Outside the Gates of University City

I love the location of my apartment—situated between some of the poorest neighborhoods in Philly and “University City,” where some of the wealthiest, most privileged students in the country live, learn, and play. The contrast between them can be staggering sometimes: the rich and the poor, the privileged and the oppressed, the white and those of color, the clean and the dirty, those gorging and those starving—so close in proximity, yet so distant from one another.

I have positioned myself to be able to engage in both of those spaces. In my work and church, I am often serving, learning, and worshipping with Philadelphia’s poor. But I am also volunteering with the chapter of InterVarsity Christian Fellowship at the University of Pennsylvania, so I have a foothold in that world, too.

At this point, I’m pretty comfortable in both. I’m used to being me in both of those spaces, and they each offer me a lot, but the two don’t always know what to do with each other. It’s the tension between them that I often find myself navigating.

Like this conversation I heard on my way home from the Penn IV Bible study last Thursday between a group of students I didn’t know:

--You see a lot of people like that on the streets.

--Yeah have you seen the guy down near our apartment? The one that’s always just sitting?

--Yeah! He sits there all day—the one with the red shirt. His eyes are yellow as the sun!

--I mean when I see him, I get worried if he’s going to die in like the next 3 months or something. It’s sad.

--Well he does it to himself. At seven in the morning, with one bottle already down—that’s how you’re gonna spend your day? Where do you go from there?

--I really wonder how much longer he’s gonna live, though. It’s depressing to think about, but it can’t be much longer…

--Nah, those people don’t die. You can’t get rid of em.

This conversation is in itself interesting, one bro-ish student intrigued by and genuinely concerned for a man he sees dying, or at least only minimally alive, the other student wondering why the man can’t pull himself together and make something more of himself. Neither of them is really doing anything about the guy they apparently see all the time.

What makes the conversation more interesting is what we discussed at Bible study right before I overheard it: the story of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16: 19-31), which illustrates exactly the situation of the these students and the red-shirted, sitting man.

Like the rich man in the story, the students probably have way more than they need to survive; they’ll likely have incredibly successful careers and live comfortably, rarely in need. And like Lazarus, the red-shirted man sits right outside their apartment, a social outcast in desperate need. Finally, like Jesus’ story, the college kids know all about the guy who sits there and even suspect he may die soon, yet they do nothing for him.

Wow. Who knew the story could get so real?

I’ve learned over the last few years to love like Jesus loved, to love the poor, who, if they’re like Lazarus, go to heaven just because they live lives of anguish. That’s why I live, work, and attend church in the ‘hood, to have as many opportunities as possible to share Jesus’ love for the poor.

But God is also teaching me to love the rich guys, the college students with access, opportunity, resources, and privilege. The rich man in the story ends up in hell, begging for a touch of water on his tongue to relieve his agony, and although it’s hard to love him based on how he treated Lazarus, it’s also difficult to read about his eternity. Likewise, it was hard for me to love those guys as they talked about the man with the red shirt. It hurt me to hear so little regard for his life. But I don’t like to consider the idea of them sharing the same fate as the rich man in Jesus’ story.

University City is just as much a part of Philadelphia as Mantua, Powelton, or Southwest Philly. Loving this city means loving all of its people and positioning myself between the different worlds within it to pursue reconciliation.

While the conversation I overheard was disheartening, the ones I shared at Bible study were encouraging, with students asking questions like, “Who are the ones sitting outside our gates?” and making plans to bridge those divides by showing love to a neighbor who spends much of his time on the street. At rare moments in this city I get to see people reach across those divides. It’s those moments I love most about where I live.

Like Family

Although I still have three months left in my Mission Year, it's hard not to think about what I will be doing when my year is over in August. Although there are practical things to think about such as where to live and where I might work, I'm also considering the values I want to live by, values that I've learned to practice in Mission Year.

One of those values is intentional community. We talk about it a lot in Mission Year, and I would say it's one of the main components of the program: living with six other people and committing to sharing not just space but experiences, food, money, and a spiritual journey. It's hard. And as I've thought about what that will look like after this year, I've asked the question, "Who are the people that I want to partner with like this in the future?" 

As I reflect on my Mission Year, I'm realizing that that question is a luxury. Because I didn't have that choice coming into Mission Year. I'm thinking now about friends of mine that I know and trust and would want to join with on a spiritual journey in community. But my time in Mission Year didn't afford me that choice. I was simply assigned six people to live with.

Luckily, they all wanted to go on the same journey, so it has worked out. But that doesn't mean that all of us are compatible or even that we like each other. (I'm pretty sure we do all enjoy each other quite a bit, but that hasn't always been the case.) Regardless of how we feel about each other, we are all in the same boat, so we have chosen to be intentional and forge friendships.

But as I looked toward the future, I thought, "This community thing will be so much easier when I'm with more compatible people," with a little bit of resentment that it didn't meet my idealistic expectations. I figured I could meet those expectations if I could just choose the people I lived with in the coming years. But a simple idea helped me to understand just how beautiful my community is this year. I read it in one of my teammate's newsletters, and it clicked for me! 

We're like family.

We have long called ourselves a family. It wasn't a decision we made; it just happened organically. But now as I think more about it, there isn't a more appropriate term. Like a family, we all live in the same (cramped) house. Like a family, we didn't choose each other. And like a family, we are bound to journey through life together--at least for this year. We can't escape those things, just like a biological family! Our ties are maybe not as permanent as a biological family, but many biological families don't stick together for life either. Like our team, most of them move on to the next stage of life without as close of a tie to each other.

We didn't choose each other and sometimes we may not like each other, but we're committed to loving each other with a love that's deeper than just compatibility. And I think we've done that. So here's to my Mission Year family! May we have three more loving months together and a lifetime of knowing that we will always share a familial bond!

Allan and Rasheen

Allan is on the left and Rasheen the right

Today's post is special because I got one of my friends to write with me. He lives down the street from me and sometimes we play together in the street or in my house. I invited him to write somehting to post here so you could meet him. We spend time together on Satureday afternoons, when my housemates and I make sure to spend time with our neighbors. His name is Allan Erwin, but I'll let him introduce himself:

"Hey my name is Allan Erwin. I like to play football. I play for a team also I play mosly on my block. I love to play with my friends there name is Preston Hogue and the other ones name Zamir Feilds also my brother play football with me. that is my life time storey."

These words are from Allan's brother Rasheen. I play with him often when I play with Allan. We always ahve fun together, and wehn we see each other on the street we wave and say hello. Today while they were at our house they helped my housemate Priscillia make muffins for another neighbor, too. Although Allan wrote his "life time storey," Rasheen decided to write a fictional story about him and me:

"Once upon a time there was a boy named rasheen he had no were to stay ntoher to eat or nothing to Drink one year later a Guy named preston came and said hello do you need a place to stay someting to eat or something to Drink He brang me to a shelter where i can have anything and rasheen and preston lived happyley ever after."

Thanks to Supporters!

Recently I reached an incredibly important milestone in my Mission Year journey: I met my fundraising goal of $12,000! There are many components to my experience this year, as I hope my blog reflects, and this is one that can be easy to forget about while I'm busy with all the others. So it's important to me that I take a moment to recognize this element of my journey that you are most directly involved with--financial support. 

Honestly, it has never been something that I have worried too much about. I have fundraised this way before, and I have seen God's faithfulness to provide in such situations. But I have never seen such a large outpouring of support so quickly. I met this goal much quicker than I expected, and each month people continue to make gifts after I've met my goal, fulfilling commitments to give all the way through the year. 

Fundraising has helped me to see even more that God desires to equip those he calls. And when he calls us to something longer-term (and therefore more expensive), he still equips us.

It is also encouraging each week when my fundraising totals go up a little bit. When I see it I know that I have people who trust me, who believe in me, and who love me. And more importantly, it excites me that God has given them a little bit of the same vision that he has given me: to to love God and love people. It's one thing for a friend to tell me that they are excited about what I'm doing in Mission Year. It's another for them to show me their excitement by supporting me financially. So thank you!

Meeting my fundraising goal does indeed demonstrate that God is faithful to those he calls. But I would be distorting reality if I didn't recognize that, in some ways, it also highlights my privilege. Several factors contribute to my ability to fundraise $12,000 this early in my year: how much time I've had (several months more than most), how much I could personally contribute, the timing of my graduation (and the cultural value of giving large financial gifts upon the completion of a degree), having a large network of people from several middle-class churches, attending a university that sent my friends straight into well-paying jobs...there are probably more, but you get the picture.

Imagine if someone from my neighborhood was called to Mission Year. S/he wouldn't have those privileges. Only one small church with few middle-class congregants. Fewer graduation gifts. No friends with well-paying jobs. 

...If they struggled to raise funds would that mean that God didn't want to equip them like he has equipped me? I don't think so. I think it reflects more the privilege that they don't have.

But I believe that God would still equip them, regardless of their privilege or networks or degrees. And I believe he would probably use people like me with those privileges and connections to help make it happen.

The truth is, there are people like that in Mission Year right now! Not all Mission Year team members have the same privileges at their disposal to reach their fundraising goal, but you can help to equip them to do what God has called them to do just as you did for me. I challenge you to keep giving to support not just me but also my team and everyone who is doing Mission Year. For a few ideas of who to give to, use these links:
Sophilia Hubbarb
Nicole Roberts
Walter-Levi Wawra
Bella Fout

In the meantime, there are some special folks to whom I would like to extend more thanks. The following people have made three or more donations to my Mission Year fund. These 11 supporters have given 61 times over the past year, some giving 12 times! Their contributions alone have accounted for 46% of the funds I've raised so far. Extra thanks go to:

John Carter
Sherry Cauthen
Valentin Lazar
Densie Kootin-Sanwu
Haji Nishikori
Karen Im
Peter Habib
Ashleigh and Jeffrey Watterworth
Chip and Rosemarie Green
Fred and Susan Worthy
Ote Beshears

And the top prizes for care packages and letters go to:

Marilyn and Dorrell Benefield

Carol and Marty Hogue

Lawrence Wilson

Thanks also to friends at First Baptist Church Ravenel for supplying my team with kids' books and art supplies!

Finally, I got so excited about reaching my goal that I made this nifty info graphic! 

Past 50th

Last night I was out late for our weekly gathering of all the Philly Mission Year teams. As usual, I was taking the trolley home, this time from Center City. At one of the stops a group of about 7 young people, who I profiled as college students, boarded the trolley and moved to the back. They were pretty much the only ones talking and were loud enough for everyone to hear.

For most of the time I didn’t pay them much mind. Actually I don’t really remember anything else they talked about except which stop would land them at their college. The University of Sciences is the last in a string of several major schools in West Philadelphia, on the border between the large neighborhoods of University City and Southwest Philly. Their stop was 42^nd street.

Part of their conversation was concern that they would miss the stop and go too far down Woodland Avenue, the road the trolley saunters down. Some of them had wandered down to 50^th Street one time on accident, in search of a party, and they didn’t want to do that again. They loudly proclaimed, “Anything past 50^th is bad. Like really bad.”

Those words hurt.

I live past 50^th. Not only that, I live past 60^th—on 62^nd! As I heard them talk about how incredibly bad my neighborhood was, I wondered what the other trolley passengers thought as they heard these college students talk about where they live, work, have fun, and raise their kids. Those considerations hurt even more.

I get where the students were coming from. I’ve said those things before about other communities. Southwest Philly is a place where “bad” things are readily apparent, especially to eyes that come in looking for them. But after living here for a while, I know about plenty of really good things all around places well past 50^th Street.

I know kids that love to play dictionary games they’ve created so they can learn new words.

I know neighbors that shovel each others’ snow.

I know women who are respected for the ways they look out for everyone on the block.

I know old white couples that love their almost all-black neighborhood, even though all of the other white people left at least a decade ago.

But the college students don’t know those things. They only see bad things that they probably just don’t understand. They certainly didn’t understand how hurtful their words were to me and the other residents of Southwest who were headed home like me.

This doesn’t happen in only my neighborhood. Places (and their inhabitants) all over the world are labeled as “bad.” But those negative labels don’t help to end whatever negative attributes we seem to identify. They only reinforce them. I challenge you to consider your words and your thoughts about such places. And I challenge you to challenge others, too, and maybe as we all recognize the good in the places “past 50^th,” the good will be more readily apparent the next time you visit. 

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.