Editor’s note: We follow last week’s word on the power of the poem by a powerful poem from Street Psalms Community member Sam Trujillo. To  read more thoughts on Advent by Sam go here.

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They are bleeding.
They are bleeding and you watch them bleed.
They are bleeding from the wounds of life
Caught between the crossfire of gang warfare
Shot down as a maddened animal in need of relief from itself
And yet you watch them bleed.
Tell me Holy One
Where do the wounded travel for a moment of blessing?
A moment behind the storage shed of life in the midst of the concrete universe they call home?

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They are bruised.
They are bruised and you watch them bruise.
They are bruised from the beatings life hails on their fragile bodies
Caught between the violence of the streets
Crushed bones by the weapons of breath
And yet you watch them bruise.
Tell me oh Holy One
Where do the beaten search for a moment of blessing?
A moment behind the soreness of flesh to find exquisiteness in their face within the walls of a prison they call home?

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They are shamed.
They are shamed and you watch them shamed.
They are shamed from the countless naked moments life rapes their souls
Caught between the language of love entangled with the thrust of lust
Forcibly taken against their will and tormented by a story of lies
And yet you watch them shamed.
Tell me Holy One
Where do the shamed journey for a moment of blessing?
A moment behind the veil of inhumanity where the purity of their soul can be saved while still they remain in this basin of poverty they call home?

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The high priest carries the blood of animals into the Most Holy Place as a sin offering, but the bodies are burned outside the camp. And so Jesus also suffered outside the city gate to make the people holy through his own blood. Let us, then, go to him outside the camp, bearing the disgrace he bore. For here we do not have an enduring city, but we are looking for the city that is to come. Hebrews 13:11-14

At the Center for Transforming Mission we use this text from Hebrews in conversations with grassroots leaders located within the street culture to ask meaningful questions about posture and place. The text reveals an invitation from the author that suggests a posture of humility and a place outside of what is known as the camp. We use this text in an attempt to explore parallels that grassroots leaders can identify with in their own stories and to place their endeavors in context. Once amplified, we begin to ask about the location of Jesus and about the camp. It does not take long for these leaders to see from within their context that they themselves, and Jesus, are located outside of the camp. They then quickly identify the camp as the church. This becomes the perfect place for grassroots leaders to hear good news about their posture and place either already present, or yearning to be present in life outside the gates of the camp. I am one of those leaders.

I learned a lot about faith growing up as the son of Mexican pastors who had committed their lives to serving predominately undocumented communities on the streets of Southern California. I learned even more about love when I began rejecting their religion, giving myself to a life of street culture at the early age of nine. Keep those two statements close as I invite you to peer through a small window of my journey back into the street culture of Denver, Colorado and why I am beginning to understand the choices made by many in the Hispanic Church.

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“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” – John 1:14

Martin Luther said a goal of his theology was to pull Christ as deeply into the flesh as possible. Somewhere in that thought is the notion that Christ did not simply come on behalf of us, but he entered into our story in order to reveal to us what it meant to be fully human. In doing so he came to us in the rawest form possible we can imagine, literally “in the state of meat” – the incarnation.

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How I narrate the story of my life has everything to do with how I live in it. - Chris Rice

For the majority of my life I have hated my life story. To be honest, for the majority of my life I have hated the life stories of others. I have forcefully been without concern or remorse both the victim and the victimizer in my story. The paradoxes within those tensions have complicated my existence so much throughout my life that for many years I walked the streets seemingly without mind and soul. Healing from my life story has been a process overwhelmed with fear and suffering. In fact, there are still many elements of my story that I fear I will never find reconciliation.

As much as all this is true, the permission granted to me to retell my story has powerfully shaped the way I live in it today, and has begun the life-giving work of redemption.

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There she lay, cold and lonely. Life drifting from her body as all traces of promise drifted with it. The note revealed the final chapter in her ongoing struggle to make sense of life. With one final act of despair she made her loudest statement ever and everyone heard it. With a needle in her arm and a choice to overdose, a 2-year-old child is left abandoned, and a community is left to mourn. The fatherless child, now motherless, is left with a life that is seemingly hopeless.

She, a beautiful 23-year-old woman, was a previous resident of Joshua Station, our transitional housing facility for homeless families. Her story of arrival at our program was a miracle in and of itself, but the pain in her life was too much for her, which left her unable to continue the healing journey with us.

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For the entire Christian world Easter Sunday marks a defining moment in the Jesus story. Over the last several weeks leading up to Easter I’ve heard various comments about what this day actually symbolizes for the Christian faith. To some it’s the promise of hope that someday we will also be resurrected from our own death. To others it’s the realization that we’ve already been resurrected from death. To many it’s the proof that Jesus was in fact God in the flesh risen to show His power over death.

While each of those finds it’s appropriate place in the Jesus story, I find myself searching for a different response these days. When it comes to the significance of the resurrection of Jesus, I find myself asking, “What does the resurrection have to say about life among the dying?”

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In my final hour
My thoughts embraced my pain and spoke.

Breathe.
Breathe a last breath
For the descent is upon you.
It melts within your soul
And you are no longer able to gasp.
All around you the remnants of a wonderful life
Are making themselves known to be counterfeit.

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They will not toil in vain
or bear children doomed to misfortune;
for they will be a people blessed by the LORD,
they and their descendants with them.
Isaiah 65:23

Raymond is an eight-year old Hispanic child on my block whose life seems as if no other end will befall him but misfortune.

Have you ever known such a child? Whose life experiences past, present, and future seem to destine nothing more than turmoil and strife? Mother, incarcerated. Father, abandoned. Siblings, fending for survival. Extended family, interested in self preservation. At such a young age he roams the streets of our neighborhood of our city aimlessly searching for acceptance. Faith, hope, and love are almost unknown—poorly replaced by the street virtues of honor and credibility obtained in his quest for gratification. His face, burdened and innocent, desperately seeks comfort and some sense to make of his dilemma.

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There is something special about a woman living in a transitional housing facility for the homeless who picks up the tab for a meal.

Twice a month a group of women gather for conversation and life-giving companionship. They aren’t just any group of women – they are residents of Joshua Station. Their stories compiled would bring about enough visions of pain and suffering to overwhelm any optimist. But they find themselves in a place of healing in this group whose name is an expression of hope: N.A.N. –Never Be Fake, Always Feel Pain, and Never Turn Down Healing.

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We gawked in sorrow at the remnants of what we were sure was once a vibrant community. The pain in East St. Louis was everywhere as we saw a deserted downtown, condemned and falling houses, boarded up housing projects, burned out buildings, crumbling streets, gas stations in dangerously unsafe conditions, and much more. We guessed there must be beauty present as well, but as newcomers we had a hard time finding it.

We were in St. Louis to reflect on the suffering of God.

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