JoeTucker’s Weblog

Yesterday with a dozen 4th through 8th graders in tow, I walked to the local library to protest the city’s decision to close 11 branches of the Free Library of Philadelphia in order to meet their $8 million dollar budget problem. The students had made signs reading, “Don’t close our library!”, “Books before budget”, Education=Opportunity=Jobs”. We stayed out in the cold for about 45 minutes waving the signs to cars driving by, then headed back to our after-school program.

I don’t think the kids fully understood what was going on. And unfortunantly the adolescents of the group were to preoccupied with being adolescents and having the chance to yell to really be concerned. But it was valuable to be there nonetheless.

You see, the city has chosen to close the 11 libraries in the poorest districts of Philadelphia. So my team went to a protest as did the team in SouthWest Philly. A protest to encourage the city to restructure its budget in order to keep the libraries open. Because the neighborhoods actually need these libraries.

They need the libraries for internet access to apply for jobs. For many kids the library is a warm place to go, when they are locked out of their houses/ Believe it or not kids actually still get books from these library branches, not to mention the hosts of programs the library runs to help literacy, reading, GED equivalencies, and so on.

And we plan on doing more than simply protesting. We’ve signed petitions. We’re planning on attending town meetings and writing letters as well. I’ll keep you posted as more news develops.

Grace and peace!

On the eve of my 24^th year of being alive, I walked solitarily back to my house. My journey did not begin in solitude, but it ended there. I left Kensington and Allegheny, where Mission Year conducted a City Wide night—a night when the Mission Year crew members gather to worship, share, eat, and encourage one another. I left with my roommate Chris and another Mission Year team on the SEPTA. The Southwest Philly team continued on the Blue Line while Chris and I transferred to the Orange Line to head home to Logan. A homeless man asked for some food and I gave him some candy I had received for my birthday and continued on to the transfer.

I missed him. I missed Jesus. He was sitting there in the subway station, and I gave him two pieces of candy and went on my way. My roommate hesitated. He had seen Christ, when I had not. As we boarded the Orange Line to head Northbound, he chose against it. He told me he was heading back to the man, and as the train doors closed between us I was a mix of emotion.

Tired from a long day and a longer week. Excited that my birthday was tomorrow. Guilty for not loving the man as fully as I could. Excited that my friend would. Confused as to what to feel, as to what was right to feel, or right to do.

So I drove the train alone northbound home. And I did the only thing that made sense in such a time. I prayed. I prayed for Chris. I prayed for the homeless man. I prayed God’s rich mercy for my soul.

I arrived at my destination. And walked out of the Logan station into the rain. It was a fitting rain for my heart. Not nearly a downpour, but more than a drizzle; a contentious shower. And I walked home. I walked home through the neighborhood I had walked through earlier with a local pastor, Pastor Joseph.

Pastor Joseph has been ministering in the neighborhood for three years, knows the strongholds (both good and evil) of the neighborhood, and took Chris and me on a prayer-walk through those areas earlier this morning. We walked past the alley where prostitutes go and leave behind paraphernalia. I passed by that alley as I walked home in the rain and prayed.

I walked home alone in the rain.

Chris has since returned. I thanked him for loving the man that I did not. He assured me that I had done my part for the evening. I was reminded of how the body functions. How one ministers while the other is weak or tired. And how we support each other in prayer.

And Chris shared with me the joys and frustrations of his time with the man, Carmen. He had obtained a sandwich and a potato salad since we had left him and Chris’ return. Chris gave the man the money he had on him, spent some time with him, and prayed for him (he also offered him a contact with Pastor Joe’s ministry, Victory Outreach—a ministry that runs recovery houses for drug addicts and homeless men).

Then Chris came home, out from the rain.

But where does Carmen go? Perhaps he ended up at a halfway house or local shelter. Maybe he took the info and found a Victory Outreach home. Maybe he stayed the rest of the night in the subway. Perchance he went out in the rain, alone and sought out shelter elsewhere.

***Insert a long emotional pause here as I try to figure out what to write***

It says in Matthew 5 that the rain falls on both the just and the unjust. And it did this very night. I walked through the rain, as did Chris, and I suppose Carmen did as well. And I wonder who’s who. Just and unjust. Chris, Carmen and me.

And I know the labels don’t truly matter in this case, but that when the day is done Chris and I got out of the rain. And what of Carmen?

I don’t know.

I do not know..

Happy birthday

Grace and peace despite uncertainty. Grace and peace.

At present I am sitting in the Indo-China Council computer center. This place is a school for young adults striving to obtain their GED equivalency. It is both a place of both hope & despair. Hope, in the fact, that the students here are trying to better themselves to grow as individuals, to learn in order to obtain careers, provide for their families, and to make a living. Desperate in the fact that there are so many present obstacles between these students and “success” (whatever success means anyway….)

And when I came to Philly, I expected to work in places like this. I expected to teach, serve, tutor, love, befriend, etc. These things all seem like natural progressions of working in the inner-city (or working anywhere for the Lord for that matter) to me. However, I did not expect to learn and be challenged with the need to pray.   

In my devotions I read Mark 6 today, which is the story of the feeding of the 5000. And I am beginning to understand the dilemma the disciples faced when challenged by their rabbi to fed the masses. They said that it would take 8 months wages, they felt it an impossible, weighty task. Yet Jesus beckons them to search the crowd and to see what they could find.

I can imagine their cynicism. As they grabbed 5 loaves and 2 fish from among so many, it must have seemed pointless. Futile. I can imagine that they handed what little they had found to Jesus with a degree of despair, disappointment, or maybe even a scornful, “I told you so.” (Of course I am putting some of my own feelings into the Scriptures, so this isn’t Biblical truth, so much as speculation, but stick with me here.)

And then Jesus breaks bread. And He does it again, and again, and again. And at somepoint everyone is fed. The entire crowd eats their fill and there are leftovers! It is only by prayer that I can have that some hope and faith at my worksites and in my neighborhoods. There exists in the depths of the city an almost palpable cynicism that daily seeks to overcome you with its constant reminders. Aimless youth. Trash on the streets. Broken windows. Dilapidated houses. Racism still present. Systems of oppression after system of oppression.

It’s encompassing, overpowering. It is a pungence so foul that one would forget what pleasing aromas are.

If not for prayer. If not for daily seeking out the Lord and pleading His presence throughout out day. Because daily it seems that the insurmountable needs of the city stifle my meager attempts at change, I have no other course but to seek out He Whose Strength is Greater, that I might serve at His command.

I did not come here to learn how to pray, but the city has forced it upon me.

Grace and peace