*shrugs*

Mood:  Stimulated (no, not that way, you sickos)

Music:  Teenage Wasteland, The Who

I think I’ve finally crossed over to the other side of sanity.  This is the prime lesson in being careful what you ask for.  Remember all that talk about taking risks?  Yeah, well.  I’m taking some now.  Silly risks.  Risks that don’t make sense.  If you recall my entry with the bit about the playing the poker chips like it was someone else’s money, that was kind of the start of the avalanche.  I’m walking exposed now.  Oh well.  If I take a hit, I take a hit.  Such is life.  It’s not what I would have chosen, but it’s what is, and what I’m going to have to deal with.  A part of me still thinks ignorance is bliss.

The little water giveaway we did on Saturday was cool.  We just went down to the busstops nearby and gave everyone who wanted some, some water.  Most people were cool with it, which surprised me.  I guess I was expecting people to be reluctant to take water from complete strangers.  I guess I should never underestimate the amazing drawing power of “free.”  We have some water and chips left (we gave away little bags of like Frito Lay potato chips and whatnot)  I think we’re going to go downtown and give the stuff to folks who might be needing it. 

One of the things we have to do for Seminary before we leave is a 3 week class in what they call a cultural immersion.  Either we have to go to Mexico and live in a poor village for a few weeks, or we have to go and live in downtown Denver in homeless shelters for a comparable amount of time.  We don’t get to take any money, we don’t get to take hardly anything with us.  As strange as it sounds, I’m anxious to do it–getting out where people are and walking around in their shoes is something that I want to do.  I’m glad the seminary requires it.  I have to laugh.  I look at the times when I’ve enjoyed doing ministry the most, and it was with the people who I was least like.  Suburban people are too interested in themselves for me.  I know that’s an odd thing for me to say, because I love my comforts as much as the next person, but when you go to Shannon County, SD (long time winner of the “poorest county in the US” title) and help people there, and just live with them for a while, even if it’s only for a few days, it changes you.  You see your little house in the suburbs differently.  When you walk across Wounded Knee, and you see the hills where the US Army had their artillery, and you look down on the empty plain where the Ogallala people were, you can’t help but understand yourself in a new way as you walk the land where they died for attempting to stand up for themselves.  And then, you go back into town, and you see that though the Army has left, the oppression remains, as strong now as it ever was, only this is cultural repression.  The reservation is a strangely divided place–the pride of the people mixed with poverty from the oppression of the place in which they were penned in all those years ago.  The simplicity of their lives mixed with the richness of their tradition and history.   And the despair is so thick in the air, you could almost reach out and grab it. 

A couple of summers ago, I went to a camp for inner city kids for a week.  I was a counselor.  I met all kinds of cool kids.  The camp I counseled was for 8 year olds.  I remember their names, and their faces.  I pray for them often.  I remember Lleyn, who quoted Bible verses from memory that his grandma taught him, and didn’t know where his father was.  I remember, Dylan, and the little tricks he would do to get people to hug him, so desperate for affection.  I remember Malcolm, who at night, would scream out for people to help him, the nightmares of his sleep more than likely a reflection of a hard life.  And I remember Kit.  I remember him often.  I remember picking him up and throwing him around the pond where we swam.  I remember him telling me that his father was in jail.  I remember him telling me that he had to keep himself occupied a lot, because his mom worked 3 jobs to support them.  I remember putting him back on the bus, with the rest of my guys, and then walking to a lonely place and crying for a long time, because there is nothing I could do for them.  If I had my way, I would have taken them all home with me.  And no, I’m not kidding.  Those little guys are in middle school now.  I wonder if they have found good friends, if they still honor the commitments some of them made to God.  I wonder if some of them will die young, as a part of gang violence.  And then I pray some more.

My prayer list is long these days.  There are so many people who have needs.  The horrible thing about America is that we are so rich in material and so poor in spirit.  We keep shouting that our society needs more dynamism and social change, but there is no dynamic or social modification for an amputated soul.  None.  Only God can repair that kind of damage.  And the worst part of it, is that the logical place people should be able to go for that deep level healing is the one place that is least likely to be able to help them.  Churches should be dispensaries of hope, and instead, our churches are only gardens of fractionalism and despair.  Argumentativeness and combativeness.  My prayer list is long these days, but I have a feeling I’m not praying enough.

The amount of work to be done is almost staggering.  It’s too much for a small group to undertake.  But I have hope.  I hope that a day is coming when the church will arise from it’s slumber and find that it is strong, and pertinent in our culture.  I hope that people will step out of their ivory towers and park their SUV’s, and kneel down both in prayer and to lend a hand to their brothers and sisters, whether they believe in God or not.  God never called people to only be kind to those who had the same belief structure.  I hope that the church will get over trying to defend it’s past and be active in the present to preserve the future.  Mistakes have been made.  The mistakes have been overblown and oversold in popular culture.  But not doing what we ought now isn’t going to prove anything.  We have a clear call from the Bible to take care of the widows and orphans, both spiritually and physically, in this world.  And of that demographic, there is no end.  Now if only I can convince people that we need to do this…and convince them so strongly that they will do more than placidly agree, but rather get on their feet and prepare for action….the day is coming.  The faithful have been working for a long time.  A remnant remains.  They need only to be awakened.

I’m sorry, this got way more philosophical than I meant it to, but I’m going to post it as it is.  It’s true.  No reason not to post it.  Blessings, everyone.