Front Porch Blessings and Woes

We went to the same high school. (Garfield!)

When I was a senior, he was a freshman. I asked if he knew my sisters, but he couldn’t recollect them. That doesn’t surprise me. I imagine we were on two very different tracks. I took honors courses in preparation for college, he wrestled with anger and most likely spent more time suspended than active in school.

He’s still working on his GED. 

But today he’s working at the Front Porch. The plumbing has backed up and we needed some extra help with deconstruction to access some pipes. 

He confided in me yesterday that he was stressed. He had a meeting with his Parole Officer, and was worried he would be sent to a half-way house if his present living situation was found…unsatisfactory. 

Two things, stirred within me: compassion and heroism. I felt compassionate for this young man who was striving to do right yet had few venues to succeed. I felt the need to do something good and validate myself as well. A dangerous combination.

In the past, this combination may have resulted in an invitation: come live with me. Move into Bachtel Avenue and we can help you out, but I no longer live on Bachtel. I have moved out in preparation for my wedding and no longer have the right to simply invite transient neighbors into that house. (And my new house was a non-option).

So I prayed.

And prayer was the sum of what I could do. I do recognize that in the grande scheme South Street has pastored, served, esteemed, and connected this young man, however I know that ultimately God changes his life and course. And whether I am able to house this young man or not, God will see him through. 

In my quest for validation, prayer becomes secondary. However, God will limit our capacity (or reveal our inadequacy) at times to force us to rely on His power, His hand, His faith.

The same is true of our 15 Year Anniversary on March 9th. Bob Lupton, a 35 year seasoned urban developer. Duane Crabbs, founder of South Street 15 years ago. Ward Councilman. Graphic designers. PR Representatives. Seasoned Neighbors. Akron businessmen and women…

And me. Among so many professionals, veterans, or neighborhood heads, my inadequacies become apparent. My limited capacity revealed. So I pray.

I pray that God blesses South Street for another 15 years and enables me to serve as a leader there.

I pray for South Akron and Summit Lake, that renewal and development (coupled with justice and mercy) will happen here.

I pray for young men like the one above, that God (through His people) will make away for them to work, live, and thrive despite past mistakes.

I pray, and God hears.

 

Grace and peace

Giving, Receiving, and the space between

HOMELESS ANYTHING WILL HELP GOD BLESS

Excuse me sir, could you lend me $2.85 for a bus ride to Barberton? I got no way to get out there and I gotta pick up this check. 

I hate to ask, but could you loan me $10. I get paid this Friday, but I’m out of gas today.

Good evening _________, this is Joe Tucker calling on behalf of South Street Ministries. Thank you for your past donation. We are calling all of our donors at the _____level and asking if they would consider increasing their support to _________. 

• Strategic Goals:
• 100% giving from non-profit Board of Directors, executive director, and key staff (92% giving was achieved in previous FY)

——————————————————————————————–

In the past two weeks, I have heard, contemplated, or read the above phrases. In some cases I have been solicited, in others I have contemplated asking others for funding for South Street Ministries as we approach our 15 Year Anniversary (for more information, visit our website www.southstreetministries.org, shameless plug, I know).

It strikes me. The differences and similarities of it all. Men on corners begging for change. Non-profit directors planning strategic funding campaigns (theoretically so we can help the above man on the corner!).  I’m also struck by the frequent occurrences wherein Jesus talks about money. The Gospels are full of moneylenders and debtors, stewards and turned tables, perfume purchases, parables, and the poor.

And here am I in the mix of it all. Lending $10 for gas. Writing operational budgets for a growing organization. Hiring men from the neighborhood to open and close the Front Porch. Paying payroll taxes and insurance for South Street. Passing and recognizing the man on the corner, knowing his name, yet giving him nothing.

And therein lies my concern. Money is duplicitous. Is that man really homeless? Does your organization actually help the people you claim to serve? How does that corporation actually use its profits?

Perhaps that is my concern: being known. Moreover, being known and found insufficient:

• If you actually knew how much I had or spent would you condemn me for being too luxurious and not generous enough?
• Would I really give to you, if you weren’t homeless, but prone to drinking? (Would I give even if you really were homeless without a drinking problem?)
• Would people give to South Street if our results weren’t that quantitatively impressive but we tried our best to love deeply?

I feel like Adam in the Garden of Eden. Only instead of using fig leaves to hide my shame and selfishness, I have a billfold. 

Please don’t misinterpret this. I fully believe in the work we do at South Street. I try to live selflessly most of the time. But there are (often) times when my selfishness eclipses my generosity. There are times when our ministry walks through more ‘failures’ than ‘successes.’

And I refuse to paint a different picture in order to garner your support. 

Over the next month, I will post, plan, pray, and promote our 15 Year Anniversary for South Street Ministries. And the temptation I face is to present the perfect picture of need and performance. To quantify in such a way the work of our ministry so that you are inclined to support us.

It is a temptation I avoid through honesty. I honestly believe in our work. And our work is more about faithfulness than effectiveness. We desire effect, but often times it is not present. Often times men and women relapse, the breadth of the street wins over the narrowness of the Way, volunteer enjoy momentary interactions over lasting relationships.

And the only work we can point to is the quantitatively impossible love. We still love even when the success of redevelopment, recovery, or conversion doesn’t take root. We still love when relationships crumble, worshippers argue, and transiency transports our friends to new neighborhoods. We still love even when we don’t feel like it anymore.

And I know that this is what Christ ultimately calls us to.

Perhaps we will not be found insufficient after all.

Grace and peace (admist the mess)

Devices and Disguises

“We all have our devices, yours make you look terrible, mine make me look good.”

My words as we discussed the Beatitudes at South Street’s Sunday fellowship. We were discussing the backwards nature of the Kingdom of God. As we entered into conversation, I knew the place of my own heart: distant and stale. A spiritually lazy week had yielded a short-tempered, selfish version of myself that I knew how to properly disguise.

My disguise of productivity. Before South Street gathered I was working. I cleared the snow off the van and picked up friends and neighbors to come to worship with us. When I arrived at the Front Porch, I set up the sound system, changed the trash bags, set out pastries, made a fresh pot of coffee, and bought Styrofoam cups (so that I wouldn’t have to do dishes as well I suppose).

No one was the wiser. My productivity disguise doesn’t just blend into most Christian cultures, it thrives there. I answered questions and addressed concerns. I ran the sound for the service. However as Duane began to paraphrase the Beatitudes, discussing the ‘goodness’ of mourning, or being cursed, or being poor, my productivity facade began to chaff the spirit within.

I sat with friends, some my age, one significantly older who is quite straightforward and has a silver tongue (that is no stranger to the baser words of our discourse). He quickly connected with the Beatitudes. He knew mourning, poverty, and hardship far better than I. He knew times of walking with God and times when his devices mad him far worse off.

“We all have our devices, yours make you look terrible, mine make me look good.”  I responded. The discussion continued, but the disguise continued. I set up a video to play, drove some folks home, and proceeded home to get some work done.

And I did. And the rush was validating. I finished a flier for South Street’s 15 Year anniversary (MArch 9th!!) and revised the website. For some reason, I decided to visit the Chapel’s new service, the Gathering. I had perfected my disguise at the Chapel. I had authentic days and false days, but few were aware. Throughout the hard days I was not blessed, I was disguised.

The service was well attended and youthful. My reputation proceeded me and I was greeted by old and new friends. We worshiped and I sang loudly. I love the sound of my voice.

I stopped singing. My falsehood was intolerable, and the inner spirit once again chaffed against the disguise. The sermon spoke well to my condition and after a good deal of socializing I went out with an old friend and his wife. I had walked with this couple through a great many hardships and their Beatitude blessing was apparent to me.

“We all have our devices, yours make you look terrible, mine make me look good.”  I thought again.

I headed home, tired from a long day of doing, with little essence of being. My disguise sat on the floor of my truck, stripped off through conversation, conviction, and exhaustion. The hardship with a productivity disguise is that eventually the burden of performance is too much to bare.

I was blessed that day. I was blessed to talk at South Street, to accept a word from friends and neighbors who had no pretense of productivity. I was blessed to worship at the Chapel and recognize the vanity of my own soul. I was blessed to sit at Luigi’s and listen to the genuine hardships and pain of friends.

And I am blessed to be rid of that wretched disguise. I am blessed to ask for help instead of always give it. I am blessed to be still and rest.

I Need This

I really hope this post sees the light of day.

I am in a season of incoming. There are lots of things (lots of stuff) that I am acquiring.  Over the course of the next year, I will buy and furnish a house. I will receive many gifts from friends who love me dearly. I am in a season of incoming.

And because I am a Christ-follower and because I live in a ‘needy’ neighborhood, this season has taxed my spirit. There is an unconscious accumulation of stuff that just happens as middle-class Americans. We buy things and receive gifts, and things amass in our basements and attics.

My grandfather passed some time ago and some of his things were passed on to me. My parents recently moved and I inherited their surplus. My birthday is coming up, and friends will buy me stuff. And a season of incoming can easily turn into a long season of having, a lifetime of owning, a culture of needing.

And it is to that sentiment that I now turn: need.

My cell phone does not work that well. It often freezes and has some programming glitches.  I recently said, “I need a new cell phone.” That is not true. I want a new cell phone, but I do not need a new one. I am quite reckless with that word, as we all are.

Because when I need something it seems all the more justifiable. To need a new (and thus reliable) car, a consistently functional phone, a set of matching plates, or a comfortable couch makes the acquisition of such items all the more palatable and justifiable.

But were I to say the more truthful, but less noble ‘want,‘ my character may be called to question. My selfishness possibly exposed. I want a new cell phone. I want a truck that doesn’t have problems with power steering. I want nice cutlery and comfortable furniture.

I have 22 hats in my closet. Twenty-two. At South Street today I wore my 23rd hat and one of the kids who attends took it from my head and put it on. This is an infuriating game the children play for two reasons: one- it leaves my balding head cold, and two- without fail the inner city youth I work with and love inevitably look cooler than me in my own hats.

And when the service ended, the child asked if they could keep my hat.

I need this. Not my 23rd hat, but a consistent presence in my life that reminds of my propensity to acquire and my reluctance to give. I need the twinge of selfishness (because I like that hat) to remind me just how petty and selfish I can be. And I need a community where sharing is normative, where giving and receiving is a beautiful two-way street.

I often receive accolades for my work at South Street. I do not deserve them. I need this ministry, because it ministers to my selfish heart.  My neighbors, brothers, and sisters (many with legitimate needs, many others with far more reasonable wants than my own) lead my heart to freedom by taking things off my head.

I am in a season of incoming. But there is a season for everything.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

LORD, grant me the wisdom to know the difference.

Grace & Peace

Akron: Love & Lament

In less than two miles I was in two worlds.

Tuesday started with my neighbors and I watching a house get destroyed. The house across from me, next door to my neighbors has been vacant since I moved onto Bachtel Ave. 2 years ago. My roommates and I joke that there are more rocks from our driveway on the roof and through the windows of that old, abandoned house then there are rocks remaining in our driveway.

And it was an eyesore. And it was a home for animals (raccoon and possum). And the foundation was bad (or so I was told). And the copper piping had probably long been stolen already. But this being the third house torn down over a five day period on Bachtel alone was still disheartening. It’s a brown-dirt scab on an already injured street. I thought of Lamentations 1 “How deserted lies the city, once so full of people! How like a widow is she, who once was great among the nations! She who was queen among the provinces has now become a slave.

However, my afternoon was spent at the University of Akron in a conference hosted by the Knight Foundation entitled “For the Love of Akron.” We spent the afternoon designing shirts that captured the heart of Akron, perceiving the city through different eyes, and proposing plans to renew the city through art and civic leadership.

It was good. But made for a weird day.

My morning spent watching a house razed. My afternoon spent dreaming about the future of Akron. The contradiction was obvious to me and weighed on my spirit. The present reality of my city didn’t match the desired future. And as encouraging as the conference was, my present concerns were left unanswered.

However, I doubt that the city or the Knight Foundation would even be able to answer my lament. I understand most of the economic and political issues at work in my neighborhood. Its easier to ‘landbank’ and reinvest into a neighborhood later. Not many of my neighbors vote or attend community meetings for change.

So the words of the prophet Isaiah were particularly relevant to me this week: (Isaiah 58:10-12)

If you do away with the yoke of oppression, 
   with the pointing finger and malicious talk, 
and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry 
   and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, 
then your light will rise in the darkness, 
   and your night will become like the noonday. 
The LORD will guide you always; 
   he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land 
   and will strengthen your frame. 
You will be like a well-watered garden, 
   like a spring whose waters never fail. 
Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins 
   and will raise up the age-old foundations; 
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls, 
   Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.

Restorer of Streets with Dwellings. I like that. Because there are less and less dwellings on Bachtel every month. Summit Lake leads Akron in abandoned and vacant properties. And there is a clear effect on the neighborhood. I ask my neighbors what they think  and there responses are usually sighs of ‘what if.’

What if my family had moved in? What if they repaired the house? During the “For the Love of Akron” event, many artist’s efforts to renew their city were displayed. One such artist Candy Chang from New Orleans developed “I Wish This Was” stickers

The stickers were posted all over New Orleans to express hope, despair, frustration, and potential.

I wish my street were full of good neighbors and not empty plots.

I wish there was a grocery store in walking distance.

I wish the school on the top of the hill wasn’t unused and vacant.

I wish my street were a little more like Isaiah 58 and a lot less like Lamentations.

Peace?

I can remember talking about nonviolence and pacifism at a coffee shop. I remember the debate over the theoretical question, “what if someone broke in your house and threatened your family?”  I was 20, single, and relatively safe. The notion of someone breaking into my not-yet real house and threatening my non-existing family wasn’t even a present reality.

I look back at the conversation in disgust now. Because it so trivializes the real hurt and pain and loss that so many have actually felt. An 11 year old girl was hit by a stray bullet this week.  She died soon thereafter. She had been a participant in South Street’s urban gardens last year. Some of her extended family are still gardening participants this year.

I did not know the girl personally, but the weight of violence has burdened my heart this week. so much so that the hope of peace seems distant. It is easy for me to turn the other cheek, I’ve never been hit and I don’t fight. But how do I tell children about peace when fighting is all they know? Sometimes, it feels like I don’t practice nonviolence, but non-activity. Peace is easy when there is no conflict.

But for my neighbors and city, is peace even an option? Can the deep shalom of Christ be actualized in neighborhoods where girls get hit by stray bullets? I found Psalm 122 in my search for an answer; it reads as follows:

Psalm 122: 6-9

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: 
   “May those who love you be secure. 
May there be peace within your walls 
   and security within your citadels.” 
 For the sake of my brothers and friends, 
   I will say, “Peace be within you.” 
For the sake of the house of the LORD our God, 
   I will seek your prosperity.

This is a song of ascent. A song the Jews would sing as they walked the dangerous hills and roads on their way to Jerusalem to worship. And it would be easy to trivialize this Psalm, to view it as a song instead of a promised prayer. So I tried a few extra-Biblical alterations:

Pray for the peace of Akron: 
   “May those who love you be safe. 
May there be peace within your streets 
   and security within your homes.” 
 For the sake of my brothers and friends, 
   I will say, “Peace be within you.” 
For the sake of the house of the LORD our God, 
   I will seek your prosperity.

I am convinced that there is not much I can do to change my neighbors outlook on peace and violence. But I know that I know that God does change hearts, redeem cities, and establish peace.

Pray for the peace of Akron.

Blessed

God bless you.

An interesting phrase for a sneeze. An even more interesting word and premise, blessed.

Jesus doles out blessings quite interestingly, blessing the poor, the mourners, the persecuted, and the peacemakers in the Sermon on the Mount. But for us (at least for me) living in a wealthy nation, with a consistent paycheck, good friends, daily meals, and a solid family, blessedness can take quite different forms than what Jesus dictated in Matthew 5.

Because blessings should be associated with happiness, right? Blessings should be connected to a good life. And I am not writing to posit that this isn’t true. I merely want to share how I have been blessed in recent weeks.

At South Street, we strive to employ urban youth. To teach them job skills and financial management that will equip them with opportunities as they enter adulthood. We do this on a small scale, hiring 2-3 youth at a time. One particular young woman is bright and witty, with a razor’s tongue that keeps the neighborhood entertained and ensures her protection against the insults of others. She frequents our programming and also attends events with other Akron non-profits.

At one such event, this young woman lost her temper as a situation spiraled out of control and our newest hire ended up verbally and vulgarly dissecting the staff of this organization. Needless to say, we heard about it.

So we talked. We put stipulations on her employment based on her reconciliation with this organization. They didn’t need to be friends, but they needed to respect each other. And this mediation came to pass, and it went well (for the most part…).

So where does blessing come in? How was I blessed by this whole situation? Frankly it was more work for me and a bit more drama than I care for. But in between the situation and the mediation, this student asked me for some help with one of her school assignments. Poems for English class.

And I was blessed. Blessed to be a neighbor, friend, and brother in Christ close enough that this young student currently on some form of probation felt comfortable enough to not only ask me for help, but to let me read her poetry. Poems of a descriptive personal nature, detailing her temper, her facade, her inner quietness.

It was a blessing to be let in. To be invited into her life and to know her a little deeper through her words. Her words defend her in a rough neighborhood. Her words entertain others and esteem her place in the pecking order. Her words defend against racial and economic differences. Her words can cut you to the core. Her words were a blessing to me.

I am not going to post her poetry her. One because I do not have her permission (although I may ask later) and two because it is her story to tell, not mine. Mine is to share her blessing. Not a blessing of wealth, family, or comfort, but a blessing of depth. Depth of character, story, and shared-life. I am blessed to be welcomed into the heart and life of another.

I hope that in my words you find a blessing as well.

Privilege & Mobility

At South Street, I often work with volunteer groups. This may be one of my favorite aspects of my role there. I feel a kinship with most volunteers, knowing that volunteering has been such an essential part of my own urban experiences. I also get to share some of the theology and theopraxy of South Street with the volunteers, a conversation I generally enjoy having (and a soapbox, I seldom avoid).

This week a group asked me about downward mobility. Before I expand upon my thoughts, let me introduce some background definitions. Upward mobility is a socio-economic idea of moving up social and economic classes. It is one’s ability (whether intrinsic to that person, as in naturally athletic or intelligent, or circumstantial) to move up and out of own’s present circumstances into a ‘better’ life. Many would associate the idea of upward mobility with the premise of the American dream.

However, the group asked me about downward mobility. Downward mobility, from the questioner’s perspective, is the notion of forsaking one’s natural ‘success’ for a life ‘below one’s means.’ This question is derived from the South Street story. Duane, haven given up a middle class job, for a life of pastoral work in a predominantly lower class neighborhood embodies this notion of downward mobility.

And it was at this point, that my normal paradigm began to shift. A year ago, I would have signed on to the notion that downward mobility was a good thing. That forsaking my chances for economic success in exchange for a life of service was the way to go, however I find there is more to it than that. And the more to do is this idea of privilege.

I have stated above that mobility is connected to one’s ability, whether intrinsic or circumstantial, however I would now expand that definition to include privilege. There are occasions where underprivileged individuals and families move up the social ladder. And there are too occasions where the over-privileged (if we have underprivileged, a term I often use in grant writing and hear often times in social justice settings, dare I suggest that we must therefore have over-privileged) will be forced down to a lower economic class. However for the privileged, these are usually matters of choice, whereas for the poor it is generally a forced status.

Why bother with this distinction? To what end rant about economics and class and mobility? Because I am trying hard to love my neighbor and I wonder if talk of downward mobility is a little offensive to them. I recognize that my choice to live on Bachtel in Summit Lake was a choice to forsake living elsewhere, but I often recognize that it was a choice in the first place. I did not move here out of necessity or out of poverty (poverty really being a lack of power and resources). I moved here by choice. My privilege allowed for upward and downward mobility, which is a contradiction somewhat.

So when my volunteer group asked about pursuing downward mobility, I cringed a little. It was suggestive that we could choose to be poor. That ‘slumming it’ was a good choice for up and coming college graduates. And as I pondered their question, I thought of my roommates. One who just received a promotion at his financial investment firm, the other who just purchased a new (well new to him, used) car since he had a new job. Is that not the definition of upward mobility? New jobs, better pay, better vehicles. A better life?

And that is what I want for my neighbors. A better life. But a better life together. I would not encourage downward mobility for downward mobility’s sake, that is a foolish contradiction. Rather upward mobility together, that is an idea I can rally behind. Because with those new jobs and opportunities, my roommates continue to share with those around them. Their success does not just trickle down to the poor, it is directly shared with our neighbors (sometimes, often times we are a bit too selfish still).

Mobility is a real idea. I have witnessed friends graduate and succeed. I have seen neighbors try and try and try and remain unemployed still. Privilege is also a real concept, I have been privileged to have many of the opportunities I have had. I recognize that they were in part of my own hard work, but ultimately the credit lies on the systems that favor people like me (and consequently de-favor people who are different). But it was not mobility that led me to South Street. It was love.

And there is no law on love. Love is not restricted to a particular socio-economic class. And as I struggle to love my neighbor (and in doing so struggle with my love for God), I wrestle with the differences of class and cash. But my hope for my neighbor is not poverty, but opportunity.

So, good reader, as you too consider these things, I am sure that something above comes off wrong, but if you take anything from my jumbled rant, remember to love your neighbor, and wrestle through what that means.

Real Neighbors and Neighborly Realtors

On St. Patrick’s Day amidst a sea of green revelers, four representatives of South Street Ministries entered Tangiers, one of Akron’s more celebrated and ornamented halls. We strayed into the hall seeking our place with some degree of confusion. We hadn’t worn enough green, rather we were wearing ties (a rarity in our line of work/service).

A woman redirected us to our correct room, a small hall reserved for the reNEWal Realty group. A group of Christian realtors that meets monthly to discuss, network, and share in the struggle to mix faith and business in the housing market. Duane was their speaker for the luncheon.

Duane spoke of his story, of moving into Summit Lake 14 years ago and the start of South Street Ministries, noting the stupidity of his move from a realtor’s perspective. After some abstract talk about culture, poverty, and psychology, Duane hit home with the insight that realtors persuade and control some of the forces (for better or worse) of the housing market. Moreover, with this controlling power comes a necessary call to Christian social justice.

And it is to this call my writing now turns, I moved onto Bachtel Ave. approximately a year and a half ago to live life with the people there and to serve with them. I was then a single bachelor capable of such a move without much consideration for a wife or family, and I wasn’t the only one. However now our group of urban-renewal peers has come to a dynamic crossing: is this the place, the community, the neighborhood, where we set up shop?

Do the schools, broken as they may be, become our kids schools? Do the streets, and backyards, and alleyways, and cuts become the paths that we travel daily? Because the presumed answer in the realty market is a “Hell No!” That is if the question is even asked. That is if we even pause to wonder if where we choose to live (let alone that we have the luxury of choosing)  is a deep spiritual choice. It is a question that I think we would often rather avoid.

Because the alternative, choosing a life that contradicts the normative (and possibly idolatrous) values of our day gets complicated. As Shane Claiborne puts it, it gets messy:

And that’s when things get messy. When people begin moving beyond charity and toward justice and solidarity with the poor and oppressed, as Jesus did, they get in trouble. Once we are actually friends with the folks in struggle, we start to ask why people are poor, which is never as popular as giving to charity. One of my friends has a shirt marked with the words of late Catholic bishop Dom Helder Camara: “When I fed the hungry, they called me a saint. When I asked why people are hungry, they called me a communist.” Charity wins awards and applause but joining the poor gets you killed. People do not get crucified for living out of love that disrupts the social order that calls forth a new world. People are not crucified for helping poor people. People are crucified for joining them.            -Claiborne: Irresistible Revolution-

And I can’t help but ask those same questions as I walk around Summit Lake. When abandoned homes, vacant lots, and broken down properties are discouragingly commonplace, when the school building is closed down so the kids can be bussed to other schools, when young men know more about prison and child support than algebra or history, I can’t help but ask why.

And I know some of the answers: generational poverty, poor life choices, unfair (and dare-I-say racist) punitive policies, and many others ‘reasons’. But I can’t help but seek the depths of the question, to examine my own motivations for serving, my own hidden bias, prejudice, and pride.

And it is this same question that we posited to a group of concerned realtors on St. Patrick’s Day. Will we continue to encourage upward mobility, when our departure cripples the neighborhood we leave? Will we champion security over community? For those of us who are lucky enough (or rather privileged enough, for luck has clearly little to do with it) to choose where we live, will we choose with the Spirit-led discernment that calls us to lay down our lives, love our neighbors, and guard the rights of the oppressed?

I don’t know.

I hope so, though.

-Grace and Peace, amidst the wrestle-

Post Script –Let me be clear that I am NOT advocating for all Christians to move into the poorer parts of town, nor am I condemning those who live in nicer parts of town (or out of town). But I will be clear on this: wherever we live, we ought to live differently. If the culture of the world says bigger is better, than the culture of Christ says ‘small is beautiful’ (serendipitously the title of one of my favorite economics books). If the culture amongst us says ‘show some skin,’ we ought to remind ourselves and live in the truth that God looks at the heart. If we are pressured to make much of ourselves, then we ought to follow the Spirit’s leading in making much of Christ instead (and practice making less of ourselves for that matter…)

Once a Week Thoughts from Joe Tucker…

So in an effort to tell the stories of South Street and the Summit Lake community, I am attempting to blog/reflect once a week and post these thoughts on-line. I will more than likely use multiple media sources to post these reflections (so facebook, southstreetministries.org, and wordpress).

The main thrust of the articles will be telling stories about the struggles of life in the city, the stories of many marginalized folk, and my own wrestling with social justice issues. I am looking forward to getting into a ‘writing rhythm’ once again.

~Joe Tucker~