JoeTucker’s Weblog

Over the past weekend, I have helped 3 friends move. My wages have been soup, drink, an offer to have my shorts patched up, a shoe rack, and gas money. Over the past month I have helped around a dozen friends move. And I love it. Why?

Let me expound: First off, I enjoy driving my truck, henceforth referred to as the Tucktruck, and moving requires that extra challenge of loading, strapping, and driving with extra weight and objects in the bed. Moreover, I find that like a wedding (which I also love being in, I’m thinking of making a minor career as a groomsman) moving is a new transitional time in someones life. And the act of moving someone into their new house is essentially an invitation from them to me (or whoever the mover may be) to join them in their next chapter of life.

Upon moving  a couch into someones new living room, I can rest assured that I will soon sit there and enjoy the company of my friend. When I haul a tv from the Tucktruck to the house, I imagine that at some point I too shall enjoy a movie from that screen. And I love moving a dining room table in. Because the table goes deep. To share a meal together, that’s something special.

So it was my delight to have a triple round of movings this weekend. I also find that the invitation into someones life extends to the personality of the house and family itself. Whether it is a set of electric candles set to ‘burn’ until peace is seen in the Middle East or a floor mat supporting the troops and celebrating the Iraqi victories, I find that moving (or just being in someones house) reveals much about the personality of a house. What they value (an impressive DVD collection or a well-greased bicycle) , what they enjoy (a pool table {never really that fun to move} or a bookshelf), or just personality quirks (oh the eccentric furniture I have seen) are made evident when moving.

And I’m amazed by the diversity of it all. Why some people stay close to home, others are ‘moving on up’, and a few crazy ones decide to move into neighborhoods below their means. Some dedicate rooms to entertainment, others to socialzing or hosting.

Any point here? Maybe. I guess I’m just excited to move myself. I have been with the ‘rents for the last month, and fun as it has been I am excited for my own house, neighborhood, yard, vision, and house personality. Because having moved many friends and acquaintances myself, I see the value in how a house is set up. I hear what it says about the household and the neighbors nearby.

A journey that I am soon about to embark upon again.

Grace and peace

After 4 weeks back in Akron, I finally returned to the Chapel for a morning service. Pastor Halley spoke on Revelations 3, the church in Philadelphia. The serendipitous connection was clear.

Halley belabored the idea that the Philadelphia church withstood the persecutions of the day by staying true to God’s Name and Word. He cited modern day examples of persecution in other countries, reflected on his own minor ethical choices to follow God, and exhorted the congregation to ‘hold on’ to the faith even in tough times.

Which got me thinking about persecution. Halley had said something that is often said from American pulpits. Something to the effect of, “Thank God that we have the freedom to worship freely here in the States,” and he went on to note the lack of persuction here. Which I wonder about…

In other countries are Christians persucuted solely because they are Christian? For that matter does any sect, faction, group endure suffering solely because it is what it is? I think not, let me elaborate.

Consider the history of race in America. Slavery and segregation did not just happen because blacks were blacks, rather there where economic, social, and political  factors that encouraged and maintained this oppression. Likewise the persecutions endured by the early church were at times financially driven (consider the silversmiths in Acts 16) or politically fueled (consider most of Paul’s imprisonments).

Thus my inquiry as to modern day persecution and the lack of it in America. I wonder what systems are at work throughout the world that fuel violence and suffering against Christians. And moreover I wonder if the Amerian church were to be more ought-spoken against such systems and the many wrongs within our own country if there would not be a little more persucution our way (albeit still not on the level of those worldwide, I imagine)

Hmmm. I’m not to sure on any of this, but I’ll post it anyway.

Grace and peace

I confess that it has been far far too long since I updated. Sorry.

So what is what? Let me fill you in:

I have recently finished my year long service in Philadelphia (Mission Year). I decided to return to Akron, explore community there, commit myself to some organizations that work with the poor, find some part time work, stay close to family, and figure out if this ‘mission year’ life is sustainable outside of a program.

So in lieu of newsletters, I am hoping to post more. I have been back in Akron for two weeks and have thought through a great deal. It is my hope to try to process those thoughts and convey them here as best I can.

So my thoughts,

I recently started attending South Street church. This church is significantly different than any other past church I have attended. It is around 60 members and a significant portion of those members are either low-income, ex felons, wives of ex-felons, homeless, or radically concerned about poverty and the urban area. (I thimk it worth noting that I probably fall into the low-income bracket {and worth noting as well that I did land a part time job teaching math at the University of Akron!!}) I enjoy the church alot. I enjoy the presence of the poor there and the openness we try to all have about our own sin and brokenness.

We were discussing some passages at church and someone mentioned Jeremiah 29:11. This is a pet-peeve verse of mine. Jeremiah 29:11 is “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.” This is the verse often seen on coffee mugs or graduation cards. We generally use it as a ‘well God has a plan for you, and its a good plan!’ type encouragement. But when reading through Jeremiah 29 you actually find that this verse is smack dab in the middle of Jeremiah’s letter to the Exiles of Jerusalem, this is a letter to refugees. And what Jeremiah tells them is hard. For 70 years (70 YEARS) they will be exiles in Babylon. Their culture will be challenged if not loss. Their names will be changed. They will be forc ed to learn new languages, and customs. Some will turn from God, others would remain faithful.

And in the midst of that future God gives them Jeremiah 29:11. In the midst of an exile, the Jews are given this promise of God’s plan and our ultimate hope in Him. Likewise, I think of the deset of Egypt. And the Jews that wandered around for 40 years before entering God’s Promised Land.

So what does this mean personally for me? I’m not quite sure. Was Philly the desert and Akron the Promised Land? Is God’s plan for me an exile to another strange land? Am I trying desperately to avoid wandering aimlessly like the Israelites?

I’m not sure.

But what I do know is that both of these stories resound within my spirit. Something about them rings true to me. That God brings us out of places of hardship and into places of plenty (and I’m talking Kingdom plenty here) and that God uses the exiles to refine His people; these ideas ring true. And although I can’t allegorize my thoughts perfectly, nor do I have to, these stories remind me of God’s promise.

And I felt that worth sharing.

Grace and Peace

So I recently changed some of my worksites and am now a teacher/tutor at Hunting Park Christian Academy (think less ritzy private Christian school and more poor parish Catholic school). I tutor the students in math and teach Bible to the 7th and 8th graders (this has been a surprisingly hard task). Anyway, the 8th graders are travelling with Paul and studying his various letters and cities, so I have had to read up on my Pauline epistles; one such review was the book of Galatians (my housemate Lindsey’s favorite book of the Bible).

And while reading and rereading the book of Galatians I happened upon this little gem of a verse that I thought quite applicable to the Church and those who minister. So, without further ado, Galatians 2:0-10

James, Peter, and John, those reputed to be pillars, gave me [Paul] and Barnabas the right hand of fellowship when they recognized the grace given to me. They agreed that we should go to the Gentiles, and they to the Jews. All they asked was that we should continue to remember the poor, the very thing I was eager to do.

So let me add a little context to elucidate why I like these verses. Paul and Barnabas have been called (sent, what have you) to spread the Good News to the Gentiles. Peter, James, and John have been focusing primarily on preaching to the Jews. The whole idea of preaching to the Gentiles was somewhat controversial, but the apostles approved it.

So we end up with two very different ministries going on. One group is preaching to their own, a monotheistic group of dedicated, well-versed Jews, telling them that the fulfillment of prophesies, the Messiah, has come and his name was Jesus. The other group is preaching to the Gentiles, pretty much anyone who wasn’t a Jew. So we have polytheists, pagans, heathens, diplomats, etc. People from different backgrounds and cultures. Two very different ministries. Two very different teachings (in some ways….the whole Jesus thing was kind of a mainstay….).

Yet, there was one call to commonality. Continue to remember the poor. As Peter, John, and James sent Paul and Barnabas out all they asked of them was to continue to remember the poor. They had no specific ministry conditions, they had no set destination for Paul and Barnabas to go to. Their sole condition (according to Galatians 2…) was to continue to remember the poor.

And I love what this implies about the Church. We minister at times to very different groups of people. Some work at summer camps, some serve in nurseries, some go to Philadelphia to work with kids, some go to Africa, some pastor within the church, some teach jr. high, some serve the elderly. Different ministries, different applicable lessons. But there is one consistent calling, continue to remember the poor. And I love this premise. That no matter where or to whom we minister we are asked to continue to remember the poor.

The very thing Paul was eager to do.

But I can understand Peter’s need for a reminder. For we often forget about the poor while choosing our ministry of preference. So Peter asks Paul to continue to remember the poor, no matter who he is ministering to Jew or Gentile.

Because the implication (and truth from Acts 6) is that the Jerusalem church (pastored by James, John, and Peter) was highly involved with helping and serving the poor. And I can imagine Peter (much like I have experienced this year) understanding the Kingdom value of proximity to and ministry with the poor.

So my encouragement to you, wherever you find yourself ministering, continue to remember the poor.

Grace and peace.

There is a verse that is often used out of context in the book of Philippians. It is the 13th verse of the 4th chapter and it reads “I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” I have seen and heard this verse used in reference to sporting events (we can win or perform well since God gives us strength…), academic settings (we can test well since God made our brains…), and a hosts of other situations. However the interesting thing to me is that this verse is set in the context of money. Paul is talking about poverty and affluence, plenty and want, wealth and need.

For the last 8 months or so I have lived in one of the poorer neighborhoods of Philadelphia. I am reluctant to say that I have lived in poverty, because I realize that as Americans we haven’t even come close to the extent of poverty other nations and peoples endure. Regardless (but with a holy regard for those in need around the world), I still consider my neighborhood poor. There are few banks; many of the local businesses are not doing well; the few parks that exist around the neighborhood are ill-kept; the neighborhood children often don’t have things I can recall having as I child (baseball bats, balls, etc.); and there are simply parts of the neighborhood that are trashed (and also parts that are very well kept to give you a fuller understanding).

In stark contrast I have been home in Akron for a week. I had the chance to meet some friends for brunch in a house where one of my friends worked as a nanny. It was opulent (go look it up). And as we (my collegiate friends and I) toured this massive estate we were taken aback by how much there was. The rooms were so big; some rooms were simply for clothes or toys.

And as we caught up a friend, noticing my discomfort with the surrounding plenty, jokingly suggested that I pretend that half of the house wasn’t there. We laughed and continued catching up. But her statement, offhand as it was, stuck with me. Could I simply just pretend that the house wasn’t as big as it was or that the luxuries within weren’t as nice as they were?

I couldn’t. For to me, to ignore the riches of affluence is also to ignore the depths of poverty. To simply pretend that this house wasn’t too large, would be to say that some of the houses in Philly aren’t too small for the 3 generations contained within them. Affluence cannot be ignored or watered down, nor can poverty.

So I have come to this place of discomfort. I find myself uncomfortable when around poverty. (These people have so little!) And I find myself uncomfortable around affluence. (These people have so much!) Even as I come to worship at the church where I grew up, I can’t help but notice the projectors, and fog machines, and sound equipment. And I find myself discomforted wondering if we have lavished ourselves?

And then there’s Paul who says this in Philippians 4

I rejoice greatly in the Lord that at last you have renewed your concern for me. Indeed, you have been concerned, but you had no opportunity to show it. I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

And I find myself at a loss of understanding. This often misused verse of doing all things through him who gives us strength is in reference to economic status. And Paul says that he can live content in either! In fact he alludes that there is some “secret” to being able to be content in any situation!

So I find myself uncomfortable around plenty or want, while Paul says that he can be content in either! What’s the secret Paul? Does the rest of the book of Philippians contain some clues? Does the simple yet powerful mantra of “I can do everything through him who gives me strength” give us sufficient direction and understanding into this secret?

And that’s all I have, this uncomfortable question. This seeking out of a secret. I hope it leaves you somewhat discomforted and that we can together seek out the answer to this mystery.

Grace and peace.

I started the day by overestimating the affect of spring, I wore my Chacos (sandals) today, despite the cold. It wasn’t too bad, but it would prove to be a dire mistake and the start to perhaps one of my most emotionally up and down days of Mission Year yet.

I had oatmeal, read Ephesians, prayed, and then went downtown for a Team Captain meeting at a local coffee shop. I stopped at the Center City to peruse a comic book before the meeting started, but they didn’t have the issue I wanted. I went to the coffee shop early to journal some and collect my thoughts. My feet were cold walking around downtown.

The meeting went well. We gave updates on how our teams were doing, shared how we were doing, and reflected on where we were, where we had been, and where we aspired to go individually and as communities. We shared pastries. My feet were warmer inside the coffee shop.

Another team captain and I spent a little more time downtown with a girl who was interested in doing Mission Year next year; answering questions, sharing experiences, offering insight, and so on. I lamented Mission Year’s no dating policy. I walked the girl and her brother to City Hall, pointed them to some of the local sights, then headed to the Broad Line to go home. My feet were warming with the afternoon weather.

I got home; talked with my roommate, Chris, about a book of his that I am reading (In The Defense of Food by Polland); made a delicious egg/rice/veggie/cheese omelet-type thing for lunch; called some members of the local library to inform them of a meeting; then headed to LOGAN Hope for after-school. My feet felt warm and snug in my summer sandals.

As I walked to school the kids were already outside, so was the school dog, Spanky (yeah, his name is Spanky…..I know….). I let the kids who were done with their homework stay outside, while the other kids who still had homework to do either did it inside or on the porch. I ended up policing the dog and interrogating children as to whether they had actually done their homework. My feet began to sweat in the afternoon sun.

I played tag with the kids in the backyard. I tripped over the dog and landed on cement. There were kids everywhere. My neighborhood friend John Tuck (yeah that’s his name! { I know our names are so similar, its awesome}) stopped by and told me that he wouldn’t be able to go to the Free Library concert tonight, his step children were in town and he had to watch them. I was sad and disappointed, I had really been looking forward to this event and going with John to it. My feet were smelly, dirty, and possibly a little bloody.

I went inside to clean my arm off, two teammates were on the computer; one child sat in the room. I was upset , but returned outside. Dust floated throughout the air. The dirt playground was full of children all claiming to have finished their homework. I ended the games and had the children come to me for instructions. Adam stepped on my toe and bent the nail back. I told the kids to stop climbing on me and to go to their block activities. Kids started to ask to come to first aid class (my class, my least favorite class and one of the hardest parts of my weeks and the reason why I will never teach 3^rd grade). My class had doubled in size, I had other leader’s kids. My toe was bloody and my feet were tired of standing, running, giving piggybacks, spinning, jumping, etc.

I played steal the bacon with the kids. The losing team had to give first aid strategies for staying safe on the playground. It was a madhouse (this may be a slight exaggeration, but that’s how I felt at the time). Kids ran off, the dog came back. We played a different game and I had to discipline the disrespectful and disobedient among the children. They were mad at me. I sat next to one student (one of the disrespectful, disobedient ones) and asked him what was wrong. Why was he being bad? He sat in silence kicking rocks and breaking sticks. I know that his pain goes deeper than the playground, deeper than school or homework, deeper than he knows or can voice. I sit there helpless, knowing not what to say or do. My toe hurts and my feet are covered in dirt and tired of walking this walk.

School ends. I sweep the cement. My feet rejoice in a work that I know I can control.

I mope home. I talk to some of my roommates about my day. Mention a little of my frustration with the kids and how the day transpired. I clean my feet and put on socks & shoes. I go to the porch to sit. I decide to attend the concert/talk anyway. I am already sad that my friend-neighbor can’t go. I figure that I shouldn’t be sad about not going period. I head to the subway station. My feet drag in defeat.

As I walk I consider my friend John. I enjoy talking to him, know he would have had a great time at the concert and that I would have really enjoyed going to it with him. I consider his situation and his responsibility to his step-kids. I realize that I’m not mad at him, just disappointed that things didn’t pan out as we had planned. I realize that I don’t consider John a ministry, or a project, or a mission, or anything of the sort, but as a beloved friend. I celebrate love. My feet graze the SEPTA steps, slightly lighter then when they had begun their walk there.

I bump into my teammate headed to a class downtown. I share with her my realization of love despite broken plans. She smiles. We talk of our days. We discuss a coworker and friend who may be going through a divorce. My heart is heavy for her. I take the express train and part ways with my teammate. My feet instinctively go to the next train and find a seat; blood has caked my toe to the sock.

I arrive downtown. I walk to the Convention Center. It’s huge and beautiful, and I have never been there before. I look at an abstract sculpture; I like it. My teammate Chris arrives. We’re early and get good seats. I am excited to get off my feet and sit down in a comfortable chair.

The event starts. A man gives a plethora of thanks to people in suits. He introduces the mayor. He makes claims that the mayor has been a huge supporter of the libraries. Scoffs are heard from among the audience [let me explain a little bit here, last fall Mayor Nutter wanted to close 11 local library branches in the poorest districts of Philly, the city went nuts in protest, the libraries were saved, but rumors ran rampant that Nutter still wanted to close some of the branches to save money; the event we were attending was a free library event, a concert celebrating the book, The Soloist, a book about homelessness and friendship that all of Philly had been encouraged to read]. His presence was a bitter irony. He also thanked men and women in suits. He then dealt with the elephant in the room. My feet were on edge.

He announced that his administration had just agreed that no library would be closing in Philadelphia and that the pools would be open for the summer. He apologized (sorta, as much as you can expect a politician to apologize) about the fall and celebrated the determination of Philadelphia and its libraries. He thanked the head of the library and asked that we acknowledge her as well. I was on my feet.

The Black Diamond Chamber orchestra performed Beethoven’s 5^th. It sounded fantastic. The Black Diamond is a chamber orchestra dedicated to diversity and the arts, their diverse faces represented the many faces in the audience. My feet tapped to the beautiful symphony.

Sister Mary Scullion (a homeless advocate in Philly) and Steve Lopez (the author of the Soloists) began to speak about the book and their experiences. We had to leave early to make it home in order to talk about another book we had been reading as a house. Downtown was serene and illuminated. We walked in silence; Beethoven’s 5^th in our ears and the sweet victory of the libraries bouncing with each step.

We came home. Rallied the roommates to talk about a book that only half of us had read. I was frustrated. We talked about scheduling instead, then after-school, then visitors, then I voiced some of my frustration. They listened. We prayed. They lay in bed now as I type. It is fifteen after midnight . My toe only hurts when I think about it.

I, therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, urge you to walk worthy of the calling you have received, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, accepting one another in love, diligently keeping the unity of the Spirit with the peace that binds [us]. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope at your calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all. {Ephesians 41-6, italics added}

Grace and Peace

I recently had one of my most enjoyable nights yet in Philadelphia, and figured I’d post about it.(Since apparently I don’t post anymore sorry…)

Philly has One City One Film events where the host a movie screenings at various locations throughout the city and hold discussions afterwards. This is sponsored through the library, which I have been exceedingly more and more involved with. So, I went to one of these viewings (the film was a1996 film about an 80’s graffiti artists named Basquait) with a friend from the library. And the evening was just great. We met up on the subway and talked the whole way down. Stephen, a late 40’s, black, Baptist volunteer told me of his life, travels, misfortunes, and experiences in Philly, and I shared a lot of what I had been up to for my 6 months in the city thus far.

We arrived at the screening, which was hosted in an old church, that now served as a ministry site for downtown homeless and functioned as a discussion hall. (The church was prime real estate, I was excited to see that it hadn’t sold its location and had stuck with the mission!) We ate a free dinner and then enjoyed the movie, and discussed some of its racial features on the way home (Basquait is a black-Haitian artists who befriends Warhol, with rumors of being exploited based on race).

And I truly felt the motive for Mission Year was flushed out this night. Stephen and I, two very different people, simply going to a free, fun event and learning from one another. The meal too was a picture of different colors, classes, beliefs, and walks coming together to eat and watch a film. It was a subtle evening, but it was worthwhile.

And throughout the course of the night, I mentioned to Stephen some of my ideas for next August, he laughed and told me not to worry about it, to enjoy the fact that I’m here now, and to take opportunities as they come. He spoke a word of wisdom I did not expect to receive that night.

And that is the beauty of life hear in Philly (and life anywhere really) is that each relationship, each interaction holds some depth that we often never realize or pursue.

Grace and Peace

I had a great discussion with some of my roommates the other night concerning the discipline of living a certain way for a period of time in order to understand the depths of a rule, lifestyle, culture, etc.

Presently, I have been without the TuckTruck (my black Ford Ranger) for 6 months now (with the exception of a 2 week stay home for Christmas…). To get around Philadelphia I rely on one of three ways.

1.) Public Transit. Subways, trains, buses. I have used them all many, many time while living in Philly. I have had just one experience of a subway breaking down and needing to walk to my destination, and I have also experienced a near hour long wait for the bus (in the cold).  Public transit could warrant a post/reflection in and of itself, but I will have to get to that later…

2.) Getting a ride with someone else. Whether it is a friend from esperanza or church, if we need to get a large group of people somewhere we generally hop into someone’s car or utilize the classic 15 passenger church van. (I have only had a few chances to drive these due to stupid insurance policies…)

3.) And my personal favorite mode of transport in the city: Bicycle! Today I rode to Esperanza (4 miles)  and I will ride back home shortly (another 4 miles)! Philly has bike lanes on some of its street and for the most part is a bicycle friendly city. (With the exception of bikes [or bike seats] being stolen, which isn’t as friendly).

So that is how I get around. More to come…

Grace and peace

Actually it is not always sunny in Philly. It is generally overcast, especially around this time of year. and in keeping with my blogging tradition when it rains, I update my blog (at least this appears to be the trend). And my oh my is there much to update upon!

+Come and See Weekend! This last weekend my sister Lindsey and my friend Anne came to Philly for the weekend to visit and see what life in Mission Year is like (kinda). They visited my community service sites, Esperanza, the medical center in Kensington (www.esperanzahealthcenter.org), LOGAN Hope, my after school program (www.loganhope.org), and quickly walked through Indo-China where I do GED tutoring (I don’t know their web address…). We spent the day Friday being tourists, seeing the Liberty Bell, running the Rocky Steps, walking around Love Park and City Hall, drinking coffee and catching up, and enjoying a great Afghani dinner together at a restaurant (you would think that living in Philly, I often go out to eat, but that is not the case. This was my first time being in a sit-down restaurant in some time). Saturday was a community day true and true. We grocery shopped, attended the Friends of The Library meeting at the Logan Branch, visited neighbors and chatted, and hosted a dinner for neighborhood friends and visiting family, including great games of Boulderdash, home-made hummus, and laughs had by all. They left Sunday after a brief visit to the Cambodian church and I am still uber-glad that we were able to be together.Good times indeed!!

+Friends of the Library meeting! I while back I posted about the Philadelphia libraries and their potential closings. I am excited to post an update now. The libraries are still open, for now. After the initial protest by many within the affected communites and some legal manuevering the libraries were declared ‘untouchable’ until June. The city has dropped its claim, but is reworking some new claim to find the solution to their dire budgetting crisis. And this is where the amazing thing starts, the library is beginning to foster a neighborhood community. At this last local branch meeting of the Friends of the Library, a group of local residents of the Logan neighborhood met together to discuss and dream as to what could be done to not only keep the branch of the library open, but to bring it to a point of community livelihood. The group envisioned programs running from within the basement of the library (a wide open area suitable for any form of community gatherings), they debated volunteer labor to help repair some of the libraries structural flaws, they dreamed of gathering local businesses to help support the library and the library in turn to help the businesses. It was an amazing meeting to sit in, for it was a time when the neighborhood where I have lived in for the last 5 months now, began to dream for itself. I couldn’t have been happier.

More to come ans soon, (i hope)!

Grace and peace

Paul makes a statement in the Bible that I have always selfishly wrestled with. Paul states that he would forsake eating meat if it (paul’s eating meat) caused a brother to sin. This was in reference to meet sacrificed to idols, but the thought has permeated (and rightly so) Christian thought. The idea is that if some action causes someone else to sin, then in love you would forsake that action.

So in the back of my mind I fear that one day I would have to stop eating wings, or forsake a delicious steak because it caused a brother (or sister) of mine to stumble. (This is generally why I ask vegans and vegetarians why they choose the diet they choose). Well I have not given up meat, but I did forsake something that I haven’t missed for quite sometime.

This last Sunday, I missed the Superbowl. I didn’t see any of it. No commercials either.

And it wasn’t because the Steelers were playing and as an avid Cleveland fan I didn’t watch in protest. No, I didn’t watch the Superbowl, because there is a friend of mine, here in Philly, that has a gambling problem. So we (myself and other friends) forsook the Superbowl and all its game-day glory for a night of food and video games.

There wasn’t a high degree of spirituality about the room as we played and laughed together. We didn’t;t discuss the deep things of God, but there was a spirit of love. It went without words that the Superbowl wouldn’t be flipped on for a second just to see the score, or that we would watch just the commercials. No, throughout the whole night, we played with the understanding that in love, this was the better choice.

Love is hard. It is costly. It would have been easy to watch the game elsewhere, but I found it invaluable to be there with my friend and to not watch the game at all. For I would rather cast it off entirely, then to cause a brother to sin.

Grace and peace