The Margins

The back of my van is full of new diapers. They are for a newborn, and I have been trying to pass them along to someone who could use them for a few weeks now. A good friend was thoughtful enough to pass them along to me, knowing that I had friends who had just recently had babies, and I took them eagerly knowing I could share them with someone who would put them to great use.

The day that I got them, I stopped by one friend’s house, with all three kids in the van, and unloaded them only to be turned away by the tired new father: “He isn’t wearing size one yet. We wouldn’t be able to use them right now.” Their baby is indeed tiny, so I took my bags back and loaded them once again into the back of my van.

The next week as I was loading kiddos into the double stroller for the walk to church, I once again unpacked those bags of diapers and stashed them in the bottom of the stroller (I am pretty sure that doing this is the reason why my under-stroller basket no longer secures properly) to give them to another new mom in our congregation. But she and her husband and new little one were not there that Sunday, so once again the diapers got re-stacked in the back of the van.

At this point, I am weary of trying to give these diapers away. It has taken far too much energy, time and physical effort and I am tired of them cluttering up our van. It should not be this hard to bless someone; to give a gift away.

I wrote last year about Doug trying to buy me a dress and how persistent he was in seeking to bless me. I realized that I need more of this kind of persistence; it is just too easy to make a couple of good tries then, justifiably, to give up.

When our church founders moved into this neighborhood many years ago, their central pursuit was to know and love their neighbors. One member tells the story of going door to door to meet his neighbors, and of one particular neighbor who would at first ignore his efforts completely, then would open only the metal security door, and then finally one day opened both doors to meet this persistent young man who simply would not give up. In light of the racial history of this community and of the general fear and suspicion that still hovers over our streets, it is not altogether strange that this neighbor stayed inside and refused our friend’s efforts.

It took months for each barrier to soften and fall, and our church founder refused to give up. I can imagine he was physically tired and emotionally weary of stepping outside of his comfort zone and knocking on that same door over and over again. But because of that persistence, the two neighbors eventually stood face to face and learned each other’s names.

I want to pass along the diapers in my van. I want to share them with a new mother who would be blessed by the gift. I would like for gifts like this to always be this easy, one-stop transaction, but they so rarely are. It seems the norm is a much messier, drawn-out scenario that tests my endurance at every step. The diapers themselves are not really the big deal here: it is my willingness to continue to extend myself, and whatever limited energies I feel I have on a given day, to seek to know and love my neighbors here.

I have discovered something about Aaron in the last few weeks. He really, really loves cameras and one of his favorite things to do is to take pictures. He is so proud of the flash (he has taken to calling it the “fireworks”) and he loves turning the camera over to see the image he has created.

Now, for all of Aaron’s life, we have only ever had digital cameras. I can remember a little girl I used to babysit when we first moved here taking a little play camera and, after snapping the little button, turning the camera around to “see” the picture she just took. Doug and I laughed so hard at this because we realized that is all this next generation will likely know.

So it was with some curiosity that I noticed my Aaron taking our old digital camera (still works but in limited capacity) and pulling it close to his face every time he took a picture. Of course, this made it impossible for him to actually see what he was doing, but he didn’t seem bothered.

The other day I mentioned this to Doug. “Why would he put the camera to his face? He has never seen us use that kind of camera?”

We thought for a moment, and then Doug replied with a smile: “Steven.” Suddenly it all made perfect sense.

We have a very dear friend who is a brilliant photographer, and he does have a camera that he puts up to his eye. Aaron loves Steven. He talks about Steven, he follows Steven around, he studies Steven. So of course Aaron wants to use a camera the way Steven does.

What struck me is that, for Aaron, it didn’t matter how Mom and Dad use the camera, or how we instructed him to use the camera, or how mostly anyone else he ever sees uses a camera. Aaron wants to be like Steven, and even as a two-year-old, there is that capacity to watch and calculate careful imitation. That is powerful, and perhaps sobering.

“Tidmouth Shed on table” by Aaron

Saturday afternoon I had the privilege of sharing words of gratitude honoring twenty-seven years of Charlie Barker’s service in ministry at Pasadena Covenant Church. Charlie was the pastor who, through meeting my sister and brother-in-law and hearing the story of our community here in South Central, led his church in embracing a partnership with us to plant Church of the Redeemer.

A lot of people talk about how suburban and urban churches can and should partner together, and many are critical of if and how this can be done well. I know of no finer example than the way Pasadena Covenant Church has done this for the last five years with an unequaled generosity, authenticity, and humility. And Pastor Charlie’s vision and leadership are at the center of this.

As I shared on Sunday, I could never have done my job as the chairperson for our fledgling church those first three years without Charlie’s steady availability, his generous wisdom, and his compassionate prayers. I was in over my head most days, and to have someone of his ministry stature give his time and care to us made all of the difference in our small team surviving those rocky years.

On a more personal note, I still have the blue swirled glass vase that held flowers from Kate and Charlie, brought to my bedside by Pastor Charlie when I was in the hospital following an emergency appendectomy while pregnant with Mercy. Doug and I were terrified at the possibility of losing our baby as a result of the abdominal surgery, and we were there in the hospital waiting: waiting for me to heal and to see if our little one would live. Charlie sat by my bed, read scripture, held my hand, and prayed. His availability and presence that day were so significant for us. He was not officially “our pastor” and yet he did not hesitate to rush to our side in our time of fear and need.

And I can still remember his wife, Kate’s, phone call to me after I was assaulted our first year here. Her kindness and care were so tangible, and while I am too old to be her daughter, she was like a mother to me that day. And she had practical help to offer as well: recommendations for counselors I could talk to to process the horrible events of that night.

I am pretty sure that it is rare for a pastor of Charlie’s giftedness and position to make himself so available to the needs and hurts and challenges of others in other ministries and churches: in the extended family so to speak. Churches tend to be pretty territorial in terms of their money and staff, yet the opposite has been true for Pasadena Covenant Church and for Charlie, their pastor. For me, Charlie’s generous love for us as individuals and as a team is symbolic of that broader generosity Pasadena Covenant continues to show toward us in so many ways.

One of my favorite passages of scripture found in Isaiah 49:4 speaks of a mentality of abundance versus one of scarcity in terms of stewarding God’s work.

“It is too small a thing for you to be my servant to restore the tribes of Jacob and bring back those of Israel I have kept. I will also make you a light to the Gentiles, that you may bring my salvation to the ends of the earth.”

There are always the very good and necessary and beautiful things that God is doing at home, in our individual churches and communities. And yet God’s mission always presses us to be a part of the big things He is doing “outside of our walls.”

Charlie and Kate Barker are unique in the ways they have demonstrated with their whole life witness what being “outside of our walls” people looks like. They have led Pasadena Covenant well in embracing that same kind of partnership with God’s mission that has taken that church well beyond their walls and their community, and deep into the heart of South Los Angeles and into our hearts as well.

Unique. Rare. Precious. These two will be greatly missed.

Lauren came over yesterday evening to help me with bedtime for the boys while Doug ran Mercy to our pediatrician’s office with a suspected ear infection (this was the first time that Mercy informed us of an ear-ache BEFORE 2am so we were grateful). Lauren was getting ready to run to the corner store with the baby to buy drinks for my new members class I was teaching last night when she said to me: “Hey, guess who was at VeggieSoul today?”

VeggieSoul is, as the name indicates, a vegetarian Soul Food joint, and it occupies the other half of the storefront where our tutoring program is located.

I could not fathom who Lauren could be talking about. Our neighborhood is not known for frequent star sightings. “Who?” I asked.

“Stevie Wonder.”

Apparently one of the summer interns spotted him and called the others to the door where they crowded around to see him and a buddy grab some food and take off in a shiny SUV. He lives in L.A. and Doug told me that his studio is a few blocks to the north of us in Koreatown.

Stevie Wonder at VeggieSoul. Awesome.

I once heard someone say that there is no such thing as “a sense of ownership”. That resonates with me as I think through all of the times I have seen a group with power create the image or illusion that that power is shared when the reality is that it is not. Put plainly, a “sense of ownership” is just that: the illusion of being a stakeholder.

The other night, I was at a meeting to evaluate a recent week-long ministry project we had done in partnership with Pasadena Covenant Church. Three youth from our church who had volunteered during the week showed up for the meeting (I was not expecting them), and each one actively shared their thoughts, concerns, and suggestions for what went well and what could be changed or improved for next year.

Our good friend and board chair was the facilitator of the meeting, and I so appreciated how he received these youth and their ideas. I have been in enough meetings where the leader is very obviously humoring some participant and not really taking seriously what they have to say, and that was not remotely our friend’s approach. He made sure that space was made for their comments; he listened intently and asked follow-up questions; he complimented them for their insights. They were never rushed; he never grew impatient or “accidentally” looked over their waving hands; they were treated with honor.

That meeting was a good reminder for me of the kind of listener and leader I want to be. I can be tempted by impatience, and as much as I say that I am not an “efficiency” person, I can be tempted there too.

I am reminded of the story Henri Nouwen tells at the beginning and end of his tiny book, In the Name of Jesus. It is the story of him being convicted by Jesus’ practice of sending out the disciples in two’s and thus making the decision to travel to deliver the series of lectures that became this book with Bill, one of the disabled members of his community. Nouwen shares honestly about the limitations in his imagination of what “doing it together” could really mean in this situation, and poignantly about Bill’s own sense of partnership with him in his work. The conclusion of the story always leaves me in tears: the vision of Nouwen standing before a prestigious gathering, Bill at his side, taking each page of Nouwen’s lecture as he would finish, and interjecting occasionally with a thought or comment to add to Nouwen’s powerful words.

Nouwen concludes the story with this thought: “Then I realized the full truth of Jesus’ words, ‘Where two or three meet in my Name, I am among them’ (Matthew 18:19). In the past, I had always given lectures, sermons, addresses, and speeches by myself. Often I had wondered how much of what I had said would be remembered. Now it dawned on me that most likely much of what I said would not be long remembered, but that Bill and I doing it together would not easily be forgotten.”

This past Sunday I was a guest preacher at a church in Simi Valley which is something I actually enjoy doing. I was nervous about the length of my sermon (sermons at our church are at least forty-five minutes) and did end up cutting quite a bit from what I had planned to say. My good friend who is the pastor there kept telling me not to worry about going over, but I just really didn’t want to be that guest preacher who goes way too long (especially on a hot summer morning).

At the conclusion of the service, my friend hustled us out a side door so that we could position ourselves at the exit so as to greet the church members as they left the sanctuary. I told Bruce that I felt a bit like I was at a wedding (though Doug and I did not have a receiving line, so really I didn’t know what I was talking about!), but it was great to meet so many wonderful folks from this church family.

My favorite comment of the morning came from an elderly gentleman who, by my account, was probably the oldest person there. He said to me: “There are three things I appreciated about you this morning….”

I honestly don’t remember the first two things that he said because the third was so amusing. “Usually when the women preach, I just can’t understand what they are saying. They run their words together and have these soft voices and I just can’t follow what they are saying. But you spoke and it was loud and clear and I could hear all of your words, so thank you.”

I laughed and thanked him and told him that yes, I do have a bigger voice than some, and I was glad my words had been clear enough for him to follow.

I’m the girl who gets her wireless mic on and the minute I start to speak has some poor sound guy in the back scrambling to adjust me because he clearly expected my voice to be smaller. I’m not sure when I realized that my voice was lower than a lot of other women, or when I figured out that not everyone can project their voice as loudly as I can. I did some drama here and there growing up and certainly that taught me something about the use of my voice. And my freshman year in college I was hired by a radio station to be on the air every Saturday but even then I’m not sure how aware I was that I had a good “voice”.

One funny memory I have is of a gathering at Dick Staub’s house many years ago where I was the only female present for a meeting of the minds around some of Dick’s vision for Christians engaging the culture. I hadn’t spoken up much that morning (I’m not a big talker in groups as I have shared here), and when it was time to break for lunch, Dick asked me if I would pray. I don’t remember there being anything that special about the prayer, but when I finished the room was silent and everyone was staring at me. Because of Dick’s broadcasting gifts we had been discussing some different radio show options, and I think it was Stan Grenz who made some comment about how we wouldn’t have to look very far for a woman who could be on the air with Dick.

It is interesting to consider the ease I have experienced as a preacher and teacher. I wonder about the elderly gentleman’s comment and how much simple genetics have come to play in all of that.

I got a call yesterday from a good friend who suddenly had two tickets available to see Stevie Wonder at the Hollywood Bowl. We managed to line up childcare (thank you, Lauren!) and we met up with four good friends from the neighborhood and headed out to the show. The traffic and parking were crazy, as they can be at the Hollywood Bowl, and after a long line to have bags checked (no alcohol or bottles were allowed for this show which was disappointing–sipping your wine is simply part of the HB experience, and we had brought a nice bottle of Toasted Head we had planned to enjoy), we made it to our seats right as Stevie began his introduction. We were settled and ready by the first note played.

The show was amazing. He is an incredible performer and the stage was filled with an orchestra, various family members, and all of the energy and passion a performer like him brings to his craft.

It turned out that our seats were in the “Toasted Head” section of another variety: I hadn’t been around that much pot smoke since a Beastie Boys concert in Chicago.

Doug and I realized that it was the first concert we had been to together, ever. That was hard for both of us to believe as we could each rattle off a long list of live performances we have seen over the years, but none that we had seen together.

All in all it was a magical evening: great music, great friends, an incredible venue, an unforgettable show.

The other day I was checking the Homicide Blog when I noticed the banner at the top of the page showed a happy couple enjoying a beautiful sunset in an ad for the Ritz Carlton. What a crazy juxtaposition.

Things have been fairly quiet lately in our neighborhood, though some areas immediately surrounding us have suffered a great deal of violence. Our senior lead officer reported that there was a shooting south of us that resulted in a retaliatory shooting just two blocks form our house. Three people were shot in the head, but remarkably no one was seriously injured. I am not quite sure how that is possible, but I am thankful.

The Fourth was really, really loud, and Aaron was not a fan of “the hitting” as he called the large and frequent explosions around us. It is amazing how loud a string of M-80s can be, especially when you are laying in a toddler bed holding your crying son. We spent the afternoon around the corner with friends, eating good food and drinking some yummy “grown up lemonade” (aka, Mojitos). The kids were in their swimsuits until almost nine o’clock, and Mercy loved the colors and lights of everything form the sparklers to the big showy fireworks from the Coliseum nearby.

The next day I was talking with a neighbor and I found out that some kids who have been back in the neighborhood lately, whom I have enjoyed talking to and spending time with outside lately, pulled a guy out of a car while it was moving and beat him with a baseball bat. At two o’clock in the afternoon. In front of our house.

One of the things that always strikes me is that almost incomprehensible juxtaposition between what childhood and youth should look like and what I see happen around me in the lives of our young people: kids who one moment are throwing water balloons and playing on skateboards and the next, beating someone’s head in with a bat. What kind of raging conflict and confusion they must have inside of them.

I remember a book I read in college about the Henry Horner Housing project in Chicago where I volunteered. It was titled: “There Are no Children Here.” Sometimes that is how I feel, when I hear kids talk about what their lives have been, and when I consider what they have witnessed and absorbed. And yet they do still function as children: they play; they get excited about the ice cream truck; they tease and laugh and flirt. They are still children, but children living beneath shadows of things that seek to rob and kill and destroy. They are surrounded by loud and scary things, and many of them do not have the comfort of someone to hold them while they cry in the dark. But there are children here.

Eugene Cho posted a link to a Relevant Magazine article on materialism where seven Christian leaders respond to the question of how to follow Jesus in an age that worships mammon. Shane Claiborne’s response struck a chord with my own experience of who I care about and why:

What is enough is defined by our relationship to our neighbor—if our neighbor has four cars, then we think we are living simply if we have two cars. If our neighbor doesn’t have water, then two cars is probably too many. We have this command to love our neighbor as ourselves, but I think the great tragedy of our culture is that we are pushed away from suffering, away from poverty to the point that it’s enough if we give a tax-exempt donation or volunteer for a week out of the year. And yet if we’re really in relationship with people who are suffering, that messes with us.

Just last night, I had a conversation with someone who had heard of a ministry need related to Servant Partner’s work in urban slum communities around the world. This individual had felt stirred by God’s spirit, in the context of a relationship, to respond in a way that resources could be freed up to help support a missionary couple in their continued work among the poor. That proximity that Shane describes made the difference in linking this person’s resources with a unique ministry need.

I think about the times I have been made aware of a friend’s need and how natural and easy it is to respond. Those of us with small children here often take care of each other’s kids. When someone is sick, it is a normal thing to offer meals or a trip to the store for Gatorade or medicine. And even when the needs are much greater, we still respond to our friends with generosity and sacrifice.

Just yesterday in the mail I received Whitworth University’s (Doug’s alma mater) alumni magazine that profiled a couple who gave birth to quadruplets this past year and the incredible ways their community of friends from Whitworth have stood by them and joined with them in caring for this generous, but challenging, gift from God. And I think of my own experience of the past year and the ways my community surrounded our family and served us with extraordinary measures of practical care and help. I can also recall situations where we were in deep financial need and friends stepped in with financial gifts that perfectly met our needs. And in smaller measure, Doug and I have done the same for others whose needs have come before us.

I recall the words of a woman writing about her experience in a college ministry that sought to be inclusive of other ethnic groups on campus. She describes the group’s strategies involving special food and music and affinity groupings employed and then says this:
You just need to be a friend - I say.
You don’t need none of that stuff
You’re being fake
–– people always know a fake
——Why don’t you try to just be real
And…Why is it that you have “white only” friends?

But they just kept on with their trying
Cause no one really wants different friends

I like Shane’s point about proximity, and I think I would add to it my friend’s challenge about whether any of us really want different friends.

I was just checking the news feed on my denomination’s website when I saw a link to this story about my former pastor in Portland being given a denominational honor in recognition for his years of visionary service. Having just mentioned Pastor Henry in my Missional Synchroblog post (as well as President Palmberg who presented Pastor Henry with this award), I thought it fitting to recognize the impact both of these men have had on my life. And as often as people like to tease me about this, I do love the Covenant!