Wind and Waves

Sitting on the beach I watched the incredible powerful surge crash upon the rocks.  We found ourselves running to the crest of  the breaking waves so that we could feel the cool spray upon our faces.  As a matter of fact  I have spent the last week staring at the surf  as it powers against the shoreline. 

 

My family and I have been away and yet staring at the coast line as the effects of  hurricanes churn in the waters. The wind has picked up, the sky has been precarious and the ocean has been nothing less than powerful. It is in these moments that I can see the true hand of God.  I am reminded that my Lord is almighty, that His love is strong and that I should be overwhelmed more often at who he is:

 

Jer. 31:35  “This is what the Lord says, he who appoints the sun to shine by day, who decrees the moon and stars to shine by night, who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar– the Lord Almighty is his name!”

 

 Psalm 93:3-4  “The mighty oceans have roared, O LORD. The mighty oceans roar like thunder; the mighty oceans roar as they pound the shore.  But mightier than the violent raging of the seas, mightier than the breakers on the shore – the LORD above is mightier than these!”

 

 

 Psalm 89:8-9  “O Lord God Almighty, who is like you? You are mighty, O Lord, and your faithfulness surrounds you. You rule over the surging sea; when its waves mount up, you still them.”

 

I ought to fall on my face in adoration at who my Lord is. Yet, instead I get caught up in my day to life.  As I have stepped back and taken a look at the magnitude of my Lord I have been reminded of what he can do:

 

 

Isaiah 51: 14-16  The cowering prisoners will soon be set free; they will not die in their dungeon, nor will they lack bread. For I am the Lord your God, who churns up the sea so that its waves roar– the Lord Almighty is his name.  I have put my words in your mouth and covered you with the shadow of my hand– I who set the heavens in place, who laid the foundations of the earth, and who say to Zion, ‘You are my people.’”

 

 

 Matthew 8: 24-27  “Without warning, a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping.  The disciples went and woke him, saying, “Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!”  He replied, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?” Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.  The men were amazed and asked, “What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!”

 

However, the truth is that I was reminded as the foam crested far above my head that I too often look away from my Savior. He comes to me in the storm walking on these very waves. He calls me from my comfort time and again to meet him there on the tops of the water. “If it is you Lord, I will come!’  “It’s me,” he cries. But then I get distracted by the wind and down I go.

 

The wind is the world. It is all of those things that cause me to be look around and forget about my Savior and what He would have me do.  I was reminded this week that even ministry can be a distraction.  I am not even talking about being “busy” as in the story of Mary and Martha. I can get bogged down in the minutia that just does not matter in the grand scheme of things. The details of my day become more important than the reality of  Christ.

 

This week I was reminded what the lost look like.  Sometimes the truth is that they don’t always look so lost. Other times you can see a life crumbling before you and you long to reach deep inside to heal the wound.  In both places though these are souls aching for life. True life. Otherwise we are stuck to just exist.

 

As I stood back on two separate coastlines this week, I saw that it was one ocean. One  God.  He is not here for our benefit. Uniquely, He longs to see us restored to perfection. This is the place where we might walk with Him in pure reconciliation once again. This is why he went to the cross.  This is why He conquered death.  So that we don’t have to happen through life.  Don’t you think the very God who can tame the ocean certainly could have avoided a traitor’s death?

 

I don’t believe anyone just wants to “happen” through life.  In the city the prisoners are obvious.  There are so many “good” things that I can offer them: some bread, some time, some clothes, even some hope. These will make their existence here more comfortable.  But, as I watched waves that I could not control my heart too began to surge with that faded memory.  We are searching for life.  When we are lost we are looking for life.  It doesn’t matter if it is obvious as on the face of  city or in the pocket of  the middle class.  All of us wandering astray are homeless. Some of us just haven’t felt all of its effects. We want to be alive.  Only a God powerful enough to  hug the ocean could offer something so divine.

 

As the waves recede and the seas calm I know once again that this quote by an  unknown author is the base of who I must be, “What good is having a God that can walk on water, If you don’t follow in his footsteps.”

Safe

For years I have struggled with exactly how to explain why I stay in inner city ministry in spite of the frustrations. “If change seems so slow, why keep on?”  is a question that I have heard often.  There is no question in my heart why I keep on. The community is not yet whole. Yet, the articulation of this always seemed to elude me.

 

Then just last week an epiphany swelled slowly over me. In a moment in time,  in one circumstance came the definition.  It all happened as a result of a drink of juice and a basketball game.

 

One of the many after school programs that UYI offers is housed right in the middle of the Dunbar Public Housing projects.  While many of our children are bussed to our other after school programs off site of their home, this program is housed in a little building right in the midst of chaotic lives.

 

Almost everyday we take the children to the basketball courts in Dunbar village.  Surrounded by a fence the thugs watch us play as they hang on the play ground near the fence where they can conduct the “business” at hand for the day.

 

James is a 9 year old boy whose door opens up to the court. Daily we traipse about 15 children over to plat basket ball.  As we go, it is not uncommon for James and his siblings to ask if they can slip in the house for a brief second. Usually they emerge bearing snacks and juice as the prize. James is s good boy. He has a quick smile that lights up his whole face.

 

At 9  he has great comedic timing and understands exactly how to illicit a laugh from the room.  Yet, he is a very angry and hurting young man. His father was shot and killed a year ago. No one is saying all the details. This little boy doesn’t get why this had to happen. He sees way too many guns on a each day. The shine of innocence no longer lingers in his eyes.

 

Last Wednesday as we started our game James slipped home for a quick drink.  He emerged agitated and angry. You see it is very easy to know when something is really bothering this boy.  His shoulders droop, he looks to the ground.  The head is down and the smile is gone.  The telltale sign of a bad situation is that he starts to suck his thumb. There is barely a response as you work through the situation. An almost inperceptable nod of the head guides the conversation as you figure out why he is so distraught. This was the boy who came out of the house.

 

I noticed him at his stoop and not on the court so I approached him to come and join the game. No response.  I decided to leave him alone for a moment to see if he could sort of get beyond whatever it was that he was dwelling on.  Ten minutes passed. I approached him again.  No response.  Maybe his sister could shed some light on the situation. Leaving James,  I asked his sister if she knew. Her idea was that he was angry because  Mom had left for work and wouldn’t be home until very late.   So back I went to James. His eyes had not left the same speck of dirt on the ground. A statue of stone, he was not budging.

 

The time had come for me to help. I began with a series of questions.  I decided to stay there and see if  we could together get to the other side of this issue. “Are you hurt?”  Quick nod, “No”   “Are you angry?” Quick nod, “Yes.”  “Who are you angry with?” Nothing.

 

For the next ten minutes I pushed and prodded through a litany of questions. No words only those nods guided me along. Who was angry at? Who had wronged him?  Finally, I realized that we had to move on with our day. The game was wrapping up and it  was time to head from basket ball back to our little room for a life skills class. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you James.” I offered up with slight exasperation.

 

Almost inaudibly came the reply, “ I saw my friend get jumped.”  At last the story began to unravel. While inside for his snack James had looked out his front window. Out on the street he had watched a group of boys beat up his 10 year old friend for apparently no reason. “I’ll bet that you wanted to do something.” I offered. Tears began to role down his cheeks.  “Did it make you feel helpless?” I inquired knowing the answer. The tears came harder. We talked of his friend and how to be a good friend. Looking around my heart hurt for this boy.  The drug thugs hung by the fence and I turned faced with glare of that boarded up apartment.  He needed to know I saw. “It’s really hard to live here isn’t it?” was all I could offer.  Then the sobs came. The break down happened as the final composure was gone.  “I never feel safe,” came the muffled reply.

 

There it was. The truth had exploded. Confirmation of all my suspicions was solidified.

At that moment I remembered once again. The programs really don’t matter. Basketball, tutoring even the Bible Studies, they are all set in place to as a catalyst for relationship. This moment is why we were there together.  I did all that I could. I let him be a little boy.  I let the crust of a world that causes him to grow up too fast melt away.  He is not a man. James is a nine year old boy.

 

Then I spoke.  I told Him how the God of the universe was there to keep him safe. I painted the pictures of how He knows the number of hairs on James’ head. Right there in the wounded palms of our Savior’s hands is the name “James,” right there where He will never forget.  He was told of three other boys who were thrown into a furnace and didn’t burn. God yearns to keep Him safe. Then on a very practical level I told Him that while He was with me that is my job.  I am the hands and feet of Christ to keep him safe.

 

All I could do that night was pray. Pray for all the children. Wait for the light to burn on the darkened land of the inner city.  Yet, the realization came over me as a wave.  At last there is an answer to the question.

 

Why do I keep on in this often overwhelming business of ministry to the at risk inner city community?  It is very simple, “James is not safe.”

Ranting and Raving

We stood by the van as the girl ranted at me. Hands were on hips as she roamed around avoiding eye contact; all the while her voice became a little higher pitched as the volume rose. Of course, life was unfair. Of course, I was unfair. I put my nose in everyone else’s business according to her. Everyone is against her; the world is against her.  There was so much drama over an incident so seemingly small.

 

As the picture before me continued to escalate all I could do is take a deep breath and say a prayer. This was the moment that I hoped the wisdom from the very mouth of God would find its way from my mouth to her heart. Instead she continued to scream, until it finally seceded with the vow that she would never come to program again. We both knew that I would see her on Monday. We both knew that this tantrum had absolutely nothing to do with the actual episode that had occurred. This was entirely, because she had no desire to go home at the end of the day.

 

I have witnessed this sight so many times before. An amazing day with a group of kids from the city comes apart at the seams just as they are about to head home. As we peer on with our fleshly eyes it seems as if it is just about putting out fires. However, I believe if we were to look with our spiritual eyes we would see scared, hurting children who are taking control as they head back into their volatile lives. For a few hours, they have felt safe to just let down and now they are walking back into the chaos. Therefore, often they need to do whatever it will take to take control before they go back to a life that feels a little too much like prison.  All of a sudden heads are rolling and you don’t have any clue why. I believe this is because they feel the wind knocked out of them before they even set foot through the door.

 

Driving home later that evening I found myself contemplating the day and all that had occurred. My heart was heavy as I pondered the day. A key volunteers cell phone had been stolen; fights had erupted and have course the yelling. Young children who are spending so much time in survival mode. I think what hurt the most however, is that they believe that is the place they have to stay. Yet, I smiled as I thought of the simple fun we had that day eating hamburgers, running relay races and playing football on a very dank, cold and grey day.  As if to prove my point, a simple reality hit me.

 

Over the course of the day there were little to no complaints about the weather. Since the children were on Christmas vacation we has decided to hold five-hour day camps for 2 days. This was the second day we spent outside, and all participants did so willingly. It was not a nice day at all. The wind whipped us. The rain spit at us. We could not get warm.  Yet, only one person in two days of this weather asked to go home early.

 

The Lord uses these moments to remind me why I keep going back.  I am compelled to continue bringing the love of Christ to this generation. The words of 1 John 3:18 haunt me, “Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.”

 

When I give up and give in to my own defeat then I have forgotten what the Lord has called us to do. I cannot merely tell these children I love them, I have to show them. No matter how often I get yelled at, I cannot take it personally. For they are not yelling at me, it is their own lives that they yell at. The unfairness of it all. If I am to love in action AND in truth, then I can’t go anywhere until the Lord tells me to. Until then the girl in the parking lot and I both find comfort in knowing, we will both be back at program come Monday.

True Worship

I could see her from the corner of my eye as the music overcame us. Her hand went up uncertainly and then it came back down.  While my children have been in the worship service at church with us, it is usual for them to participate in “children’s church.” Yet, this particular Sunday was family day at  so all of us stood hip to hip in the sanctuary.

 

The clapping songs were fun as we danced around a little bit and the band praised Christ quite loudly. However, my children were a bit uncertain as they did not know all the words and tried desperately, to follow along. Then one of our favorites began to play.  My oldest daughter slipped up close to me and threw her arms around my waist. I loved feeling her nestle close., but, soon I was totally focused on my Beloved Savior.  That was when I saw the hand.  I leaned in close and reminded her why my own hands were raised. This is a way for us to really  reach out and be able to feel God close to us. We reach up as he reaches around us.  At first it was just that she wanted to hold my hand.  Soon she joined me with her hand in the air, reaching out to touch the face of God.  As we stood there intertwined, soon I knew that she too understood why  we  were doing this.  I could hear her voice unwavering rise above the crowd. Unashamed, unabashed her heart poured out to her Lord.  My daughter has never been so beautiful as she was at that moment.  Eyes closed, clinging to my hand,  hand reaching out to heaven,  she sang with all of her soul. It was only Jesus and my little girl in an auditorium filled with people.

 

The reality that my children are watching me hit me like a ton of bricks.  My kids are paying attention. On Sunday it has shown itself in an act of worship.  However, I have seen it in so many other ways.  Their attitude about life. The ability to have deep compassion for the hurting. Injustice bothers my kids. These are all things that come directly from Mom and Dad.

 

Sometimes, I don’t like what they see. I am not always “slow to anger.”  Just today I was hit with the reality that my self image is quite skewed.  I can be critical and blunt. Ugh. I don’t always want them to watch me.  However, I understand that it is my responsibility for them to really see Jesus and not me at all.

 

My thoughts wander to all of the children I interact with in the city.  As they look around what do they see? Who do they aspire to be?  Who are they watching?

 

It would be so easy to throw blame.  “If only their parents were different, then there wouldn’t be so many problems!” “Can’t they see their kids are watching!’

 

However, I would contend they may know their children are watching, but not that they are absorbing.  Furthermore, the reality is, “Hurt people, hurt people.” 

 

The ONLY thing that separates me as a parent  is the grace and mercy of Christ. I am just a cracked earthen, vessel that shines out the Christ within. With no light it is just an empty pot.  Thus, there is nothing to offer anyone, even if it is our own children.

 

As my mind  ponders, I can see the double responsibility here. My light can not just bring warmth to my own children.  It must radiate out beyond to the families of the city.  This is the light that drives out all fear.

 

If this is true it will transform lives. Parents will be drawn to its safety. As they are changed, their children too will draw close to them one day so they might worship together.  One day we will all stand side by side.  Each one of us, parent and child focused on the King on the Throne.

Samaria: Guest Blogger Dale Eby

“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

Acts 1:8

 

If you have a red letter (Jesus’ statements) Bible, as you look at this verse in Acts you realize this is the last statement by Jesus to His disciples. What significance should this statement hold to the local church? These aren’t just parting words; these are marching orders to the disciples on how to carry out the commission of Christ in the world. I imagine they weighed heavy in the minds of the disciples so they should way heavy in our minds as we plan our own missions in ministry.

 

Jerusalem – the location of the original church plant. Each local church has a calling to meet the unique needs of its community.

 

Judea – the surrounding region of Jerusalem. A local church should view engaging their surrounding region as a desire of Christ.

 

The ends of the earth – speaks for itself. The local church should consider it a calling to have impact on the injustices of the world.

 

The local church should be diligent about focusing their missions programs on offering opportunities for involvement in each of these geographic designations. But, I hope you have noticed that I left an area out, Samaria.

 

Samaria – unclean, untouchable, despised, avoided, ignored

 

I can only imagine the gasps as the name of Samaria came out of Jesus’ mouth. But, throughout His ministry, you see the purposefulness in Jesus’ travels and parables involving Samaria and its people as a message to His followers. Get out of your comfort zone, touch the untouchable, heal the unclean, care for the despised; Be Christ!

 

Where is your Samaria? For many ministries, it is the inner city. Often these areas are separated, declining, and hopeless. Many Jesus-loving Christians will purposely avoid them on their way to shopping and dining. We are careful to make the right turns and to lock the doors at traffic lights. We even blame the situation on a lack of initiative from the sufferer.

 

I have know doubt that overcoming all of these biases is the exact reason Jesus so evidently mentions Samaria in His last statement. Where is your Samaria? Find an area, fund an inner city ministry, partner with a church in the area, but BE GOD’S WITNESS. Don’t just throw money at the problem, actually go get on the front lines of ministry in these areas. As you read Jesus’ parting words, I pray you realize you need Samaria more than Samaria needs you.

 

Regardless where you are you have your Samaria. Go be Christ’s witness!

 

 

 

 Dale Eby is the Associate Pastor of Church in the Farms, a suburban (some would even argue rural) church in Jupiter Farms, FLorida.  As Director of Student Ministries there he consistently brings his High School and Middle School youth groups to serve in missions with our inner city ministry Urban Youth Impact. He has become a good friend, bringing the perspective of understanding the need to walk out Christ in every aspect of  His life while inviting all those around him on the journey.  He resides here in Florida with his beautiful, amazing wife of 14 years and his two Godly,  daughters who all often serve on these missions trips with him.

 

 

 

The Harvest Is Plenty

 

His hair was matted with grease, sweat and the smell of the streets. He pushed along the rickety shopping cart piled high with all of his earthly belongings. Old garbage bags, rusty cans and all sort of odds and ends were all he held claim to. Clothes filled with holes, worn far away from their original color hung off his hollow frame.  One foot in front of the other he plugged along with the mission to survive the day. 

 

I opened the bottle of  “Gatorade” and decided that I really did not want to drink it.  Knowing that I was not allowed to bring it into the airport anyway, I tossed it away with out a second thought. When I got into the gate I would get myself a cup of coffee, which was what I really wanted anyway. Still too far off to see, he did not notice when or how it hit the trashcan.

 

Standing on the street waiting for the bus, I could hear the squeaky wheels of the cart as he struggled onward.  Then he stopped right in front of me, stuck his hand deep into the trashcan and pulled out my bottle of Gatorade. Giving it 2 quick shakes, he deemed it acceptable and put it into his cart. A good drink for later I guess. Obviously pleased with his most recent prize, he did not even bother to look around.  At least today he would not go thirsty. The harvest is plenty and the workers are few.

 

My phone rang and my heart sank, as it was another call from Family services wanting to know the phone number for a “certain” Mom. I knew that it had been disconnected.  We chatted for a few minutes on how Mom was doing.  I could not tell her what I suspected. All I could say was what I had seen.  The kids don’t always make it to school, the electricity is turned off in the apartment, and no attempt is even remotely being made to find a job. I could not tell her my speculations based on the stories of her children. That she is rarely home, does drugs, allows her boyfriend to do drugs in front of them and is prostituting her for a living.  How about the times that I know she has gotten so drunk that she is loud and violent (to her boyfriend not the kids) and can not remember exactly what happened the next day? Yet, as I talked with her caseworker I was told that she was not going to remove the kids from the home. As long as they have a place to sleep, running water and some form of food on the table at times then there is nothing she can do.  Unless I can tell her that the children are not “safe,” there is nothing she can do. They are not safe, I want to scream. However, I can’t tell her that Mom is prostituting in the home so technically they are all right. What do I do?  Where is “safe?” How do I love this Mom as I have been called to? How can I “love this neighbor as myself?” The harvest is plenty and the workers are few.

 

He has chosen to move his family right into the center of  “the hood.’  More than that he lives with his wife and his children right next door to a crack house. When the family comes home daily each side looks the other up and down. One with hope and compassion for who God has intended them to be, the other with disgust for who they think they are. This family is a city on a hill.  Every evening in the upstairs room his son plays video games. But, this night he decided to go to bed early.  That is when the fight broke out. That is when the guns came out.  That is when the bullet came through the upstairs window.  His son was safely tucked into his bed. The harvest is plenty but the workers are few.

 

The harvest is plenty and the workers are few.  All around us rise the groans of the fractured souls. Fruit is falling from the tree and dieing. The harvest is plenty and the workers are few.  So why do we turn our eyes to the ground so that we will not see?

The harvest is plenty and the workers are few.

 

What do I do with my anger?  Is it righteous? Who am I angry with? Is it the world, or Satan or myself?  Some days I can’t stop the tears and I believe my heart will cave in. All we can do is pray. Pray without ceasing. Pray with out stopping, and then pray some more. Our hearts must be broken and protected. It cannot get sucked into the hopelessness.  For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who shows no partiality and accepts no bribes. He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the alien, giving him food and clothing.”

 

In the end we must remember that it is a mighty God who is in control. He is the God of the harvest. And the harvest is plenty and the workers are few…

33 Years

 The newspaper headline read, “One Killed in Gang Related Shooting.”  Well, I guess this is not a shock.  People are killed in gang related shootings all the time.  It is a tragic bi-product of a violent life.  Gangs are on the rise in every city across this country. The small urban areas are no longer safe from this type of crime.  No matter the population, they are coming in and lapping up wayward youth looking for a place to belong.  I guess it gives them sort of misguided sense of belonging and order to otherwise chaotic lives.

 

No the headline did not surprise me. What came, as a shock was the response.   My good friend Lynn Ann’s ministry, Aslan Youth Ministries had been working in Asbury Park, NJ for over seven years now. Aslan has been working in the cities of Monmouth County, NJ for over 33 years.  I myself was a part of Aslan when the Asbury program was launched. I have walked those streets and played with the children. There are streets that are dark no matter what time of day you venture them. Children run drugs as young as seven years old, just to survive.  This is life on the streets. This is the story in, “the hood.”  My observation is that this is true of street life in every city I have been to, big and small.  When I moved to other parts of the country, I expected it to be different. Maybe, not better, but at least different. Yet, Asbury Park, Roanoke, VA, West Palm Beach, Fl, in all of these places children struggle daily to be just that, children. Innocence is lost, too often hope is gone way too young.  Just because the headline made the paper did not mean that the violence had grown from the day before.  Families die daily, from hunger, despair, addiction and devastation of the body and soul.

 

However, within a day of the report all of the volunteers and even the staff involved in Asbury, no longer wanted to go into the streets and pick up the children to bring them to tutoring and bible classes. They would continue to teach, but they would not get the children there. They were afraid.  The reality of the daily situation had smacked them in the face and their own mortality suddenly came to light.  I can’t say I wouldn’t have been scared. I have had knives pulled on me by 12 year olds and heard gun shots while I am setting up for an after school program.  It is frightening. You hold your breath, your heart pounds; you wonder what you are doing there in this very angry place.  In your mind you throw in the towel a million times and ask the Lord for a call to a different place. Maybe he could send you someplace cushy for a while? I am not mocking them for being scared.  Yet, Lynn Ann had a different response.  She did what she has done for over 32 years. She went and picked them up. When everyone else was paralyzed by fear, she did what she always does- She put the children first. Her resolve has always been that this is not her life.  It belongs to Christ.

 

Why?  These children aren’t allowed a choice. They don’t get to wake up in a safe bed, on a safe street. Often, the guns are safer than their own homes. There is nothing more agonizing to watch than a life that is void of hope. When someone has given up then they don’t put anyone before themselves. It is a life waiting to die.  This is when the anger, alcohol, drugs, pain and hurt envelope them. Their eyes are on one thing, the end. They are eyes that are hollow and shallow. No more tears are cried; the hardened shell has taken them over.  When Ezekiel talks of the “heart of stone” this is what it looks like.  These are the homes the children of the city grow in. Cities right here in America, in our own back yard.

 

Lynn Ann exemplifies the passage from 2 Corinthians 5: 13 “If we are out of our mind, it is for the sake of God; if we are in our right mind, it is for you. 14 For Christ’s love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. 15 And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again.”

The New King James Version says it this way, “If we are beside ourselves,” and the new Living Translation puts it bluntly, “If we are crazy.”   The reality is that sometimes in life we do crazy things for Jesus.  We go onto the streets that no one else will go to. We work with families that are forgotten by the world. We tell some stranger about the love of Christ, we comfort the tears of the person behind us in line at the grocery store.  We take ourselves out of our comfort zones. Those who hate large crowds teach Bible studies, and those who make a lot of money give it away.   The Bible is full of true stories of those who gave away more than they had. Why?  We are compelled by the love of Christ.  The one who “died and rose again” shows us that our life is no longer ours. For me it belongs the fatherless, the widowed, the hungry, the poor, the broken and the desperate.  Without Christ, my life is just death.  Those empty souls need to be filled with hope. 

 

“…. 20 We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God. 21 God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. “  My life belongs to those children, and their families on Christ’s behalf.  I have often said that the youth of the cities are offered extra help but they are never offered true empowerment.  True empowerment comes when someone will tell you the truth.  A life is changed when they come to grasp, “how, wide and deep and long is the love of Christ,” as it, says in Ephesians. I don’t know if we will ever truly understand how powerful it is to show someone the love of Christ.  Go beyond just telling them and walk it out with them.

 

No, I do not condemn those who won’t drive into those dark areas. They still give their lives for the Lord in other ways. Yet, “As for me and my household we will serve the Lord” In other words, “We will be crazy for Jesus…” I have seen the lives that they cannot escape.  I know who offers them the way out. No one has shown them what love that will come for them looks like. I will…

 

So my question for you today is, What will you do??  Will you be “out of your mind” for the Lord? Will you allow the knowledge that the one without sin became sin for us, so that we might live overtake you?  Will we go beyond ourselves this day in whatever way he asks?

 

I have to ask him everyday what he wants from me. I am no better than the lost, except that I have been found.  Today will you join me?

Big Baby: Guest Blogger: Jerry Higley

One evening, this summer, I heard the cries of a bird in distress. At first I thought a bird was trying to protect her young from a prowling stray cat. Obviously, some bird was extremely agitated. I grabbed my trusty Eagle Optics binoculars on the way to the window over-looking my backyard. In an instant my eagle eyes, even without the binoculars, located the distressed bird. It was on the ground under a bird feeder and it wasn’t happy. It was raising a ruckus as it followed a smaller bird. But, all was not as it seemed.

            At first glance, the less observant person would assume that a mother bird was chewing out her young offspring for some juvenile offense. Over the course of time I’ve become observant of bird behavior. Perhaps it’s because of all the bird names I’ve been called. Names like chicken, you’re going to be a dead duck, turkey, etc. Nevertheless, I immediately knew what the problem was. This wasn’t a big mom following around her small baby. This was a big baby following around its small mom.

            The big baby, which was much larger than the mother, was demanding to be fed. No matter how hard the mother worked, she couldn’t feed the baby fast enough to keep it content. Sure, all baby birds are hungry and demanding but there was something sinister at work here. I had seen this phenomenon before… brood parasites. It made me mad.

            The mother, a small song sparrow, had become the victim of a nasty trick. A brown-headed cowbird, much larger than a song sparrow, had laid her eggs in the unsuspecting song sparrow’s nest. The cowbird became an absentee parent, content to let the song sparrow raise her baby for her. But, it gets worse. Typically, the larger and more aggressive cowbird babies push the smaller song bird babies out of the nest.

            I watched as the dedicated mom worked feverishly to feed the big baby who was almost twice her size. It appeared that the song sparrow was being run ragged trying to care for an overly demanding juvenile- which wasn’t even hers. I must admit, I began to have bad thoughts toward that baby cowbird.

            Just as I was beginning to scheme ways to provide relief for the mom…if you know what I mean; my wife Karen spoke. It was as if she knew what I was thinking. Maybe she saw the wild look in my eyes. Nevertheless, with a motherly voice Karen simply said, “It’s not the baby’s fault.” Her words stopped my in my tracks. The big baby was simply doing what hungry baby birds do- they beg for food. It wasn’t the baby’s fault it was born in the wrong nest. Here’s a question you can debate in your next philosophy class, “Is the victim the mother song sparrow or the baby cowbird?”

            Karen’s simple statement immediately made me think of some of the urban children YFC ministers to. “It’s not their fault,” echoes in my ears. As I was writing this article, Kristy, a member of my staff stopped in my office. She had recently experienced the realities of urban ministry. She recalled going to pick up a child for an activity, as she approached the house she heard a man in a loud voice swearing profusely. He was shouting angrily at a four year old for not making it to the potty in time. In another family, a child was quickly hustled off to a different state with a relative they barely knew. Another girl discovered her mom was in jail for possession of drugs, not on a job transfer as she had been told.

            To observers driving through town, shopping at the mall, or reading newspaper accounts it appears that today’s young people are filled with anger, disrespect, and bad attitudes. The casual observer will ask, “What in the world is wrong with these kids? Someone needs to grab a hold of them and teach them a good lesson.” The keen observer, with a broken heart and a motherly voice will say, “It’s not their fault.”

            Please understand, I’m not saying bad behavior is acceptable. It’s not. What I am saying is that when children are neglected, abused, and unloved- bad behavior is the natural result. So, who is the victim: society or the unloved child?

            The baby cowbird didn’t ask to be hatched in a song sparrow’s nest. Neither does any child ask to be born into a home void of love and nurture. YFC, as with all inner city youth ministries exist to minister to hurting children. We must continue to create environments where children can be nurtured, loved and valued. We must build pockets of peace where kids can be safe, encouraged and given hope. They need to be loved and experience the forgiving and healing touch of Jesus.

            I learned a lesson from that mother song sparrow. I learned that I must love others unconditionally, including the kid with the sagging pants and the bad attitude. If I call myself a Christian, that’s what Jesus expects of me. They may not be my child but they need my love. After all, “It’s not the baby’s fault.”

Since 1978 Jerry Higley has been the Executive Director of Lebanon Valley Youth For Christ, in Lebanon PA.  He graduated from Lancaster Bible College and received an M.A. from Talbot Theological. Jerry and his wife Karen have two married daughters, including five grandchildren, and a daughter in college.

Calling

Called. Calling. When we step out into “the ministry” or serving the Lord in any capacity we claim it is because the Lord, “called” us out. 

 

A voice kept waking Samuel in the middle of the night.   He thought it was the Priest Eli waking him so that he might go about doing something for the Priest. Yet, instead we find out that it was the first time in Samuel’s life that he met with the Lord. It says in 1 Samuel 1:7 “Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord: The word of the LORD had not yet been revealed to him.” God was literally “calling” him.  This is what the passage declares. The Lord was “calling” Samuel in the night.  This was the first time that the Lord gave Samuel something to say, and he said it. This was the commission that God gave him. The words that he was to speak were not easy. Much younger than Eli, he had to stand up and say that the Lord had a word for him and it was not good news.  From this time forward the Lord “was with Samuel and did not let his words fall to the ground,” (vs. 19) and  “He continued to appear to him.” (Vs. 21). The Lord literally called out for Samuel to come to Him and do His work. That is exactly what He did. From that day forward although He was asked to say and do some difficult things for the Lord, Samuel never faltered.

 

Why? He knew exactly whose voice he had heard as a child. When God showed up, Samuel knew it.

 

Then there was Isaiah.  God shows up powerfully, takes away his sin and commissions him to go and speak on His behalf.  The Lord wants to know in Isaiah 6, “ Whom shall I send? Who will go for us?” Isaiah emphatically throws His hands in the air: “Pick me! I’ll go.”

 

This does not even begin to touch the calling of the 12 disciples, Paul, Elisha or any of the prophets for that matter.  There are so many examples of those throughout history who clearly heard the voice of God telling them to come follow him and then go about his business.

 

So it is no wonder that as we embark on a life of ministry that we ask ourselves: “Have I been called?”

 

Bill Wilson founder of Metro Ministries in New York City claims in his book “Whose Child is This?” That he doesn’t like to use the term “called.”   He claims that he was not called at all. For him the Lord showed him the need and he reached out to fill it.  As they say in the movie “Robots”  “See a need, fill a need!”

 

Is it important then to be called into ministry?  I would contend yes….and no. If we are asking the question if we should “love our neighbor as ourselves.”  The answer is a no brainer. Of course. We are to think of others more highly than ourselves. I must decrease so that Christ in me might increase. We should look around the world with the Lord’s eyes. He commands us to notice the widows and the orphans.  We are to “spend” ourselves on behalf of the hungry.  James is pretty clear, “If one of you says to him, “Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.”   So in this case we are not “called,” we are commanded. The Lord gives us His eyes to see the need and then with His power we fill it.

 

However, I do believe that when the Lord sends you on a specific task for His glory, for His purpose, you are called. You have to be. If you are going to not just follow the Lord but do all that He has asked of you. The Lord had a specific purpose and plan for the work He had for Samuel to do.  He needed to walk through His life absolutely certain that He had heard God himself telling him to do His work.

 

I would follow that if we are to survive and thrive in service to the youth and families of the inner city we have to know that we have heard God telling us to be there. Not to just reach out and show love. That we are supposed to be doing as followers of Christ. However, if we are going to genuinely stick it out for the long haul, we have to be sure.  In those dark moments you have to be able to go back and say,  “I am certain that the Lord wants me here. This is what He told me to do.” 

 

Otherwise we walk out in our strength. Think of Jonah heading off to Tar shish. Not only did God not tell him to go, Jonah was running away from what God had told him to do. When we do it on our own, we end up fish vomit.  It is all-worthless when we try to go about God’s business on our own. We can’t do it.

 

I believe that it is vital when we are looking at the “purpose and plan” for our lives that we know what God’s voice sounds like.   We must learn to discern is this God’s voice calling to me to come and do this task for Him?  Some things are good ideas, some are God ideas and some are God’s ideas for someone else. This is what we must learn to weigh.

 

Let’s face it ministry is hard work.  It is work that you cannot do on your own. We cannot heal, or replace hurt with hope. We cannot save. Only Christ can.  As we are his hands and feet we must know exactly what the Lord has said.  As Isaiah we have been picked. As Samuel, we must know that not one of the Lord’s words will fall to the ground.

 

The city is a darkened place. We are needed there. But not just as another warm body. Not just as a hiccup that steps through. Instead we must stay and be used.  In this we have to be called.  This is how we avoid burn out.  Going back to those moments where we can say for certainty that if we are not walking these streets making disciples then we are walking in sin.

 

How do you know if you have been called?  It is that very thing that when you try to walk away you are certain that you are walking away from the very will of God for your life.  Jeremiah called it the fire in his bones that he hated. Paul declared, “Woe to me if I do not preach the Gospel.”   

 

If I am not standing in the heart of the city bring love to the destitute and dieing, woe to me.

Will I be different?

When you spend most of your time in the inner city there are certain little things that just naturally become a part of your life.  Certain slang words almost become a part of your own vocabulary. There are certain fashion trends that (although you have tried to avoid it) you understand fully.  There are certain places that probably still should be, but have stopped becoming, so intimidating to you.  Everyone has his or her way of living and this is yours. That became very evident to me just today.

 

During a meeting at the office a couple of months ago our Program Director announced that a local Nature Center had offered free admission to day camp for some of the children in our ministry. While this was a wonderful gesture it presented a few problems. Mainly it was running only half a day during a week that Urban Youth Impact is offering its own day camps.  Alright, we might have even been able to pull this off, but they were only offering five spots and the camp only ran for one week at a time. There were 2 spots available for one week and three for another. Who could provide transportation for something like this?  We wanted to take advantage of this great offer, but what to do? Well, through a series of events, if I agreed to drive, two of my own children would be given spots to go.

 

Now, I thought my kids would be THRILLED at this opportunity.  They get to go do arts and crafts and be outside. My children LOVE nature and animals and they would get to be learning about all of this. I felt so blessed that the Lord would give my kids this chance to be treated so very special.

 

While, they were excited as the first day of camp has arrived, I have been shocked at how nervous they were. For my oldest (who is 8), her fears were alleviated with the usual questions. Where is it? What will they do when they get there? Will they know anyone else? 

 

Being that the bulk of their time is spent at the ministry with the kids involved in all the programs there, I thought they might like to branch out and make some new friends. My son (who just turned 7) has just remained very uncertain.

 

Tonight as I was tucking him in he asked me if I would pray with him “special.” (Daddy had already come in for bedtime prayers.)  He told me that he was afraid that no one was going to like him. He was afraid that he wasn’t going to make any friends.

 

Now if you have ever met my son, you are scratching your head on this one. He is the life of every party. He is cool, funny, and athletic.  He can get along with pretty much anyone. A little on the shy side, he is the kids that wants everyone to feel like they are the most special kid in the room. Why wouldn’t EVERYONE want to be his friend?

 

After we prayed, I asked him why he was so fearful of making friends. He said, “I am going to be different from everyone else.”  I couldn’t believe my ears. Sure he wasn’t a cookie cutter, but he wasn’t going to stick out either.

 

“Different? Why?” I inquired. “Well, everyone there is going to be brown and I am not.”

Oh!!  I gave him a big hug and a kiss. This is a camp that is in a Nature Center on the beach. It is geared towards people from the Suburbs.  I knew it would be a mix of different types of people.  My son, however, is so used to being among the only “non- brown” people in the room, he just figured this would be the case once again.

 

I went on to tell my son that he would not be the only non-brown person there.

 

Turning out the lights, my husband stepped in. He gave our boy a big hug and let him know we love him just the way he is. We laughed about how our life just IS a certain way. However, it also was a good reminder.

 

As you walk out life in ministry with your children, I remembered that they did not choose this. They have not been “called.”   They are not old enough yet to have figured out what their “ministry” will be. To them this is just life in our family. This is what we do and who we are.  I was struck with how many expectations we do put on them so often “in the name of Jesus.”   They have given up their space, their rooms, and their beds at different times.  They are constantly expected to “go with the flow.”  They hang around places and live out life in places they didn’t necessarily choose.  While I believe with my whole heart that “this is good for them.” That this is teaching them about how to love the world for Jesus and putting themselves aside. The Lord has a plan just for them too. He has created them as individuals. Sometimes it isn’t always easy on them.  While my son is learning great life lessons about what it feels like to be on the outside looking in, that does not mean it doesn’t hurt a little along the way. 

 

I took a look at my own heart tonight. I was reminded that sometimes I need to give my own kids some “slack.”  Honestly, when my son said what he did, I wanted to launch into a commentary on how people of other colors feel everyday. Yet, he is 7.  He didn’t need a lesson at that moment. He needed to know that I heard his fear,  “If I am too different, will no one like me?”   We were able to remind him the Lord sees through it all.  He can never be too different. Jesus loves him no matter what.

 

I wouldn’t change one choice that we have made or continue to make. My children are growing up witnessing the love of Christ in so many amazing ways. They are learning how to give it away as a way of life. However, sometimes I have to just love on them for a while and let them take it all in. We want them prepared to make that choice one day to stand out in a crowd. Because they CHOOSE to.  Because they look different. Because the look just like Jesus.