Mayes in Manhattan

My Blog Has Moved

2010-01-31T23:49:00.003-05:00

My last post on this Blog was in November, 2009. At that time I incorporated my blog into a new website for Communitas that we launched. For those looking for my blog, apologies that I did not get the word out.

You can find the link to the my blog on the home page of Communitas- www.communitasnyc.org.

Craig

Second Thanksgiving in NYC

2009-11-22T21:40:00.005-05:00

We are approaching our second Thanksgiving in NYC as a family, and as a young church. Honestly, in the past, most Thanksgivings have meant food and football, family, and a break from work. I haven't done a great job of using this season to take inventory of my life and be thankful. This year is different. A year ago I was going through major adjustment to our new life in the city. I was grieving all I had lost and left behind in Michigan, wondering how life was going to go here in NYC, uncertain about what our church would look like, and even if it would take off. It was a pretty difficult time, and looking back, I was pretty self-absorbed. Not too much room for Thankfulness. This year is a different matter.

This past weekend was such a great time of friendship and ministry. I realized that a lot has happened in a year. On Saturday, Communitas served at the New York City Rescue Mission, putting together care packages to be given to needy families Thanksgiving week. Over 2 dozen friends from Communitas came together. As we sorted and stuffed bags, I was overwhelmed with the community God has brought into my life. It was serious joy! I realized how much I love these friends and how they have enriched my life. We have all been through a great deal together. We have struggled, wondered, doubted, and rejoiced as well. It occurred to me that while we still have much to learn about genuine community, we are becoming "Communitas", a community forged in the furnace of struggle, risk, and challenge.

Today, Danny and Amy Cox were with us. I was so excited to have Danny lead our band and to lead us in worship. The years we worked together at Kensington, leading New Community, will stand out as some of the most formative and joyful years of my life. We helped each other to learn to hear God's voice more clearly, to love Jesus more, and to grow in our love for his bride, the Church. I have missed him so much. So as he lead us today, I looked around at the people that God has gathered to us in our first year here, and felt deep gratitude in my heart. God has been good. He is good.

For those who follow my blog, I am "moving it" to Communitas' new website (check it out- www.communitasnyc.org). You'll see the tab for my blog on the home page.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Road Trip

2009-11-10T22:54:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I headed west out of NYC on I-80, with my 17 year old son Caleb, driving the empty Communitas 16 foot truck to the Detroit area. We are going to leave the truck in Michigan until after Thanksgiving, and then drive it back to Manhattan with a full load... front to back, top to bottom. Full of what, you ask?

Last winter members of Communitas were part of an initiative called “Don’t Walk By? Each Saturday night in January we joined hundreds of other volunteers and hit the streets of Manhattan, covering a different section each week, walking block by block, going down into subway stations and other public spaces, looking for members of the homeless population of NYC. Our goal was to invite them to come for a hot meal, and then to connect them with different opportunities available to get them off the street for good. A different church hosted the event each week, and the men and women who accepted the invitation to come for the meal also had a chance to receive clothing.

By the end of January we had covered all the blocks of Manhattan, I believe from 60^th Street to Battery Park. Thousands of contacts were made, many came for the meal, some got into programs to help change their lives, and some received clothing. But for every 1 person who came for the meal, I would guess 20 said “no thanks”. That means that they preferred to stay on the streets on a cold January night. I recall one particular evening in the Wall Street area, asking a man who was wrapped up in cardboard on the sidewalk in the shelter of a store entrance that was closed, if he wanted some help. He said he was “fine”. Fine? That night it was 12 degrees out, and even dressed for the occasion, after a couple of hours on the streets I was chilled to the bone.

Since that time, I have become more aware of the magnitude of the challenge with the homeless. Many will not go to shelters for a variety of reasons. Many are mentally ill. Some are drug addicts who cannot abide by the rules set up by shelters. Bottom line, in spite of the considerable safety net for the homeless in NYC, many will continue to try to survive on their own. That means that this winter, thousands will be living outside.

How many homeless are there in NYC? A friend of mine who has run a shelter in the city for almost 20 years believes that a conservative estimate would be 70,000. 70,000 homeless people! He actually thinks it could be as high as 100,000.

The problem seems beyond remedy. Maybe it is. But that does not mean that nothing can be done. When Mother Teresa was once told that her work in Calacutta, while admirable, was only a drop of water in the ocean, she replied that if she did not do it, then the ocean would have one less drop, And so, she said, we begin with one, and then one more, and then one more, and so on.

Here is the drop in the ocean for Communitas. Can we help some of the homeless fight off the cold? Yes. Easily done. Many of us have extra winter coats in our closets which haven’t been worn for years. And some of us can respond to one of the many Christmas sales and buy a coat at half price. We can add many drops in the ocean of NYC this winter.

So why is the truck in Michigan? Working with Kensington Community Church, we are having a winter coat drive for the homeless of both Detroit and New York City. I hope to drive the truck out of Kensington's parking lot on Monday, November 30 with the truck weighed down with hundreds of coats- men’s, women’s and children’s. All five of the campuses will be challenged to bring coats for the Thanksgiving Services on Wednesday, Nov 25.

If you happen to live in Michigan, come by the Troy Campus and look for the large white truck with “CommunitasNYC written on the side, and imagine it full of love and warmth sent from Michigan to the needy of NYC. (We are also looking for sleeping bags. A few weeks ago our small group brought some food to about a dozen homeless men who live about 5 blocks from my apartment. I had one sleeping bag with me and as I gave it to a man, the others came immediately to see if I had more. I’d love to help all of them!)

Can I ask those of you who read my blog to spread the word? Pass this blog along to others in the Detroit area. Help me fill all 16 feet of the truck. We can't solve the homeless problem, but we can warm things up a bit for people who are of unsurpassable worth to God.

The Mind of Christ, Part 2

2009-11-04T15:48:00.001-05:00

What do you see? How are you hearing this conversation? How are you thinking about this? What do these circumstances mean to you? With these kinds of questions asked of Jesus, I tried to interrupt the normal, conditioned responses I make to my environment.

Here is what I have learned so far. First, I could not always get past my own thoughts to his- maybe sometimes I did not want to. Second, even when I sensed clearly what his mind was about a given circumstance, I did not always line up my behavior with his thoughts. Third, there were times when I was not sure that the thoughts were his, or mine. Having acknowledged those failures and shortcomings, I will say that trying to tap into the mind of Christ has been a pretty amazing experience.

Sometimes I think I am a bit ADD- my thoughts wander a lot and I don’t stay easily focused. So it was surprising that I have been able to remember throughout the day that I am trying to access the mind of Christ. Perhaps it is because I began everyday before my feet hit the floor asking God to help me have the mind of Christ today. I think he helped me remember- whether I was on a bus or subway, studying in Starbucks, or watching the Yankees slug their way into the World Series (hey- I have to cheer for the Yankees- Paul said he became all things to all people so that by all means he might win some- so I am just doing my part…, see what I mean by ADD?). Here are a few of my experiences so far- some fairly unimportant, others more critical.

Smoking in the Park: I went to spend a couple of hours in one of my favorite parks in Manhattan- Madison Square Park. I brought my Bible, journal, i-pod, and spent a couple of hours in “solitude” as hundreds of people walked by. It was a beautiful fall day. I was enjoying being outside, enjoying God, enjoying sitting. Then a man sat down near me and began to smoke a large, smelly cigar. The wind was blowing the smoke right into my face. I became irritated, and began to think some nasty thoughts about this inconsiderate man. Wait- the mind of Christ. I redirected my thoughts. “Craig, you don’t know this man, but I do. He is of infinite value to me. Forget the cigar smoke. He is so much more than that. Your thoughts of him are not my thoughts. What if he could read your mind? Would your thoughts attract him to me?” Then I began to look at all the people walking around and playing with their dogs, and sitting in the park. And I think I saw what Jesus was seeing- so many people, all of infinite value to him, and most unaware of God’s love, and lost. As Jesus said, like sheep without a shepherd. And I began to weep, right there on that public bench. I felt like my heart was going to burst. A pretty big shift in thinking from negative thoughts about Mr. Cigar Smoke in My Face to compassion for the people of NYC!

Trash- I was walking down the street in my neighborhood and noticed all the trash. I don’t like trash on my sidewalks. The guy in front of me couldn’t make it another 45 seconds to the trash cans that are on every street corner in the city. “Someone needs to pick up this trash”, I thought. The mind of Christ. “You are the someone. This is your city, your neighborhood. Invest in it by helping to clean it up.” So on the way to the subway, I picked up trash and deposited it the trash can on the corner. I don’t know if this is going to become a regular thing.

Conflict- I walked into a situation where someone was had just finished being fairly rude to another person. I knew both of these people, and knew enough to know that “Jeff” was out of line. Jeff left the scene of the crime quickly, and after talking to the other party, I went on my way. For awhile, I was processing the situation and what needed to be done without consciously remembering that I have the mind of Christ. Since this was someone I know and care about, I was planning an appropriate “confrontation”. When I finally got around to redirecting my experience to the mind of Christ, and asked him what he thought of the conversation, I saw things very differently, and more importantly, I felt inclined to do something very differently than my initial thoughts about what to do. And I felt a gentle “rebuke” myself from Jesus that my thoughts had been overly harsh and critical.

Hospital Waiting Room- My friend Dave broke his hand on a fall down slippery subway stairs. He had to have some pins put into his hands. As he was recovering from surgery, I waited with his wife Michelle late into the evening in the waiting room. As we waited and waited and watched the clock, Others were there waiting as well. One young man had just stepped out into the hallway and spoken as well to someone I assumed was a surgeon. When he returned, he was pacing and seemed agitated. I was tired and sat eating my candy corn (I love vegetables). As I watched this man, I remembered the mind of Christ. “What do you see?” I knew he saw a man who was there alone and was going through a difficult time. So I asked him who he was waiting for. That resulted in a conversation about his wife’s 12 hour surgery to her face that involved taking a bone from her leg and using it to replace part of her jaw bone. The tumor had been discovered in her jaw while she was pregnant with their first child, and they could not treat it until the child was born. So it grew and grew, and now they were facing a serious situation. Mattingly was born a few months back and now they are facing this ordeal. When he finally left for home, another couple who had been waiting shared their story of a loved one having an emergency appendectomy. The mind of Christ shoed me that in a hospital waiting room, there are no strangers.

There was so much more that has happened as I have been more conscious that I have the mind of Christ. I know there is still much that I miss- and as I said, some that I ignore or resist. But it has been and hopefully will continue to be a helpful way of learning to live in the presence of Jesus. He may be with me always, but I am not always with him.

The Mind of Christ, Part 1

2009-10-23T13:47:00.000-04:00

When you think about it, what an amazing promise and an amazing gift…the mind of Christ! I have been reading through the gospels over and over for the last 12 years, and I so much want to be like Jesus. I want his compassion and his love and his wisdom. And I know how far away I am from being like him. But then, Paul writes to the Corinthians that we, that I, have his mind!

A few years ago there was a lot of attention given to the question “What would Jesus Do?” Of course, often it is not clear what he would do because he lived 2000 years ago when the world was very different. I recall seeing a article in the paper during the WWJD phenomenon entitled “What Would Jesus Drive?” I don’t see the issue of the kind of car Jesus would drive addressed in the gospels: compact, environmentally friendly car…a rugged SUV… American made or Japanese? Jesus didn’t live in our time when we face these kinds of questions, and many, more important ones. And yet, he is living in these times, in his followers, and we have his mind!

I admit to wearing a WWJD bracelet back then. I discovered that not only was it not always clear what he would do, but there where times when I knew exactly what he would do and I decided to do something different. Knowing what Jesus would do, and then actually doing it are not the same thing.

We have the mind of Christ. The mind directs the body (recall the Church is called the Body of Christ- he is the head). As I continued to reflect on this, I began to picture his mind being totally available to me, 24/7. And I wondered, what if I set about to intentionally direct all of my sensory data and experiences to his mind? Everything of course would come first to my mind, but in a split-second I could raise the question, what about your mind, Jesus? How are you experiencing and seeing this situation. In a sense, I would attempt to unplug my sensory input from my mind and plug it into to his mind. (By the way, I know this is probably not the theologically correct to understand what is meant by the mind of Christ, but my theological correctness has not consistently produced the Christ-likeness I desire).

So here is the experiment. I would wake up each day and begin by remembering that I have the mind of Christ, and I would thank God for this. I would attempt to keep that thought close by all day. And then, as I experienced my day, I would consciously re-direct my sensory data to his mind. For example, as I would see things, I would ask Jesus, “what are you seeing?” As I would hear things, I would ask Jesus, “what are you hearing?”

As I write these words, I am not entirely sure how they are different from the WWJD question. But they feel different to me. I am not reaching back 2000 years ago to someone I respect and asking the theoretical question of what he would do. He is with me- his mind is present and accessible to me in the here and now circumstances. I am not accessing the body of teaching of Jesus recorded for us by Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. I am in conversation with Jesus himself, fully present now- the mind of Christ.

Just to be clear (and probably redundant), the process is to live remembering that I have his mind. Then, as I experience life, I consciously direct my experience to his mind. Then I listen. Then I act.

In the first few days of this experiment, I happened to be invited to a talk given in Harlem by former pastor and author Ed Dobson. His book “The Year of Living Like Jesus” had just been published. If I was looking for God to confirm that I was on the right track, I got it that morning.

Ed began his talk with the words: Christians are into what you believe more than how you live. Guilty. The test of faith for me has always been more about belief than behavior, which is such an unbiblical idea (think Matt 25- I never knew you.). It’s not either or. The two cannot be separated.

In the introduction to his book, Dobson writes:

“One of the desires of a disciple is the desire to be just like the rabbi. The disciple wants to walk like the rabbi, talk like the rabbi, live like the rabbi, move like the rabbi, respond like the rabbi…I want to be like Jesus. I too want to walk like him, talk like him, live like him, move like him, respond like him.”

I have his mind. Should not my body then be able to follow him, and to be like him?

I have probably now exceeded the attention span of anyone who has read this far, so I am going to report on what actually happened as I attempted to live by the mind of Christ in my next blog entry. Plus, I want to give it a bit more time.

The Mind of Craig

2009-10-22T11:52:00.001-04:00

Tuesday mornings begin early for me as I hook up with about 8 guys at 7 AM at a Starbucks on NYU’s campus in Greenwich Village. They say that New York is the city that never sleeps- not quite true. New Yorkers stay up late- and consequently, the morning rush doesn’t begin until at about 8 AM. So a 7 AM meeting can be challenging for New Yorkers.

My commute begins at 6:30 with a 1/3 mile walk, followed by a subway ride, and then another 1/3 mile walk. Still adjusting to life without a car. They are just unlocking the doors to the Starbucks when I arrive. Most of us stayed up too late the night before. One of my friends told me that he often sits down to dinner around 11:00 PM. So coffee is indispensible as we sit around the table and dive into our discussion of 1 Corinthians.

We have only been at this for a month, but it has been very enriching. We take a passage every week, all commit to reading it each day and taking some time to reflect on it We are also all reading the same commentary. By the time we get together, there is a lot to share. I realize that in many respects, learning the Bible in this way is so much more powerful and potentially life-changing than listening to someone give a message, no matter how great the teacher is. The ability to interact about a portion of Scripture as we have each wrestled with it personally, struggled to personalize and apply it, and placed ourselves in a position each day to be taught by God’s Spirit creates a dynamic learning environment. So far each week, when I listen to my friends describe their encounter with the text and with God, I learn things that I did not see in my own study. It’s definitely been worth getting up “early”.

This past week, a phrase at the end of 1 Corinthians 2 really penetrated my heart deeply. After contrasting worldly wisdom and wisdom that comes from God, Paul makes the assertion that “we have the mind of Christ”. What does it mean for me to have the mind of Christ? Here are some of my thoughts so far in answer to that question.

I know the mind of Craig. That mind directs what I do. I experience the world through my senses, evaluate what I experience, and filter it all through my values and beliefs. My mind has been formed by thousands of life experiences as well- good and bad. And then there’s the reality of my fallen condition. The Bible is clear that there still exists in my forgiven and redeemed person a thing called my “flesh”. All of these things are somehow mysteriously involved as my mind directs how I respond. Evil forces are also at work, exerting an influence on my mind. So…in any given moment, my behavior, my attitudes, my emotions are the product of all these things processed through my mind. This helps explain why I, like Paul (see 1 Cor 7have the repeated experience of doing the things I do not want to do, and not doing the things I do want to do. Sounds schizophrenic. Is there a way out? Paul’s answer to that questions is…Jesus.

What about the mind of Christ? Can my sensory experiences and thoughts be filtered through his mind, thus directing a different set of behaviors? I may have the mind of Christ, but knowing that as a fact hasn’t eliminated the mind of Craig from influencing and directing a whole lot of bad thoughts and behaviors. How do I access Christ’s mind?

As I thought about this, I came up with a little experiment. I am in the midst of trying it out, and so will wrap this up for now. In my next blog I will write about my experience as I attempt to not just have, but to access or utilize the mind of Christ.

2009-10-05T15:34:00.005-04:00

This Sunday we eased into our new digs for our Sunday gathering. I say eased because even though the venue was different, and we had a band for the first time (yeah!), so much of the day felt the same as it has each Sunday for the past year. I realized that God has graciously allowed us to build a community of friends and friendship, with Jesus as our center.

We started at 8:00 AM at the school, hauling equipment up from the basement. Then tech and non tech people alike worked side by side and assembled the stuff necessary to make a joyful noise. Another group worked diligently to provide a welcoming environment, which of course included coffee and bagels. It was a beehive of activity leading up to the 10:30 start.

When 10:30 came, there was no one in the auditorium- ok- maybe a couple of people. It wasn't that no one came- they were out in the lobby and on the sidewalk enjoying conversation and enjoying being together...catching up with each other and meeting some new people. Just like it has been every week- we had to herd them into the meeting place.

When the gathering was over, people did not head for the doors- they stayed and hung out. In fact- after all the stuff was put away, we finally had to ask people to leave so the custodian could do his work and go home.

I share all this rather than the specific aspects of what went on in our time together because it is the most important thing to celebrate...the building of community. Last week a few of my friends e-mailed or texted me about the "launch" that was happening on Oct 4. I had to remind them that we launched the church in the Summer of 2008 when 18 people moved here from Michigan and began to meet and serve and love in Jesus' name. Oct 4 is simply one expression of how Jesus is growing his work among us.

In the past year we have served in over 100 serving projects, and Communitas people have spontaneously served in this city thousands of times. Each week 40-50 people meet in one kind of small group or another to learn together what it means to live as a follower of Jesus. All of this did not start Oct 4. In fact, we see our gathering time on Sunday as a time for us who have the been the church scattered all over NYC all week long to come together to celebrate the presence and work of Jesus in our lives and our community.

Having said that, Sunday was great! I have missed the chance to be lead in worship by people gifted by God to do so. Throughout the morning I looked at faces of people that I did not know a year ago whom God has touched this year in a significant way through Communitas. It really was a celebration of what God has already done.

If you'd like to hear the message from Sunday, we have attempted to put it on our website (www.communitasnyc.org). We are having a few technical bugs- so if this week's message is not available, or clear, tune in again as we straighten things out.

No Ordinary Moments

2009-10-02T00:31:00.002-04:00

In his book, Reaching for the Invisible God, author Philip Yancey writes (and this is a paraphrase) that there are no ordinary moments in life. Truthfully, my reality seems to be the opposite. Most of life is far from extraordinary. Days are filled with errands, commuting from one place to another, chores, shopping, casual conversations, etc. Seems to be pretty mundane stuff that fills most of my hours and weeks and months between the occasional significant events. However, Yancey suggests that to think of life in this way is to miss out on a great deal that is happening right under my nose. Truth is, says Yancey, every moment I live, and particularly every interaction of any sort that I have with another human being, is pregnant with amazing potential. Just like a plot in a movie, Yancey writes, it can be the smallest things, the “chance encounters”, which can turn things in a dramatic or unexpected direction.

I remember seven years ago after reading these words that my eyes were opened to see many things in a new light. I was more fully present, particularly in what I perceived as the mundane and unspectacular. I was attentive and open, and almost daily there seemed to be divine encounters and unexpected situations which were far form mundane. But it didn't last. I slipped back into the routine of life and switched on the autopilot.

Yesterday, something happened that has awakened my desire to live again more fully aware. It was a simple event that had “ordinary” written all over it. We got a call in the early afternoon about a copy machine that a business on the west side was disposing of, and we needed to let them know right away if we were interested. It wasn’t a planned trip, but a free copy machine for our office was too good to pass up. So Dave and I jumped on the M34 bus and headed across town. Seemed like a routine matter- check out the machine, and arrange for a time to pick it up.

The machine was great- worth $1000s, and immediately available. We just had to haul it back across town. We arranged to come back on Friday. That could have been it. Nothing too significant about this situation. Then Dave asked one question of the office manager before we left: “Are you ok?” A simple question- and one that had nothing to do with why we were there… (or, was getting a free copy machine all that this moment was about)?

Dave asked the question because it was clear from her face and her body language that everything was not okay. In response, she said “no”, and started to weep, as she steadied herself against her desk as if she was about to fall under the weight of grief. I can’t reveal specifics of what was going on, but when asked if we could pray for her, she welcomed it. We (who were strangers 5 minutes earlier) ended up with our arms around each other, praying as she sobbed. I stood with the $1000 copy machine on my right and my left arm draped across her shoulders- a woman who matters so much to God that no price could be affixed to her.

As I reflect on this, I realize that this was potentially a very ordinary event, just an errand concerning a piece of office equipment, But it was pregnant with potential that was unleashed because Dave was paying attention, saw something (someone) that mattered much more than the equipment, and asked one simple three word question. In one moment the plot of the story changed dramatically from "machine pick up" to "caring for an office manager".

Is it really possible to live my life always aware, always seeing beyond the routine? Probably not. But today reminded me again that Yancey was right. Life itself is extraordinary. People are extraordinary. And every in situation there is more going on for the person who knows what to look for.

Celebrating East

2009-09-24T23:41:00.008-04:00

This morning I put the same effort I usually put into selecting my clothes for the day- I reached into my dresser drawer and pulled out the shirt on the top (I am sure I have shirts on the bottom of the drawer that have not seen the light of day for months- or years).

A bit later I was standing in front of our building waiting for a friend, and I caught my reflection in the window. It was then that I realized that the shirt selection was the right one for this day, because today was an important anniversary. 09.24.06. Three years ago we launched what we simply called "East" at the time- Kensington Community Church's campus in Clinton Twp.

It seems like it was a lot longer than three years ago. But the memories are still vivid. The year leading up to the launch was filled with home meetings, team building, looking for a location for the church, and celebrating the certainty that we were following God, and that he was up to something big. During that year I made many new friends.

September 24, 2006- we were filled with anticipation, uncertainty, and when it was over, joy. We knew that God had started something that would have impact, and he had used a bunch of ordinary east-siders. At the time, God had already started nudging Chris and me toward NYC. I really resisted those leadings initially. A big part of me did not want to believe it was true because I could see myself a part of this new community on the east side for the rest of my life. We were just getting started! In the end, leaving East became the most difficult thing about going to start a church in NYC.

Tonight, I spent the evening with Timm and Char Kelly in Brooklyn. They were at that first service at East. Char had worked with Treasure Island and Timm in production. They were key players for the East campus. Now they are key players with us in New York.

I felt pretty melancholy today as I walked the streets of my new city. I still miss terribly the many friends we made as we worked together to launch a new congregation. Clinton Twp. seems a million miles and a lifetime away.

If any East Campus friends are reading this blog, I would love to hear from you- just leave a comment. And I am thrilled that in a couple of months I have the chance to be back with you to teach on Sunday, Nov 29. And by the way, we have plenty of room for many more to come and help us!

Bumper Stickers and Buttons

2009-09-24T17:26:00.003-04:00

Every where we turn, we are faced with some sort of message…billboards, t-shirts, bumper stickers and buttons. Many are trying to sell something, but some are attempts at capturing a philosophy, a world view, a value, in a simple or clever statement. Sometimes the meaning is clear, other times it is hidden. Some are uplifting, some are hostile. Take this example I saw early today on the bumper of a brand new burgundy Honda sedan:

“If Pearl Harbor Hadn’t Happened, Hiroshima Would Not Have Happened.”

I can’t imagine why someone would want to proclaim that message some 64 years after such a horrible event in human history. I wonder if the owner felt any irony putting it on a Japanese car?

Later in the day I was waiting on a very crowded subway platform at Union Square. I had just completed a 4 mile run and was a bit impatient waiting a long time on the hot platform for a train. People kept funneling down from the street and the platform became wall to wall with people. As I looked down the track waiting for the train, my eyes caught a very tall woman, who based on the covering on her head, appeared to be African. For a moment, I thought perhaps she was Immaculee Ilibagiza. Immaculee is the author of the book Left to Tell, the story of her amazing survival during the genocide in Rwanda in 1994. I had a chance to meet her a couple of years ago and to hear her tell her story. At that time I knew we would be moving to New York City, where she now works with the UN, and we said perhaps we would bump into each other in the city. It hasn’t happened yet- even though I live just 10 blocks south of the UN building.

This week, things have been crazy in my neighborhood this week with the UN General Assembly and President Obama in town. With the attention on the UN, I have thought quite a bit about Immaculee, and now wondered if we were about to meet on the 6 Train. But with a second look, I could tell it was not her.

When the train finally arrived, it was a stampede of everyone trying to get into the train that was already nearly full when it arrived. I felt bad for those who got sandwiched in near me, with my shirt soaked in sweat. As it turns out, the woman I had spotted was right next to me, and like Immaculee, she was several inches taller. In her hands was a book about Rwanda- so while I had the wrong person, I had the right country. And also like Immaculee, she had a beautiful and joyful countenance. It was then that I noticed the button she was wearing (I was not staring at her- we were simply neighbors in ways that only those who have been packed like sardines in a NYC subway understand!). It said:

I Exist to Praise God and to Help Others

It was all that would fit on the small button attached to the lapel of the jacket she was wearing, but I could not think of one thing that I would add to that as one who strives to follow Jesus… a life directed in praise and adoration to our Creator, and a life directed to serve our fellow man.

And it took a lot less space than the bumper sticker.

Rescuing

2009-09-18T00:17:00.005-04:00

Just when I think I am beginning to get a grasp on this city, I have an experience that makes me feel clueless. This morning I took the subway up to Harlem with my wife Chris and my cohort Dave to help out in a community food bank. The Yorkville Common Pantry provides food for over 1800 people a week. Communitas people have volunteered here a dozen times or so. Until today, I have worked in the back pantry area where food packets are assembled for distribution. We put together bags of staple foods for families of various sizes. When families come to pick them up, the bags are given out along with some fresh vegetables and meat. Today I was assigned to work in the distribution area. There were two choices for meat- chicken or pork. As each family came, I was to ask them if they wanted chicken or pork. Sounded pretty simple. Except that the first, second, third, fourth (you get the point), did not speak English. Most spoke Spanish. So Dave got on the phone to his wife, Michelle, who is fluent in Spanish, and asked for the Spanish words for chicken and pork. Armed with two new Spanish words in my vocabulary, I began to ask which they wanted in Spanish, bringing confused looks and occasionally nods and the word “yes”. Yes to which one? Pork or chicken? Clearly, this was not working.

One of our other Communitas friends, Jennifer, who is a Spanish teacher, observed what was going on, pulled me aside and gave me a quick lesson on the correct pronunciation of chicken and pork in Spanish. I tired again- only to realize that I was now speaking Spanish to a Chinese man who kept saying “yes” and “thank you”. So I retired from my position and spent the next four hours bagging vegetables and bagels- and watching the parade of nations. Unbelievable to think that so many people who live in America and call this country home have limited or no ability to speak our language. How did they get here? Why did they come? How can they function when they cannot communicate outside of their small circle of relatives and friends? And these are my neighbors. We live together in this city which I am realizing more and more is a microcosm of the world.

As I reflected on my experience later in the day, it is also clear that the work of Jesus in NYC has to be as varied and diverse as the city itself. Communitas has very limited ability than to do more than to serve the needs of these communities within the city, since I only know how to say “chicken” and “pork” improperly in Spanish. I’m not sure what the Chinese man heard me saying!

Later in the day, Communitas served at a mission in the Chinatown area of Manhattan. My job this time was to simply hand a plate of food to those coming into the New York City Rescue Mission. Fortunately, there were no choices this time, only one thing on the menu. Over 200 meals were served to the men and women who came in. They were young and old and also represented a broad spectrum of ethnicities, but nearly all of them spoke English. As I handed each a plate of food, I wondered about their story. What put them into a place where they had to rely on a soup kitchen for a meal? Why are they living in the most expensive place to live in the world?

My normal inclination has been to judge people in these circumstances. I would assume that drugs, alcohol, irresponsibility, etc. have landed them in this situation. But since moving to New York, I have found a growing desire to hear their stories, to know what has brought them to this place. I am certain that not one of the men or women to whom I handed a plate of food tonight had dreams when they were young of eating at a soup kitchen and living in a shelter. And I know that they all hope for a better future. Perhaps intersecting love by way of food and shelter will provide an opportunity for change.

As I left the mission, I spoke to a young man working at the front desk of the Mission. I thought he was a staff member, but as we talked, I discovered that he is a resident in the Mission’s program. I did not have time to get his whole story, but He came in off the street, and in the provision and protection of the mission, his life is coming back into focus. This spring, he plans to enroll in college. And he is growing in his relationship with Jesus. I shudder to think where he might be today if the Mission did not exist. This is why we help out in places like the Yorkville Pantry in Harlem and the Rescue Mission in Chinatown. God’s eyes are on the down and outers in this city, and rescuing them often begins with just keeping them alive.

Being the Church

2009-09-13T23:25:00.009-04:00

A year ago we came to NYC to plant a church. Our intent was not to get people to come to "our church", but to be the church. Influenced by the thoughts of Alan Hirsch (author of The Forgotten Ways), we are convinced that a church must not allow itself to be defined by what happens once a week in a 60 minute service. While it is commonly said that the church is not the building or the one hour service, I think the way we speak about church reveals a lot. We speak of "going to church", or "what happened at our church last Sunday". Our mantra to "be the church" is a reminder that Jesus is actively at work through those of us who have come together in his name to build his Kingdom 24/7- not for an hour on Sunday. And in many respects, the work of Jesus will be more defined by what he is doing, and we are doing, the rest of the week.

This past year we have focused on some simple things, like learning to love each other. Jesus said that the world would know that he had been sent by the Father when they saw our love for each other- so this seemed to be an important priority. We have also spent time learning about our city. For those of us who came from the suburbs of Detroit, we discovered that NYC is a very different culture. We needed to listen and learn and be patient. And we also began to serve. Jesus said that he came not to be served, but to serve. And so we have attempted to the best of our abilities to roll up our sleeves and to serve as he taught us.

As we move into year two, we hope that we have firmly established the DNA of Communitas as a community of people on a mission together to love God and each other, and to demonstrate God's radical love as we serve others. The first year we have met on Sunday evenings, informally, learning together, praying together, and building community. We refrained from calling it a "service" (serving is what we strive to do all week long), but rather, we simply called it a "gathering". It has been a time when we gather together to learn and to celebrate the presence and work of Jesus in our lives and our community. Today marked an important day in the development of that gathering.

Today we moved into our new location for our weekly gathering- a public school auditorium. Our first official gathering there will not be until October 4.

We came together this morning to learn what it meant to have our gathering in this venue. We spent four hours drinking coffee, eating donuts and bagels, putting together sound equipment, working on music, and a host of other things we need to figure out over the next three weeks. The puzzled looks help explain why we are giving the month of September to preparing.

As we spent the morning together, the real joy for me was to look around the auditorium and to see Communitas at work- about 30 people, some who came with us from Michigan and some that I have only known for a few weeks, enjoying being together and pitching in to help in any way possible. It was chaotic, and it was a blast!

I don't know what God has in store for us as we put a bit more energy now into our weekly gathering. I know (pray!) that it will not replace the identity or work of Communitas as defined above. If you are in New York and you want to find Communitas, you don't have to wait until Sunday morning at 10:30 at PS 40 on 19th Street. We can be found throughout the city, trying (imperfectly) to follow Jesus and to be his hands and feet and voice. But starting in October, you can also find some of us in a public school auditorium, learning about the One who has given us new life, worshipping him together, and celebrating what he is doing is our lives and our community.

As I left the auditorium with all our equipment safely put away for a week, I looked at all the empty seats.

How will they ever be filled? There are 500 seats, and Commuitas is currently about a tenth that size. But as I have thought about it all day, I believe the key is not in finding clever ways to invite people to come to church. It will be filled as we stay true to our calling to be the church in our community.

Getting Saved

2009-08-23T00:37:00.001-04:00

I spent this morning helping out at one of the truly great compassion ministries in NYC- St. Joe’s Soup Kitchen in Greenwich Village. As I walked to the subway heading home in the early afternoon, I encountered a heated exchange between two people on a street corner. Being nosey, I slowed down my walking pace to catch the drift of what was going on. One man, holding a stack of papers in his hand, was insisting loudly to another man that he needed to be “saved”. Then I noticed the other men, and the t-shirts bearing the name of some man who has a “worldwide outreach ministry.” Street evangelism. Cold turkey street evangelism. I wanted to observe for a while, but didn’t want to be evangelized myself, so I pulled out my cell phone and pretended to be in conversation as I watched the drama. Anyone who would take a paper, or stop for a moment to talk, was told that they needed to get “saved”. Not one person showed any interest , and the response of most ranged from irritation to anger. As I watched, I recalled having tried this form of evangelism in my youth, and also recall being equally ineffective. I still believe that to follow Jesus means to make disciples (of Jesus), or as Jesus also put it, to be fishers of men. And while I admire the conviction and the courage of these men, and their willingness to take verbal abuse, I am not sure this is what Jesus intended. And yes, I know that some people do come to faith in Jesus through cold turkey in your face evangelism. It’s just that I cannot recall any examples of Jesus doing this in his travels. It seems as though the “confrontational approach” was reserved for the religious. I had sensed Jesus at work among the poor at St.Joe’s that morning. I wasn’t sure he was present at the corner of Broadway and Waverly.

As I continued on to the subway, I had not gone 10 steps before I saw a man sitting on the steps of a building with the familiar cup out for spare change, and words scrawled on cardboard asking for help. What Jesus might do in this situation seemed clear. I pulled out a $5 bill, put it in his cup and as I turned away I said “I wish I could do more.” Immediately, a voice in my head, I presume it was God, said, “Oh, you could do more.” I turned back and read his sign- all of it, and sat down and asked him what was going on. Nathaniel has been stranded in the city for two months. Something about a girlfriend being why he came here, and that not working out, being kicked out, no job, no money, and no way back to Charleston, SC. And his family had told him not to go after this girl, but he wouldn’t listen. So he made his bed, they said, and now he can lie in it. Except he doesn’t have a bed.

For nearly 2 months he has been trying to raise bus fare. He has been chased away many times for panhandling. He makes enough to eat and get subway fare so he can sleep on the subway cars- but not enough to get ahead and get home. As we talked, I tried to image that since June, he has been in this city trying to get about $100 to get home, and he is still here. So I asked him if he would go with me, right then, to the Port Authority, and let me buy him a ticket to Charleston, and get on the bus. At first he didn’t take me serious. But once he understood that I intended to get him on that bus today, we headed off to the subway that would take us to the Greyhound Station. (BTW, Communitas has a benevolence fund to help out in situations like this- so I am not suggesting that this involved any personal sacrifice on my part.)

As we traveled on the N Train, a thought came to me. Nathaniel had sat all morning within a few yards of the street preachers. Did they come and talk to him? So I asked him. Nope. Now, I know I am judging my brothers, but I how else am I to think about it? I reviewed the scene in my mind as I rode along with Nathaniel. “You need to get saved…” the voice proclaims. “I need help getting home to my family” the sign proclaims. And somehow, the connection is never made.

As we waited in line at the Port Authority and then made our way to the Gate 75, where the bus will depart NYC heading for Charleston at 4:45 PM, we had a conversation about many things, including God. Maybe I didn’t say enough. I did not tell him he needed to get saved. Instead, I told him who Jesus was to me, and what he has done to change my life. He spoke of a hunger for God, and I encouraged him to pursue that- that God had a desire for him. It was a far different exchange than the conversations about Jesus I eavesdropped on a hour or so earlier. As we parted and I made my way home, I asked Jesus to reveal himself to Nathaniel in the days ahead…perhaps on the 23 hour bus trip.

Tonight as I write these words I am not sure how to interpret or think about these events. In the morning, I served the poor, but more or less anonymously. I did not have one spiritual conversation, but I loved them in Jesus’ name by serving them. Then I witnessed sincere men trying to talk to people in the street about Jesus, with what I would call disastrous results. And finally, in the afternoon, I came face to face with a man in crisis- and rather than just dropping a few bills in his cup and continuing on (which is what I typically do- to be honest, I don’t usually feel comfortable trying to talk with the homeless- it’s easier to just give money), I was prodded by God to connect with him. And that connection provided a context to have a conversation about Jesus.

Maybe this is it. This man needed to be saved- to be rescued, on several levels. And they all mattered to God. Perhaps the most effective way to introduce people to God’s love is to first understand what “salvation” means in terms of their present circumstances, and to offer “salvation” on all levels that addresses all the ways a person might need to be saved.

The Art of Complaining

2009-08-20T14:30:00.001-04:00

Most Wednesday evenings I meet with a couple of new friends I have made here in New York. It is always a lively discussion covering a variety of topics including pop culture, philosophy, religion, economics, politics, literature, entertainment, etc. We are literally all over the map as we exchange thoughts and personal analysis.

I should explain that my friends are a bit younger than me- actually, being in their 20’s I realize that I could be their dad. So far they have been respectful, refraining from calling me things like “pops” or “gramps” (at least to my face). I actually think the generational mix, combined with coming from Jewish, Catholic and Baptist backgrounds respectively makes our discussion more interesting.

Last night we sat in an enclosed balcony on a 15th floor apartment and talked for 2 hours as my friends shared a hookah, which is glass-based water pipe for smoking. (Don’t worry- it was just tobacco). I’ve never been around one, though I’ve seen them in movies, usually set in exotic places somewhere considerably east of here. Somehow, the device increased the sense that we were being deeply intellectual!

For a good part of the evening we talked about all of the technological improvements which have (supposedly) given us a better quality of life- things like AC, cell phones, and the world at our fingertips via the internet. And we also reflected on whether all of these things have made us more content, happy, grateful…or less so. That led to a discussion of an inclination to live with a sense of entitlement, and with that a propensity to complain. The key idea was that our expectations for life have risen over the past decades (or century) so that we have become increasingly dissatisfied with our lives. At this point, the discussion was not focused on “people out there”, but on ourselves.

One indication of high expectations, and a sense that things ought to be a certain way, is complaining. When I complain it reveals that I believe that things should be different than they are (for me), and when they are not to my liking, it is intolerable. I should not have to put up with this!!

The apostle Paul wrote that we should do all things without complaining… (Phil 2:14). At the end of the evening, I proposed an experiment. Over the next week I would try to pay attention to every complaint that passes my lips, or even occupies my thinking. Just how pervasive is this in my life?

Here’s my list so far- things I complained about:

• The slow internet
• An increase in our phone bill
• The crowded sidewalk
• How poorly I slept
• Our air conditioning
• The weather

These are the ones I am aware of- in about 8 hours of waking time.

I have been complaining about that last one a lot this week. NYC is in the midst of a heat wave- 5 days in a row now in the 90’s. And when it is hot here, it is really hot with all of the concrete and buildings. And I don’t like the heat. The subway platforms have to be 110 degrees.

This morning I went for a run along the East River early before the day really heated up. I knew when I got home it would take a long time to cool down because our air conditioning is not working as well as it should. I thought complaining thoughts about it for about ½ a mile before I became aware of what I was doing. As I ran, I noticed the homeless men who live along the river- trying to find some shade from the brutal sun. And I was running with thoughts in my mind about our stupid air conditioning that costs too much and doesn’t keep our apartment cool enough, I was not thinking at all that at least I had a place to live. Absent was any gratitude that, unlike these men, I have a place to come in out of the heat- a bed to sleep in, a refrigerator that keeps my food cold. Imagine if I stopped to talk with one of them. When asked how things are going, what if I complained to them about the weather and my poorly functioning and expensive to use AC? Not sure I’d get a lot of empathy.

So far, catching myself complaining has been good in that it immediately turns my thoughts to gratitude instead. Last night in our discussion, one of my friends said that he gave up complaining several years ago, and that it literally changed his life. Every day that he is alive, he said, is a good day. Hard things and discomfort come, but that doesn’t mean he turns a blind eye to all the good that is in his life.

Exchanging complaining for gratitude seems like a pretty good, and perhaps indeed a life-changing proposition. Maybe especially for those around me who have to endure my complaining. At least they haven’t yet complained to me about it.

NYC or Beulah

2009-08-11T11:54:00.003-04:00

I returned yesterday from a two week vacation in a remote place in Northern Michigan. It is hard to believe that I have lived in New York City for a year now. As our family made the trip back “home”, I anticipated that there would be some culture shock. Other than a stint in Southern California for seminary when I was in my early 20’s, I have lived my entire life in Michigan prior to this move to NYC. That meant that last year, no matter how many trips to the city I made in advance, no matter how much I read about, studied, and tried to anticipate our new life in an urban and diverse setting, I was in for some major culture shock- and I was not disappointed. The people, the noise, the constant activity and busyness- it was life on steroids. Much of the time I loved it- I have always thrived on some degree of chaos. There were also times that first year when I thought I would lose my sanity- what was left of it, if I couldn’t get out of the city.

All these thoughts filled my mind as we drove to the major metropolis of Beulah, Michigan- population 450. This would be the 49th year of our family reunion on Crystal Lake, the first without my dad who passed away this Spring. All 27 of us spent a riotous week in and around the beautiful blue water of Crystal Lake. When my mind would drift to thoughts of my new life at 377 East 33rd Street, it seemed like a dream. I loved the sound of wind in the trees, the waves breaking on shore, the wide open spaces, the glorious stars at night as we sat around the campfire. New York City seemed like not another city in the same country, but more like alien life on a distant planet.

The two weeks went by quickly and in a blink I was on I-80 heading back to my new life in NYC. I discovered in those two weeks how much I liked and missed my old life. A certain melancholy and sadness settled over us as we continued east, leaving family and lakes and boats and grass and stars behind. I knew I was facing culture shock again.

I woke up in New York on Sunday morning and headed out to grab some milk and other post vacation essentials. I no longer grabbed for my keys to drive to the market as I had the past two weeks- it was a walk on 32nd Street to Third Avenue- a bit different than a stroll down Main Street in Beulah. But one similarity this morning was the quiet. Where were the people? The noise? It’s 9:00 AM and the streets were relatively quiet. Then I recalled that it was Sunday. New Yorkers observe their day of rest. God may not be a part of it, but is the one day when the streets of Manhattan, other than the tourist areas, have a relative quiet and peacefulness.

On my return, a friend asked me an interesting question. What percentage of me wanted to remain in Michigan and not return to NYC? There was not an easy answer to that question. In some respects, 100% of me would take Beulah over New York. But I am in New York in response to God’s call. Would I have liked a call to start a church in Beulah? Probably. And with a population of 450, if we could reach 10% of the population, the church would be 45 people. If we could reach 10% of the population of NYC, it would be 850,000. Or if we were content with just reaching 10% of Manhattan, that would be 180,000. That’s not going to happen. That is why God is raising up many people to start churches in NYC. And the quiet streets on a Sunday morning reminded me of the need, as did the jammed subway car later in the day. There is a church planting movement in this area with a goal of starting 50 new churches a year- that’s nearly one a week. The task of Jesus vision for this city is enormous to say the least.

So, I am reminded that Beulah, Michigan, which is just as important to God as any place on earth, probably has all the churches it needs to reach its 450 people. The same is not true of NYC. That’s why he tapped me on the shoulder for New York and not Beulah.

As I adjust again to the noise, the congestion, the 100+ degree temperatures I faced this morning waiting on a subway platform (with vivid images of sailing on Crystal Lake fresh in my mind!!) I know why I am here, and I am glad I am here.

By the way, don’t be surprised if God calls you to come to New York, the greatest city in the world, to join in the work Jesus is doing- to start a new church, or help us with Communitas. We could use the help!

Orthodoxy and Orthopraxy

2009-07-22T01:17:00.004-04:00

Last week I was having coffee with a friend who does not share my convictions about Jesus as King, Savior, Lord. He does, however, have great respect for his teaching, for how he lived his life, and for the example he invites us to follow.

During our conversation, he noted that he has had encounters over the years with Christians who spoke to him about their beliefs about Jesus and who tried in various ways to convince him that he should believe the same. Their chief interest seemed to be to get him to believe the right things about Jesus, thus becoming a Christian and thus gaining eternal life when he died. Absent was much discussion about the way of Jesus, about the content of his teaching, which had more to do with how we live than where we go when we die.

This friend, who does not identify himself as a Christian does, nevertheless, live more like one than many Christians I know- including myself sometimes. I arrived at the coffee shop about 5 minutes before he did. When he walked in, he threw his Bible on the table and said “just a minute”, and walked back out the door. I couldn’t imagine what he was doing. A moment later, he walked back in with an elderly woman and took her up to the counter. I had to join him to see what he was up to. He helped her pick out a sandwich and a drink, and paid for it. As we got back to our table, he explained that she had been on the sidewalk just outside the store asking for money for food. He noticed her, had compassion, and invited her in for a meal. I realized that I had walked right past her on my way in without even seeing her.

Our discussion that night included a consideration of what we might call orthodoxy and orthopraxy- believing the right things about Jesus and actually living the right way, as Jesus taught us. Both are critical. I confess, however, that most of my life I have been far more passionate and even dogmatic and argumentative about believing the right things than I have been about living the right way. I didn’t put a tenth of that energy into worrying about whether or not my life lined up with the way of life taught and modeled by Jesus. As long as my views of the atonement, the Trinity, the Bible, etc., were right, than I was alright. At least my eternal destiny was certain.

Since that conversation, I have had this picture (actually, it’s more like a movie) in my mind. My life on earth is over, and as I come before God, I hand him my doctrinal statement, which I had worked hard on over the course of my life. He accepts it, and then proceeds to mark up with a highlighter the places where, in spite of my study and diligence, I did not get it right. When he is done with that, he asks me for another document- my resume- the record of how I actually lived out the truth and the implications of the truth contained in my doctrinal statement.

Is God less interested in that second document?

I have been thinking a great deal the past few days about how the rift between orthodoxy and orthopraxy occurs. I am reminded of Gandhi’s words: I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ. In Gandhi’s time, those calling themselves Christians indeed had little resemblance to Jesus, thus his observation. How does this happen? It was the biggest issue confronted by Jesus in his day- the Pharisees who believed the right stuff, but in Jesus’ own words “never heard the voice of God”. How do we get the right information, yet not be formed by it?

I believe that orthodoxy matters a great deal. Truth matters- truth about Jesus, that he is as he claimed to be- not just teacher, but King, Savior, Lord. But I also believe that one of his most penetrating questions needs to be taken serious by all of us who are “orthodox” in our faith: “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord’, and do not do what I say?” Calling him Lord makes us “orthodox”. If we don’t do what he says, what does that make us?

My hope for my friend is that he will continue to live his life doing what Jesus says. That’s not a bad place to start with Jesus. From what I can tell about the disciples, they began to follow Jesus, even radically, leaving their family, their jobs, their possessions, to be with him before they fully understood who it was they were following. But in the end, in the process of following him, they came to see the full picture of the One who had initially captured their imaginations and their hearts.

I have always thought that we must begin with orthodoxy, which will eventually lead to orthopraxy. Sometimes, I now believe, it is the other way round. Orthopraxy can lead to orthodoxy. Follow Jesus’ teaching, and it leads to Jesus.

I hope that is the journey my friend is on...that his orthopraxy leads him to greater orthodoxy. In the meantime, he is making an impact of on others, because he is following Jesus. And I hope my orthodoxy leads me to greater orthopraxy.

Crazy or Demonic

2009-07-08T17:50:00.005-04:00

In NYC it is common during the course of a 15 minute walk to pass a couple of homeless people. Sometimes they sit or stand and quietly ask for help, verbally, or by means of a sign. Sometimes, usually on the subway, they give a speech explaining their circumstances and ask for help as they walk up and down the train with their paper cup outstretched to receive donations. Sometimes, they talk nonsense and act threatening.

It is estimated that more than 50% of the homeless in NYC are suffering with some form of mental illness. In my first year in the city, I know I have encountered many of them. Having worked in the field of psychology earlier in my life, I recognize the signs of schizophrenia and paranoia pretty quickly, although usually it is pretty evident to any passerby. I have also wondered for years how to know when there is something demonic taking place in the individual. The 4 Gospels took it for granted that demonic activity was common. Jesus encountered and dealt with it regularly.

Last night our small group was discussing Like 6 and came across these words:

He (Jesus) went down with them and stood on a level place. A large crowd of his disciples was there and a great number of people from all over Judea, from Jerusalem, and from the coast of Tyre and Sidon, who had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases. Those troubled by evil spirits were cured, (17-18).

Those troubled by evil spirits were cured. There seems to be nothing astonishing about this statement. It is assumed that demonic activity would be encountered. Is that our assumption in this culture today- even among Christians? I would say generally not. In fact, talking about demons likely raises some eyebrows, even in our churches. Should we assume that since Jesus’ time, demonic influence has abated?

While I believe that mental illness does exist that is not related to demonic activity, it seems likely that deranged thinking may at times be evidence not of mental illness, but of demonic activity. Even physical illness can be the result of demonic activity:

On a Sabbath Jesus was teaching in one of the synagogues, and a woman was there who had been crippled by a spirit for eighteen years. She was bent over and could not straighten up at all. Luke 13:10-11

Clearly, both physical and mental illness may have a demonic basis. But how do we discern when this is the case?

This past week I have had three encounters with homeless people who clearly had a mental illness or demonic presence, or both. The first occurred Sunday evening. Amanda, one of Communitas’ members, invited a homeless man she met on the bus to join us for our Sunday evening gathering. He came, and sat through the service quietly. He then joined us for our post-service meal at a local diner. It began well with him ordering a meal, but things began to deteriorate. After a few bites into his hamburger, he began to tear it apart and mumble about it being poisoned with cyanide. He pushed the food away. Then he began to speak against the government, becoming increasingly agitated and raising his voice. Our attempts to reason with him had no effect except to make him angrier. His diatribe then turned against some of the men in our group sitting some distance away form the man. He began to accuse them of things and his statements were laced with foul language. Now everyone within earshot began to squirm. We were extending love and care to man who seemed now bent on anger, and perhaps violence.

When we left the diner, the man stood across the street shouting obscenities at us. As we walked away, he hurried across the street, catching up with us and speaking lewd and threatening comments. At this point, I steered him away from the group and walked in a different direction, trying again without success to get him to calm down and to explain why he was angry at people who had shown him kindness. As we walked west on 34th Street, he continued to rail against us and the world in general, and at one point told me that he might be an old man, but he could take me down easily. At this point, I decided another strategy was warranted. I asked him what he thought about Jesus. His demeanor changed instantly. As we walked he spoke about him being the only true man, the only one worth trusting, one who had complete integrity. No obscenities, no raised voice, no incoherent thoughts. And most importantly in that moment, no talk of taking me down!!!

After a block, I left him with words that Communitas is simply a group of imperfect people who agree with his assessment of Jesus, and are trying to follow him. The obscenities returned as I walked away. I have no idea what this experience meant. Why did the mention of Jesus’ name calm him down? Most accounts of Jesus encountering demons resulted in increased agitation. All I know is that his name bought a block worth of peace to a trouble man.

Since that evening I have had encounters with two homeless people, both women this time, who were shouting nonsense and obscenities, and threatening people as they walked by. In both cases I came near to see if I could engage with them and perhaps try the “Jesus experiment” to see if it would calm them as well. No chance. As soon as they saw me looking at them and making eye contact, the volume and intensity increased dramatically. In fact, both screamed at me and said something to the effect that I was the true source of their trouble. I have to say that in these cases, it felt to me as though these women were, as Luke wrote, troubled by demonic spirits.

I find that a part of me wants to ignore this issue in the city- the visibly disturbed homeless. It seems hopeless, and I don’t really know how to discern what is needed and how to respond. And yet, if Jesus was living here and walking the streets and riding the subways I do everyday, I don’t think ignoring would be his strategy. I realize again how much I have to learn, and how utterly dependent I am on the wisdom that God has promised to me when I ask. Believe me, I am asking!

Costly Love

2009-06-26T08:31:00.002-04:00

Yesterday I returned to the city after a week in Michigan. Part of that trip included giving a message at Kensington’s New Community service. I taught from John 9, a passage that has played a critical role in shaping the ministry of Communitas in New York City. One focus of the teaching was the verse at the beginning of the chapter which is easily overlooked: “As Jesus went along he saw…”. This simple observation about Jesus raises some questions: Are we looking, are we paying attention, do we see the people, the needs, the opportunities to love which are around us all the time? And are we willing to be interrupted, to have our plans and agendas altered as we go along? I suggested that this could be costly in terms of our personal time and resources, but in the end it is what it means to love others, the commandment the Scripture tells us fulfills the entire law.

I got off the plane mid-afternoon, took the bus and subway home, dropped my suitcase at my apartment and walked back out the door heading to New Jersey. My friends Brad and Stephanie were moving into a new apartment in Jersey City just across the Hudson from Manhattan. I had promised them help and I was running late, so I was walking at my fastest NYC pace across 33rd to catch the Path train to NJ.

As I went along, in a hurry, behind schedule, I saw a woman sitting on sidewalk, leaning against a building, holding a sign. I was walking too fast to read the entire message, but these typically are a plea for help. I went by…a few steps, and then remembered. I turned back and read the sign- quickly. I was late and in a hurry. The sign read:

I am a mother of four. I lost my job. I need help feeding my children and paying my rent. God Bless.”

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my change, and dumped it in the paper cup from Subway she was holding in her hands.

I sped away- late and in a hurry. And then I thought, as Jesus went along, he saw, and stopped and healed. So I turned back. I sat down next to her on the sidewalk and asked her about her situation. She could not understand a word of English. I tried to communicate anyhow, by pointing to words on her sign. No luck. What could I do? I decided I could pray for her, so I asked her if I could pray- no comprehension. So I just placed my hand on her shoulder, bowed my head, and prayed for her- asking Jesus, who knows all about her situation, to help and protect her and her children. Then I opened up my wallet and pulled out a $5 bill and put it in her cup. She looked up at me and said, in English, “God Bless You.” She knew some English!

I hurried down 33rd to the train, continuing to think of her and to pray for her. As I sat on the train a few minutes later, more of my message I had given at Kensington came to mind. I had shared a story about seeing a homeless person sleeping on a subway platform that reminded me of my son, and how in the instant when I first saw him, I felt deep pain in my heart for him as if he were my son. I shared that we will know when we are beginning to love as God loves when we feel that for all people and respond as if they were our own children. They are all God’s children, and that is what he feels.

To love in this way will be costly. I don’t even know how it can be done. If that really was my daughter, I would have skipped New Jersey and scooped her up in my arms and taken her home. I don’t think God was asking that of me. But when I got to New Jersey and reached into my wallet and pulled out the 10 dollar bill to get something to drink, a troubling question popped into my head. When I pulled out my wallet 30 minutes earlier to help a hungry, unemployed woman with four children, why had I pulled out the 5 dollar bill? Why not the 10? Why not both? Because I was hungry and had not eaten all day. Like her? Like her four children? Was my love a love that was costly- that would cost me just one meal? And if that really was my daughter, which bill would I have given her.

I see that I have more to learn about costly love.

Little Things with Great Love

2009-06-12T21:36:00.000-04:00

My dozen trips to India over the last nine years have at times raised doubts about what I believe. It’s a bit strange I suppose to go as a missionary and find oneself struggling with doubts about God.

Somewhere between 1.2 and 1.3 people, about 1 out of 6 people now alive on planet Earth, live in India. To put that in perspective, the “.3” of the 1.3 represents the entire population of the US. And most of those people have no knowledge of Jesus- about 97% of the population. They are poor and suffer from all that accompanies poverty. I would ride the train across the country going from village to village and city to city, seeing the masses of people, and because of what I believe, I would regard them as lost and without hope. They live a miserable life on this earth, and then enter into eternity separated from God. How could this be true? How could God allow this?

It’s not that I did not have theological answers to those questions, but when one’s mind is filled with thousands of images of faces of Indian people, those answers bring no comfort or help. The Bible teaches that all human beings are of unsurpassable worth to God. Jesus showed us God’s heart for humanity when he spoke of the lost coin, lost sheep and lost son. He would leave the 99 “found” to go after the 1 “lost”. In India, the numbers are nearly reversed- 97 lost for every 3 found. I could barely stand the pain of such thoughts as I lived and moved among the people of India. How could God stand it? And whatever efforts I made seemed so feeble. Then I would think of Indonesia, China, parts of Africa, Central America, South America- all of what constitutes the “Third World”, and honestly have felt even more hopeless.

Now I live in one of the most densely populated cities in the world. NYC is certainly not third world, but my life here has so many similarities to what I experience when I go to India. I am constantly surrounded by people who have no relationship with Jesus. In fact, in Manhattan, the percentage of people who have put their faith in Jesus is about the same as in India. So I am a minority who, in order to be true to the teaching of the Bible, has to believe that nearly all of my fellow citizens are lost. And what difference can I really make?

Helpless is how I feel when my thoughts turn in this direction, whether in India or in New York City. Yesterday I spend four hours traversing back and forth across Manhattan putting together a walking tour for a mission team coming from Michigan in a week (if you are on that team, bring your best walking shoes!). That brought me to areas of the city particularly populated : Union Square, the Brooklyn Bridge, Battery Park, Wall Street, Columbus Circle, Central Park, Rockefeller Center, etc. I felt like I was in India and as I observed so many people and perhaps felt a bit of what Jesus felt when Matthew observed of him::
When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.

I felt compassion, but also a bit of depression again. The task seems impossible. What will it take to reach and help so many people- people who by and large don’t believe they need help and don’t want to be helped?

Mother Theresa is known worldwide for her work of compassion in Calcutta. What she did over the decades among the poor, sick and dying is remarkable and honorable. But honestly, with a population of 13 million, how many people did she really help? She didn’t even make a dent in the need. But she was not bothered by that fact. She once said that we should not attempt to do great things for God, but rather little things with great love.

So I am reminded- I am not here to change the city. I am not here to do great things for God. I am here to love in Jesus’ name. And that will likely look like little things, hardy noticed, never making the 6:00 news, but done wit great love. That’s all God asks, and that has to be enough. And there are opportunities many times every day to do that.

Don't Believe the Lie

2009-06-02T11:04:00.001-04:00

Today I put in more than my normal 4-5 miles of walking in the city. I had appointments and errands around different parts of Manhattan, so I found myself navigating the crowded sidewalks a good part of the day. Honestly, sometimes it can get tiring. I even had a couple of people cuss me out for no apparent reason. The man I am sure was mentally ill, but the woman just seemed to be generally annoyed and angry and I happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Late in the day I was on the M34 bus as it crept along. Walking is usually faster than the busses, but my tired legs needed a break. I had my i-pod playing and I heard these familiar words from one of my favorite songs:

Don’t believe the lie,
That you are of no worth
In your Father’s eyes…

My friend Danny Cox wrote the song “Forever and a Day” about three girls in Honduras that he and Amy were trying to adopt (they are now their daughters, living with them and their two boys in Michigan!). The lyrics above strike at the heart of the most crucial lie perpetrated against God- that he doesn’t care about us, doesn’t value us, that we are insignificant to him- of no worth. The beginning of the true knowledge of God is to understand his outrageous love for us. As Danny and Amy went through all of the legal issues over several years to bring their daughters home, his prayer was that they would be drawn into the reality of God’s love for them- that they were of unsurpassable value to him. That love would protect them form the many harms that would come against these young girls.

As the bus stopped at the light at Broadway and 34th, I looked at the people sitting on the bus with me and the sea of people flooding the sidewalks- certainly many thousands in my field of vision. The music quieted the noise so that all I took in were the faces. For some reason in that moment I became more fully aware that each person was a story being lived out- with adventure, boredom, happiness, sorrow, romance, anxiety, etc. And the overwhelming thought was that God as their Creator was fully aware of every detail of every story, that he new the current plot line for each, and the trajectory of the story. For that moment they weren’t just human beings walking crowded streets, waiting to go off on Craig, but rather people of great value to God, most of whom have probably bought the lie that they are of no worth in the Father’s eyes. I think God gave be a piece of his heart and a glimpse into what he sees always. And it overwhelmed me.

As the bus nudged ahead I became aware of the tears that were streaming down my face. In my heart I felt perhaps a bit of the pain of a Father who is crazy about his children, but they have been convinced that he does not care (or does not even exist). And it was much needed reminder of why God has led us to this city- to be a contrary voice to the lie. Our Father has many children, and he longs for them to know his love.

Fill in the Blank

2009-05-28T21:08:00.003-04:00

One of Jesus’ lasts discussions with his disciples before his arrest and crucifixion is intriguing and revealing. As they recline around the Passover table, he tells them that one of them will betray him. For this small group of friends who have been together in close proximity for the previous three years, this has to be terribly shocking and disturbing to say the least. They are riding a wave of exhilarating anticipation- Jesus had been welcomed into Jerusalem as a King. Now there is a traitor in their midst… one of them will betray Jesus. How would they respond? Luke’s words seem to be an understatement: “They began to question among themselves which of them it might be who would do this.” I can see the eyes darting around the table, looking at each other, and at Jesus, trying to guess the most likely candidate. They knew each other pretty well, knew each other’s weaknesses, and probably immediately each had their top candidates. Jesus observes, listens.

What happens next is the part that has always intrigued me. Luke tells us that “a dispute arose among them as to which of them was considered to be greatest.” You’ve got to be kidding! Moments after learning that there is a really, really bad guy in their ranks, and that the One that they loved and had left everything to follow is going to be turned over to their enemies, they break into an argument over which of them was the really, really good guy??? And I am sure they were not casting their votes for each other, but for themselves. We don’t have a record of the conversation, but I can imagine how this might have gone down. As names are being thrown out for the possible betrayer, each responds with vehement denials, followed by putting forth their resume for the “greatest” candidate. “I would never do that! Actually, I believe that I am Jesus best pupil, and I think Jesus will back me up on this one, right Jesus?"

Picture Jesus, having dropped the bombshell announcement of a betrayer in their midst, now watches them posturing themselves to not only not be the betrayer, but to be the best of the bunch- the teacher’s pet. By the way, at the beginning of the meal, he had made his way around the table washing their feet, teaching by example about humility. Seems to have gone in one ear and out the other.

In the midst of the jockeying for greatness, Jesus spoke some words that have never hit me as hard as they did when I read this passage a few days ago. He said:

“But I am among you as one who serves.”

While mere mortals, imperfect creatures, argue with each other about their greatness, the truly great One, the one identified later by John and Paul and the writer of Hebrews as the Creator, says that he has lived among them as one who serves.

I have been thinking a lot about that sentence. In fact, I have not been able to get it out of my mind. Here’s why. If Jesus, being God, could speak these words- because they were true of his life- that he lived to serve, then is there any reason for me to ever, even for a single moment, not serve others? And I am asking myself, would people who really know me let me get away with making that statement? Would my family? “I am among you as one who serves.” I picture my wife or my kids response. They know the truth.

If it is not “to serve”, then how would I complete that sentence. What word would characterize my life. Here are some personal thoughts that have come to mind as I fill in that blank:

I am among you as one who is impatient.
I am among you as one who gets his way.
I am among you as one who controls.
I am among you as one who ignores you.
I am among you as one who judges you.
I am among you as one who worries.
I am among you as one who tries to impress.
I am among you as one who is self-centered.

That’s just a sampling of the possibilities that have entered my mind the last few days. I am certain that there are times when people who know me would not argue if I made these statements about myself.

As I have thought about Jesus making that statement because it was reality, I have found a growing desire to learn from him how to follow his example- to truly be a servant. It is one of the few statements in the Gospels that Jesus made about himself. And since it was one of the last made before his death, I think it would be a fitting statement on a tombstone of one who lived as a follower of Jesus. “Here lies the body of one who lived among you to serve.” But I realize I have a lot of work to do before my friends and family planning my funeral would be able to have that engraved with a clear conscious.

Just today, I was on a crowded subway- standing room only. When the train stopped at Times Square, a bunch of people got out, opening the possibility that I might get a seat for the rest of my journey. As new people entered the train, it was a mad dash. As I made my way for the last available seat, there was another man approaching from the opposite direction. It was going to be close, but I was determined to win even if it meant knocking some people out of the way. After all, I have lived here long enough to learn that this is normal subway etiquette. It is the survival of the fittest. As I crossed that last few feet to get to the seat, I heard a little voice in my head that said:

I am among you as one who gets the seat on the subway.

So I slowed down. As I stood there on the train as it made its way to my stop, I realized that I need to keep thinking about the blank at the end of that sentence. I don't want this on my tombstone:

Craig Mayes lived among you as one who always got the seat on the subway.

The Melting Pot

2009-05-17T12:25:00.001-04:00

I sit on the subway and watch as the doors open at the next stop. The world steps into the train. The 70-80 people jammed into this small space are the world. The skin color ranges from pale white to dark black, and every shade in between. As I eavesdrop on conversations, I detect many different languages I cannot place, and many English words spoken with heavy accents. These are not tourists, but my neighbors. We are far from Times Square, Broadway, and other tourists hangouts. These people commuting to or from work. This is their home.

A few stops later, a dozen high school students jump on board a train that is already wall to wall with people. Somehow, we make room. There is no such thing as personal space on a subway train during rush hour. I look at the students talking and laughing together, seemingly unaware that they too represent many different ethnicities…Hispanic, Asian, African American, Caucasian.

In college I worked on our newspaper called The Melting Pot. The term was initially a reference to America as a place where people came from all over the planet and were assimilated into a culture where what was shared in common was more critical than the differences brought into this new world. In 1782, J. Hector St. John de Crevecoeur, in Letters from an American Farmer, wrote the following:

"…whence came all these people? They are a mixture of English, Scotch, Irish, French, Dutch, Germans, and Swedes... What, then, is the American, this new man? He is neither a European nor the descendant of a European; hence that strange mixture of blood, which you will find in no other country. I could point out to you a family whose grandfather was an Englishman, whose wife was Dutch, whose son married a French woman, and whose present four sons have now four wives of different nations. He is an American, who, leaving behind him all his ancient prejudices and manners, receives new ones from the new mode of life he has embraced, the new government he obeys, and the new rank he holds. . . . The Americans were once scattered all over Europe; here they are incorporated into one of the finest systems of population which has ever appeared."
One of my favorite things about my first year in New York is to experience the reality of de Crevecoer’s words (and the population diversity is even more diverse than the Europeans he identified!) While racial tensions still exist, there is a refreshing acceptance of diversity that I have not experienced elsewhere. It almost seems as if ethnicity is a non-issue. Diversity is taken for granted and people are accepted on the basis of shared humanity.

When I was a child, we learned a song about Jesus loving all the little children of the world- “…red, brown, yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight…”. Paul wrote in the early days of this new thing called Christianity that we “…are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, or all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” He also wrote: “…you are no longer foreigners and aliens, but fellow citizens with God’s people and members of God’s household.”

It would be an understatement to say that over the centuries the Church has not always represented this vision of unity among diversity. In fact, often the opposite, racial hatred and prejudice, has been promoted in the name of God. I am hopeful in the early days of Communitas that, just as our city represents the world, so also our one expression of the “household of God” can do so as well.

I hop off the sub way and walk the 6 blocks to my apartment. As I wait at a corner of Lexington and 33rd for the light to change, I see a young African American chatting with an elderly Jewish man, evidenced by the yamika he wears on his head. I can’t hear the conversation, but as they turn to walk their separate ways, they smile and exchange a brief embrace. They are precious in His sight!

Ultimate Church

2009-05-11T22:33:00.006-04:00

This picture is of one of the most famous and popular places in Central Park- The Great Lawn. On a beautiful Sunday, like we had this past weekend, it is a place for tens of thousands of people to get away from city life, to feel the cool grass on their bare feet, to run around, or just rest. There were softball games, roller bladders, bikers, dog-walkers, soccer and football. There were plenty of tourists mixed in with the New Yorkers who retreat here regularly from the concrete jungle.

May 10 was the second Sunday of the month, and for Communitas, that means a party. We have set aside every second Sunday of each month to break out of our norm and to express what it means to be a “church”- a group of people following Jesus together- in a different way. Second Sundays for us are about getting together for fun and laughter and joy, eating together, and in this case, a little game of ultimate Frisbee. Our hope is that some of our friends who are perhaps leery about church, about religion in general, will accept an invitation to come to a party where there are no expectations except to hang out and have some fun together.

I, for one, enjoyed every minute of it. I am paying for the frisbee part with some sore muscles today, but it was worth it. I had a chance to meet some new people, to learn some new things about people I already knew (it is amazing what competition brings out in people you thought you knew really well- I lost count of how many times I was called an old guy by members of the opposing team). It was great to sit on the grass and have conversations that were not constantly interrupted by sirens and horns.

I am reminded that Jesus encountered people, not only in the synagogue or the temple, but also out where life was being lived. His greatest influence on his 12 disciples was probably in the many spontaneous moments shared together rather than in some formal “teaching” session.

If you happen to be in NYC on a second Sunday- look us up. You’ll find us in a park, on a roof-top, on a ball field… It won’t look like church, but the church will be there.

The City That Never Sleeps

2009-05-08T00:33:00.003-04:00

I live in a city that has been called "the city that never sleeps." Tonight it lived up to that reputation. I headed out on my bike around midnight (because I don't sleep much either). A couple of my friends really wanted to get free tickets to Saturday Night Live and I guess because Justin Timberlake is on the show, they figured they needed to get in line early- like a couple of days early. Normally the line begins to form at the NBC studious at the Rockefeller Center sometime on Friday. So to be sure- they sent up camp on the sidewalk on Thursday- intending to remain there until Saturday morning. I thought I would pay them a surprise visit- maybe ridicule them a bit.

I love riding the streets of New York City at night. There is still traffic, but it is very manageable. But tonight, the city was wide awake. What should have been a simple 10 minute ride covering about 24 blocks became a bit complicated. I was flying down 33rd Street and as I hit Park Avenue I realized a bunch of people were yelling at me. I had apparently ridden onto the set of a film crew filming a scene for an upcoming movie starring Nicholas Cage. I was forced quickly up onto the sidewalk and out of the way. Then I noticed the two Lamborghinis, the lighting cranes 60 feet up in the air, the truck watering down the pavement, the camera on a boom mounted on the back of a car, etc. I was stuck against a building until there was a break in the action. Look for me in an upcoming Disney Film.

As I neared the NBC studios I came across hundreds of people camped out on the sidewalk on 49th Street, 4 deep and stretching an entire block. They were in sleeping bags and cots and covered in plastic to ward off the heavy rain we had earlier. I went up and down the block several times looking for my friends with no luck, and thinking all the while how crazy they were. I finally asked a NYPD officer if these people were waiting for SNL tickets. Nope. They were waiting for Friday's "Today" show, and the outdoor mini-concert at the studio featuring New Kids on the Block (are they still around? They sure aren't new). The officer told me that many of them have been living on the sidewalk for 6 days. It has been a horrible week of weather- heavy rains and thunderstorms. These fans have been enduring all that for one shot to see the New Kids up close. Hundreds of them.

I found out where the line was for SNL and on my way passed the trucks and crew setting up the concert for the New Kids- at 12:30 AM!. I arrived at the NBC Rainbow Room entrance to find one tent and three people in line. No sign of my friends. Turns out they figured they didn't need to be there that early, so they went home and to bed.

On Monday this week my friend Timm invited me to join him at a taping of The Late Show with David Letterman. I have been a Letterman fan for a long time, so it was pretty cool. We were chosen to be in a group that sat in the front row. The Ed Sullivan Theatre was amazing. David was great. My favorite comedian, Brian Regan, was on the show. It was a really fun experience. But that's all it was- 60 minutes of laughter and good music, and then back to life. Can't see how it changed my life, and I wouldn't have waited 5 hours on the sidewalk if that's what it took. But thanks, Timm, for the tickets (see his blog about it at http://mustardseeddistributed.blogspot.com/)

As I rode home I tried to imagine what would compel people to endure 6 days on the sidewalk for 5 minutes of live music by a boy band. Will they go home satisfied? Will it have been worth it? I know they will post pictures and words on Facebook- telling everyone who cares to listen how close they were to the band. Why do we worship celebrities? In the end, what does seeing or meeting or being near someone famous actually accomplish? Whatever it is, the expectations must be pretty high for people to endure the kind of discomfort I saw tonight.

Well, it's after 1 AM now, and I can hear the noises outside the window telling me that the city is still awake, but I am tired. Plus, I better be rested in case Disney calls asking me to reshoot my scene tomorrow night.

Sunday In NYC

2009-05-04T00:33:00.000-04:00

I love this city, and love living here. I don’t know where else I could have a day like I had today.

It began with an early morning 4 mile bike ride in light rain with my friend Dave from my apartment to Central Park. We met Keith and Ralph, and completed a 5 mile run, also in light rain. But what’s a little rain to New Yorkers? The park was full of life, including thousands of bikers who were participating in a bike tour through all five boroughs of New York City- in the rain!
After the run, we biked home through Times Square, dodging the tourists and a parade of Scottish men in kilts playing bagpipes- in the rain! Don’t know what the occasion was; there is always interesting and sometimes unusual stuff going on in this amazing city. We sped down 7th Avenue to 34th, dodging the tourist busses and bagpipes and the constant flow of bikers racing up Broadway.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, we headed out on the subway to attend services at the Salam Arabic Lutheran Church in Brooklyn. The “we” included Timm Kelly, who is on our team and will be moving to the city with his family this summer.

The trip to the church reminded me once again of the immensity of this city. We took the 6 train to the N train, traveling under the East River to the R Train- and finally to our destination- about an hour later- still in New York City.

We got to the church early to meet with the guest speaker for the day, Bishara Awad. Bishara is the President of Bethleham Bible College. He had spoken last Wednesday at Kensington Community Church. He was making a stop in Brooklyn to visit with his daughter and her family before heading back to Israel on Monday. Steve Andrews had called me and suggested that we try to connect with Bishara while he was in town.

The Salam Arabic church service was in Arabic- go figure! My Arabic is worse than my Estonian (see earlier blog). Most of the time Dave, Timm and I were lost, but even with the language barrier we knew we were worshiping God with our Arabic brothers and sisters in Christ. Fortunately, Pastor Khader El- Yateem (who happens to be a graduate of Bethlehem Bible College) translated Bishara’s message for us sitting in the back pew. He taught from the Sermon on the Mount about what it means to “go the second mile.” It was a very challenging message about finding the “second miles” in our lives in which we follow Jesus, sometimes at great personal cost, and always only in his strength.

During the service I was struck with the diversity and the beauty of the varied expressions of the community Jesus has formed and is forming around the world. And I realized again that most of the world is within reach right here in New York City. We sat together for 90 minutes with little in common- different language, culture, and how to worship God- but with the most important thing in common…Jesus.

One of the intriguing side notes is that this church is in the Bay Ridge area of Brooklyn. Timm Kelly is coming to start a new charter school where he will serve as principal in…guess where? Bay Ridge! Perhaps today was the beginning of a something God has for us in terms of building a relationship with Pastor El-Yateem and the Salam Arabic Lutheran Church.
The day ended with Communitas’ weekly gathering. We talked tonight about the kind of community we trust Jesus is forming us to be as we lock arms together. Jason shared his story of how he found Jesus- or rather how Jesus found him. Keith led us in communion as we remembered Jesus love for us.

After the gathering, a bunch of us hung out at a local diner just around the corner as we do most Sunday nights. I eavesdropped in on conversations around the table- the laughter and the struggles and the insults- mostly directed at me!
A pretty full day- bikers and bagpipes, long subway rides- receiving communion in the morning in Arabic in the evening in English. As I said, I love this city, I love living here, and I love this group of people who collectively are Communitas.

Saturday in the Park

2009-04-27T00:13:00.004-04:00

A new condo high rise is going up a block from my apartment on the corner of 33rd and 2nd Ave. A big banner stretches across the building announcing that it is “Murray Hill’s First Green Condo”. I am not sure what makes a condo “green”, but I know what the phrase is intended to communicate. The builders care about the environment.

Being “green” is important these days. This past Wednesday was Earth Day. Since 1970 it has served as a day to focus on the well-being of this planet we inhabit. Across the country and around the globe people have awakened to the importance of taking care of planet Earth. But caring for the environment is not a new idea. In the creation account in Genesis, after each day of work, God comments on his own handiwork with these words: “and it was good”. And his first words to the human race had to do with caring for what he had created. I believe God thinks that “going green”, while not really a new idea, is a good idea nevertheless.

I have to confess that most of my life I cared little for matters of the environment. It’s not that I was pro-pollution. I simply didn’t think that in the long run what we did with planet Earth mattered much since my theology- my interpretation of the Bible- indicated that eventually God was going to destroy all that he had created and start all over again. Saving planet earth was like trying to save a sinking ship that had no chance of staying afloat.

I don’t think that way any more. I see the future differently…a future where God takes what he once made as very good and restores it to its original beauty. In the meantime, the original mandate stands- to be caretakers of God’s “green” earth.

With that in mind, Communitas joined 4985 other volunteers this past Saturday who spread across New York City’s 5 boroughs to clean up parks. Our group of 15 was assigned to Cunningham Park in Queens. Armed with rakes, shovels and plastic bags we did not change the world. But we did enjoy being outside on a very warm spring day. We enjoyed being together, working (and goofing off some), and in the end, after 109 trash bags full, changing one small part of God’s creation just a little bit.

On a Greyhound Bus

2009-04-17T14:58:00.005-04:00

Since moving to NYC last summer, I have had many “first-time” experiences- like riding in a taxi cab, seeing a airliner floating down the Hudson River, and going to the second floor of the County Court house a few weeks ago to file some papers, stumbling onto the set of “Law and Order” as it was being filmed (don’t look for me in an upcoming episode). Now to these illustrious first time events I can add, “taking a long trip on a Greyhound bus”. I don’t recommend it.

I have concluded that the people who work for Greyhound do not like their jobs, and particularly do not like people. I think it may be a requirement to be hired. And the people who take long bus trips- well, since I am now in that company, I better not share my observations. So why the long bus trip?

As I shared in an earlier blog, living away from family creates a certain strain that I have not experienced until this point in my life. One has to be particular about when to return “home”, and how. On Sunday evening, April 5, right after our Communitas gathering, I began to receive a series of texts from family members saying that my dad’s health seemed to be failing quickly. Words like “two or three days to live” came along with “or he could live for months or years.” Over the next 24 hours I continued to get varied updates. I had just been in Michigan less than two weeks ago to help my mom get my dad into a long-term care facility. He was very confused mentally, but his body seemed strong. How did this happen so quickly? Should I jump on a plane (or a bus) and head back to Michigan again…so soon? The rational part of me said that this could be the case for the next several years. Can I rush home every time there is a medical crisis with my dad?

This was my mental dilemma throughout the day on Monday, April 6. I tried to work, but found myself checking airfares throughout the day, hoping they would magically fall dramatically in price. I still didn’t know if I should go, or how I would even know if I should go.

Later that evening, I got another call with more detail. He had pneumonia, had suffered a mild heart attack, and was in full renal failure. My sister was driving from St. Paul. One brother was driving down from Elk Rapids. They were going to bring him home on Tuesday for hospice care. He was not expected to live long.

There was a bus leaving NYC on Tuesday evening at 10:15 PM. It was a 14 hour trip, and would get me in around noon on Wednesday. And the price was right- $48 instead of $848 to fly. I still felt uncertain about leaving New York again, but finally, with the nudging of Chris, decided it was the right thing to do. So Tuesday evening, with my 16 year old son, Caleb, I left Manhattan on our first (and last?) Greyhound trip back to Michigan to see my dad before he died.

The bus was very uncomfortable. I think I finally fell asleep around 2:45 AM. I was awakened by my phone vibrating in my pocket. I glanced at my watch and saw it was nearly 3:30 AM. I knew it could not be good news. Before answering, I looked at the caller ID. It was my mom. “Hi mom, what’s going on”? (I knew). Her first words: “God was merciful. You father went to be with him about an hour ago.” It was a brief conversation that I will always remember- marking the end of my dad’s life here on earth- April 8, 2009. Caleb and I talked for awhile as the dark bus rolled through the hills of Pennsylvania in an April snowstorm that eventually brought the bus to a complete stop. All my 5 siblings had made it home in time. I was the only one not there. I admit to feeling angry- at myself for delaying the decision to leave, and perhaps at God for not helping out a bit and letting me get there on time.

But God was merciful. My last conversation with my dad had occurred just 12 days earlier. I was trying to get him to dinner in the nursing home cafeteria. He wouldn’t come. I told him that I was his son and that I would take him. He hit me and said “you are not my son.” He was suffering and all of us were suffering watching him gradually withdraw into a reality where we could not go. Since that day, I had been asking God to take him home. I never imagined it would come so quickly.

The funeral was on April 11- the day before Easter. The words of Paul had special meaning that weekend:

When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.” “Where, O death, is your victory. Where, O death, is your sting?”

As we grieve the death of my father, and feel the sting of death, we also celebrate his life here on earth and the life that has now just begun and will never end- a life without tears or pain or sorrow, and without death. Jesus overcame all of these- for my dad, who received these by his grace. As Paul wrote elsewhere, we grieve, but not as those who have no hope. Our hope (certainty) is Jesus.

My dad has left behind a great family- pictured below on the day of his funeral. Never has Jesus meant so much, nor my family meant so much to me.

He is Risen. So is my dad!

Estonia???

2009-04-07T17:57:00.004-04:00

One of the things I never thought would happen when I left last summer for NYC to plant a church is that I would become an associate member of the Estonian Educational Society. In fact, I am not sure I could have located Estonia on a map. Of course, you have to remember that when I studied geography, the Soviet Union took up a large percentage of the globe, including what is now, or once again, the country of Estonia. But as you can see by my membership card, I am a member.

You might be asking yourself, “what does Estonia have to do with church planting? “ Nothing, except that Communitas’ third meeting place is in what is called The Estonian House. About 2 months ago we saw that we were outgrowing our space at 61 Gramercy Park North. It had served us well since October, but we were getting a little tight with our modest growth over the months. So we began to pray about the next space. After a number of dead ends, costs too high, wrong location, etc. we found this in our back yard- two blocks from where our family lives. To be eligible to rent the space, I had to “join” at the steep rate of $50 annual dues. I may be the only member who does not speak a word of Estonian- is that a language?

There are many buildings like this in our area due to the United Nations, which is just 10 blocks north. It is a kind of community gathering space for Estonians who work and live in the area. It turned out to be totally available every Sunday, at a great price, and is large enough for us to double in size before we hit the road again.

This space not only gives us more room, it also gives us more space to do things like have music and worship. Of course, it helps to do those things if you have musicians and someone to lead worship, which we did not- until a few weeks ago. A couple walked into our Sunday evening gathering in mid-February and after that first visit felt totally drawn to become part of our community. Turns out Neal plays guitar and sings and Val sings and plays the piano. In fact, Val is in New York as a musical theatre grad auditioning for parts on and off Broadway. They are both very gifted, love Jesus, and have years of experience leading worship.

Sunday evening, April 5 was such an encouraging night. As I looked around at our community gathered together in our new space, led in worship of Jesus by our new friends, I saw God’s gracious hand who gave us these gifts when we did not know where or how to find them. I don’t know what is in the future for Communitas, but my suspicion is that God is going to lead and provide.

Well, Nägemiseni for now. (That’s Estonian for “goodbye”.

Counting My Days

2009-03-26T22:19:00.003-04:00

This past Monday evening I popped a video tape into the VCR and sat down with my brothers and sisters and watched all the old family movies that had been shot with an 8 mm camera and transferred to video tape some years ago. For you youngsters, 8 mm is what we had before video tape. There was no sound, and you actually had to send the film in to get it developed, then feed it into a projector and show it on a portable movie screen or on the wall. Yeah, I know, stone-age.

We watched birthdays and Christmas mornings and family vacations. We saw our family grow from 2 kids to 6, and our family shrink as grandparents disappeared from family gatherings as the years went by. We laughed at clothes and hairstyles and fads as we moved from the fifties through the sixties and into the seventies.

The setting was the family room of my parent’s house in Michigan. We had come from New York and St. Paul and northern Michigan to be together as a family on the night before my dad, who is suffering horribly from advanced dementia, would leave his home for the last time and move into a facility that would be able to provide adequate care. At the dinner table I think it was one of my sisters who suggested we watch the home movies. At first, I thought it was a horrible idea- it was already painful enough. “Yeah, let’s watch old family movies so we can cry some more!!” But she was right. It was a good thing to do. My dad sat in the chair, pretty much unaware of what was going on or even that all the people in the room were his children. But the man on the screen we watched was another thing. He was a twenty-seven year old walking with his two sons. He was a thirty-two year old teaching his kids how to water ski. He was running along side his son as he showed him how to ride a bike. But most of the time, he was not on the screen at all. The movies revealed what he saw as he held the camera and pointed it at his wife and sons and daughters . He was capturing his family on film. We got to see what he saw through those decades.

It was a bittersweet experience- to contrast that young man with the man he is now. I think that evening will help me to remember him not as the man who forgot my name or that I was his son, but as the man who for most of his years was full of life. Somehow, it helped to bring some joy in the midst of our deep sorrow.

Later in the evening, I found myself thinking about how quickly a life goes by. I found myself thinking about the dozens of video tapes I have of my family- each with three hours of family history, and these actually have sound! I realize how often I live as if life will just go on unchanged, but it won’t. And whether my life is being captured on film to be reviewed on some future day or not, it is nevertheless being lived and spent everyday. While this is not a new thought for me- right now there is a lot more urgency attached to it. I will live one time- and I will leave an imprint on those around me and on my world.

Moses asked God (Psalm 90) to teach him to number his days so that he could gain a heart of wisdom. This week I understand that prayer more than I have in the past, and finding myself asking God for the same thing.

Joyful Community

2009-03-16T20:32:00.008-04:00

Last Summer twenty of us moved from Michigan to NYC to start a new church. There were actually forty who had been together for the better part of a year getting ready, but some had to stay behind to sell houses and find jobs in New York before they could come. Some are still waiting on God.

In the first few months following our move it was not uncommon for me to receive e-mails and phone calls asking the question "when does Communitas start?" And my reply from the beginning was that the church started as soon as we arrived. We were a community of people committed to Jesus and representing him through our words and actions in New York. We were striving to love God and to love each other and to engage with the people of our new city in friendship and loving service. People on our team were immediately building new friendships and exercising their gifts and their passions on behalf of Jesus, expanding his Kingdom. Sounded like church to me.

Over the past 8 months our community has deepened in our love for each other and we are, I hope, learning to be what our name "Communitas" represents...a community that forms around mission, around a shared ordeal and a common purpose. The ordeal for many has been unemployment, struggling with the cost of living, loneliness as we have adjusted to a new world, noise, masses of people and crowds. But in the middle of it all, a sense of purpose and mission and the joy in doing this together. I cannot now imagine doing this without the amazing people God has brought together, including many I did not know a year ago. We have now become a group of 40+.

This weekend 35 of us "retreated" together about 70 miles out of the city to a quiet place called Mt. Bethel, just across the Pennsylvania border. I just read in Luke this morning that Jesus often went to a lonely place to get some rest. This was definitely a lonely place compared to NYC. "Bethel" is a Hebrew word that means "house of God". The acres of open land, the sounds of birds, grass under our feet- we liked God's house after the concrete and noise of the city. It was an awesome couple of days of relaxing, laughter, late night games, spiritual renewal, worship, and a little ultimate frisbee thrown in. We didn;t get much sleep, but I think we got rest.

As we headed back into the city Sunday evening, I was never more aware of the value of community and friendship in following Jesus and serving him. I honestly felt like the richest man on the planet. I don't know all that God has in mind for Communitas, but I am glad to be able to share the journey with the amazing group of people God has already brought together.

Does God Need Our Help?

2009-03-11T22:46:00.003-04:00

This week at a conference I was attending the presenter at one of the sessions was talking about avoiding burnout in ministry by making sure that we stay connected to God in an intimate relationship. The idea was that before we do anything for God we need to know him and be in a relationship so that we minister out of his strength that flows in and through us. Then she said that we all needed to remember that God doesn’t’ need us. He can do a good job of running the world without us.

I turned to my wife Chris and said "Oh yeah? Look at the world? It’s a mess!” I said it out loud, but not loud enough for others to hear. That’s the kind of statement that can get you thrown out of a Christian conference. But before you conclude that my statement was sacrilegious, hear me out.

A couple of questions. First, is God “running the world?” This morning I looked through the newspaper delivered to my hotel room, and a casual scan of the entries showed things like a 7 year old with cancer, a murder, a rape, terrorism, drought in various places creating famine, aids spreading through parts of Africa like wildfire, etc. And that was just in the comic section! (just kidding). Consider now the words of an old hymn composed in 1901:

This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears 
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres. 
This is my Father’s world: I rest me in the thought 
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas; 
His hand the wonders wrought.

While I do delight in the wonders of God’s creation, what do I do with the world brought to me every day in the news? Is God “running” this world? It seems that if there is a power behind the suffering and evil we see everyday in every corner of the planet earth, it cannot be God. John wrote that… We know that we are children of God, and that the whole world is under the control of the evil one. (1 Jn 1:19). What would a world look like where Satan was having his way? The one we live in.

Maltbie Babcock wrote the hymn cited above. Here is the third verse:

This is my Father’s world. O let me ne’er forget 
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet. 
This is my Father’s world: the battle is not done: 
Jesus Who died shall be satisfied, 
And earth and Heav’n be one.

I would say that not only does the wrong often seem so strong- it is strong. And while I agree that God is the ruler of the universe, he has not chosen to meticulously control events on earth. So freedom expressed by human beings and evil spirits creates a world Babcock decided not to describe in his hymn. But notice he goes on to write that the battle is not done.

Here is my second question. How has God chosen to do battle in this world against all that is wrong and evil? Answer...through us! Consider this sampling of Scripture in light of the statement that “God does not need our help.”

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. 11Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.

Ephesian 6:10-13

The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.

2 Corinthians 10:4-5

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

Matthew 25:35-36

Jesus taught us that we should pray that his kingdom would come and that his will would be done on earth as it is in heaven. I have to tell you, a great deal of New York City does not look like heaven. As I look around the city, I think I hear God telling me that he does need my help- that is why he called Communitas to New York.

Let me be clear. That God needs our help is not a reflection of any weakness or imperfection in God. It is simply how he has designed things. We are his hands, his means, his plan to come against the wrong in this world. He could have done it differently. But as it stands, he is dependent upon us. If we don't, it won't get done.

By the way- I did get the point the teacher at the conference was trying to make, and I agree. No sense trying to be the hands and feet of Jesus in New York City if I am not connected to him. As Jesus put it, without me you can do nothing.

Learning About Compassion

2009-03-05T00:37:00.002-05:00

I’ve been thinking about the meaning of “compassion” this past week. It’s a word that shows up a lot in the gospels, describing something Jesus felt or experienced. A passage I read in Mark a few days ago is a great example. Jesus had sent the 12 out to heal and preach and cast out demons. They came back some time later with a report of all that had happened. They must have been pretty tired because after hearing their description, Jesus invited them to a retreat- to get away to a quiet place to get some rest. Mark adds the detail in this account that they had so much going on that they couldn’t even break for lunch. So Jesus leads them to a boat to escape the hectic pace of life and recover. They push off shore heading to a remote destination away from people so they can get refreshed. But things didn’t work out as planned. When they hit the shore, this is the scene that Mark describes:

When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So he began teaching them many things.

Instead of a break from people, the crowd had figured out where he was heading, and they ran ahead and were there waiting for him. Notice what Jesus experienced when he saw the crowd. I know myself well enough to know that I would have been ticked off, frustrated, and would have shoved off shore again looking for a place to anchor out in the lake away from all the needy people. I would have seen the people as a barrier, separating me from my plans. Jesus saw them differently. As much as they all experienced hunger pangs and the need for rest, there was something they, (well at least Jesus,) experienced that was more powerful and compelling…Compassion

I once heard compassion defined as feeling someone else’s pain in my heart. It is perhaps similar to the experience of empathy- the capacity to know at a deep level, an experiential level, what another is going through. Rather than responding to someone’s misery or suffering with the attitude (acknowledged or not) “I am glad I am not you”, I feel as though I am that person.

I am coming to see that compassion is simply another word, actually a really good word, for love. Love is not love unless it encompasses compassion. Jesus taught us that we should love our neighbor as ourselves. When we are hungry, tired, thirsty…whatever we experience, we naturally and automatically take action to meet our needs. To love our neighbor as ourselves, then, means that we do the same when we are not the one in need, but we encounter someone who is. We relate to their need, their suffering, and we embrace it as if it were our own, and take action. Love, as defined and exemplified by Jesus, is an identification with the suffering of others, embracing it to an extent that we are compelled to act. Without compassion, it seems love is a lofty ideal with no power.

This week New York City experienced some uncharacteristic winter weather, especially for March. After 12 inches of snow fell, the temperatures dropped into single digits at night. In a place like New York, you really experience the weather. I no longer own a car. I get around using subways and busses. This means walking a lot (about 5 miles a day) and waiting for busses and trains in the cold. I was glad for my winter coat and gloves and hat and a warm apartment and a hot meal, and the prospect of a good night sleep in my warm bed. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be a homeless person in weather like this. But I should. I should try to imagine. It should matter. It should bother me. What if that was my mom, my son or daughter, hungry and out in the cold. What if that was me? Can I push such thoughts out of my mind, or, as the boat hits the shore, will I look at the crowds and feel compassion?

On Tuesday night, 10 of us put together meals and placed them in plastic bags. This was our second Tuesday evening venture to Penn Station this winter. With the bitter cold we figured there would be more homeless men and women wandering the halls of the train station, thankful at least for a break from the biting wind.

Our experience was identical to what I reported in a previous blog- in minutes the fifty meals we had prepared were given out. As I walked the corridors carrying my last bag looking for someone who might be hiding from the cold, Dave, who was with me, spotted a woman tucked away in a corner. She was dark-skinned wearing dark clothing, hiding in the dark shadows. As we approached her, she became fearful. I do not think that she understood much English and I know she did not understand what we wanted with her. When she understood we meant no harm but were offering her food, she received it. She told us her name was Yvonne. I know nothing about her except that unlike me, she has no warm apartment to go to, no warm bed or warm supper waiting for her.

A few minutes later as we stood in the cold on 34th Street waiting for the bus, I kept picturing Yvonne. What if that was my mom, or my daughter? What would I feel? What would I do? I had to admit that what I had felt was much less that what I would have if the woman had turned to be my mom or daughter. She would be waiting for the bus with me heading for the warmth of my apartment.

I don’t honestly know if I have much of a clue yet about true compassion. In the account in Mark 6 cited above, at the end of the day when they all would have been even more tired and more hungry than they were when they got in the boat to take a break that never came, there was still more compassion needed. Jesus knew the people were hungry and he was concerned about them. Rather than sending the people away to get supper (I would have been the one of the 12 making that suggestion to Jesus), he asked the 12 to bring them their food to feed the thousands. As the disciples did what Jesus asked, taking inventory of their few loaves of bread and fish, and bringing it to him, I am sure they imagined that they were not going to get anything. Instead, they became a part of a miracle.

It seems against the tremendous need in this city, what we did Tuesday was not enough. But I have to trust that Jesus can still do something with a few loaves of bread offered to him.

Hating My Life

2009-02-27T21:19:00.000-05:00

This blog is going to be bit on the personal side. I have debated with myself about whether or not to blog it, or just keep it in my personal journal. But since this is connected to church-planting in a roundabout way, here goes.

This week has been the toughest since I moved to New York. Last year my dad was officially diagnosed with Pick’s Disease, which is a progressive dementia of the Frontal Lobe of the brain. I say “officially” because as we look back at his behavior, it seems apparent that he has probably had the disease for at least 6 years For some time we suspected Alzheimer’s. The past 12 months we have watched his mental capacity diminish rapidly. All of this coincided with my getting ready to leave for New York to start Communitas.

My dad has lived all of his life very active and was always sharp mentally. It has been painful to watch the decline. But I was not prepared for how quickly it has accelerated. Since moving to New York I have had reason to return to Michigan a few times, and each time his deterioration was astonishing- to the point where he no longer knows who I am. Last weekend while in Michigan, I happened to be with him when he was undergoing an evaluation in his home by a psychiatric nurse. When I walked into the room, he said to the nurse “That’s Craig.” I was surprised that he knew my name. When she asked if I was his son, he laughed and said “No.”

This is especially difficult for my mom. She is a strong women- even at 5’ 1”! But on this visit I could see the toll this is taking on her. He does not know who she is (in the evaluation he also stated that she was not his wife) and she has to deal with his frustration, anger, repetitive and compulsive behaviors and everything else that goes along with severe dementia. However, over a half a century ago she made a commitment to stay with her husband for better or for worse, and she is honoring that promise.

Over Christmas when all the family was together we started the difficult discussion about knowing when we have reached the point where dad will need full time care- I don’t even like using the words “nursing home.” It has only been two months since that conversation, but now it seems imminent. My mom and I talked about this quite a bit last weekend. Then on Sunday morning, I had to catch a ride to the airport to get back to my new life in New York. Everything seemed unresolved. It is such a horrible time for me to be away from the family, unable to do much or to be helpful. It felt horribly wrong to leave my mom in that house with all the stress and anxiety. I have lived all my life near my parents, and now when perhaps I am needed most, I am unavailable.

All week long I have had this picture in my mind of my mom, standing in her bathroom in the cold garage of their home, holding their dog, and crying as we pulled out of the driveway. My mom loves Jesus and has other family around. She is not suffering alone, and truth is, she doesn’t really need me. I am the one who feels the need, the need to be physically present, to be a part of this critical transition in our family’s life, to help with the decisions and to find comfort in our relationships. New York has never felt so far away.

As I struggled this week, I found myself thinking about these words of Jesus in Luke 15: If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple.
I have read those words many, many times, and I know preached more than a few sermons on them. They have never meant that much to me personally as they have this week. I know that Jesus was not encouraging us to hate anyone. But there can be only one Lord, one to whom I give my complete devotion. Anything or anyone I love enough to not follow Jesus becomes my Lord, my object of worship.

So in my sadness and depression this week, I have had to recall why I am in New York. If I came here for personal reasons, for fame and fortune, then it would be unbearable to leave my mom standing in that garage. But if Jesus has really asked me to move to New York, then I must learn experientially what is means to hate my own life. I have to be honest and say it is not easy.

Bottom line. I love Jesus, and I love my mom and my dad. And that’s good. It’s just that sometimes it’s painful.

Using My Imagination

2009-02-23T20:39:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, my daughter Megan, who is 19, returned from a 10 day trip to India. This was her 5th trip, but her first without me. Our journeys to India began in December 2001, when she was just 11 years old. Since that time, I have made 12 trips, always with other family members. This year I made the difficult decision to stay behind in order to focus on our work in New York City. It was very painful to leave Megan at the airport knowing she was going to a place that God has used over the past decade to shape my heart. On our first visit I was moved beyond description by the poverty I witnessed, and particularly the orphaned and abandoned children who walked the streets. I could not believe what I was seeing, and felt like something had to be done. At the time, Jaya, our friend in India had taken in about 35 children. They were living in a building which provided shelter and food, but I found the conditions totally inadequate. I felt that this perhaps was why I was on earth…my purpose, to devote myself to helping the suffering children and the poor of this community.

In spite of major jet lag, Megan came to our Sunday evening Communitas gathering to share something that she believed God had shown her in India- something that she felt had a bearing on our work in New York. Before we returned to the states on that first trip we stood on a vacant piece of property and began to imagine how it could be put to use. Below is a picture I took as Megan along with Steve Andrews (lead pastor of Kensington Church) and his daughters Nancy and Helen walked the property. The only problem was that it had a hefty price tag and we had no money.

So yesterday, Megan shared with us the story from Exodus about God providing manna and quail as food for the Israelites after he had led them out of Egypt. There were a lot of hungry months to feed and absolutely no resources in the desert by which to feed them. But since God had led them, he would provide- and he did miraculously. She has read this passage one morning in India and related how she had reflected on this truth as she looked out over what now exists on that piece of property. The picture below was taken from the same vantage point just 3 years later.

What you see here are a dorm that houses over 200 orphans, a school with 150+ kids in attendance, a sewing school for women, a school for training young adults to plant new churches in the surrounding villages, and a medical clinic. It has been truly miraculous to see something spring up out of nothing. How did this happen? Simply put, God called us to step into this impossible situation, and he provided. And it is still growing as last week we laid the foundation for what will be a hospital offering free services for the poor.

For Megan, who has witnessed this transformation over the years, she saw concrete evidence that when God calls us to respond to an opportunity or a need, he will be faithful to provide. She related this to our current impossible task…planting a church in New York City. It is expensive to live here. It would require more resources than we could imagine. How could it be done? This is something I must confess I worry about. Can this really be done? The answer, Megan shared, was right before her eyes- a field once filled with nothing but garbage and animal refuse is now a place of life and hope in this needy community. So is it too difficult to imagine what God might have in store for Communitas in New York if we have the courage to obey and trust him? As Paul wrote:

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, (Eph 3:20).

I think its time for me to put my imagination to use.

Peanut Butter and Toothpaste

2009-02-18T00:24:00.002-05:00

I knew when God called us to live in New York City that many new and stretching experiences were ahead for me. And indeed, I often find myself in brand new circumstances in which I can find nothing in my past to draw from to help me know what to do or how to respond.

Tonight our small group got together and assembled food bags to share with the homeless later in the evening. We made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, added some fruit, cookies, juice, etc, We ended up with 30 such modest meals in total. At about 10:00 PM we jumped on the M34 cross town bus heading for Penn Station. A few weeks ago I was at Penn at about 4 AM. Penn is normally one of the busiest places in Manhattan as all the trains from New Jersey and Long Island feed into the station. At 4 AM, however, there were very few people, with the exception of the many homeless sleeping on the floors and in the chairs in the waiting areas. So with Matthew 25 in mind, we decided to go to Penn and feed Jesus (“When I was hungry, you gave me something to eat…when you did it to the least of these, you did it to me”).

On our arrival, we split into groups and fanned out to different parts of the station. Since it was early in the night I wasn’t sure if we would find many needing help. But within 20 minutes, all of the food had been given away. We could have easily given away 100.

This was a unique experience. I learned some new things, watching the homeless care for each other. Several times as we handed food to one person, they asked if a friend could also have one, and then took us to where he or she was hanging out. There is a community of homeless people who look out for each other and care for each other. But there was more for me to learn this night.

As we were waiting at the rendezvous point for everyone to show up, I noticed a blind man walking through the corridor, using his cane to avoid obstacles. He literally bumped into us, and made a 90 degree turn into a drug store. As soon as he was in the store, he turned right again into a narrow dead end where an ATM was located. Thinking he was lost and confused, I followed him into the store to see if I could get him back on track. I approached him and asked if I could help him. He did not respond. I asked again. He ignored me. Then he began to rummage through his back pack. It was then that I noticed a sign hanging around his neck that said “I am deaf and blind.” He could not see me, he could not hear me! As I pondered this conundrum, my complete inability to communicate with him, he pulled out of his backpack an empty toothpaste box, and a coupon for $1.00 off a toothbrush. He handed them toward me. I took them and asked him if he was trying to buy these items. Oops, he can’t hear me. What do I do? I stood there with these items in my hands and did nothing, looking around for some kind of help. Then he pulled out a stack of paper and a pen and began to write to me. “Am I a store employee?” He handed the paper to me. I wrote “no”, wondering how that would help since he could not see. I handed him the paper back to him and he held it right up to his eyes, the paper literally pressed against his face. He took him a long time to decipher the writing. He wrote “Are you volunteering to help?” “Yes”, I replied. He wrote about the toothbrush and the toothpaste he needed. As he handed the paper back to me, it fell to the floor and as it scattered, I saw that many pages were filled with writing- conversations he had had all day as he had navigated in a world he could not see, could not hear, and could not speak into. That realization hit me so hard that my eyes began to fill up with tears. What a way to have to live! I don’t think I would even try.

After a few more written exchanges, I headed off to find the toothpaste and toothbrush. When I returned, we exchanged a few more messages about the items. At the end, I asked him his name. When he pressed the paper to his eyes to read my question, he broke into this beautiful smile and wrote “Artiz”. I wrote my name and he smiled again when he read it. He wrote “Thanks, and God bless you.”

God did bless me tonight by allowing me to spend time with Artiz. I’ll admit when I first realized he was blind and deaf and mute, I wanted to just walk out the door. It was awkward and I felt inadequate to help. But I will never forget his beautiful smile, and more importantly, his courage to live with such challenges. When I left him, I easily navigated the stairs, through the crowd on 34th Street, on to the bus, and home to my apartment. I do these things every day without much thought Sometimes I complain about the bus being late, or crowded, or the weather being bad, which means most of the time I lack gratitude for what I do have- like sight, hearing, speech.

God, help me to live with the resolve and courage and resourcefulness, and the attitude I discovered in a man who is living with challenges that I really cannot imagine. And please keep Artiz from harm.

Scattering Seed

2009-02-15T23:19:00.006-05:00

Since moving to NYC 6 months ago it is not unusual for me to feel overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who call this city home. Today we took a drive out to Long Island to visit a friend. On our return we first entered New York City in the borough of Queens, with a population of 2.3 million. As we approached the Mid-town Tunnel through which we would enter Manhattan and its 1.6 million people, the skyline rose up before us. A couple of weeks ago my friend Rick Seidel took an amazing photo from a place I drove by today.

The foreground is obviously a cemetery, in Queens, just west of the East River. The buildings of Manhattan rise up in the background just across the river. In the center of the picture is the Empire State Building which is just a few blocks from my apartment. I grew up in a town of less than 3,000 people, Now that many people live on my block.

How do we make an impact on this huge city? Can we make a difference? This week I read these words of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark and it helped me understand the answer to these questions:

This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself the soil produces grain—first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head. As soon as the grain is ripe, he puts the sickle to it, because the harvest has come.”

Our job is to scatter seeds. Seeds are not big, obvious things. They are small, easy to overlook. We scatter seeds of Jesus’ kingdom by simple daily obedience- primarily defined by loving God and loving others. Every time we do that, seed is scattered. Then, in ways we will never understand, the mystery of growth occurs. Whether we are asleep or awake, the scattered seed takes root in the soil, and the miracle of new life occurs. We don’t make it happen, we only watch it happen. God works through the little seeds we scatter. And as Jesus promised, the harvest comes.

How will Communitas have any impact on this city? Not by doing great things, but by faithfully scattering a little seed everyday. It brings to mind the words of Mother Teresa- we don’t do great things for God, we do little things with great love.

It Started on the Elevator

2009-02-13T18:42:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, Chris and I returned from a run and stepped into the elevator in our building, pushing the button that would take us up to the 20th floor. Just as the doors were closing, an older man poked his cane in, stopping the doors. He stepped in and pushed 22. On the short ride up, we started a conversation that wasn’t over when the elevator stopped at our floor. So the man (I’ll call him Joe) got off with us and we continued to talk in the hallway outside our apartment. He told us about his life, about making lots of money, being married to a wonderful woman for 60 years, raising a family, accumulating homes in the Hamptons and on Long Island. Then last June it all came crashing down. He was riding in the car with his wife when she began to complain of a headache. The last thing he would ever hear from her was a scream of pain, and then she fell over into his lap- dead.

Joe told that he pulled the car over, then began to scream for help. The police came, but nothing could be done. She was gone. Joe went into shock. He had to be hospitalized for some time. Months later he is still taking medication just to keep going. He moved into the city to be near his daughter. He doesn’t see her very often. When he left his home last fall, he didn’t care about any of his stuff- none of it mattered anymore. He had all his furniture and a lifetime of possessions hauled out to the curb and hauled away by garbage trucks. Now he lives in this crowded city, alone. He is Jewish, but never practices his faith. He is a WW2 veteran where he served as an infantryman. He told us how much money he has, what banks he has it in, and how little he cares about it. He has no desire to go on living and said repeatedly, “Why am I here?” All this to strangers.

He talked mostly about his wife, what a wonderful woman she was. He misses her terribly. When he mentioned that he would like to someday show us pictures of her, we responded that we would love to see them. He said, “How about now?” So it was back into the elevator and up to the 22nd floor. He invited us into his one bedroom apartment. It was sparsely furnished. The walls were drab and unpainted with no pictures or paintings. He gave us a quick tour, saying this was all that was left of his former life. On the tables and dressers were pictures of his wife, his children and grandchildren. Then he took us into his bedroom closet and showed us two winter coats that belonged to his wife. As he touched them with his hands, he began to weep and then fought off the tears. His pain and sadness were palatable.

He turned down an invitation to have dinner with us, go to a movie with us, hang out, etc. He said he is not good company right now. He said that if he came for dinner, he would end up sharing all kinds of bad things he had done, that we would judge him, and that would be the end of it. In spite of our assurances to the contrary, he said he could not be with us, or anyone now. He did accept an offer for us to bring dinner by (he had even showed us his nearly empty refrigerator). As we left, Chris gave him a hug, which from my vantage point he gladly received. I doubt he experiences much human touch. He is trapped in his loneliness, needing friendship, yet fearful of it.

It was hard to leave him alone in that apartment. As soon as the elevator doors closed on us, Chris’ eyes began to fill with tears. The man is in such pain, all alone, obviously struggling with guilt, not wanting to live. He must have asked “Why am I here?” six times in our conversation. And while he does not want to come to dinner, I marveled at how much of his life he opened up to us. I hope we are going to become friends. That is why we are here.

This experience illustrates one of the things I love about New York City. The population density puts us in proximity with people every day who are hurting deeply, people who matter to God. People who have a story to tell- the story they are living. And if we take the time and show interest, they will tell their story. God sees Joe shut up and alone in Apt 22H, near the end of his life. And he sees our family two floors below. With a little effort, perhaps we can become a part of Joe’s story, and maybe change the plot.

Homeless

2009-02-08T23:38:00.003-05:00

In the six months I have lived in NYC, I have spent 100 times more time with the homeless than I have in all my years before moving here. I think it is mostly because unlike anyplace I have ever lived, they are my neighbors here. I pass them on the sidewalk, sit next to them on the subway, see them sleeping under the awnings of the local stores at night. But it is also a part of God's call on my life in coming to New York. As I read and reread the gospels over the past few years, I came to see that I actually had very little to do with people that Jesus had a lot to do with and a lot to say about...the poor.

Tonight I spent about 90 minutes talking with a homeless man. We did not talk on the street or in the subway, but at our Communitas Sunday evening gathering. Two of our members spoke with him an hour before our service, and invited him to come and have dinner with us and if he wanted to, to stay for the service. I think they were surprised when he showed up. As I taught from Acts 2 tonight, I looked out over our small gathering and felt joy that there were two homeless men present- men who have hopefully found love and acceptance in a community that is trying to follow Jesus and to see them as Jesus does. Should not the "Church" be the one place where they feel wanted, safe, loved?

Not always. The man told me as we spoke tonight of a church in the area where he sleeps at night that has never once offered help, but has called the police.

I know I have a great deal to learn about the appropriate way to help someone who is homeless. I can't just give money- I'd be broke in a week. And I can't invite them to live with us. We are already pretty tight, the four of us, in our little apartment. But I can offer friendship, a listening ear, love, and community. Probably a good place to start and see where it takes us.

Where Everybody (Somebody?) Knows My Name

2009-02-04T23:51:00.000-05:00

Today we moved the last of the stuff out of our office on 61 Gramercy Park North. As we begin a search for a new place for Communitas to meet on Sundays, we figured we would save some money by working out of our apartments. So I dragged my son Caleb away from his school work to drive a borrowed Jeep a few blocks down Lexington Avenue to try the impossible- to find parking near the office. No such luck. So we were stuck with the task of hauling boxes and an ancient, very heavy HP printer a few blocks. We had to take several breaks to let our arms rest. We made it to 22nd and Lexington before one of the boxes ripped open, spilling the contents onto the sidewalk. The Jeep was just down the street, so I picked up the mess and stayed with the stuff as Caleb took a box or two at a time to the Jeep. As I waited I began to look at some of the interesting architecture on the buildings on the corner. Suddenly, a woman with a dog was standing next to me, following my gaze as I looked at the 15 story building across the street. She asked me if I had ever noticed the building right on the corner where I stood. She began to describe it using architectural terms that I did not understand. She went into a lot of detail and mentioned how many times she had walked by this building…hundreds of times, before she noticed the intricate detail and artistry. Diane turned out to be quite a talker. She ended up with us at our Jeep, telling stories of having spinal meningitis as a child, before there was medicine to treat it. How she was hit by a car at age 5 and had a compound fracture that still bothers her at age 66. She told me about an internet business she had just started, and about how mentioning King Tut’s name keeps his spirit alive (don’t ask me what that means), and too many other things to remember. She has lived all of her life in New York, and as we talked as if we were old friends, I couldn’t help but think that here she was, in a city of 8 ½ million, lonely, starved for some human contact and conversation.

As we talked, I had to remind myself that this was not an interruption in my plans, but maybe the most important thing that would happen all day. Together, our team in New York has been trying to follow Jesus’ habit, as John described it, of responding to the moment: “As Jesus went along, he saw…:” (John 9:1). Most of what Jesus did happened as he responded to the moments, to the people, to the need, unplanned, right in front of him. This woman was not an interruption to my plans, but a beautiful creation of God, of unsurpassable worth to her creator. My normal inclination is to look at my watch, thereby communicating impatience and distraction. I wonder sometimes if God didn’t lead me to this city of incredibly dense population so that I couldn’t help but notice people, to see what he sees.

The other thought I had as I reflected later in the day about my time with Diane relates to a project we are considering. We have our eyes on some available retail property just north of where we had talked- up on Lexington and 28th- probably in Diane’s neighborhood. It is what some call a “third space”. First space is where you live, second space is where you work, and third space is where you are when you aren’t at the first two spaces. It’s where you hang out and find community. It is said that New Yorkers sleep in their apartments and live in the city. In my first six months here I have found that to be true. We are imagining this property as a coffee shop or café. We see the regulars dropping by in the morning, or after work. They come with their computers for the free WiFi as they drink their coffee. We know their names and they know ours. We begin to learn about their lives- stories of childhood meningitis and car accidents, and interesting facts about architecture. On some evenings a band plays in the corner of the café, others there is a planned discussion on matters of life and faith. And out of relationships that form, we see the opportunity for Jesus to be present and to be made known. I know Diane would be a regular- along with thousands of others. Makes me think of the line from the theme song for Cheers- we want to go where somebody knows our name.

The people of Manhattan don’t have much interest in church- 97% stay away from church each week. In fact, today my wife Chris had an appointment with a new doctor. When asked why she had moved to New York City, Chris answered that we had come to start a church. The doctor burst into long, almost uncontrollable laughter. No comment, just laughter. Church isn’t on their mind. But they do like coffee. They do like community. And they do, as Diane demonstrated today, like to talk abut their lives. What if, instead of inviting people to come to church, the church came to them, to their environment- no strings attached except the commitment to listen, to learn their name, and to love?

Following Jesus...Literally

2009-02-02T22:50:00.000-05:00

When Jesus called Peter and the others, he simply said, “follow me”. And they did. They left their nets and followed Jesus, literally! The next three years they made a lot of mistakes and failed many times to actually live according to the example and teaching of Jesus. But their intent was to follow him.

Recently I read something that challenged me. I forget the book and author, perhaps because I am reading a few books at the same time, or maybe because I am getting old and forgetful. At any rate, here is a paraphrase: “Too many times we read the words of Jesus that are startling and challenging, and respond by saying, Jesus didn’t mean that literally.” We find a way to take the words of Jesus that may be difficult to hear, more difficult to apply, and we explain them away. We spiritualize them, or apply them to somebody else.

Not long ago I found myself doing exactly that. I was walking with a group of college students when a woman stepped into the street between some parked cars and was struck by a car backing up. They never saw each other and she went down hard, striking her head on the concrete. We came upon the scene and like others, felt utterly helpless. She was not moving and immediately there was a pool of blood forming beneath her head on the cold pavement. I exercised my spiritual leadership, and suggested that we pray for her from our place on the curb, with the intent that having done that, we would move on. After all, we were not doctors, and the single-digit temperatures made it very uncomfortable standing there and doing nothing. Plus, we were on our way to somewhere else and had a tight schedule to follow.

Does these words sound familiar? A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. Jesus is describing a situation where a man was dying in the road and the priest observed the situation and passed by on the other side of the road. Why? Maybe because he wasn’t a doctor. Maybe it was cold. Maybe he was in a hurry and was running late. Bottom line, he passed by.

OK, so what was Jesus’ point? He didn’t mean that if I saw a man or woman lying in the road unconscious that I should actually stop, did he? Literally? All these thoughts passed through my mind in a few seconds. And then we moved into the street- not knowing what to do, but sensing that Jesus was not remaining at the curb, or walking on his way. He was in the street with her and if we are his followers indeed, that is where we would be.

We didn’t do a lot. We prayed, we covered her with our coats, and we waited for the police and ambulance. We were relieved to see her breathing. Others offered help, including a nurse who took off her own hat and put it under the woman’s bleeding head. And we spent a lot of time with the driver who was, as you can imagine, pretty shook up. It was a scene of many people caring for a stranger, and there in the middle, I am certain was Jesus. Most of all, he was there because some who responded to his invitation to “follow me” are learning to take his words literally.

Everyone Counts

2009-01-28T09:51:00.000-05:00

On the last Monday of January every year, the city of New York recruits about 2000 volunteers to canvas every square inch of the city- all 5 boroughs- taking a census of the number of homeless people who are not in shelters. They do this in January because only the die-hard chronically homeless will be out. And they do it from midnight to 4 AM because if someone is out on the streets at that hour, they probably don't have a place to sleep.

I signed up to work on Staten Island. The training was at a Jewish Synagogue. I was put together with 5 other awesome volunteers. We drank coffee, ate donuts, and went through detailed training. Then we went to our assigned location, which was in and around the Staten Island Ferry terminal. We spent most of our time indoors because in the 20 degree temperatures, by midnight, most people have found a place to sleep indoors. The police let them sleep on the floors and on benches until the morning rush.

We probably interviewed 50 homeless people. One couple stands out. At the end of the interview, we were instructed to ask if they wanted shelter that night. If they did, we would call for a van that would come and pick them up. This couple, probably in their late twenties, said they wanted shelter. So I made the call and then the protocol was that I had to stay with them until the van arrived. That took about 45 minutes. As time went on, they opened up and I learned their story. As is often the case, there is a lot of pain surrounding their situation of being homeless- and there is little hope. They were hungry and gladly accepted all I had with me, which was a Milky Way candy bar (which I had planned to eat sometime around 3 in the morning- so they spared me that unpleasant experience!). The van finally arrived, only to have them discover that it was from a shelter that they had been in previously, and had been kicked out of previously! They were on the same page in that they refused to go to that shelter, and that shelter refused to take them. So- it was going to be another night for them without a bed. As I went to leave to continue to canvas the area, something unexpected happened. The woman stepped toward me, wrapped me in a bear hug, started to cry, and would not let go. As we stood there and through her tears, she kept thanking me. Why? What had I done? Why was she thanking me? All I had done was listen to her story and spend time with her. And that I guess that meant something to her- more than I can still understand. I think that the homeless are typically avoided. Probably they experience or perceive judgment from others. They are isolated and cut off from "normal: human beings. I know that is how I have often responded to the homeless. But they are no different than me. And Jesus gave us clear instruction about what we are to do with the homeless (see Matthew 25). I feel I gave this woman very little- but for her it was a lot. Time. Kindness. A listening ear. And it touched something deep in her.

At the end of the event, I was given a sweatshirt with the words "Everyone Counts" on the back. Simple, true words. Everyone counts to God. He is not a respecter of persons. He thinks of, values, loves this woman no less that me. In this city I encounter homeless people pretty much everyday. I hope this experience will help me to realize that while I cannot give them all money, food, shelter, I can give them what I always have with me- myself, and bit of my time.

Don't Walk By

2009-01-26T14:42:00.000-05:00

This past Saturday, Communitas participated in a campaign called “Don’t Walk By”. We joined about 300 other people who came together from all over the city to go out on a three hour “search and rescue” mission on the streets of Manhattan. In the frigid single-digit temperatures, groups of 5 or 6 walked block after block looking for homeless people trying to survive through the cold night. Some estimates suggest that there are over 75,000 homeless in NYC. Our focus was the Wall Street area. We would approach the homeless and offer to take them to a place to get a hot meal and a warm bed.

As we walked the narrow streets which carve their way through the skyscrapers of lower Manhattan, I had a sense of God looking down, seeing each person hidden in the cold and dark, and a group searching street by street. As I pondered this, I thought of Jesus words: “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost.” In Jesus, God revealed himself as the one who leaves the ninety-nine “found” and goes in search of the “lost.”

Perhaps nothing better captures what Communitas is doing in NYC. We have joined Jesus in his search and rescue operation. We pass them on the streets, ride with them on the subway, eat with them in the diner. They are the poor and the rich, coming from all points on planet earth. God knows each one by name, and he is searching for them, that they might know him. How sobering and challenging to think that WE are the means by which he reaches them!

Like a Bridge...

2008-12-11T12:06:00.001-05:00

A couple of days ago I was running along the East river. It is just over 4 miles from my apartment to the Brooklyn Bridge. I like to run to the bridge, then walk up South Street Seaport, and catch the 6 Train home. When I run by myself I usually listen to podcasts of Greg Boyd preaching, or music. I hate running, by the way. Some of my buddies here roped me into doing a 10k run every Sunday morning, and I don't hate it as much when I have someone to run with. But to be able to do that once a week I have to run during the week- usually by myself. So the messages or the music help the time go by with a little less pain.

On this day as I ran under the Manhattan Bridge and saw the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance, the sun was beginning to set and the view looking out over the East River was spectacular. At that moment the next song began on my i-pod... an old Simon and Garfunkel song- Bridge Over Troubled Waters. Paul Simon once shared that he got the idea for the song when he was passing by a country preacher, somewhere in Scotland I recall, and heard him say that Jesus was a bridge over troubled waters. Simon did not include the name "Jesus" in the lyrics, but if you insert his name whenever you hear the word "I", it fits. Check this out:

When you're weary, feeling small,

When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all;
I'm on your side. when times get rough
And friends just can't be found,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.

When you're down and out,
When you're on the street,
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you.
I'll take your part.
When darkness comes
And pains is all around,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.

When I was young and listened to those words I never thought much about the meaning of the phrase "I will lay me down". As I continued to run along the river listening to the words I could see the meaning. There is no way I could get from Manhattan to Brooklyn without the bridge. I was incapable and stuck where I was. But there was a bridge.

Life has its share of troubled waters we encounter. And as the lyrics of the song suggest, Jesus' offer to us is to be there and to be the way, that bridge over the troubled waters. If there is any doubt about that, remember that he literally laid down his life to make a bridge for us to see and know and be with God forever.

New Traditions

2008-12-11T12:01:00.001-05:00

Last week our family picked out a Christmas tree at the corner of 19^th Street and 1^st Avenue, and then had the “joy” of lugging in 14 blocks to our apartment. It was a new and unique experience and a far cry from our long held annual tradition of driving to a tree farm north of Romeo, Michigan the Saturday after Thanksgiving, cutting down a 7-8 foot tree and hauling it home on the top of our van. Last year as we picked out our tree on a snowy day we knew that a special family tradition had come to an end. Christmas 2008 would be very different. And it is. It seems as though we blinked our eyes and here we are in a new and unrecognizable life as church-planters in the greatest city in the world- New York. Everything is new: Christmas shopping in the original Macys; (can you imagine a department store with 8000 employees?). The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade not on TV but in our “backyard”; the lighting of the tree at the Rockefeller Center; an ice skating rink dwarfed by the skyscrapers of midtown; using subways and busses to get around as we do our Christmas shopping. As I write this sitting next to our modestly sized and exorbitantly priced tree, I can look out the window down 33^rd Street and see the top of the Empire State Building lit up for the holiday season. What change a year has brought! These will become our new Christmas traditions.

It has been nearly four months since we moved 650 miles east in response to God’s call to begin a new work in New York City. It has been very challenging and very joyful, although not necessarily both on the same day. We have learned much and know there is so much more to learn. And we have been amazed at God’s goodness to provide for us, to join us together with an awesome community of likeminded people, and to give us opportunities to touch lives with his love and grace.

As we move toward 2009 we are filled with a great sense of anticipation. This new year will bring great opportunities and challenges that we know we can only face with God’s help and direction. But our confident expectation is that he has led us here because he has plans to do great things to expand Jesus’ Kingdom and to make his outrageous love known. We are humbled to think that he has called us to play a part in his mission

No Hand Wringing, Please!

2008-11-05T20:48:00.001-05:00

Last night I watched the election results from my new home here in New York City. CNN was my network of choice. The amazing technology, which included a hologram from Chicago beamed into the New York studio, combined with extensive analysis of every possible election related nuance had me glued to the tube for 6 hours. They ran their exit polls through a large number of variables, one of which was how white evangelical Christians voted. If memory serves me, McCain got over 80% of vote from that demographic.

During the coverage they would occasionally cut away to live video from Times Square. NYC is definitely pro-Obama. At about 9 PM my daughter Megan and a friend headed over to Times Square to observe the mania first hand. They arrived shortly before Obama was announced as the projected winner. The place went nuts and the chants and screaming continued for hours.

So how will the 80% of white evangelicals respond? I pray with hope, and with support for our new president. When Clinton was elected to his first term I happened to be at a conference in Atlanta the following weekend where some of the top evangelical leaders were speaking. Most of them took the opportunity to share their conviction that we as a country were in deep trouble. They said things like "a dark cloud hangs over our country" and "our future is bleak indeed". The audience joined in the hand-wringing. It seemed as though God himself was in a state of despair now that Clinton had won the presidency.

I see it differently. I see a New Testament church that flourished under a government that was just a little bit different than the democracy we still enjoy. I see through history the ability of followers of Jesus to adapt and adjust in all political climates. Truth is, the Kingdom Jesus announced and started can thrive in every and all circumstances if his followers commit to live as citizens of his Kingdom first and foremost. Not only can we then love our enemies, but we can love a president that we might not have supported.

Some say we are headed toward socialism, but they say it in such a way that if it becomes reality, somehow we cannot carry on the work of Jesus. Nonsense. Try telling the Chinese Christians that.

So- no despair, no hand wringing- just resolve to follow Jesus, to love God with all our heart, and to love our neighbor, who happens also to be our president, whether he is a democrat or a republican.

Opening My Eyes

2008-10-26T22:47:00.000-04:00

Last week I was walking in a hurry (which is how I always walk, which makes NYC a good fit for me) down Broadway from 42nd to 34th. I was supposed to meet my 16 year old son Caleb. It was 5:30 PM and the streets were packed. A woman walking in front of me was carry two large bags in each hand, creating a blockade. People behind her were visibly irritated as their progress was slowed down. Finally I spotted an opening and shot past her, brushing her bags as I hurried by. I got about 5 steps and I heard that voice inside my head "As he went on his way, he saw...". These words come from John 9. The "he" is Jesus, and I have come to see that the way Jesus lived was not by a plan, a schedule, an agenda, but by responding to what he saw as he went on his way. So I have been trying to "see" as I go on my way. In fact, our Communitas family has been trying to learn to follow Jesus in this way. It's really simple: look at who and what is going on around, and when possible, act in a helpful, loving way. But it's not simple for one like me who schedules, over schedules, and hurries. If John was writing about me, he might write something like this: "As he hurried on his way, he walked right by...(fill in the blank)!

To make a long story short, I ended up helping this woman, who spoke no English, carry the bags to 29th street. I considered stopping at 34th and saying "This is as far as I go", but decided that this was definitely not what Jesus would do.

I headed back to 34th to meet Caleb and I was late. But life went on, and we got done what we needed to. Did I change this woman's life? Nope. But maybe a small act of kindness, someone willing to slow down and see and act meant something to her.

I am learning the opportunity to love God and love others is all around me, if I will just open my eyes and see as I go on my way.

The Sky is Falling!

2008-09-18T23:18:00.000-04:00

This has been a volatile week on Wall Street, which is now in my back yard. I have to confess that I pay very little attention to the world of finance. I have never had much money to invest or to lose. The only market that concerned me the last few years was the price of a barrel of oil, and now that I don't own a car anymore, I don't even know about the price of a gallon of gas. I hear that it has been dropping, but then I also heard that Ike caused a spike!

It was impossible to ignore the chaos these past few days here in NYC. On Monday the media trucks with their satellite dishes mounted on top were lined up for blocks outside of Lehman Brothers on 7th avenue. Clearly this was big news. So I turned on the TV, read the NY Times and Wall Street Journal to try to understand what was going on in this city that I now call home. And I talked to my neighbors dressed in business suits on their way to the office as we rode down the elevator together. Anxiety is clearly the mood of the day.

My own anxiety hit me in an unexpected way. I have nothing, or rather very little, tied up in the markets. But a friend in the finance world told me that the "recession" had finally hit NYC, and then I did become concerned about the timing of planting a church in this city. Perhaps the unrest and insecurity will open hearts to the message of Jesus. But I have to raise money to get this church off the ground! What is happening this week can't be a good thing in terms of our fund-raising efforts!

It seems that since we heard the call to leave Michigan to come to NYC to plant a church, the odds have continually been stacked against us. The housing market fell hard in Michigan so that none of our launch team members have yet sold their homes, including us. Many have struggled to find jobs in NYC. And now this.

As I pondered these thoughts this morning, my mind went to a story about a man named Gideon. He was about to face a army much larger than his own, and God told him that his army was too big. How can an army be too big? Nevertheless, Gideon was asked to reduce his army to the point where the odds were overwhelmingly against any victory for Gideon. That is when God said he was ready. God knew that if the army was large, that is where the credit for victory would go. But if there was no way on earth that they could win, then victory must have come from an unearthly source.

This story helped me remember where I must put my confidence and trust. In God. He is not surprised by or anxious about a financial crisis. He is not dependent on the wealth of this city or the financial markets to do what he wants with Communitas. I learned again that my anxiety always comes when I forget who I work for. I repent! The greater the odds against success, the more God gets the credit when victory comes.

Disruption!

2008-09-09T16:45:00.000-04:00

Chris and I look forward to using this space to chronicle, from time to time, this incredible journey we find ourselves on, and the lessons we are learning along the way. We find ourselves unexpectedly in a place we could never have imagined. Growing up in the suburbs of Detroit and living, for the most part, our entire lives in Michigan, we wake up now everyday in one of the largest and greatest cities in the world. Some days my first thoughts are "what in the world am I doing here?"

Then I remember. We are here because Jesus said "follow me" (to NYC), and we said yes. My yes didn't come easily or right away. It has been two years of me learning to "leave my nets", loosening my grip on my stuff and my life and my success, and deciding again if Jesus is worth following... if he is really worth my life. I have always answered "yes" to that question since I was a child, but I have found at this season of my life that I have to be confronted again about whether or not my life is my own. It seems clear to me now that all of my life I will be asked to revisit that question.

What I do see now is that Jesus wants to disrupt our lives- to keep us from clinging to the familiar, the places of safety and security with no risk. As I get older a part of me wants to settle down and take it easy. But at least for now, what I want more is to discover all that Jesus has for me. As Paul put it, as he neared the end of life sitting in a prison,

I want to lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus laid hold of me...

That's what I want- and I know he disrupted my life and brought me to Manhattan to help me lay hold of that for which he laid hold of me.

Craig

September 9, 2008