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. 

Diversity in the Church

As you may know, Mission Year gives us a couple of weeks off during the holidays. I'm now in my second week back in Philly since then. With the busy-ness of the season, I didn’t have much time to write, but I’ve found a moment at last to share some of my thoughts about my break.

One element of my break that ties into what I’m learning in Mission Year was the diversity of the Church I was able to enjoy over the past month. I attended four different churches in December, all of different flavors and varieties. I have written before that encountering God through different cultures is a hobby of mine. And by different, I don’t just mean different from my own. I suppose a better way to phrase it would be, “Encountering God through a variety of cultures is a hobby of mine.” Here is some the variety I enjoyed in December:

My church in Philadelphia, which I have written about before, is Grace Christian Fellowship. Of course, I attended there for the first couple of weeks in December before my break began. It is a vibrant, young, growing, black church that honors both traditions of the Church and African American heritage. It is loosely liturgical, but congregants are always responsive and interactive to whoever is leading the service, vocalizing their affirmation of the prayer, exhortation, or testimony. Songs are repetitive and passionate, allowing worshippers to dig deeply into the lyrics they profess with each successive proclamation of them. Congregants consider each other family and refer to each other as such. Hugs and kisses abound.

For the first weekend of my break, I visited a dear friend in New Jersey and attended church with him one Sunday while I was there. He is Japanese, and he attends a Japanese church. The band of the small congregation fills the front of a fairly ornate Lutheran sanctuary that hosts them. They use the space in a way that is less formal than the building itself. The service is reverent and reflective, congregants respectfully quiet and thoughtful unless instructed to participate, for instance through song. The service is conducted fully in Japanese, save the lyrics of a couple of hymns sung in both Japanese and English. After it’s over, there is a snack-lunch where the close-knit community catches up with one another, lingering as long as conversation flows.

By Christmas Eve I was home, and I joined my brother, sister, and brother-in-law at their church in Charleston, a young satellite campus of a mega-church committed to reaching the state of South Carolina. The stage is raised high above the large audience, highlighting the feeling that the congregants gathered for an experience, a divine encounter. Every element of the service is technically excellent and perfectly timed, including vocals, music, multi-media, and concert-style lighting. The sermon is displayed on a large screen, a broadcast of the live speaker in another city. Short videos are sprinkled throughout the service. Those gathered follow directions closely as to how and when they should engage as they are guided through a journey. At the conclusion, they are starkly challenged to consider Jesus as savior. Many do, and leave the auditorium for follow-up conversations.

I was home for one Sunday, and I spent it at my parents’ church, a small country church just outside of Charleston. The casual service matches the simple sanctuary of white cinder blocks where it takes place. Members pop up from seated positions in the audience to fulfill various roles as musicians, vocalists, ushers, and preacher. It’s a team effort to bring worship to God. The music is sometimes played live and sometimes played over speakers, but usually has a country twang, and participants often close their eyes while singing and bouncing back and forth to the song. After the sermon, a few congregants use the open space at the front of the church for prayer alone or in pairs while everyone else sings a hymn.

I take the time to detail my experiences (can you tell I was a religion major?) to demonstrate the diversity of my church involvement in December. I take such joy in observing how different communities interact with God and joining in with them in their own style. My appreciation for difference has grown so deep that I don’t know any more what is a normal way for me to interact with God. And I like it that way.  

I’m grateful for this season of my life, being fully immersed in another culture’s way of encountering God. African American church traditions are rich and hearty, and I have much to learn about God through the way my brothers and sisters encounter Him. I’m grateful, too, for connections to brothers and sisters from many different cultural, denominational, linguistic, regional, etc. backgrounds who are willing to share with me their encounters with God.

I’m grateful for the diversity I was able to enjoy over break. I want my life’s pursuit of God to be defined by such diversity and more. 

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.