God’s Will, God’s Provision
There are a few distinct Biblical philosophies that guide our work at South Street Ministries. (I imagine if I can ever convince Duane to write a book that these will be distinctive chapters). Ideas such as ‘faulty but not false,’ or ‘neighbors first.’ However, today I have been struck by Duane’s retelling of Dallas Willard’s axiom: God’s Will by way of God’s Provision.
This guiding theology has integrated itself into the DNA of South Street Ministries out of necessity. The necessity that there is work to do and that this work costs money. The ministry requires funding. But this is the way of most things, they require resources, provisions must be made. And the majority of our days are spent scrambling to create, earn, or find those provisions. We manifest our wills by our work and resources.
However in the Kingdom of God, this format is different: God’s will by way of God’s provision. If the project/ministry/action is God’s will then it will be accomplished by God’s resources. At South Street we act in accordance with this guiding principle; that God will truly provide for His will to be enacted.
Following George Mueller’s model, the Crabbs family spent the first few years of neighborhood ministry never asking explicitly for support. Rather they would pray. They would pray that if God truly wanted for them to minister in Summit Lake that God would provide the resources. As South Street has grown, the Mueller model has impacted our view of provision: we pray first (and since we have lots of needs, we pray often). We pray and discern for God’s Spirit and leading. Then we follow God’s will. And the funding follows. The provision follows the faithfulness.
In our scramble for funds, it is easy to reverse this order. To support and stabilize, then act. But this is man’s resources providing for man’s will. God reverses this. We act and serve in faith, trusting that God will provide what He promises. This order is enacted throughout Scripture: Moses speaks to the rock and the water comes forth, the Hebrews step into the Jordan River and the flow stops, Jesus directs the lepers to the temple and they are healed en route. The provision follows the faithfulness.
We are at that point once again. Like many non-profits, the resources are low. However, rather than scrambling for man’s provision, we first ask if we are acting in accordance with God’s will. And we believe we are. We believe that planting gardens on abandoned plots around Summit Lake and working with neighborhood youth to weed, water, and harvest all the while building relationships and sharing Gospel is God’s will. We believe that rehabbing the Front Porch and turning it into a hub for job training, recovery, employment, and fellowship is God’s will. We believe that moving in and incarnating ourselves in the neighborhood (and letting the neighborhood impact us as well) is God’s will.
And we are convinced that the provisions to do God’s will will follow by God’s hand.
Some Thoughts on South Street’s General Fun(d)
I need a venue to fully express myself.
When I was blessed to share at our 15 Year Anniversary, I was nervous; I was following speakers like Duane and Bob Lupton. Furthermore, I felt unprepared; the rush of prepping for the 15 year weekend had left me with little time to prepare a talk.
I stumbled (or as I believe was Spirit-lead) onto a small section of the Bible in II Corinthians 2:17-3:3. The section read as follows:
Unlike so many, we do not peddle the word of God for profit. On the contrary, in Christ we speak before God with sincerity, as those sent from God. Are we beginning to commend ourselves again? Or do we need, like some people, letters of recommendation to you or from you? You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, known and read by everyone. You show that you are a letter from Christ, the result of our ministry, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.
As we approached the 15 Year anniversary, I was worried. Worried that we were beginning to commend ourselves. Worried that were I to make a public ‘ask’ for support that it would make me a peddler of the Gospel. Worried that I would be going against South Street’s history of not asking for support.
Consequentially in my talk, I did not ask directly for support. I invited the guests to join us in unlikely partnerships and to support South Street by picking up fliers and reading them, but I did not ask directly for support.
A recent theme that I have been wrestling with is also from the Scriptures: You have not, because you ask not. (not actually a verse, but a corollary between James 4:2 and Matthew 7:7). God has repeatedly reminded of this theme as my mis-communications or lack of communication results in unfulfilled expectations:
Volunteers do not understand their roles. Folks living in recovery programs abuse loose boundaries. Guests at 15 Year Anniversaries don’t deliver expected support. I have not, because I haven’t asked.
Let me be clear: I believe in our mission at South Street Ministries. I believe that Unlikely partners taking shared risks together can renew this community (through) and for Christ’s sake. As the Front Porch reopens, as After School grows, as we host recovery groups, as we run the Long Street discipleship house, as bike shop opens and gardens grow, I see God move and I believe in the mission of South Street Ministries.
This is not an act of peddling the Gospel, but an invitation to a partnership that renews the city. It is an ask that I can morally endorse and will undertake myself. I am beginning to understand the value in asking, so here it goes:
Please consider supporting the general fund of South Street on a monthly or quarterly basis to help stabilize our operations and payroll.
This particular blog is attached to an e-mail request I sent out that reads:
Friends and unlikely partners,
I wanted to follow up with you after our 15 Year Anniversary. Thank you for your support, volunteering, and prayers! The Front Porch has reopened (Mondays through Fridays 10am-5pm) and our summer program is being planned (and is fully funded). However, our general fund (which pays utilities and payroll) is low. I want to formerly ask you to give to South Street on a monthly or quarterly basis in order to stabilize our budget and enable continued ministry and service to the South Akron and Summit Lake neighborhoods.
My full thoughts on our general fund can be found on my blog: joetucker.wordpress.com
I have attached our donation flier, and the South Street website can now process online donations (click on the Support Tab) without requiring a PayPal account.
Thank you again for your support!
On Living in Akron
10 years ago I was a high school senior. I had visited a Christian college in Indiana and was convinced it was God’s will for me to go there. I was going to be a Youth Pastor. My mother coerced me to apply to the University of Akron as a back-up plan.
10 years ago I did not want to attend the University of Akron. I did not want to have anything to do with Akron. I wanted to leave this city for something newer, bigger, and better.
That was not the case. The Christian college I had been accepted into proved to be too expensive and I was granted a good scholarship to Akron. My back-up plan was now my life plan.
I cannot tell you when it happened, but my attitude changed as Akron’s landscape changed. It wasn’t necessarily the construction of a new Student Union, Honors Complex, or the Recreation and Wellness Center. It was necessarily the improvements to downtown: Lockview and Lock 3, Musica, and the other new restaurants that were somehow all new to me. Sometime between changing my major, working at summer camps, and volunteering throughout the city, I fell in love with the city of Akron.
By the end of my collegiate years, I was an avid Akronite. I championed the city whenever possible, recommending the University of Akron to aspiring seniors, promoting local restaurants, and sharing secret Akron locations that I had discovered. Subconsciously, I knew that if I wanted to grow as a leader in the city, I would have to leave it for a time.
So I did. I ventured to Philadelphia, volunteered there, partnered with community organizations, learned about urban theology, wrestled with simplicity in a complex world, and returned to Akron ready to put into practice the many things I had learned. I didn’t know it, but God had brought me back to South Street Ministries.
10 years ago, I completed my Eagle Scout project at South Street Ministries. My project helped start South Street’s bike shop. I completed my project and sequestered myself at the University of Akron and collegiate life. However after college and after Philly, there I was again at bike shop, now volunteering with the program twice a week to help kids assemble bikes. It was the fruition of my Eagle Scout project years after the project itself.
One of my favorite passages in the Bible is in Jeremiah 29. The most popular verse in Jeremiah is Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. But that verse isn’t my favorite. (actually that verse is often taken out of context – it is a word of hope to a people entering a 70 year period of exile, of being refugees in a land not their own, not simply a kitsch verse to put on graduation cards)
No, my favorite verse in Jeremiah is Jeremiah 29:7 Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the LORD for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.”
This verse has guided my work as an urban developer and advocate at South Street. It has guided my decision to marry and stay in the city. The call to seek the shalom (the peace) and prosperity of Akron has become a dominant theme of my life.
I recently visited the new Bridgestone Firestone site on Main Street. When its construction started I was resentful; the park where I had spent my youth watching fireworks and local parades was becoming an industry site. Upon its completion (and grand opening April 14th) I have a different understanding. I understand the jobs and stability a company bring to the city. I understand the legacy of Firestone in Akron and the importance of its continued presence in the city. I understand urban partnerships, corporate philanthropy, and community development.
I never went to that Christian college, nor did I receive a degree to be a Youth Pastor. However, the city has served as my classroom, seminary, and youth group. And I am a better man for it.
Front Porch Blessing and Woes
We went to the same high school. (Garfield!)
When I was a senior, he was a freshman. I asked if he knew my sisters, but he couldn’t recollect them. That doesn’t surprise me. I imagine we were on two very different tracks. I took honors courses in preparation for college, he wrestled with anger and most likely spent more time suspended than active in school.
He’s still working on his GED.
But today he’s working at the Front Porch. The plumbing has backed up and we needed some extra help with deconstruction to access some pipes.
He confided in me yesterday that he was stressed. He had a meeting with his Parole Officer, and was worried he would be sent to a half-way house if his present living situation was found…unsatisfactory.
Two things, stirred within me: compassion and heroism. I felt compassionate for this young man who was striving to do right yet had few venues to succeed. I felt the need to do something good and validate myself as well. A dangerous combination.
In the past, this combination may have resulted in an invitation: come live with me. Move into Bachtel Avenue and we can help you out, but I no longer live on Bachtel. I have moved out in preparation for my wedding and no longer have the right to simply invite transient neighbors into that house. (And my new house was a non-option).
So I prayed.
And prayer was the sum of what I could do. I do recognize that in the grande scheme South Street has pastored, served, esteemed, and connected this young man, however I know that ultimately God changes his life and course. And whether I am able to house this young man or not, God will see him through.
In my quest for validation, prayer becomes secondary. However, God will limit our capacity (or reveal our inadequacy) at times to force us to rely on His power, His hand, His faith.
The same is true of our 15 Year Anniversary on March 9th. Bob Lupton, a 35 year seasoned urban developer. Duane Crabbs, founder of South Street 15 years ago. Ward Councilman. Graphic designers. PR Representatives. Seasoned Neighbors. Akron businessmen and women…
And me. Among so many professionals, veterans, or neighborhood heads, my inadequacies become apparent. My limited capacity revealed. So I pray.
I pray that God blesses South Street for another 15 years and enables me to serve as a leader there.
I pray for South Akron and Summit Lake, that renewal and development (coupled with justice and mercy) will happen here.
I pray for young men like the one above, that God (through His people) will make away for them to work, live, and thrive despite past mistakes.
I pray, and God hears.
Grace and peace
Giving, Receiving, and the space between
HOMELESS ANYTHING WILL HELP GOD BLESS
Excuse me sir, could you lend me $2.85 for a bus ride to Barberton? I got no way to get out there and I gotta pick up this check.
I hate to ask, but could you loan me $10. I get paid this Friday, but I’m out of gas today.
Good evening _________, this is Joe Tucker calling on behalf of South Street Ministries. Thank you for your past donation. We are calling all of our donors at the _____level and asking if they would consider increasing their support to _________.
- Strategic Goals:
- 100% giving from non-profit Board of Directors, executive director, and key staff (92% giving was achieved in previous FY)
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In the past two weeks, I have heard, contemplated, or read the above phrases. In some cases I have been solicited, in others I have contemplated asking others for funding for South Street Ministries as we approach our 15 Year Anniversary (for more information, visit our website www.southstreetministries.org, shameless plug, I know).
It strikes me. The differences and similarities of it all. Men on corners begging for change. Non-profit directors planning strategic funding campaigns (theoretically so we can help the above man on the corner!). I’m also struck by the frequent occurrences wherein Jesus talks about money. The Gospels are full of moneylenders and debtors, stewards and turned tables, perfume purchases, parables, and the poor.
And here am I in the mix of it all. Lending $10 for gas. Writing operational budgets for a growing organization. Hiring men from the neighborhood to open and close the Front Porch. Paying payroll taxes and insurance for South Street. Passing and recognizing the man on the corner, knowing his name, yet giving him nothing.
And therein lies my concern. Money is duplicitous. Is that man really homeless? Does your organization actually help the people you claim to serve? How does that corporation actually use its profits?
Perhaps that is my concern: being known. Moreover, being known and found insufficient:
- If you actually knew how much I had or spent would you condemn me for being too luxurious and not generous enough?
- Would I really give to you, if you weren’t homeless, but prone to drinking? (Would I give even if you really were homeless without a drinking problem?)
- Would people give to South Street if our results weren’t that quantitatively impressive but we tried our best to love deeply?
I feel like Adam in the Garden of Eden. Only instead of using fig leaves to hide my shame and selfishness, I have a billfold.
Please don’t misinterpret this. I fully believe in the work we do at South Street. I try to live selflessly most of the time. But there are (often) times when my selfishness eclipses my generosity. There are times when our ministry walks through more ‘failures’ than ‘successes.’
And I refuse to paint a different picture in order to garner your support.
Over the next month, I will post, plan, pray, and promote our 15 Year Anniversary for South Street Ministries. And the temptation I face is to present the perfect picture of need and performance. To quantify in such a way the work of our ministry so that you are inclined to support us.
It is a temptation I avoid through honesty. I honestly believe in our work. And our work is more about faithfulness than effectiveness. We desire effect, but often times it is not present. Often times men and women relapse, the breadth of the street wins over the narrowness of the Way, volunteer enjoy momentary interactions over lasting relationships.
And the only work we can point to is the quantitatively impossible love. We still love even when the success of redevelopment, recovery, or conversion doesn’t take root. We still love when relationships crumble, worshippers argue, and transiency transports our friends to new neighborhoods. We still love even when we don’t feel like it anymore.
And I know that this is what Christ ultimately calls us to.
Perhaps we will not be found insufficient after all.
Grace and peace (admist the mess)
Giving, Receiving, and the space between
HOMELESS ANYTHING WILL HELP GOD BLESS
Excuse me sir, could you lend me $2.85 for a bus ride to Barberton? I got no way to get out there and I gotta pick up this check.
I hate to ask, but could you loan me $10. I get paid this Friday, but I’m out of gas today.
Good evening _________, this is Joe Tucker calling on behalf of South Street Ministries. Thank you for your past donation. We are calling all of our donors at the _____level and asking if they would consider increasing their support to _________.
- Strategic Goals:
- 100% giving from non-profit Board of Directors, executive director, and key staff (92% giving was achieved in previous FY)
——————————————————————————————–
In the past two weeks, I have heard, contemplated, or read the above phrases. In some cases I have been solicited, in others I have contemplated asking others for funding for South Street Ministries as we approach our 15 Year Anniversary (for more information, visit our website www.southstreetministries.org, shameless plug, I know).
It strikes me. The differences and similarities of it all. Men on corners begging for change. Non-profit directors planning strategic funding campaigns (theoretically so we can help the above man on the corner!). I’m also struck by the frequent occurrences wherein Jesus talks about money. The Gospels are full of moneylenders and debtors, stewards and turned tables, perfume purchases, parables, and the poor.
And here am I in the mix of it all. Lending $10 for gas. Writing operational budgets for a growing organization. Hiring men from the neighborhood to open and close the Front Porch. Paying payroll taxes and insurance for South Street. Passing and recognizing the man on the corner, knowing his name, yet giving him nothing.
And therein lies my concern. Money is duplicitous. Is that man really homeless? Does your organization actually help the people you claim to serve? How does that corporation actually use its profits?
Perhaps that is my concern: being known. Moreover, being known and found insufficient:
- If you actually knew how much I had or spent would you condemn me for being too luxurious and not generous enough?
- Would I really give to you, if you weren’t homeless, but prone to drinking? (Would I give even if you really were homeless without a drinking problem?)
- Would people give to South Street if our results weren’t that quantitatively impressive but we tried our best to love deeply?
I feel like Adam in the Garden of Eden. Only instead of using fig leaves to hide my shame and selfishness, I have a billfold.
Please don’t misinterpret this. I fully believe in the work we do at South Street. I try to live selflessly most of the time. But there are (often) times when my selfishness eclipses my generosity. There are times when our ministry walks through more ‘failures’ than ‘successes.’
And I refuse to paint a different picture in order to garner your support.
Over the next month, I will post, plan, pray, and promote our 15 Year Anniversary for South Street Ministries. And the temptation I face is to present the perfect picture of need and performance. To quantify in such a way the work of our ministry so that you are inclined to support us.
It is a temptation I avoid through honesty. I honestly believe in our work. And our work is more about faithfulness than effectiveness. We desire effect, but often times it is not present. Often times men and women relapse, the breadth of the street wins over the narrowness of the Way, volunteer enjoy momentary interactions over lasting relationships.
And the only work we can point to is the quantitatively impossible love. We still love even when the success of redevelopment, recovery, or conversion doesn’t take root. We still love when relationships crumble, worshippers argue, and transiency transports our friends to new neighborhoods. We still love even when we don’t feel like it anymore.
And I know that this is what Christ ultimately calls us to.
Perhaps we will not be found insufficient after all.
Grace and peace (admist the mess)
Devices and Disguises
“We all have our devices, yours make you look terrible, mine make me look good.”
My words as we discussed the Beatitudes at South Street’s Sunday fellowship. We were discussing the backwards nature of the Kingdom of God. As we entered into conversation, I knew the place of my own heart: distant and stale. A spiritually lazy week had yielded a short-tempered, selfish version of myself that I knew how to properly disguise.
My disguise of productivity. Before South Street gathered I was working. I cleared the snow off the van and picked up friends and neighbors to come to worship with us. When I arrived at the Front Porch, I set up the sound system, changed the trash bags, set out pastries, made a fresh pot of coffee, and bought Styrofoam cups (so that I wouldn’t have to do dishes as well I suppose).
No one was the wiser. My productivity disguise doesn’t just blend into most Christian cultures, it thrives there. I answered questions and addressed concerns. I ran the sound for the service. However as Duane began to paraphrase the Beatitudes, discussing the ‘goodness’ of mourning, or being cursed, or being poor, my productivity facade began to chaff the spirit within.
I sat with friends, some my age, one significantly older who is quite straightforward and has a silver tongue (that is no stranger to the baser words of our discourse). He quickly connected with the Beatitudes. He knew mourning, poverty, and hardship far better than I. He knew times of walking with God and times when his devices mad him far worse off.
“We all have our devices, yours make you look terrible, mine make me look good.” I responded. The discussion continued, but the disguise continued. I set up a video to play, drove some folks home, and proceeded home to get some work done.
And I did. And the rush was validating. I finished a flier for South Street’s 15 Year anniversary (MArch 9th!!) and revised the website. For some reason, I decided to visit the Chapel’s new service, the Gathering. I had perfected my disguise at the Chapel. I had authentic days and false days, but few were aware. Throughout the hard days I was not blessed, I was disguised.
The service was well attended and youthful. My reputation proceeded me and I was greeted by old and new friends. We worshiped and I sang loudly. I love the sound of my voice.
I stopped singing. My falsehood was intolerable, and the inner spirit once again chaffed against the disguise. The sermon spoke well to my condition and after a good deal of socializing I went out with an old friend and his wife. I had walked with this couple through a great many hardships and their Beatitude blessing was apparent to me.
“We all have our devices, yours make you look terrible, mine make me look good.” I thought again.
I headed home, tired from a long day of doing, with little essence of being. My disguise sat on the floor of my truck, stripped off through conversation, conviction, and exhaustion. The hardship with a productivity disguise is that eventually the burden of performance is too much to bare.
I was blessed that day. I was blessed to talk at South Street, to accept a word from friends and neighbors who had no pretense of productivity. I was blessed to worship at the Chapel and recognize the vanity of my own soul. I was blessed to sit at Luigi’s and listen to the genuine hardships and pain of friends.
And I am blessed to be rid of that wretched disguise. I am blessed to ask for help instead of always give it. I am blessed to be still and rest.
So I started blogging again, just not here…
I made a blog for South Street, where I now work and serve. If you followed this, I am going to start publishing at:
http://southstreetministries.wordpress.com/
Here’s the entry to save you some time, but sooner or later I’ll start posting exclusively over there (and on facebook, and the South Street website, so I guess not that exclusive at all…)
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On St. Patrick’s Day amidst a sea of green revelers, four representatives of South Street Ministries entered Tangiers, one of Akron’s more celebrated and ornamented halls. We strayed into the hall seeking our place with some degree of confusion. We hadn’t worn enough green, rather we were wearing ties (a rarity in our line of work/service).
A woman redirected us to our correct room, a small hall reserved for the reNEWal Realty group. A group of Christian realtors that meets monthly to discuss, network, and share in the struggle to mix faith and business in the housing market. Duane was their speaker for the luncheon.
Duane spoke of his story, of moving into Summit Lake 14 years ago and the start of South Street Ministries, noting the stupidity of his move from a realtor’s perspective. After some abstract talk about culture, poverty, and psychology, Duane hit home with the insight that realtors persuade and control some of the forces (for better or worse) of the housing market. Moreover, with this controlling power comes a necessary call to Christian social justice.
And it is to this call my writing now turns, I moved onto Bachtel Ave. approximately a year and a half ago to live life with the people there and to serve with them. I was then a single bachelor capable of such a move without much consideration for a wife or family, and I wasn’t the only one. However now our group of urban-renewal peers has come to a dynamic crossing: is this the place, the community, the neighborhood, where we set up shop?
Do the schools, broken as they may be, become our kids schools? Do the streets, and backyards, and alleyways, and cuts become the paths that we travel daily? Because the presumed answer in the realty market is a “Hell No!” That is if the question is even asked. That is if we even pause to wonder if where we choose to live (let alone that we have the luxury of choosing) is a deep spiritual choice. It is a question that I think we would often rather avoid.
Because the alternative, choosing a life that contradicts the normative (and possibly idolatrous) values of our day gets complicated. As Shane Claiborne puts it, it gets messy:
And that’s when things get messy. When people begin moving beyond charity and toward justice and solidarity with the poor and oppressed, as Jesus did, they get in trouble. Once we are actually friends with the folks in struggle, we start to ask why people are poor, which is never as popular as giving to charity. One of my friends has a shirt marked with the words of late Catholic bishop Dom Helder Camara: “When I fed the hungry, they called me a saint. When I asked why people are hungry, they called me a communist.” Charity wins awards and applause but joining the poor gets you killed. People do not get crucified for living out of love that disrupts the social order that calls forth a new world. People are not crucified for helping poor people. People are crucified for joining them. -Claiborne: Irresistible Revolution-
And I can’t help but ask those same questions as I walk around Summit Lake. When abandoned homes, vacant lots, and broken down properties are discouragingly commonplace, when the school building is closed down so the kids can be bussed to other schools, when young men know more about prison and child support than algebra or history, I can’t help but ask why.
And I know some of the answers: generational poverty, poor life choices, unfair (and dare-I-say racist) punitive policies, and many others ‘reasons’. But I can’t help but seek the depths of the question, to examine my own motivations for serving, my own hidden bias, prejudice, and pride.
And it is this same question that we posited to a group of concerned realtors on St. Patrick’s Day. Will we continue to encourage upward mobility, when our departure cripples the neighborhood we leave? Will we champion security over community? For those of us who are lucky enough (or rather privileged enough, for luck has clearly little to do with it) to choose where we live, will we choose with the Spirit-led discernment that calls us to lay down our lives, love our neighbors, and guard the rights of the oppressed?
I don’t know.
I hope so, though.
-Grace and Peace, amidst the wrestle-
Post Script –Let me be clear that I am NOT advocating for all Christians to move into the poorer parts of town, nor am I condemning those who live in nicer parts of town (or out of town). But I will be clear on this: wherever we live, we ought to live differently. If the culture of the world says bigger is better, than the culture of Christ says ‘small is beautiful’ (serendipitously the title of one of my favorite economics books). If the culture amongst us says ‘show some skin,’ we ought to remind ourselves and live in the truth that God looks at the heart. If we are pressured to make much of ourselves, then we ought to follow the Spirit’s leading in making much of Christ instead (and practice making less of ourselves for that matter…)
Wherein Joe talks about comic books, then compares them to his life…
My favorite hero died this week. Literally, my favorite superhero died this week, in a comic book.
Nightcrawler, aka as Kurt Wagner, longtime member of the Uncanny X-Men died in this week’s issue of a weekly crossover event occurring throughout all the x-books. Now I realize that to many of you this is an insignificant event. It affects your reality in no way, shape, or form. But his passing has marked my week. And this death has not moved me in a nerdy way {although I will freely admit that I have some fairly nerdy traits}, but in the way that stories are intended to move us.
Let me explain.
Nightcrawler, was one of Marvel’s premiere odd-looking mutants (He has blue fur, a prehensile tail, and resembles a demon, most of you will recognize him from X2). He epitomized the X-Men’s credo of ‘protecting a world that hates and fears them.’ However the truly remarkable (and perhaps the draw to make him my fan favorite) aspect of Nightcrawler’s character was his faith. He was written as a devout Catholic, whose moral compass often redirected the team or prevented them from succumbing to the likes of their adversaries. Thus in more recent story lines, Nightcrawler’s presence began to symbolize aspects of faith and morality. (Contrast this with a character like Wolverine who may be more apt to symbolize resilience or ferocity.)
He died saving a younger teammate in a beautiful 2 page spread. The art captured the depth of the scene and the words were few, save a prayer cited by the protagonist as he mustered his strength one last time for a final heroic act. Well written, fantastic art, my favorite character in one last hoorah (not that he’ll stay dead anyway, comic books bring back characters to life all the time), it all made for a moving read.
So why bother to post this on facebook? Why not blog about it on a nerd site where other geeks can enjoy (or rebuke) your review? Well because I want to expound upon my week in light of the above story. In light of what happens to a team when faith is killed.
I read Nightcrawler’s death on Wednesday (new comic day), and spent Wednesday evening sneaking into my old Scout camp with 3 of my old Scouting friends. We reminisced, caught up, and hiked the paths of our childhood. We all received our Eagle award together a 18 and we are all now 25 and adrift. It was a time of nostalgia, but also a present reminder of change, of the loss of innocence, and of the painful realities of the present.
After a late night, I woke to teach my last 7:45 class. I ended the class, threw up in the bottom floor restroom, and proceeded home to fight a newly contracted 24 hr- stomach flu. I spent the remainder of Thursday on my couch watching movies and praying for consistency (although this time I wasn’t asking for consistency in my life but in my stool).
Friday I felt better. Showered and shaved some. Taught my last class for the semester and again headed home. The finality of it all was again clear. I was done teaching at Akron for a time. I have no summer classes to teach and consequently no income coming from The U of A.
At home, the neighborhood kids were quick to rush my house. I played an adorable game of cards with some of the younger kids (kids not in elementary school) and then hosted my kitchen to 5 girls in South Street’s Girl Scout program so that they could prepare a meal for an event on Saturday.
As they cleaned-up and left, I headed to First Glance where I worked the door, then spent the rest of my time there updating my Myspace (which for the record I ONLY use to keep in contact with First Glance kids and staff) with Tom, one of the student leaders, as my guide.
It had been a long day. I was tired.
I drove a student home, then proceeded to Anne’s house for a well needed drink, movie, and pizza. We watched Good Will Hunting, it was wicked good (I’ve seen it before, but it’s always good) and a wicked good time, save a little teasing from Anne and Hillary about some of my relational difficulties.
I went home. Slept. Woke up early Saturday to drive to Cleveland to help my grandpa with yard-work. He is the primary caretaker of my grandmother now and (although doing a fantastic job for an 87 year old) needs some help. I pulled weeds, mowed the yard, then enjoyed some Chili together before I left.
My Grandma is doing better. But again the once figurative death of my favorite hero took on a literal reality as I spent time with my Grandma and lamented her ailing condition. (Although I will note as well, that my Grandma is equally as stubborn in her Alzheimer’s as she is into giving into any kind of frailty.)
I drove home. Played frisbee golf with a bachelor party of guys for Cody Swiger’s upcoming nuptials, then worked the entirety of the night at an after Prom for Solid Rock Sports.
I drove home, re energized by some assuredly unhealthy drink, read a somewhat crushing letter from a would-be-potential-more-than-friend, showered and realized that sleep wasn’t really an option. I had too much on my mind.
Nightcrawler’s dead. I’m more or less unemployed this summer. (That isn’t entirely true I have some options, but it feels more true than it is). My friends relationships are falling apart. I can’t start a relationship up to save my life.My days are spent hanging out with neighborhood kids or teens from Kenmore. I have no long term plan (and barely even a short term plan).
So I watched the sunrise. Or tried to, the early morn wasn’t much of a morn at all, more like an early drizzle. But birds were still chirping, and two robin-red-breasts traversed through my yard, searching for their morning meal. And I thought of sparrows and worrying and Matthew 10, and just couldn’t grasp it.
Of course I should worry. Birds just need to eat and shit on cars and feed their kids. I need to have a wife or something and a career and significance. I thought of Luke 9 and one of my favorite verses,
“For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it.”
And I thought aloud a secret thought that has haunted me for months: I don’t feel like my life has been saved much, rather in losing my life I feel like, well, a loser.
Like in the comics, faith had died.
(Let me quickly note here that I am clearly being melodramatic. I am not recanting my faith, rather I am doing the very thing that Jacob did before he entered the land promised to him, wrestling with God. I do not need a barrage of encouraging posts, this is a small aspect of what is presently going on in my spirit and it will change as my day changes and as God continues to work in me. I just needed to write this down, get it out of my head, and felt somewhat compelled to share it with anyone who cares to read it online, with which the exception of my Mom, I’m not quite sure who checks these things anyway)
Grace and Peace, one of these days.
It’s Been A While
If I’m going to try to blog again (which I have been trying…) I feel as though some context is in order, so my present life entails:
I’m 25 yrs old. Work part time at the University of Akron teaching math courses. Volunteer full time in South Akron and Kenmore with South Street ministries and First Glance. Live in South Akron in a somewhat intentional house in a needier neighborhood. I’m single (for the most part). And find myself in the classic twenty something state of directional ambiguity.
So, onto my thoughts.
I read Ephesians the morning of the fight. I read Paul’s prayer that
‘I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is like the working of his mighty strength, which he exerted in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms…’
It had been a somewhat academic devotion. I read, observed, was somewhat moved in my spirit, then resolved to think about that threefold prayer (hope, rich inheritance, power) as I went about my day. I taught, returned home, hit up Stricklands for some ice cream, and went to work on First Glance programming.
As I walked to my wireless hotspot (The Upper Room of South Street) the pre-fight rumblings were evident. Kids running back and forth antagonizing each other with call-outs and insults. The threat of a fight is an event in and of itself. I sat and worked aware of what was soon unfolding, but unmotivated to involve myself.
As I concluded my work and walked back to my house, I passed the familial (and I use familial in the there were a lot of them and they were all family sense, not the warm, fuzzy sense) march to the street. Mother, daughters, aunts, and riled up son, marched to meet the here to for spoken threats of violence.
And the threats were answered. In true hood form the crowds swelled with neighbors and passer-byers. Two boys met with their fists, their words and threats now actualized into a pathetic, little brawl made worse by the coaxing of their family. The mother especially. They ensured that the fight was fair, stopping other boys from jumping in, and in doing so creating an eruption of mini-fights as well.
The boys continued. Noses bloodied, fists raw, faces flushed. Finally, the neighbors interceded, the fight was more or less over, and the threat of the police seemed all the more increasing. The mini-brawls ended with choice words and ‘choice-ier’ shouts and the crowds dispersed.
I had stood there the whole time. An observer. Powerless to change or stop anything. I walked home. Angry, disappointed, unsure, frustrated, guilty.
I talked with my neighbors and heard the story of the fight recounted through multiple perspectives. Glorified, glamorized, exalted. Some of the older ones called it out for the foolishness that it was, but their wisdom was casually cast off. Their words were pearls before swine.
I had planned on meeting friends for a cheap dinner ($1 burgers at the Main St. Saloon!!) and I came late. I sat on edge waiting for my burger and wrestling with this lingering feeling of powerlessness. Impotence.
Ephesians came to mind. his incomparably great power for us who believe. Did I believe that?
That power is like the working of his mighty strength, which he exerted in Christ when he raised him from the dead… It was three days before Easter, did I believe in that power?
I didn’t feel like it. I sat there wondering, praying, for a power that would change neighborhoods. That would teach peace, a deep Shalom. Like most of my prayers of late they were left unanswered (but not unheard).
Would Christ have walked amidst the violence? Would he have sat down and written on the ground something that caused the crowds to cast aside their tempers and return home? Would he have spoken a word that calmed the clashing families like he calmed the storming sea? Would he have asked to be the victim of the violence rather than let it befall on someone else?
Would he have interceded when I only watched?
Would his power have changed anything?
And if that power is in me (as Paul prayed), why was I so powerless?
Days passed. Life on the street continued as normal (well as normal as can be). It was Good Friday. I reread Ephesians and went about my day. Paul’s words haunted me, deep but unfelt. True, but unexperienced to me. The power went out at First Glance in Kenmore. We quelled the storming fights outside the now dimly lit parking lot.
I ended my evening at a friend’s house and found myself in a rather unexpected spiritual discussion.
As we spoke about faith, and gay issues, and whatever else was on the minds and spirits of my buzzed friends Paul’s words to the Ephesians were again on my mind, an inexplicable hope, a rich and glorious inheritance, and a deep power.
And I realized I did believe it. I believed (and still believe) in a power that conquers death. I believe that a power worked against a grave and that a man was dead and then was not dead anymore. As I discussed and laughed with friends, I remembered that I had faith in God. I had faith in His power. Death was defeated.
And if death is defeated, violence stands no chance.
This is the hope to which we are called. A hope against reason. A hope for angry neighbors with hot tempers and dysfunctional families. A hope for Kenmore kids who fight because it’s all they know. A hope for twenty-somethings who struggle with direction and relevance.
He Is Risen indeed.
Grace and peace.
