Reflections on the Use of Guns

One week ago today there was a shooting on my block, just a few houses down from where I live. I had been home alone for a while that Friday evening, cooking dinner, relaxing, and actually writing a blog post that never made it to the web. I heard shouting out on the street for a while, which isn’t uncommon. The distance to the other side of our one-way street is short, so people often shout from porch to porch. Even the fact that they were angry shouts wasn’t all that uncommon.

But it was disconcerting to me that the shouts persisted for 25 minutes. At one point I glanced out of the large window in our front door just to see who it was. I didn’t recognize anyone except one of our neighbors who was on her porch across the street from me. She has called herself the “unofficial block captain,” so I was put at ease to see her out there, even if she was just observing the same as me.

I went back to blogging, briefly praying for peace to reign on my block and in Southwest Philly. Not long after, three of my teammates came home, excited to share a funny story from their experience on the trolley ride home. They took turns sharing parts of the story, and we were all laughing.

Then came the shots, several of them. It’s hard to know, but between 7 and 12 shots rang out. Our first reaction was to shut off the lights and run upstairs to the back room of house. We alerted the police and the rest of our teammates who were potentially making their way home soon. Rattled, we prayed together and eventually went to sleep with heavy hearts, wondering who may have been affected by the gunfire.

The next day we saw a police car parked outside the house of a neighbor we know well. You may remember the story from one of my newsletters about a woman who couldn’t believe that we would host a dinner just especially for her and her family. It was her house, where she lives with her husband, two sons (one 22 and one in high school), 10ish-year-old daughter, and four-year-old grandson. We were surprised, because for the most part this family keeps to themselves. We were immediately afraid that the bullets, which had shattered the storm door, had injured any of them, but especially one of the young kids that we play with regularly.

We heard about what happened through the eyes of various neighbors. One of our teenage friends told us it was an intra-gang dispute. She knew because she was standing next to the gunman, apparently not older than 23, who told her, “Get down,” before firing the shots. We learned from the father of the house that it was their oldest son who had “gotten into a little trouble,” but that everyone was okay.

The mother attended our Christmas party later that weekend and told us that her oldest son was shot in the arm, but that he was okay. She told us about how the police offered to take her to the hospital, following the ambulance, but instead went to the police station to question her. After she refused to answer any questions, they eventually took her to her son, the gunfire victim, who was handcuffed to the hospital bed while receiving treatment. Although we were saddened and disgusted by the story she had to share, we were relieved to hear that the physical harm was not extreme.

Our team has spent a lot of time processing these events. There are so many facets. What if I had called the police to break up the dispute in the street before it got violent? What if the trolley had dropped off my teammates a little bit later, so that they would have been walking home when it happened? What if the bullets hit some other part of his body? What kind of trauma would this cause our friend who witnessed it? What if the kids had been playing in the living room? How were we to respond in love to our neighbors’ situation?

Our conversations have not answered every question. But they have revealed the power of guns to turn an emotional response or impulse into a life-changing or life-ending event. From my understanding, the young man with the gun wanted to set his friend straight. In a moment of pride, vengeance, and anger, he pulled out a weapon. Frustrated that his point hadn’t yet been made after 20 minutes, he resorted to use of a deadly weapon.

It’s often said that people, not guns, do the killing. As someone who appreciates technicalities, that saying is technically true. There many, many factors that contributed to this complicated situation, but had the young man not been holding a gun, his fit of pride and vengeance probably would not have ended the same way. I don’t write this to make a political statement. (Frankly, I'm annoyed that most readers can't absorb this without politics coming to mind.) I write to lament that such life-threatening power is afforded to emotion and impulse by guns. I never want my emotions—be they anger, pride, envy, fear, or protection—to be so powerful as to take life. I don’t trust myself—or anyone really—to augment raw emotion with the power to kill.

It’s not worth it.

Please join me in praying for my neighbors affected by gun violence last week and those around Philly affected by it almost daily. Pray for the gunman on my street and all those that resort to gun violence. Pray for a society that trusts deadly force to impulse and emotion. Pray for violence of all kind to end.

Litany of Humility

It has been a crazy week--there is a lot going on at work and there's a lot going on in our church and neighborhood. Although there is much that I would love to write about, I offer you this week the words of another. This prayer by Rafael Cardinal Merry del Val (1865-1930) was first introduced to me at the solitude retreat a few weeks ago. I have returned to it often since then because I constantly need to be reminded that I am here as a learner: in my neighborhood, my work site, my church, my home, and even on the street going to and from these various places! I am a learner, not considered higher than anyone else. This prayer frees my on an inclination to try to be anything else. Please pray it for me and with me.

Litany of Humility

O Jesus! meek and humble of heart, hear me.
From the desire of being esteemed ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being loved ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being extolled ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being honored ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being praised ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being preferred to others ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being consulted ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being approved ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the fear of being humiliated ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the fear of being despised ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the fear of suffering rebukes ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the fear of being calumniated ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the fear of being forgotten ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the fear of being ridiculed ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the fear of being wronged ... Deliver me, Jesus.
From the fear of being suspected ... Deliver me, Jesus.
That others may be loved more than I, ... Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be esteemed more than I ... Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That, in the opinion of the world, others may increase and I may decrease ... Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be chosen and I set aside ... Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be praised and I unnoticed ... Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be preferred to me in everything ... Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should … Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.

A Helpful Analogy for Understanding Privilege

It started with a simple question of one of my new friends: “May I try on your glasses?” This is sometimes a fun exercise—see how blind your friend is and see how you look with their frames on your face. We got a good laugh out of both of those things, but it also served as a reminder of something I had realized before but had forgotten—I have really good vision! That was brought (back) to light for me when, within our conversation, one of my other friends mentioned that she wears contacts.

Apparently a lot of people wear contacts. This is something that usually catches me by surprise. As someone with really good vision, I assume that anyone who isn’t wearing glasses also has really good vision. Who knew that I am pretty much the only person that doesn’t require the constant assistance of vision correction? Certainly not me! Had it not been for this conversation, one that I now remember I’ve had before in other contexts, I would have gone on believing that every non-glasses-wearing person had vision as good as mine.

This conversation becomes a helpful analogy for understanding privilege. Just so we’re on the same page, Google defines privilege as, “a special right, advantage, or immunity granted or available only to a particular person or group of people.” In the conversation recounted above, I realized that good vision is a privilege I enjoy. Not everyone shares it. It’s advantageous. And I didn’t ask for it; it was granted to me by genes and probably diet or lifestyle at some level too.

But I didn’t realize that I enjoyed it until I engaged with someone who did not. In the context of my friendship, I tried on a pair of glasses and saw what my vision-impaired friend sees every day without them: an indecipherable, fuzzy, blurry mess. Without knowing him, and without a trusting relationship, I never would have been able to learn what it’s like to see without the privilege of vision.

Vision, or able-bodiedness in general, is just one category of privilege that I enjoy. Some of my other privileges:

• I’m white.
• I’m male (anatomically), identify as a man, and am heterosexual. All three of these together is a bonus privilege.
• I’m of average size and stature (for a white man).
• I’m Christian. (Although it’s debatable as to whether or not our society still values this, it affords me a certain cultural foundation that is still beneficial.)
• English is my first language—Standard American English, at that.
• I’m a U.S. citizen by birth. And I live in the country where I have citizenship.
• I come from a comfortably middle class family.
• I have a college education from a school with at least a little bit of name recognition.

I don’t pretend to have a comprehensive list here, but I think you get the picture. If not, then let me say this: I haven’t yet encountered a form of privilege that I don’t enjoy.

Allow me to ride this vision analogy a little bit further. When I took off the glasses, I had a headache for a moment. My system was confused, in shock from the new perspective I gained by peering through my friend’s lenses. It’s disorienting and frustrating and often hurtful to realize that you have privilege, especially when you learn that it’s at the expense of others who don’t share that privilege.

But I’ve also learned that it’s okay to enter into that pain, learn from it, and become more aware. Although my vision may indeed get worse with time, most of my privilege will be with me forever. Like the glasses, I won’t ever be able to take it off. And that means it can be easy to forget or overlook in the future. Remember, I’ve had the realization that I have great vision before! But my privilege acts as a blinder (excuse the pun) to the fact that others don’t go through life in the same way that I do.

One last thing to note—I made jokes about my friend’s need for glasses as I learned about his different experience: “Wow! You’re really blind!” Although jokes can sometimes help to alleviate pain, they usually end up causing pain, too. I say this addressing two crowds: those with privilege and those without.

To those with privilege, know that you are always walking on eggshells as you take this journey of growing awareness. Remember, your privilege blinds you to all kinds of stuff you never imagined, like the fact that people wear contacts! Be ready to hear these things, and don’t make excuses. (e.g. “He’s just playing the race card.”) In that vein, I’m aware that I’ve probably offended someone as they’ve read this blog post. But I’m ready to receive that, and in the context of a trusting relationship, have a conversation that will bring understanding and deeper awareness.

To those without as much privilege, please have grace with us who do. We need a lot of it to figure all this stuff out. Please, please keep raising our awareness whenever you can, but always take the time and space you need when we do things that are offensive.

Although I walked into Mission Year aware of a lot of my privilege, I’m still encountering it in new ways all the time. But it’s not just about awareness. The next step is learning to leverage my privilege for those who don’t share it, in a way that’s dignifying to them. That’s what a lot of my Mission Year is, so this won’t be the last discussion of privilege. Watch for more on privilege, especially racial privilege, in future blog posts. 

Thanksgiving

As we approach Thanksgiving, I offer some thanks for these experiences I (probably) would not have had were it not for Mission Year:

• I’ll start with the obvious: I moved to Philadelphia and took up residence in a row house with six other people I didn't know.
• Raised $10,000+! (If part of it came from you, then thanks!)
• Volunteered over 250 hours.
• Hand-washed laundry for the first time because I had waited a month and ran out of clean underwear.
• Became an urban biker, turning my 30-minute (one-way) trolley ride into a 30-minute workout!
• Fasted from technology for 8 weeks and simplified my use of technology thereafter. (Read more here.)
• Tried water ice, a Philadelphia frozen treat.
• Had the thought, “In this setting, I’m the only white man,” about once a day.
• Went without a shower for three days for lack of heat or hot water on a cold winter weekend.
• Wrote out a covenant with my teammates. (Read it here.)
• Got a library card at the Free Library of Philadelphia…and paid $3.00 in overdue fines. That’s 5% of my monthly stipend!
• Earned back one of those dollars by eating a whole onion, raw and covered in chocolate. (Don’t ask.)
• Saw seven of my neighbors join my church, Grace Christian Fellowship. (Read more here.)
• Developed enough cooking skills to look into the fridge and come up with a decently tasty dish with what I found there.
• Worked through conflict with a teammate derived from a game of Monopoly.
• Spent a day on the streets with new homeless friends. (Read more here.)
• Embraced regular solitude, silence, and new prayer practices. (Read more here.)
• Mastered SEPTA, or Southeast Pennsylvania Transportation Authority.

I am thankful for all of these experiences, and they are just the tip of the iceberg. They don’t begin to explain the spiritual experiences for which I am so much more grateful. It’s only been a couple of months, but I already have much for which to be thankful.

I am also thankful for you, who follow my blog and support these experiences and others through prayer, letters, financial gifts, phone calls, and other encouragement. Keep it coming, and offer a prayer of Thanksgiving for what the Lord is doing in Southwest Philly this year.

100s

My service site for this year is the Center for Digital Inclusion and Technology at People's Emergency Center  (PEC) in West Philly. We help "bridge the digital divide" by providing access to technology and high-speed internet to those who otherwise have difficulty doing so. Part of my responsibilities include coordination of our after-school programs, including one for 5th-7th graders called Tech St@rs.

The students watch interactive video modules online that teach computer basics, such as the parts of a computer, typing skills, email protocol, internet safety, and word processing. After completing all of the videos over the course of the semester, they receive a free refurbished computer.

One of the sixth graders in the program has been hanging around PEC for a while, since he lives along the main business corridor that PEC is dedicated to revitalizing. He often comes into my office to hang out, even on days when he doesn't have class.

A couple of weeks ago we were talking about his progress with the videos, and he mentioned that he had only earned one score of 100 on the quizzes embedded in the modules. I encouraged him to strive for higher grades than "just passing," and told him that his 100 was proof that he could earn more. He replied that he wasn't someone that earns 100s, and I continued to encourage him to try for more.

One day this week he came and said, "Today I got TWO 100s!" I affirmed his new realization that he is indeed someone who earns 100s, especially when he aims to do so.

Such small victories for "my kids" are so crucial as they grow up in a society that tells them that they can't--and won't--achieve anything. Yes, taken as a whole, Philadelphia's schools are terrible. But they have bright kids who need only a little bit of encouragement and a standard of excellence, and they can achieve as many 100s as they want.

A Day in the Park

On Saturday the Mission Year teams in Philadelphia embarked on a retreat of solidarity with those experiencing homelessness. We went into Center City, Philadelphia’s downtown area, broke off into pairs, and visited several parks that several folks call their homes. Our goal was simply to talk to people. We took nothing with us: no clothes, blankets, hygiene products, or food to donate, realizing that such items create a position of power. With nothing to give but ourselves, we ventured into new relationships.

I was paired with Matt, one of the guys from another Philly team. At our first destination, we spent some time observing interactions within the park. This stillness in the midst of a busy city center felt uncomfortable at first. Most people had some objective, some place to go. Our discomfort quickly slipped away, and we began to appreciate being in the city with nothing to do. We soon realized that was an important step toward solidarity with those experiencing homelessness.

Our first two friends were a pair of old white men who came to the U.S. from the British Isles several decades ago. They have both been on the streets for a long time and when they me a few months ago they appreciated each other’s company enough to stick together. We enjoyed several hours talking to them, and learned about a simple life comprised of Sudoku, spending retirement checks on motel rooms, finding bars that allow you to watch soccer games, and behaving enough to be able to use the bathroom at Barnes and Noble.

We continued with a few more interactions like this, and gave away our simple bag lunches to a diabetic women who panhandled to buy her insulin needles. My most meaningful experiences came toward the end of our day. Matt spotted a large concentration of homeless folks off the beaten path from the more touristy parks where we had spent much of our day. Still very much exposed to the view of the public, we stumbled upon the hang-out spot (and, at night, bunking area) of about 60 people experiencing homelessness: men, women, black, white, young, old. Somewhat weary from the day, we entered the space not intending to interact any longer but to just be there and observe.

Matt and I picked different corners and sat down, positioned to see and experience as much as we could. Soon after I sat down (and curled up as much as I could to curb the cold), I was twice approached by a man asking if I was “looking to earn a couple of dollars.” He thought I was. Not long after I told him I wasn’t interested, another man asked me if I knew the schedule of a local homeless ministry. He, too, assumed I was homeless. Although many would be offended, and in other context I may have been, in this case I was pleased! As a college-educated white male, my interactions in Mission Year are often colored by the power my physical features and speech patterns communicate. But not this time. The only people who hung out where I was had no other place to go, or they came to give out food. Because I had nothing to give and I wasn’t going anywhere, I had to have belonged.

This location is known for its homeless crowd, so folks often pull off from the busy road and pass out donations—usually food. Having given away our lunches, Matt and I got in line when one group set up a table to distribute brown bag lunches and hot drinks.

In line in front of me was a younger white man, whom I assumed was weathered by many nights on the streets. He turned around and asked if we were also living in that area. When we said, “no,” he assumed we were volunteers. We left our status ambiguous, hesitant to reveal that we were accepting donated food to join in solidarity with those who live off donations, an admittedly controversial position to be in.

His spirits were low, so he didn’t say much, but I could sense a desire for interaction. Just a few minutes into our conversation, sparse with words, he had shared that this was in fact his first week on the streets of Philadelphia. Kevin was his name, and he had recently moved into his mom’s house, trying to get away from his heroin-addicted brother. When he relapsed into his own “habit,” his mom kicked him out. He went to the only place he knew he would be somewhat safe, fed by donations, and free to figure out if he wanted to check into rehab.

This story was hard for me to swallow. I had never met anyone who had used hard drugs, much less been addicted to them (at least not that I knew of—I’m sure there’s been someone…). But he was so simple, kind, and warm. It broke my heart to see Kevin in this place, and I knew so little of what I could do to help. So Matt and I did what we could. We shared a meal with him. Having received the same donated food as him, there was no power dynamic to our interaction with him. We just ate lunch together and raved about how much we appreciated a warm drink in our hands. We didn’t even say much. We didn’t offer the Good News of Jesus or even a word of encouragement. Although sometimes I wish I had verbally communicated some hope for his life, I sill appreciate the utter simplicity of our meal together.

As much as it pained me to hear Kevin’s story, it hurt so much more to walk away. I wanted so badly to stay and offer the only thing he needed: solidarity. Lonely, uncertain, and afraid, Kevin needed a friend at this confusing time in his life. Matt and I could provide that for the duration of one meal, but Kevin needs it for a lifetime. Alas, our retreat was ending, and we had to return to the group to process our experiences together.

A sign a created in response to my day, expressing how I felt about it.

I still don’t know what to think of my experiences that day. I don’t have much time to return and offer much more to Kevin than my prayers, and I do that often. He mentioned that he was considering checking into rehab, so I pray that he can overcome addiction. I pray that he will encounter the Living God, the only entity larger than his addiction.

He also mentioned that he wants something better for his kids, although he doesn’t have any kids. He spoke of his future kids—kids he would have after he got his life together. I pray for his hope of a better life to intensify and be fueled by faith in Jesus Christ.

I ask you to join me in prayer for Kevin, and all the others in his position, in Philadelphia and in cities around the world. 

Team Covenant

The following is the covenant that I and my teammates strive to uphold in our lives:

We the Southwest Philly Team—Priscillia, Sophilia, Denise, Walter-Levi, Preston, and Nichole, in accordance with our commitment to Jesus, hereby commit to uphold the following:

·         Edifying each other through speech (Ephesians 4:29, James 1:19)

o   Not partaking in:

§  Gossip

§  Sarcasm

§  Racial Jokes

o   Encouraging and affirming each other

o   Being quick to listen and slow to speak

·         Sustaining our community through committing to intentional relationships. (Galatians 5:22-23)

o   Out-serving one another

o   Extending grace and mercy

o   Self-care

o   Ensuring that our home is a safe space for daily interaction

o   Celebrating victories and mourning losses

o   Biblical conflict resolution

§  Being present

§  Staying in the midst of conflict

§  Addressing all conflict

o   Having fun

·         Maintaining the values of the technology fast.

o   Sustaining a lifestyle of simplicity

o   Being present in conversation and group activities

o   Embracing solidarity with our neighbors

o   Learning to rely on each other as our main support system

·         Transformation of our neighborhood through:

o   Upholding and adding to the dignity of our neighbors

o   Building relationships

o   Pursuing sustainable community and justice

o   Utilizing a multiplex model to build community connections

o   Empowering our neighbors and encouraging their dreams

We commit to uphold the key pillars of the Mission Year program: community service, church partnership, relational impact, justice, Christian community, spiritual discipline, simplicity, and diversity. In doing so, we embrace one another as a family and, to us, family means loving each other in a way that nobody gets left behind or forgotten. We will spur one another on towards God, in faith (Hebrews 10:24-25), to fulfill this covenant. Furthermore, we commit to reviewing this covenant with each other regularly.

A Halloween Tale

On Halloween we opened our house up to our neighbors for a party. We planned to have cookies and different colored icing and other edible festivities with which to decorate them. We also grabbed some hot chocolate and snacks so that our neighbors would linger and hang out with us if they wanted to, rather than collecting candy and moving on.

I was one of the first ones home on Halloween, and I started the process of baking the cookies, with just a couple of hours before we expected guests. I cranked up the oven and pulled out the cookie mixes to have them ready for my teammates who would be coming home soon.

As they filtered in, the kitchen was abuzz with activity, with some whipping icing, some mixing up cupcakes, and others scooping out cookies onto trays. In the midst of this, the oven was slowly heating up, readying itself for our goodies. As it became sufficiently heated, we began to hear some sounds emerging from the oven—scratching sounds. I’ll be honest: we have a mouse that likes to nibble on items left out in the open. So our first thought was—there’s a mouse in our oven! As the oven continued to heat, we heard more scratching that confirmed our suspicions—something was inside our oven and trying to get out!

I alerted our team to the predicament so that we could figure out what to do with the situation. Soon it began to smell very foul—the stench of burning mouse flesh in our oven! We debated letting it out, but decided that we really wanted the mouse terminated, even if it meant having to clean out our oven later.

So we cranked up the heat. And the scratching stopped. And the smell got worse.

With no time to fully process our destructive actions, we finally turned off the oven, farmed out our baking projects to our neighbors, and lit candles to hide the smell. All the while, trick-or-treaters streamed by our house, and one commented, “Mmmm! It smells like bacon!”

Finally we corralled the courage to open the oven and examine the remains of the mouse. We found not blood or guts or singed hair, but two piles of goo, one lime green, and one royal blue! What kind of mouse leaves such remains? At closer examination, we realized that we had not torched a mouse, but melted two bowls of pumpkin seeds we had baked the night before! They had been placed in the oven to protect them from the furry friend in question. Needless to say, we were confused, disappointed, relieved, and annoyed. If only we had peeked in to see that the scratching sounds were not the paws of a mouse but the pop of pumpkin seeds and plastic! We should have listed to our neighbors when they told us a mouse would stick around once the oven was turned on…

We had little time to deal with melted plastic, which had ruined our oven for the night. We pressed on with party preparation, welcoming guests and resolving to deal with the oven later. It was a great party, with several new neighbors coming to decorate cookies! We especially had a lot of new teenagers come over, a group that isn’t usually out on the block like many of our other neighbors. We also had to kick several kids out at the end of the party because they wanted to stay later, coloring and munching on snacks.

Despite melted plastic and the kitchen confusion that followed, we had a blast on Halloween, hanging out with our neighbors of all ages!

Reflections on Solitude

Last weekend my team gathered with the two other teams in Philly to take a retreat of silence. We drove about 2 hours out of the city, past the suburbs, to the hilly countryside of rural York County, PA (on the other side of Lancaster County). Recently we’ve been reading Henri Nouwen’s book The Way of the Heart, in which he discusses the practices and stories of the Desert Fathers (and Mothers) who retreated from society in the 200s to seek the Lord with the whole of their lives, uninfluenced by the tainting effects of the world. We have discussed what we can learn from such communities and have adapted practices like a daily quiet hour every morning to allow space for solitude in our otherwise busy schedules.

These are elements of Mission Year that have been a pleasant surprise. There are many reasons I applied to MY: relocation to an under-resourced neighborhood, living in Christian community, cross-cultural church experience, work experience in a non-profit…but spiritual disciplines has surfaced as a bonus to my MY venture!

This retreat served as a culmination of all that we’ve learned so far about ancient practices in solitude. As an introvert who uses solitude and isolation often to rest and recharge, I entered the retreat excited to engage in some of the new practices I’ve learned about.

Early on in the twenty-four hour retreat I realized that I have mastered the physical aspect of solitude. I fully participate in the busy-ness of our society, and as an introvert I cope with it by retreating to my empty room. I often choose the comfort of a quiet room to the stimulation of a crowd. I’ve grown very comfortable with hanging out with just myself. While others on the retreat expressed discomfort with silence or isolation, it was normal for me.

I may have mastered the physical aspect of solitude, but the busy-ness I faced at the retreat was busy-ness of my mind. Usually in my introverted isolation, my main task is thinking. I’m constantly figuring things out, and I find peace in the solutions I come up with. Often in prayer I struggle to steady my mind and thoughts. I am so used to racing through ideas that I often find myself trying to remember how I digressed so far from the starting point. I realized that I use practices such as journaling, scripture study, and praying from lists to help focus my thoughts. I avoid open, unstructured practices because I know my mind will leave them.

Considering these things, I prayed “I need a solitude that is not so selfishly about me figuring things out. Lord, open me up, out of my head, to encounter you—not me—in solitude.”

The hours that followed were filled with practices such as breath prayer, prayers from the saints, and assuming physical positions to express the attitudes of my heart. I spent time (lots of time) clearing my mind and when I finally did, I asked, “What next?” My runaway thinking patterns finally subdued, I wanted to do something with the silence of my mind! In the face of my persistent busy-ness, I sought more patience and contentment with simplicity of prayer. I had to accept the idea of having no agenda to my time except to empty my mind.

I am excited for this process. The retreat gave me time to explore things I’ve wanted to do for a while. And ultimately my question, “What next?” is not entirely foolhardy. Nouwen writes that the objective of solitude is what he calls “prayer of the heart,” which forms and re-forms the one praying. I concluded the retreat excited to keep pushing toward transformation through prayer practices. I have committed time each week on my Friday Sabbaths to these practices, seeking the ‘way of the heart.’ As you pray for me and my team, pray not just for relationships or safety or opportunities to love others. Pray also for the formation of our hearts through encounter with God in prayer.

Grace to Grace, Part II

Last time I reflected on ways that the Lord has changed me to be more open to new ways of worshipping and new ways of conducting worship services. (Read it here!) When I first sat down to write, I didn’t intend to elaborate so much on that journey. My first thought was to rave about how awesome my new church is. That spurred me to consider how crazy it is that I think so highly of my church, considering my background. It represents in many ways how my values and comfort zones have shifted. But I return now to my original thought: how much I love Grace Christian Fellowship in Southwest Philly!

My new church, GCF, follows the same spirit of freedom and fluidity at Grace Midtown, so much so that a few Sundays ago Pastor James scrapped his sermon in the middle of service! The normal flow of service includes musical worship, scripture readings, greetings and announcements, selections from the choir, and the sermon. Although in that description it may seem formal, the atmosphere is not. It often feels more like a group of friends gathered for a weekly sports event than a service. They all know what’s going on, but they are all free to engage with it however and whenever they please. For instance, there are many services where we are never instructed to sit or stand. Folks just do what’s comfortable for them: sit, stand, clap, shout, dance, raise arms, shake fists, etc.

On this particular Sunday, we had spent ample time in musical worship, had heard from the choir the usual two times, and before Pastor James got up to speak, he invited one of the members to share her testimony. She shared that she was several years clean and sober, finished with her schooling (with straight As!), and completing her final training for a job in the medical field. She praised God for redeeming her, and the church celebrated her victories in song. As the music continued, she began to dance and march in place, overcome with triumphal joy at the victory.

Following the lead of the Spirit, the church continued to clap, dance, sing, and shout in celebration. If they were like me, they began to reflect on their own stories of redemption while celebrating with hers. As the praise rolled from song to impromptu song, I began to add up the time left in the remaining elements of the service—having not yet started the sermon, we probably had another hour left. And at that point we were an hour and a half into the service! Whereas a former Preston would have been annoyed at such a realization, the new Preston didn’t care and kept on clapping.

Pastor James, seeming to know my thoughts, soon reassured us that he wouldn’t be delivering his sermon. On that day, following the Lord’s leading meant celebrating a testimony. He later shared with our team that he started the church with a hope that people would be able to share deeply and honestly, and share difficult stories from their lives that that they had carried with shame and embarrassment. He said something like, “Most churches—my old church—would have shaken their heads at such a ‘shameful’ story, as if they didn’t have similar skeletons. But at Grace, we can celebrate prostitutes, addicts, and dealers being transformed.” Some—my former self included—may shake their heads at how our time was spent that Sunday. We didn’t even hear the sermon! Why would we go to church, except to learn from the Bible? Sure, it’s great to celebrate transformation…but for an hour?? Maybe these are valid concerns…maybe. But I think heaven is a little bit less like a Bible study and a little bit more like a rave, where for all of eternity we will celebrate transformation in Jesus’ name.

Praise God for helping me to appreciate a place with values different from those I grew up with! Praise God for transformation, both of the black, female drug addict from Southwest Philly and the white, male PK from North Charleston. 

Grace to Grace, Part I

This week I want to write a little bit about my church in Southwest Philly, Grace Christian Fellowship, mostly because last Sunday was such an exciting week! I didn’t know it, but the Lord has been preparing me for a long time to be so comfortable and energetic about our church.

Growing up, I went to a small, white church where we sang hymns in a reverent service full of instructions like “please rise” and “you may be seated.” In high school I upgraded from a service with an organ to one with an electric guitar, where some people raised their hands or bounced in place. I felt the Spirit while the music played, but for the most part if I wasn’t singing or praying I wasn’t really engaged with God. This was my comfort zone: a structured, ordered service and a reverent, calm environment with white people who spoke English, most of them with a slight (or thick…) Southern accent.

As with so many aspects of my life, four years in college challenged my church comfort zone. My involvement in InterVarsity Christian Fellowship and my commitment to Grace Midtown Church gave me opportunities to explore new ways of interacting with God.

InterVarsity opened my perspective to the multi-ethnic beauty of Christ’s Bride, the Church. Before, I would have labeled a spiritual, a chant, a liturgy, a call-and-response sermon, or song in another language as something strange, weird, or perhaps inappropriate, but at least “not for me.” Studying passages of scripture like Revelation 7, Acts 10, and Ephesians 2 helped me to understand God’s design of a reconciled, multi-ethnic church. Engaging with God through other languages, cultures, and styles of teaching became a hobby of mine.

InterVarsity helped me theologically to appreciate and even celebrate difference, but I still wasn’t fully comfortable engaging with God outside of the way I first learned how. That process happened some in InterVarsity as well, but mostly at church.

In my shophomore year of college, I began attending Grace Midtown Church. I was drawn to it for several reasons, including the newness and freshness of the ministry model, its solid Bible teaching, its heart for the city of Atlanta, and—what I will discuss in detail here—the worship. If you’ve ever been there, then it’s obvious why, but for those who haven’t, it’s not so much the music style or selection that makes it so powerful. It isn’t the skill of the vocalists or musicians. While those elements are strong, it’s the heart of the worship that makes it so transformative. Worshippers are free to engage with the Lord however they see fit: standing, sitting, kneeling, prostrating, dancing, journaling, shouting, praying in the corner—and people do each of those things each week. There were many times when all plans and agendas were abandoned to follow the Spirit into 20 minutes of silence or spontaneous refrains or dance breaks. And if the worship leader reaches the end of the set list of songs and feels there’s still more praise to be given, then he or she will continue with a couple more songs.

This environment helped me a lot to be comfortable with others interacting with God in ways unfamiliar to me. Grace Midtown goes beyond the emotions of a song to a yearning to be with God through the Holy Spirit. And it’s not done just through music. I learned to worship through in posture, prayer, silence, writing, shouting, sharing with a friend, testifying, crying, laughing, chanting, liturgy, scripture, and even speaking in tongues, although I have yet to experience the latter myself. I was so grateful to have Grace Midtown as a playground for my worship so I could become comfortable in any context of worship, whether it be a solemn, structured, liturgical service or a comfortable, casual Jesus jam session on the floor of a living room. This adaptability has released me from judgement and condemnation of things unfamiliar to me. If the name of Jesus is being lifted up, then I can usually join in and engage with God.

With these transformations fresh in my past, I greatly anticipated the element of Mission Year that partnered me with a local church. I was eager to commit to a cross-cultural church experience that would be well outside of what used to be my comfort zone. As you can imagine, the adaptability I learned at Grace Midtown prepared me well for the transition!

My church in SW Philly is Grace Christian Fellowship. I thought it funny that I was going from one grace to another. Read again next week to learn more about how the Lord used my years in college to prepare me for my time at GCF!

Gunshots

This post is about gunshots I heard in my neighborhood one night this week. I hesitate to write about this experience, because I don’t want to reinforce assumptions about my neighborhood: that it’s violent and dangerous and unfriendly. But part of my intention is to analyze those assumptions and what implications they have for our spiritual lives. So for the sake of exploring my transformation through Jesus, I will risk reinforcing your assumptions about my neighborhood.

Here are some reflections paraphrased from my journal the morning after I heard the gunshots:

“Last night as I lay down to sleep, I heard about 15 gunshots. There was a series of several shots, a pause of a few seconds, and then another series of shots. My first reaction was heartbreak and tears. I sat up in bed and was immediately moved to pray for the situation that was probably just 2-3 blocks from my house. I prayed for the victim(s) and the one(s) firing the gun. With no details beyond the sound of shots themselves, I prayed for whatever I could think of.

“This, I thought later in the night, is not the reaction I would have had in the past. To be honest, I have heard gunshots from my home in North Charleston. When I heard gunshots there, my concern was at first for my safety; I was afraid at what could happen to me. I called the police to make sure whatever was happening ‘over there’ wouldn’t spill over to where I was. And, I thought, there was some criminal now on the loose that needed punishing!

“But last night in Southwest Philly, I mourned the situation. It hurt me to know that there was potentially loss of life, that someone had gotten to a point where s/he felt like violence was the only answer, that children lived on that street and were afraid, that my neighborhood would be looked down upon for the sins of a few. Later, when I once more tried to sleep, I was afraid. What if shots came through my window or wall? What if a police chase led the perpetrator to my back yard?

“After sensing my own fear, I was ashamed and returned to mourning: the situation of those directly affected deserved my prayer more than I did.”

Events like these are a part of the Mission Year experience. Something about living amongst the gunshots makes you care more about them. And not just for the victims. We often shun from our prayers those firing the guns, deeming them worthy of judgment and damnation (if not to hell, then at least the death penalty or maybe prison). But I was moved to pray even for the one(s) firing the gun(s).

Being among my neighbors and caring about them has opened my heart from selfish fear to grieving prayer. This is just one (rather extreme) example of how the Lord is using this relocation to transform me. I thank God for the opportunity to experience such transformation.

A Week in the Life of Mission Year

            I hope this blog entry will give you some more clarification about how my life functions while in Mission Year. Our time is rather structured, which at first was difficult for me to submit to, but after one week operating within the structure, I am beginning to see how each component is important to my experience this year. I’ll give you a brief rundown of my week and why each component is included in our schedule.

            Our week starts on Saturday. We spend the morning cleaning our house, which makes me happy. J My team isn’t particularly messy, but with seven people in the house it can get pretty messy in a week. After the house is clean, we go grocery shopping. That’s usually an ordeal. We have planned out all of our meals, so it’s a matter of collecting the necessary ingredients for each meal. We usually try to stay below $100 for all groceries for the week so that later in the week we have a cushion of $17 for anything else we need. The first week was difficult, but this week we actually have food left over, including a 10-pound bag of chicken. Saturday night we host a community dinner, inviting our neighbors to come over. This week we had three teenage girls over who we connected with right away. We had a lot of fun dining together and then played some card games afterward too.

            Sunday morning we go to church, and we have the afternoon free. People usually do laundry, read, hang out with neighbors on the porch, or write newsletters. Sunday evenings we have “points meetings,” which include several key elements: announcements from our team leader, planning groceries for the next week, and one person from our house shares their life story. I’m sharing mine this week. J Sundays we also go through our curriculum. We are all reading a set of books, and during curriculum we go through a set of questions and discuss what we’re reading.

            On Monday we start work at our service sites! I’ll probably post more about mine later, but I’m working at the Center for Digital Inclusion and Technology at an organization in West Philly. I work from 11-6, taking a trolley about 30 minutes north of my house. Even though I start work later, others in my house start at 8:30 and 9. For that reason, we have quiet hour every day at 6:00am. We rotate through sharing a brief devotion (5-15 minutes) and then we spend the rest of the hour in prayer, scripture study, and meditation. I usually take a nap between quiet hour and work. J After work on Mondays, we have a team dinner, all eating together.

            Tuesday is pretty much like Monday, but instead of team dinner we have family night, which looks different each week. Someone different plans it each week, and basically it’s meant to give us time to do something fun together that isn’t too serious. Wednesday we have Bible study at church, and on Thursday we swap between two different activities. Every other week we have training with the two other Philly MY teams, and on the other weeks we have “city-wide,” which has more of a spiritual formation emphasis, still with all MY teams in Philly.

            Friday is our Sabbath! We have nothing planned for Fridays, and we are encouraged to rest, relax, and spent time with the Lord. For your purposes, you probably know it as the day that I get on the internet. We break our technology fast every week on Fridays.

            That brings us back to Saturday! I hope this have given you a good understanding of the flow of my life. The cracks and crevices are filled with reading, journaling, silliness, deep conversations, time outside with kids and their parents, and all manner of other things. It’s a great lifestyle. I encourage you to pick one aspect of it, maybe one day or schedule item, and pray for me and my team. Thanks again for taking the time to read and follow my life!

10 Word Poem

A lot of orientation for Mission Year has focused on identity and living communally across difference. In one recent activity, toward the end of orientation, we were instructed to write a poem that described us or expressed our identity. We could only use 10 words. There were no other expectations or parameters. Just ten words.

Usually I roll my eyes at activities like this, but I've learned over time that it's better to engage with them, even if they seem annoying. I put my pen to my paper and began to process some of the conversations and experiences I've had in the last two weeks, and really over the last four years, when I first really began to consider my identity and its implications for how I interact with society. I ended up liking my poem so much that I'm sharing it with you here! I especially like the simplicity of it.

Maybe later I'll unpack more what I was thinking as I wrote. For now, I'll just leave you with my ten words.

Redeemed white man

Called to reconcile

Finding a voice

Expectant

Redeeming "Missionaries"

A few times I have taken issue with the name “Mission Year,” mostly the “mission” part of it. I’m usually a little uncomfortable being called a missionary. The term can mean different things to different people, but to most people it brings up images of white people in a tribal village in Africa trying to rack up conversion points. That association is painful for me, and it’s one I risk every time I tell someone that I’m in a program called Mission Year.

Although the Africa picture may be a little extreme, I know some of my friends imagine me going door to door in the streets of Philly telling people how they can get a ticket out of hell. No doubt, some of my new neighbors have experienced something like that in the past. One day this week as I was walking in my neighborhood with part of my team, we met a woman on her porch who immediately questioned our presence on her street. (We stick out, if you can imagine.) We were working on creating a map of our neighborhood, one of our orientation activities. As we explained more about what we are doing, including the use of the name of our program, she gave us a sincere and stern warning. Leaning forward in her chair, her eyes widening, she said, “Don’t sell God.” Her tone made it clear that she’d seen the salesmen type of missionaries around before. And they probably looked similar to my team.

Thanking her for the advice, we continued to explain that our intention was to learn how to better love God by loving people, specifically our new neighbors in southwest Philly. Her face brightened up and she sat back in her chair. Our clarification put her at ease and opened up a conversation that lasted about 20 minutes before we headed home for lunch.

Later in the week our pastor spoke at an orientation event. He hosted a MY team last year, too, and when he asked them how he could improve their time at his church, they expressed their discomfort at being referred to as missionaries, similar to my own discomfort. They wanted to dissociate themselves from centuries of colonialism and white ethnocentrism. Understanding their points, he told them that actually it was good for them to be called missionaries precisely because of the history and weight of the term. Especially in a church with many new believers, it was important for him to have “missionaries” that redefined the old term through a lifestyle of love. He sees the only way to rid society of the salesman-evangelist stereotype is to live an alternative “missionary” lifestyle: “If you are the only missionaries my church members encounter, then they have a great understanding of what it means to be a missionary!”

Christians in my generation like to shirk words that have been tainted with the abuse and sin of generations past. The glaring example is distaste for even the label “Christian.” But as my pastor wisely pointed out, rather than change the terminology, we need to redeem it. We have to own the sins of Christians past and live lives of love, which includes cultural sensitivity and ensuring the dignity of our neighbors. (Maybe later I’ll write more about what that looks like for us.)

The mission of Jesus was redemption, and I am excited to redeem the missionary life during my year in Philly. I’m sure my team and I will screw up somehow, but hopefully our neighbors will know our love for them and extend grace to the missionaries on their block this year.

Disconnecting?

Most days when I’m between activities or have a few minutes of time to kill, I turn to my iPhone for entertainment or distraction. Often I will go to my New York Times app to review the latest headlines or read an article that seems interesting. Today I had a moment on the shuttle to do just that and discovered an article discussing a popular YouTube video which drew attention to the fact that human interaction, especially in my generation, is more and more dominated by the presence of 4-inch, hand-held screens such as the one from which I read the article.

Although I encourage you to read it yourself by following this link, it discusses the recent overwhelming tendency to document everything through different social media outlets: “People make dinner reservations on OpenTable; check in on Foursquare when they arrive at the restaurant; take a picture of their food to share on Instagram; post on Twitter a joke they hear during the meal; review the restaurant on Yelp; then, finally, coordinate a ride home using Uber.” But it also discusses pushback against such hyper-connectivity to technology. Some bands are forbidding concert-goers from recording their performances, and some restaurants no longer allow patrons to take pictures of their food. And the video that inspired the article shows dissatisfaction among friends of those recording live performances or posting pictures of food.

I found this article interesting because part of my Mission Year will include embracing a simpler lifestyle that doesn’t include such hyper-connectivity. In fact, I’ll be fasting from all use of technology for the first 7 weeks of my year! Some people ask, “By all technology, what do you mean?” And my response: “All technology.” That means facebook, computer, internet, texting, calling, cell phones, movies—everything. (Yes, I will have my cell phone to use in an emergency, but I won’t be constantly connected to it like I am right now.)

Why the technology fast? Several reasons. Technology can cause many distractions from face-to-face connections. In the MY handbook, it explains that, “Rather than dealing with the issues that you will face as a result of living in a new city and with a community, you will be tempted to ‘escape’ from the issues,” by turning to a movie, a game, or even a phone call to a friend outside of Mission Year. But removing those crutches will help me to remain present in the face of a difficult situation such as a conflict with a Mission Year teammate. 

We also fast from use of technology to be present with those in our new neighborhood, entering into a context that is not as heavily saturated with technology and social media, sometimes because of a lack of access to it. Again, removing those elements from my life will increase my capacity to be present and connect with my neighbors.

Some people can’t handle the idea of completely disconnecting. I must admit that I don’t fully know what to expect. I’m like most people in saying that I appreciate the idea of it, but I’m not sure how it will be to actually practice it. In truth, the principle of being present in my neighborhood means NOT being present with other people that I care about. It will be hard to limit my contact with my family and close friends who are normally just on the other side of a text message or phone call. I’ll even be limited in my ability to engage with friends living in Philadelphia who are NOT in Mission Year. In a way, I’m straddling a line between two worlds.

But the technology fast is not just about denying myself. Disconnecting from one world means connecting to another in new and more genuine ways. The life I have lived so far has not allowed me to connect with a neighborhood like Southwest Philly, and if I'm going to take seriously my charge to love God and love people in that neighborhood, then I need to be fully present and connected to it in every way that I can. I will miss the ability to check my New York Times app for interesting articles such as the one I stumbled upon today. But I think the activities and relationships that will replace it will make it more than worthwhile.

Details!

So here it is! The full and complete answer to the question I’ve gotten so many times, “What will you be doing?”

Well, of course I can’t answer that question fully and completely, but I now have exciting details such as what neighborhood I’ll live in, what church I’ll attend, where I will be working during the week, and who is on my Mission Year team! Take notes so that you have specific people and places to pray for!

Where?

I’m going to live in Southwest Philadelphia (click here for a map)! My neighbors will mostly be African and African-American, mostly working class. Many of the homes there are in the style of “row houses,” where the long, narrow homes are lined up side by side down the block, with a very small front yard and a stoop leading straight to the sidewalk. I will live down the street from my…

…Church!

I will attend Grace Christian Fellowship (visit their website here), “a non-denominational Christian fellowship dedicated to spreading the good news of Jesus Christ and His resurrection to all men, women, boys, and girls.” It has grown from a small Bible study of 22 in the home of Rev. Cean R. James in 2005 to a growing congregation of 250 with a permanent home on Grays Avenue in Southwest Philly. They are committed to reaching the people of their neighborhood with the gospel.

Service Site

I will be serving at the People’s Emergency Center (PEC) (check out their website), an organization that “nurtures families, strengthens neighborhood, and drives change. We are committed to increasing equity and opportunity throughout our entire community. We provide comprehensive supportive services to homeless women and their children, revitalize our West Philadelphia neighborhood, and advocate for social justice.” The services they offer range from emergency, transitional, and permanent housing to employment training, to childcare and healthcare. In addition, PEC is involved in developing and rehabilitating affordable housing and spurring the growth of business in West Philly. They also advocate for policies that protect the working poor and homeless. Although the details are not yet set in stone, I'll be working in the digital literacy programs designed to "bridge the digital divide." (visit the digital literacy website) I'm very excited to join alongside what PEC is doing to pursue change in West Philadelphia!

Finally…

Team Members!

These are the people I’ll be living with for the next year! I am excited to be able to experience so much with them in the next year. We will pray together, be discipled together, eat together, walk together, learn to love in so many new ways, and so much more! Learn their names and faces by visiting their personal donation pages:

Priscilla Bui

Walter Levi Wawra

Sophilia Hubbard

Denise Lee

Nicole Roberts

and my alum team leader, Isabella Fout

Start following their blogs now and over the course of the year get a different angle on my life in Philadelphia, through their eyes!

When?

Here’s my somewhat complicated schedule:

• Visit Atlanta friends August 30-Sept 6
• Mission Year national orientation in Houston Sept 6-Sept 11
• Mission Year Philly orientation Sept 11~Sept 18
• Start living the Mission Year life ~Sept 18!

Thanks so much for praying through these things and taking the time to walk with me along my MY journey.