A few posts ago I mentioned that I had a new friend, and I’m continuously blown away by how much is coming from that friendship. God is shattering the image we both have of Him, and in place He is giving us a new one. To be completely honest, this new one is both inviting and frightening. I am starting to truly believe that God is the great iconoclast (“image smasher”), but I am not sure I entirely like that, because it can often make Him unpredictable.

For my friend and I there is an uncomfortable beauty through our painful lives that defines this relationship. The ceaseless reminders of our distorted realities and unhealthy perceptions about life, faith, and love fuel the passion to search for something more.

However, we each experienced in our lives the frustration of taking steps closer to faith and feeling like it just took us further away from what it was we were searching for. Last Friday, as we talked about this challenge I could tell she wanted to break down crying, but she is too strong for that.

My heart was convicted when she said, “I went to church Sam. I did. And it was cool and sh*t. They could wear jeans, dress down, whatever…but it didn’t do anything for me. I’m searching Sam. I really am. Though I don’t know what I’m looking for sometimes.”

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“Over the next several months, on issue after issue, let us do what Americans have always done, and build a better world for our children and grandchildren.”
- President George W. Bush, State of the Union address, February 2, 2005

“But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you… and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare” (Jeremiah 29:7).

A friend passed this along from Caleb Seeling, who is organizing a State of the Union watch party on Tuesday, January 31 from 6 – 9 p.m. at The Master’s Church at 1477 Columbine St. in Denver. I can’t go. If you can and do, I’d love to hear your comments on this site.

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Nearly two months have passed since I traveled from Denver to Washington D.C. to take part in civil disobedience for a moral budget. I still have not gathered my thoughts, my emotions, at least not enough to write of my experience. The trip held too much emotion for me. I did not simply go to protest a budget bill. I went to chart yet another path that runs counter-culture to the life David and I left over 13 years ago.

This life we left was not one we would have even thought to abandon. We were content with our culture and in many ways had been “groomed” to become the next generation of leaders within it. David and I are from that beautiful, educated part of America where there seemed to be answers to questions and solutions to problems. We didn’t personally know anyone who was homeless, marginalized, or poor. All of our friends were just like us, and we surrounded ourselves in our “sameness”. Words like justice, welfare and common good were not a part of our vocabulary, much less understood.

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Today, I had one of the most amazing experiences of my life. Seriously.

I am a true fan of good movies, but had never been to any sort of 3D movie until today. Nikki, Benny, and I took 8 street kids to see The Polar Express in IMAX 3D. Not only did we look totally rad in our 3D glasses, but the experience was unreal.

I liked the movie. It was good. But I had a hard time paying attention to the words, themes, characters, blah, blah, blah because I was so amazed at the objects jumping out at me. If you’ve been to a 3D movie, you know what I’m talking about. At the end of the movie, my neck was a little sore from constantly looking left, right, up, down, and occasionally ducking. I loved every minute of it even though my stomach did get a bit queezy whenever the train sped out of control – which was most of the movie.

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“There are some things within our social order to which I am proud to be maladjusted.”
- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

“If we see increasing segregation and dropping student achievement, then the question is: How can you continue to let this happen? And, what can you do to keep it from continuing to happen?”
- Alan Gottlieb of the Piton Foundation, referring to a recent Harvard study of Denver Public Schools (more here)

Last week my son Ben and I attended the annual Martin Luther King “Marade” in downtown Denver. Denver’s march/parade is one of the largest King celebrations in the nation—even a snowy forecast didn’t stop 30,000 of us this time. The day turned out pleasant enough, and after scouting around for friends during the many long, windy opening speeches at the King statue in City Park, we stepped off toward Colfax Avenue.

Our family has been doing the Marade for years, and I couldn’t help enjoying the contrast with 1992, when the KKK joined the rally and the festivities ended with tear gas. No worries this time as our multicolored gang hollered jokes, teased each other’s kids, and caught up on each other’s lives on our brisk walk past the state Capitol and on to Civic Center Park. It was a vivid and lively celebration of Dr. King’s dream.

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What if I really set out to see God in our city? Many people see things in black and white, but not so with God. God is imaginative and bold in the context of culture, if we seek to find Him there. With camera in hand and eyes eager to see in new ways, I went to find God in my own city. Some of the images I found downtown I had passed over hundreds of times.

Here are some reflections on nine snapshots from Denver:

1) Isaiah 54:17 – “No weapon forged against you will prevail, and you will refute every tongue that accuses you. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, and this is their vindication from me declares the Lord.” I just liked the church name, but when I looked up the scripture reference, I thought it was fitting. The marginalized in society are raging battle against spiritual forces and government powers every day.

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One of my favorite films last year was the political thriller The Constant Gardener, based on the novel by John Le Carré. In addition to a taut storyline, the film provokes viewers with images of a deeply impoverished slum in the Kenya’s capital city, Nairobi.

That slum is called Kibera, and it is the largest in Africa. Something like 800,000 people live on 600 acres of steeply sloped land, with a stream of black water trickling at the bottom. Most of the homes are made from some combination of corrugated tin, mud, or cardboard. There are no city services for this community larger than the city of Denver – no water, sewer, or electricity. One small police station, with a half dozen officers who know better than to try to actually police the community, provide the only formal government presence.

I just returned from a trip to Nairobi, during which we visited Kibera twice. We joined some friends for a church service in the waiting room of a faith-based health clinic, and took a long walking tour led by two women who live there and dozens of children anxious to have their pictures taken by the muzungu (white) visitors. Kibera isn’t a normal stop for tourists in Kenya, to say the least. But we were guests, invited by my friend Gideon Ochieng, who lived in Kibera until recently and who still works with homeless children from the slums.

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University of Virginia Professor of Religion Charles Marsh is one of my favorite writers. His books on the history and theology of the Civil Rights movement (including The Beloved Community, recently released) offer vivid arguments, wrapped in well-told stories, for why “ideas matter.” For example, in God’s Long Summer: Stories of Faith and Civil Rights, Marsh explores the mystery behind the fact that both civil rights marchers and leaders of the White Knights of the Ku Klux Klan claimed that it was devotion to Jesus Christ that motivated and informed their role in the struggle for (and against) racial justice in America. White, “Bible-believing” churches during the Civil Rights era often taught that the church should not involve itself in such “worldly matters” as race, politics, or social protest. Their silence provided cover for church members to participate in the KKK, believing that they were “purifying” a nation that had lost its way.

Well, such “worldly matters” have been dealt with and settled, haven’t they? Haven’t they? Then we read in today’s Rocky Mountain News about the re-segregation of Denver’s schools since the end of court-mandated busing, and are reminded once again that we’ve still got plenty of homework to do on the issue of race. But that’s for another discussion…

Marsh has an editorial in yesterday’s (January 20, 2006) New York Times called “Wayward Christian Soldiers.” (The full article can be found here.) This time, however, Marsh has shifted his focus from civil rights to war in Iraq.

Marsh, who identifies himself as an evangelical, wonders how much the witness and integrity of the evangelical church have been damaged by our coziness with the highest levels of political power in the US generally, and by evangelical support for the war in Iraq in particular (87% support in 2003, and a still-high 68% today).
Marsh has been reading the sermons of well-known evangelical pastors in the days leading up to the Iraq war. Charles Stanley’s argument that “We should offer to serve the war effort in any way possible,” was typical of what Marsh found in his study. It seems these pastors saw the war as opening up new opportunities for evangelism among Muslims, as well as a possible focal point for end-times events. As a professor of religion, Marsh was dismayed by how little theological reflection was demonstrated in these pro-war sermons. “The single common theme among the war sermons appeared to be this: our president is a real brother in Christ, and because he has discerned that God’s will is for our nation to be at war against Iraq, we shall gloriously comply.” One exception to the rule is well-known British author, theologian and pastor John Stott, who believes that going to war without UN sanction was a moral error.

Full disclosure: I was, and remain, torn about the war. I’m frustrated by my own indecisiveness on the issue, which is not for any lack of effort or study. I’ve felt cursed by an ability to appreciate both sides of the issue, while being offended by the extreme views of both left and right – and by the dearth of meaningful theological reflection on the reasons Christians chose one side or the other. Yet all my own reflection has left me hovering somewhere in the middle. Truthfully, I tilt toward opposition to the war, but recognize that a very grave situation existed that demanded some sort of action.

Marsh’s final words in today’s NYT certainly are challenging me to end my neutrality, however belatedly; “What will it take for evangelicals in the United States to recognize our mistaken loyalty? We have increasingly isolated ourselves from the shared faith of the global Church, and there is no denying that our Faustian bargain for access and power has undermined the credibility of our moral and evangelistic witness in the world. The Hebrew prophets might call us to repentance, but repentance is a tough demand for a people utterly convinced of their righteousness.”

Starting a women’s ministry is hard when you’ve never done it before. It’s even more difficult when the goal is to incorporate women like me into the developmental process. Women who’ve never truly felt any other options in life except options that help us survive.

But this is what I am trying to create. An environment that not only supports women like us, but allows us to own, shape, and transform our group and our lives in the process. Last weekend I met with a group of women I hope will commit to being in the process with me. I found this meeting to be a rewarding experience that affirmed God’s presence in this project and His scandalous presence among us all.

We met in the chapel at Joshua Station, which is set up more like a counseling room. Highly appropriate I thought because we’re creating something that will lead us to healing. I recruited these women through various recommendations of people I trust, and up to this point I had met/conversed with each of them somewhat, but they hadn’t all met together yet.

As a result, our meeting began with an awkward silence. Having called this meeting I said “Hi, my name is Tiera and I’m an alcoholic, and totally messed up!” They released a laugh mixed with relief and nervousness, and then our conversation began.

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No, this isn’t another sports post! A few weeks ago, I set out to be with people who are suffering in our city. I have lived in an urban neighborhood for many years, but wanted a fresh look through the eyes of those living on the edges, in order to gain their insights and perspectives. I was curious to see how Christ is present among the outcast, forgotten, and broken-hearted.

One day I met and hung out with a couple on East Colfax whose street names are “Nebraska” and “Spot.” They both reeked of alcohol and Nebraska was in need of a cigarette, bad. I’ve seen them around my neighborhood on the corner, and asked them if I could buy them lunch. Mostly I wanted to get out of the cold, and I knew they must be freezing too. I also figured I needed to satisfy their hunger before they would have any conversation with me.

After letting them choose the cuisine, we sat down in Popeye’s–they wanted fried chicken. I sat with them and felt like I didn’t want to eat much, not knowing when they ate last. We sat warming ourselves and mostly I just listened. They both have previous families and grown kids, but seemed especially devoted to each other, addictions and all. I could smell the “homelessness” on their breath and see the swollenness of Nebraska’s hands.

Spot was really interested in talking about the Bible. She mentioned that her brother in Chicago was a deacon in a church, and her grandmother always made them go to church growing up. Nebraska was having a major nicotine fit and wasn’t much interested in talking. I gave him a few bucks to go buy a pack of cigarettes so Spot and I could continue our conversation.

As we talked, I was surprised that she went into a sort of church-jargon spiritualese, including “Hallelujah, Sister,” and the “Amen,” and I wondered if she was in some way trying to impress me or get on my ‘good’ side. She stopped when she sensed that was not my style. I read with her from the book of John, and explained that even when life happens and darkness seems to take over, God is still right there with us in the midst of our suffering and pain. Jesus came to us, loved us, and suffered with and for us. Spot became intrigued, so I read her a little bit of the Christmas story in Luke. She looked right in my eyes and with a seriousness, said, “I’m not ready, because Nebraska isn’t ready,” like she was waiting for me to offer the “Four Spiritual Laws” or something. I told her that right now, all this was really between her and God.

Nebraska returned some minutes later, pretty uptight about getting out his cardboard sign and heading back to the corner to get enough money for a room that night. The unheated garage the restaurant owner was letting them sleep in provided no shelter from the cold temperatures. Nebraska said God was good; it was God who allowed him to keep on going. When he started making references to me as their angel, I assured them I was no angel but I did enjoy spending time with them. I invited them to look for ways in their lives where they could see God at work, perhaps through others.

After I left, I felt a twinge of regret that I did not even think to pray with them. However, there was something about sharing humor and a meal that lifted their spirits. Nebraska gave me the street name “Oklahoma” because he and I share the same real last name, and because I told him that most of our family namesakes that I knew lived in Oklahoma. It did make my day to know that I made them laugh, and they shared they had not laughed for such a long time.

God is enabling me more every day to view those who are visibly broken in our city with an eternal perspective rather than simply the consequences of poor choices, or even worse, as someone else’s problem or ministry. God’s response to us is not one of vindictiveness, but love and reconciliation. Should not this also be our response to others?