Advent Prayer: Knocking for Opportunity

Advent Prayer: Knocking for Opportunity

This morning as my husband, Jim, and I got ready to leave for church, I put on my coat, scarf and gloves to stay warm in the 20-degree weather and single-digit windchill. I had to decide between brown gloves to go with my pants or black gloves to go with my coat; cloth or leather, solid or pattern …

I thought of those who have no warm home to turn on the heat, no hot water to make a cup of tea, no hat, gloves, scarves or coat against this bitter cold. So on a whim, I threw an extra pair of gloves in the car. We had bought them last year and they still had the tags. As we left for church, I said a prayer that I’d find someone who needs those gloves.

We go to church in a wealthy neighborhood in east Memphis and we live in Germantown, an affluent suburb. So the likelihood of seeing a needy or homeless person between our home and our church … almost nil. In fact, I’m not sure I ever have.

Until this morning. As we drove home from church, a man was walking down the street wrapped up in a blanket. There was no place to pull over, so we had to circle a block or two, then come back around and find him again. As we turned back onto a major street, there was a homeless man at the intersection holding a sign. Jim and I gave the man what cash we had in our wallets. He already had gloves, so we kept going and found the first man in a parking lot, wrapped up in that ratty blanket — with no gloves and very cold hands. It occurred to me that if the first man had been at any other point on our route, we’d have been able to easily pull over and would never have seen the second man. Coincidence? I’m going with no.

Beginning with the rest of Advent, I’ll commit to pray this prayer every day: Help me to keep my eyes open for those in need. To go looking instead of just waiting for them to come to me. I’m going out today to buy some gloves, hats, scarves and maybe a blanket or two to keep in my car. I’ll pray that God will show me someone in need, that I will not just give and serve when it’s convenient, but that I’ll go looking for opportunities.

Because if He can place two needy persons in our path between Laurelwood and Germantown at that moment in time … what greater impact can we have if we actively seek to serve?

I’m not waiting for opportunity — I’m going knocking. Come with me.

Give me your ideas/stories in the comments.

The Poor Through God’s Eyes

The Poor Through God’s Eyes

poor

Earlier this week, I volunteered at Manna House (more about Manna House here, here and here) as I often do. There is never a time that I leave there without some new insight, but on this day I left with a book in hand as well.

The book, Radical Compassion, Finding Christ in the Heart of the Poor, (Amazon link*) is by Gary Smith, S.J., a Jesuit priest who lived and worked among the poor of Portland, Oregon for nearly 10 years. It is a journal of his ministry to them and their ministry to him, a collection of personal stories about his relationships with people who have been neglected, abused, beaten down and have endured struggles and hardships that are painful to read.

But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame* the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things — and the things that are not — to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him.
I Corinthians 1:27-29

Note: King James Version uses the word confound — to perplex or amaze, especially by a sudden disturbance or surprise; bewilder; confuse — instead of shame. But I think both are applicable.

Some of the stories are funny, some sad, some are agonizing to read, but the story of a man named Robert is particularly poignant — the kind of poignant that makes it difficult to see the pages through the tears. Father Smith met Robert, 38, depressed, addicted to drugs and HIV positive and for the next two years or so, walked with him through his illness and death. Toward the end of his life, Robert asked to be baptized and during that holy moment, Father Smith shared the story of the good Samaritan. His reflections on that passage are profound:

You are the good Samaritan, Robert, because you have pulled all of us out of the safe trenches of our lives. And your love — so squeezed out of you by life and history — you have claimed again and given back to us a hundredfold. What a grace it is to be present to see you commit your life to the one who is the author of your love. Your faith is healing oil for our wounds.

And so the weak shame, confound — teach, nurture, edify — the strong. May we all know a good Samaritan.

*The only thing I get if you buy and read this book is a bit of satisfaction.

Shane Claiborne Inspires and Encourages

Shane Claiborne Inspires and Encourages

Shane Claiborne doesn’t look — or live — like an average preacher. This author, Christian activist and sought-after speaker wears no tie, not even a blazer and jeans, but casual, comfortable clothes and has dreadlocks that hang past his shoulders. Raised in east Tennessee, he now lives and serves among the homeless in inner-city Philadelphia in community with others who share resources and live frugally on about $150 per person per month. He ministered in Iraq during the bombing of Baghdad in 2003 and spent one summer among the poor in Calcutta with Mother Theresa.

Claiborne recently spoke at Germantown United Methodist Church, at an event sponsored by the student ministry, which is led by Alison Bocking.

Here’s my video interview with Claiborne and with two of my favorite women, Mary Ann Gibson and her daughter, Maddie.

I Was Wrong

I Was Wrong

man-street

What are homeless people like?

Though it’s not easy to admit, I harbored some preconceived notions:

Dangerous. Violent. Unintelligent. Uncaring. Lazy. Scary.

Until a few weeks ago. Until Manna House.

My first experience humbled and overwhelmed me. With regret for the assumptions I have made. Shame for my complacency. Anger at my own indifference while I lead a comfortable life as others suffer. I ignored them. I dismissed them. I cared, but not enough.

What changed from the me-centeredness, the casual, detached concern? Caring only because I knew I should?

Faces.

Eyes.

Voices.

Of people not so different from me after all. Children of God, my equals, who happen to be homeless. Some of whom can read and speak fluently in two languages, write poetry that expresses deep emotion and pain, beat me mercilessly at checkers and play a game of Scrabble that would challenge any wordsmith. Here’s an excerpt from a poem written by Tony, one of our guests:

The Manna House is a place where you can feel safe and get some rest,
Where help is offered through all they can do but keep in mind they’re only human too.
So if you ever come here please be thankful for this place
And at the end of every prayer you will always hear them say,
“Thank you, Lord for the coffee that’s hot, the sugar that’s sweet and the creamer that takes all life’s bitterness away.”

Scrabble games, soap, clean socks and coffee may not change a life. But maybe a few hours of peace, rest, companionship and love can change that day in a life. Manna.

Do not neglect hospitality, for through it some have unknowingly entertained angels.
Hebrews 13:2

Photo credit: PhilipPoon, Homeless Person in Front of Temple

Is it a Donut or is it Manna?

Is it a Donut or is it Manna?

Today someone offered me a piece of a chocolate donut … and it made me cry.

I spent this morning at Manna House in midtown Memphis, which offers hospitality, showers, change of clothes, coffee and rest to area homeless persons. After we served coffee, provided showers and dispensed basic toiletries, socks and clean clothes, we spent some time in the back yard, just talking and listening to our guests.

One man talked about how hot Memphis is in summer, and that he really wants to find a place to sleep inside before it gets too hot. Another told me which alley he sleeps in. Both had come into the backyard at Manna House with sack lunches and quickly began making trades: a peanut butter sandwich for a brownie, ham for a bag of chips. One of the men spent a good minute or so driving a hard bargain for a donut. Then he sat down, began to unwrap it and before he took a bite, he offered a bite to me.

He knows I’m not homeless. I’m obviously a middle-class white woman and I wore a nametag that identified me as a volunteer. But he offered me the first bite of his donut. Not what was left over when he finished it. Not the donut he didn’t want. The donut he negotiated and traded for. The first bite.

One of the founders of Manna House explained to me that the name comes from the manna God sent from heaven to feed the Israelites after they left Egypt. (Exodus 16) He sent it each day; just enough for that day, no more, no less, and instructed them not to gather more than they needed. They trusted Him to provide the next day. In much the same way, Manna House meets the daily needs of its guests; their mission is not to solve all problems, but to meet daily needs: basic hygiene, clean socks, a good cup of coffee and companionship — for that day.

I don’t know why my donut friend offered me the first bite; why didn’t he keep it for himself? He may or may not get another donut any time soon; I can buy a dozen without a second thought. Why was he so willing to share with me?

Maybe a better question is: why are so many of us unwilling to share what we proudly call ours? Our money, our home, our time.

We turn our heads and our hearts away and refuse to give of our abundance, while this man offers the first bite.

Food for thought, isn’t it?

Image above: Orange Spice Chocolate Donut by Quintana Roo

Homeless

Homeless

graffiti

I usually avoid these neighborhoods.

This day was different. My 16-year-old daughter, Sara Ann, five of her friends and I were in Atlanta for a church youth weekend. We left the church to get out into the city and learn about poverty and homelessness. Our first stop was an area near downtown Atlanta where the homeless live under the overpasses. We parked our cars on the street and scaled a steep, rocky hill under a bridge. At the top of the hill, we began to see piles of clothing, mattresses, furniture and blankets, all damp from the rain. My first impression was, ewww, trash; then I realized it is someone’s couch … bed … home.

We turned a corner and saw people who had made their home in the shelter of the concrete posts. Two guys named Bob and Willie, who work with a ministry called 7 Bridges to Recovery, showed us around and told us about their work. Willie, who only four months ago was homeless, pulled a few bags of food and some clothes out of the back of a minivan.

Bob explained that the mission of 7 Bridges is to get people off the streets and break the cycle of homelessness, alcoholism, drugs, sexual addictions, prostitution and abuse. I was surprised when he told us that few of the homeless accept their help. Perhaps they are afraid or maybe they have just come to accept their circumstances, or don’t want to leave the people they live with. As we walked and talked with them, it seemed that, much like the rest of us, some were angry, some had faith and some just seemed to feel hopelessly resigned to this life.

I don’t understand homelessness. I’ve never been without a warm bed or a good meal, never had to walk over rocks in worn-out shoes or put on a rain-soaked coat to keep warm. Our visit didn’t change any of their lives that day, but it did change me. It brought me face-to-face with the reality of a life that no one should have to live and reminded me that they are not so different from me, and most of all, that they are equal to me in God’s eyes.

‘ … For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’ “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’” He will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’
— Matthew 25:42-45

Guest Blog Post: Invisible Children

Guest Blog Post: Invisible Children

invisible-children

My very first guest blogger is my 16-year-old daughter, Sara Ann. She wrote this article for her school newspaper about a cause that is very close to her heart.

The Price of Peace

“If the greatest generation sacrificed for war, what will our generation be known for if we sacrifice for peace? Peace is closer than ever, but Invisible Children’s work is far from done. This is an important time in Uganda’s history and we must be a part of its future.”
— Invisible Children

For more than a decade, Ugandan people have been relocated and forced to live in overcrowded displacement camps. This is a result of the most neglected humanitarian emergency in the world. The Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and the Government of Uganda have been waging a war for more than 23 years, which has left an entire generation of youth that has never known peace.

It began in the 1980s when a woman named Alice Lakwena believed that the Holy Spirit spoke to her and ordered her to overthrow the Ugandan government for injustice. As she gained followers, her movement gained momentum and resentment toward the government increased. Lakwena was later exiled and a man named Joseph Kony took control and her movement became the LRA. As the LRA attacked villages, the government was forced to evict Ugandans and relocate them into displacement camps, in which they must stay, for fear of abduction by the LRA.

Surprisingly, the LRA does not care who they abduct, including small children ages 10 and younger. In fact, it is estimated that more than 90 percent of the LRA’s troops were abducted as children. Even in these displacement camps, where they were moved as a safety precaution, the children leave, walk three to four hours, and stay the night only to get up bright and early and make the walk back “home.”

One of the many informative videos tells the story of a boy named Ofonyo Innocent who was one of those children, called a night commuter. He witnessed the abductions of friends, relatives, and peers by the LRA and watched as they were forced to commit horrifying acts against their own people. What child deserves to live this way?

Invisible Children officials encourage people through their mission statement, Invisible Children is all about using who we are to meet people where they are; every individual doing what they can to make a difference.

Open your eyes, let your mind leave the comfortable city of Germantown and realize what these children must endure. Most of us never encounter the circumstances these children must tolerate on a daily basis. Do what you can, raise awareness and get involved. Let’s make these invisible children visible; not just to our school, our city, our state, or even our country. Let our whole world see the lives of the invisible.

You Can Help.

braceletsCategoryImgVisit Invisible Children online and explore these and other ways to get involved.

Watch the movie. Purchase the The Rough Cut on DVD and share it with your friends.

Buy a bracelet. Bracelets are made by Ugandan natives, and each is associated with an “invisible child.” When you order a bracelet, you also receive a video about this child.

Tri campaign involves a simple donation of as little as three dollars each week and sustains life-changing programs in Uganda.

Buy a t-shirt. Donate money and help spread the word with a great t-shirt.

About Sara Ann (by her mom)

sran.bricksThe coolest thing about Sara Ann is that her faith is not about a set of rules; it’s about Jesus’ love and compassion and she puts feet to it as she strives to love and serve as He calls us to do.

Last year at a youth event she heard a presentation on Invisible Children, a nonprofit organization that serves children in war-torn Uganda. The images of the children stirred her heart and moved her to action. She established a Facebook group to promote Invisible Children at her school, and within one day there were 180 members. Membership is now 300.

Sara Ann has been on two short-term mission trips to Puerto Rico and is active in small groups and student ministries at Germantown United Methodist Church and Living Hope Church. Each month she goes downtown with her Germantown United Methodist youth group to serve breakfast to homeless persons.

She is currently a junior in high school and plans to major in journalism and move to Africa after college as a missionary and journalist.

— b