gas cut off months ago because of an unpaid outstanding balance so they have been taking cold showers and living without gas but now that the temperature is getting colder they are unable to turn the furnace on and it is getting to be more of an issue. The kids go to the same school as one of our families who helped connect the Homeless Home Church and sees her daily and she has broken down in tears on more than one occasion. This family decided that they would organize a garage and bake sale to try and raise money to help out. This took place in the morning in front of the kids school. They had a small collection of stuff to sell but instead of pricing everything, they just asked people to donate to help a family in need. From that small collection of items to sell they raised $300.00 in 3 hours so they were pretty excited.

This serving family and friends have connections to a Boxing organization.. They were hosting a boxing event at their club last night and offered to try and raise money at the event. They had someone donate raffle prizes and all the proceeds from the raffle went to help this need. They also had a donation box and asked people to put their change from beer sales in the box. The Boxing organization owner was the in-ring announcer for the evening and told this story a few times while asking for donations. He even had the friend come in the ring while he was telling the story to the very diverse crowd which was a cool experience for her. In all, they raised an additional $400.00 for a total of $700.00 for the day. The announcer also wanted to hold a poker night to try and raise the remaining $500.00 that they need.

In reflection, there are times when we may question life or ask why we know God exists.. With some thought we know God is real because we can see Him in the love that people have shown to each other.. God was real in a blood spattered boxing ring that night amongst a crowd of people who ranged from girls in tight shirts and mini skirts to bandanna wearing bikers, to elderly grandparents, to testosterone filled boxers. The boxing event was a lot of fun and we can gain a new appreciation for the sport and people who do it but also reflect on the bigger things that were happening there, I feel a sense of awe and wonder at how God reveals Himself through a display of love. In this case, a place that exists as an arena for combat became a conduit for love. It was so cool to be a part of.”

I have been encouraged recently to repost this entry from long ago
I believe the bible is true when it says ‘be aware for you never know when you are entertaining angels unaware’. I don’t know what an angel is supposed to look like or how they are supposed to act, but I know that a being who impacts your soul with a word from God could very well be angelic.
 
I was on my way to church one early Sunday morning. It was a cold November day even with the sun out. I was in my first year of working at Switch Yard and feeling pretty good about myself for being such a ‘man of God’ in ministry. I was especially proud because I believe God had spoken to me the night before giving a great message for me to share in the brethren communion service (great service where all can share about the work of Christ leading to the cross). I had practiced my presentation and the points and execution was going to come out just right.
 
I had a lot to prove to the listeners at this church. Some of the leaders didn’t believe the ministry of Switch Yard was viable. And they were not financially supporting it nor were they praying for it. I was the least likely candidate, in their eyes, to lead such a front line ministry. This was because of my past. At this point I had served in Sunday School, lead the youth group for two years and had spoken and acted in many plays for the church.  The way we did evangelism was frowned upon by most of the congregation and elders. I had to explain at many times the way I saw God working in Bancroft and How He was doing His work through Switch Yard. Even after I announced the first youth becoming a Christian I was given skeptical looks and comments. To say the least I had to prove that God would use me in a powerful way. I was busy rehearsing over and over again the great insights to perfect my performance.
 
My walk was brisk and I knew I had to get my tithe money from the bank first and than I would make sure I got my usual seat. I was dressed up in a suit with a tie and a nice pair of leather shoes. As I approached the bank, I saw a man about age 35 walking around in the cold morning without shoes and socks. He had a backpack and overalls with him. His long curly blonde hair bounced with his every step. He was asking another man at the bank about shoes and the man waved his hand away with a head shake as a response. The man put his focus on me as I entered the same sidewalk space. I felt nervous and thought, “Please don’t ask me for anything right now, I have important things to do.”
 
Sure enough his question came, “Hi there. You wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of shoes wouldja?”. The smell of old ‘bloody ceasers’, beer,  and smoke told me half of his story. I said, “Sorry, I just don’t have time now to do that. I’m almost late for church.” 
He then asked “Well is there a coffee shop open right now that I could warm up with?”. “Sure”, I said, “It’s just down the street in the direction of where my church is. I will point it out to you. Let me get my money first.” 
 
I kept a brisk walk hoping somehow he wouldn’t talk much to slow me down. I wanted to show him that I thought it was so important to be in church. This was a good example I thought. I asked him a bit of his story to keep the ten minute walk interesting.   He told me he was up for some karate tournament and that he won it, but the judges recalled the trophy because of some technicality. Pissed off he went and got drunk and made his way back to his tent that he was staying in for the weekend on someone’s property. He made a fire and went to sleep. In the middle of the night he woke up with the sounds of sirens and bright flashing red lights of police and fire trucks. His tent had caught fire and so did his belongings. Very tired and confused he stumbled out to have his tent put out and the police gave him a warning for fires, drunkenness and camping on someone else's property. They put him up in a cell to sober up where he had to leave in the morning at 8 o’clock. All he could salvage was his gym bag and what he was wearing from the fire. His description of the whole incident seemed humorous to him now. He used colorful profanity in every sentence.
 
I thought to myself, “Thanks for your story, but you are distracting me from the presentation I’m going to give. And I guess that's what you get for getting drunk and angry”.  We were soon at the church.  He changed the subject, “So you are going to church?”
“Yes”, My tone was almost pious and condemning.
“Well I believe there is a God”, he said with some sincerity in his face.
“Oh that is good.”, I replied.
“Yup”, he said with a smirk.
I was wondering if he was mocking me but there was something definitely sincere about him. We came to the church parking lot.
 
I pointed further down the street to where the coffee shop was and told him that would be a good place for him. He thanked me and made his way down the street not looking back while I busily made my way past the warm lobby, with the smell of hot coffee brewing, up the stairs to the comfortable pew ready to impart Godly wisdom to my skeptics of how I was such a great minister.
 
I was just in time. I was in fact the first to stand up and give my divine revelation for all to whisper and think “What wisdom comes from such an unlikely source”.  My five minutes of wisdom quickly ended as my voice reverberated off the white walls. There was no surprised looks, no ‘amens’ or even a reassuring face that I had done a good try. I sat down smirking thinking to myself about how I was throwing pearls to swine. I had given a great thought and it may have been so deep that the crowd of simple minds could not register it all in that moment and they would need some time to ponder such excellence.
 
My parade was interrupted with the thought of the man barefoot on the cold streets. A great cutting feeling of hypocrisy swept over my guts and soon over my face.
“I’m an idiot!!”, I said. Here was a perfect opportunity to give to someone and I had my own agenda that overlooked another human need for warmth.
 
I squirmed in the seat not knowing what to do, pleading with God that he would forgive me and give me another opportunity to serve this man. I got up immediately in the beginning of the service and went to find the cold shoeless man.  I ran up and down the street. Bancroft is not a big place so I figured I could find him easily. I didn’t. I went into the coffee shop and any other stores that were open at that time in the morning.  He was no where to be found. After 45 minutes, I gave up. I made my way back just in time for communion. I felt guilty for taking it.  What a great and godly minister I was turning out to be.
 
That service ended and I went out once again to see if I could find him. He was no where.  I went in for the second service. I don’t remember one word spoken that day. Just anxiety and guilt. I asked once again for God’s forgiveness but each time I felt like God himself was crying for me. I had failed the test to serve. The service ended. I stood in the lobby with some of the youth as a stared blankly into the street.
 
One of my friend asked me if I was all right and I hardly looked at them because something was catching my eye. A man with a curly hair bounce. I was out the door in a flash running up to the man. I had no clue what I was going to say, but I started with a “Sir, Sir.” He turned as though I must have been addressing someone else. He waited for me to catch up.  I stood in front of him ashamed. He smiled and continued walking in such a way that invited me along. I began to apologize to him for the hypocrisy I showed him. I told him how I though it was so important to share this thought I had last night to the congregation. He just listened and kept walking. I finally told him “Listen, I am misrepresenting the very Jesus that I went to worship this morning. Jesus would not have done that or thought a service is more important than a man in need. Can you please forgive me?” He stopped and looked at me like I was the coolest new best friend he had.
 
I asked him if he still wanted shoes. He nodded as he looked at his cold feet, red with white blotches. I immediately sat down on the ground and took off my shoes.
 “I hope they fit you.”
He looked in shock and said, “I can’t take the shoes you are wearing now.”
I assured him it was fine and that I had an extra pair at my work where I was going.  As I was taking off my shoes, he told me he was able to get a hold of some friends that were going to pick him up in an hour.
 
I handed the warm leather shoes to him.  He smiled and tried on the shoes. They were a perfect fit. I could see relief on his face as though there was an instant warmth that came over him.
I said to him, “You can keep them if you want. I just work over there if you don’t want them” as I pointed to Switch Yard.
He tried to assure me he would give them back to me.
I said either way was fine.
I finally said, “Listen, I have to go to work soon so take care of yourself and I will be praying for you that all works out”.
 
He turned to me, and with great confidence, peace, and sincerity he said, “No Joe, I will be praying for you”. He turned and walked away. I sat there dumb founded for a second at his confidence and the feeling of peace. His words cut right to my heart and seemed sourced from something much bigger. He rounded the corner and he was gone.
 
Than it hit me, I never told him my name! He had blessed me by name and I never had given anything to him to let him know who I was. “I will be praying for you..” It sticks in my mind even now. "Joe, I am praying for the important ministry you’re doing. I am praying for your insecurity to prove yourself to others. I am praying that you will learn in a deeper way what it is to seize the moment I am working in. I am praying that you will continue and finish well in the work I have for you." I felt God was speaking very clearly to me. It wasn’t said but the confidence in his voice spoke of all these things to me. Tingles went up my neck as I walked to Switch Yard thanking God for His goodness, a second chance, and an angel of blessing to me. I never saw the man again.
 

I believe in heaven God is asking all of his angels to go undercover as people of the world. I bet you the hands shoot up when God asks for volunteers. I bet you they request to be the sick man, or the bum on the street or the foul mouthed stranger that comes to town just to be the most unlikely person that is from God. I bet they can’t wait to see a Christian grow through the opportunity they present. I bet you they have come many times and are not even noticed because of our calloused hearts that are not responding to the immediate need or call to action. I bet you.

-from life stories journal 1999, joe

I have been scraping away in the last year on the topic of how people grow, learn and develop (books, speeches, conversations). There are many challenges for human development that schools, churches, and businesses face every day to improve people in an effective way. Most of those ways are in formal teaching situations with a presenter talking and the group listening, reflecting and regurgitating the information. This way of learning was very hard for me to do well at (still is). This way of learning is very limited and a growing problem in those institutions.

I know I didn’t assert myself as much as I could in school and so it could look like I am being critical about something that didn’t work for me personally. This is not just my bias as there are many studies that show best learning and retention/performance of any topic grows as the learner gets more ‘hands on’ like presenting, practical circumstances and teaching on the topic to others. (as much as 60% increase in learning!) All of these methods that increase learning and growth have one thing in common—experiences.

I have looked back at my past and realized that when an experience was cultivated for me to learn or try at, I remembered, grew and developed myself whether I succeeded or failed at the task. For instance, I thought it would be great to try driving before taking the class. Now I was 14 at the time and I wouldn’t promote this as the way to develop driving. I ended up trashing my parent’s car, charged with thousands of dollars by the police, took my family name to court for the first time ever and almost died in the accident.  Now I really learned a lot and developed an exponential growth curve in maturity. This isn’t always the way of experience though. I was told from a young age though that experiential learning was not the best way because of fears of dabbling in drugs, alcohol etc (or car stories like mine). It even went as far as being ‘unbiblical’ to try and learn by experiences. It is not all negative, and I would even say it is not even 50/50. I would push that education and institutions needs to push themselves to a model of 80% experiential learning and 20% formal sit down listening.

I look back at that same time at where I was really developing and it was in guided experiences provided by people who saw potential and gifts in me. I had youth leaders and camp directors who quickly assigned me roles of leadership way before I felt comfortable or qualified to lead, teach, speak, create and try. I failed many times at the task at hand or at best did a ‘60 out of 100’ performance.  Yet the task stretched me and now are areas of my life that I am paid to do on a regular basis (I may actually do alright at them too).  What I did have in those tasks were environments of:

-intentional relationships to debrief with me, encourage me at what I was strong at, focus me on those strengths, and most importantly give me another chance to try again.

-holistic challenge developed my way of thinking to discover and self feed rather than depend on being spoon fed.

-highlighting and listening to Jesus by focusing and seeing how He was working with me, through me and around me.

These environments to me are some keys in how we as Christ followers develop. Today I look to cultivate these environments for others. I use the word cultivate because it captures many of the approaches and images I see Christ calling us to do. It is not in charge of growing the crops as much as it is finding the right ground, plowing up the hard soil into straight lines, planting good seed with fertilizer and water, and producing the fruits to the markets and seeds for future crops. All of these are metaphors of the soul:

-Plowing is the preparing lives through the search, seeing the potential trajectory of your life while removing the obstacles that hold you back.

-planting is the acknowledgement of the gifts seeded in the person and  the injection of encouragement, truth and insight into a person’s life while you weed and trim as needed.

-producing is the commissioning of lives because they are harvesting and responding to the gifts in them. They will have future lives to influence and be food for others.

Here is a picture of Liv at age 4

We were at friends place and they caught this shot of her cooking a marshmallow over an open fire. I love her look, because it speaks to who she is and how God is forming her to be- the little growing soul in this world. She has a look of boldness and confidence, yet she was really afraid to cook the marsh mallow. I feel the responsibility of overseeing her life and how she grows (for my other two Ava and Ira as well). She has great initiative skills to try new things and even courage to overcome fears. She leads many and has such an expressive dramatic personality. I keep wondering who she will be come.

in the mean time,  i love this window of her current life and i hope you enjoy this pict.

The Witness

Jesus launched his disciples in Acts 1:1-8 with the great commission. In this commission to empower and bring about the Kingdom through his disciples, he gave their title to them as ‘witnesses’.  You would think with such an important, cosmic, divine role and plan the title would have been something more powerful and dynamic like ‘CEO, Executive, Presidents, Pontiff, or other. Instead witness was the title.

 Some Definitions of witness:

There is something powerful in the last definition. It is much more than ‘president’ or CEO. It is a role of seeking out God and forming a life that has habitually aligned with Christ’s living presence on this earth. Notice it is more than just observing, but it includes engaging, responding, and giving all at any cost.  We can be that witness everywhere, because of the God in us and the God around us in our neighbourhoods, work place, city and the world. Paul Bettings brings this example to us.

Here is a 4 minute clip from Paul Bettings in Africa as a freelance photographer.

http://www.youtube.com/lostfromthenormal1#p/a/u/0/DzmylfZI3fQ

Paul uses his camera to capture the moments and stories of others, how do we capture the work of Christ around us? (writing, story telling, other creative outlets)

How can we encourage to be this witness in our sphere of influence?

How can we help the people to celebrate and tell their ‘witness’?

Thoughts?

This last year has been a significant reflection time for me in my season of life. Above is a picture I recently painted while processing my life. At times feels pretty dark and other times feels pretty amazing. I have tried to review why this is happening to me this year?  Some say that we as humans go through cycles and that every 4 years or every 7 years we are adjusting to age and it is chemically tied to ‘regrowing’ ourselves (apparently the body will replace every cell every 7 years !)

For me it could be circumstantially (positive and negatives):

-lead up to and birth of my newest and third child Ira (definitely positive but sleep deprivation)

-second year since I lost my father and it seems harder to me this year than the first

-great celebrations within the community I work with ‘seeking the welfare of the city’  (people looking for Christ and partnering with Him in an ongoing basis, lives helped. Couple of hundreds of thousands of dollars use to support people, people beginning to follow Jesus, and so much more!!)

-been challenged and discouraged in my work through negative words, wrong perceptions, etc. (I didn’t realize how vulnerable I was to critics)

-adjustments of being a better dad, husband, neighbour (all of them ups and downs)

It could be the very fact that it has been a year of ups and downs that made it rough because it can take my emotions on the extreme roller coaster. (so maybe this is my emotional throw up?)

Out of this season of time I found myself saving quite a bit of money on counseling through painting. This picture is the fruit of that process. I’m not done yet processing this stuff, but painting this was helpful to get some of that out.

The picture itself is of a field I use to run through near my childhood home. The boy in the painting is me coming out of that field.  You’ll notice I’m holding my stick which was a faithful companion (turned magically into a sword, gun, wand, or whatever my hero craved childhood could imagine).

I am wearing an outfit that I remember owning as a child (zip up turtle neck sweater with ‘toughskins’ corduroy pants –yes the iron on knee pad was from rigorous kneeling and play). The clothes look as though they are just thrown on as fast as possible with out care. That to say, looking back we were poor (below average income). The clothes speak to poverty, the childhood activities show even poverty (a field and a stick were the toys and not clubs leagues and psp2). We were poor for a few reasons:

-dad got a tumor in his brain and lost his ability to work (electrical engineer to a home maker able to do maybe 3 good days a week on average).

-Mom had long left her vocation and a hobby of piano soon became the only means of income through teaching.

There are more reasons for our poverty, but as a child I wasn’t so aware of that. I was aware of the dysfunction in our family and how I tried to get away from it as much as possible.

-I was escaping. The ritual was get up before everyone else and run out to the field to be some superhero or adventurer. This world and field became a place of great comfort and a place I could be myself. All my other worlds of home life, school life, church life and friends were poor and not places of joy. I felt neglected, bullied, ignored and labeled. This place for me was attentive to me. I was the strong force using my power for good not oppression, and the only labels were hero, savior, and significant.

At that time

-notice my 2 hands, one is clenched on my security in the symbol of the stick- power, and the other hand is open to the surroundings and beauty. In my life things were out of control and somehow I lived with the tension of both.

The field, looks surreal, even and golden. I am leaving it and returning to the reality with my stick. This picture reflects a time of change (departure from one thing and going into another –or regrowing. When a time of regrowing ourselves comes it can be painful to leave the fantasies and familiar escape to go towards the unknown, stark reality that show me exactly where I am at in life. However unbeknownst to me in my younger years, God was there. The reality I thought I was in was not reality either. Being bullied, poor, neglected and labeled was not the true reality.
I just didn’t have God’s voice speaking to me about His view, His reality –the true reality.

It was a coping mechanism for the boy, but now has later shown itself as a dysfunction as I get older. Whenever tough circumstances come to me now as an adult, my first tendency is to be by myself and away from the people who are there to care for me.  The very escape from pain has become a postponing of the painful situation in my life. Somehow and for some reason the dark and amazing year has either spurred on the emotional ‘regrowth’, or maybe this is just my life cycle. I could look at this as an old wound opening to make me feel insecure, unable to cope or returning to the old pattern of my destiny. I choose to think this is an opportunity and my bodies way of saying “Joe, we are ready to deal with this as an adult, and with the knowledge that God has always been with you now and then”. God is looking to replaces feelings of neglect with awareness, attentiveness and care. He is showing the human attempt for power is futile and the empowerment He gives is far superior to any stick. And finally, I see all the old perceptions of who I am can be replaced with my true identity in Christ—child, son, coheir and partner.

One of my favorite movies is ‘Vanilla Sky’. I can identify with the final scene where the main character has the choice to live in a forever suspended dream world or face his fear and return to a difficult reality where his is disfigured and in pain. The fear he had to face was jumping from a height to wake up. So with the escape verses reality at stake, he jumps.

I think this choice has been naturally presented to me.

(An aside, all of the events and time and clothing would have put me at the age of 6-9years at the most. However, the few people who have seen this comment that the boy looks to be a teenager. Plus the teenager years for me were the most tumultuous. It was probably as hard as they were because of the childhood years that formed the world view I thought I was in. Some counselor may get a lot of money from this J)