Gary, part 5

From April 5.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Today was Easter. I found you in one of your usual spots. But when I say "I found you," perhaps more accurately I should say I was led to you, because it was a God-thing, not a Jeremy-thing. You see, I left Easter services at Jacob's Well this morning with a sense of Call in the back of my mind, that I should find a homeless person (sorry, "person experiencing homelessness" - I'm still fighting to reign in my label-using instinct) and invite them to Easter lunch with my family. As I started driving, I realized that for each person I saw signing on a street corner today, they probably didn't have a family or a Community to spend this most Holy day with, and that weighed on my heart.

I handed out a couple ministry bags but I didn't "click" with either person enough to invite them to lunch. By that I mean I used "not clicking" as an excuse in the hopes I could get out of the lunch invitation deal (because I'm human). As I kept driving toward Mom and Dad's, though, I was frightened by a dawning realization: what if I'm supposed to bump into you? What if the Spirit planted this seed because I'm supposed to invite you to my family lunch? Remembering how awkward it was bringing you to church, I confess I committed sin against you as I started praying, "please God, don't ask me to do that. And yet, not my will but Yours be done. But please don't ask me to do that."

Nearing Hiawatha from Lake street, I had a choice - I could go straight, and get to my parents' on time. Or I could listen to the Spirit's nudge and turn south. I turned. There were remarkably few people out begging today, which, actually, I'm happy for, because again, how heart-breaking is it to not have anyone to spend Easter with :(. I reached 46th street, the median where you often stand, and there was another man there. I gave him a bag and breathed relief, thinking I was off the hook. Instead of a u-turn, though, the Spirit said turn left. And there I saw you, leaned against the stop sign in the back alley behind the Holiday station.

I'd seen you briefly last week so I knew you were back in town, but this was our first chance to talk, and for me to ask about your kidney transplant (Reader, see part 4). You told me the bad news: within a day of your surgery (though I was glad to hear you'd made it to Des Moines safely), your body rejected the donated kidney, and they had to remove it. Now you're back on frequent dialysis. I didn't know how to respond to you, so I sat in silence.

We talked a bit more, both of us waving on cars in the alley behind me who couldn't figure out that my hazards meant I was parked. I asked why you were out here, and you told me you'd lost your bank card (or something like that?) and couldn't withdraw money to pay the rest of your month's rent until you got a replacement, 10 days from now. (In retrospect I don't really understand your situation - can't you go into the bank and withdraw money without a card? But, I've never experienced what it's like to be homeless, so I guess the reason I don't understand, is because I can't share your mindset.) I asked if you were spending Easter with family, because I remembered you had a sister who lived in state. You said that's true, but she and her husband are vacationing in Australia right now, so you're on your own.

You said until you get your rent paid you're sleeping in the park, and asked if I had a blanket. Well, yes, actually. I made one specially for you. Of course I didn't know it would be you when I made it, but this past winter, on a suggestion from my friend Laura, I bought a bunch of fabric and made some tie-fleeces to keep in my car and hand out to people in need. Practical gift, no problem.

Then you did me in. I was fighting the Spirit fairly successfully, justifying how I could and should just drive away, until you elaborated on how hungry you were. There I was, on my way (late by this point) to a warm, home-cooked meal (and my Dad's a really good cook). And I knew I'd left church, Easter service of all services, with this Spirit-nudge that I'd be inviting a stranger to lunch. Like your and my other encounters, you said the specific key words that the Spirit had already been placing on my heart to be listening for.

Reader, I'd like to digress and tell a story from Upper Room. Months ago, our worship leader Stefan shared about a time he invited several panhandlers to lunch with his friends, at where he knew would be an upscale restaurant. He couldn't very well call his friends in front of his guests and say "I'm bringing homeless people to lunch," so instead (and the way he told this was much more hilarious than how I can recount it now) he dialed one of his friends, timing it carefully to give himself two seconds of talk time after he was through the revolving door but before his guests got inside after him, and in those seconds he blurted out to his friend: "I'm here and Jesus is with me." Click. The way Stefan recounted this at UR, it got a huge laugh. The really funny punch line came next, though, because Stefan's friend on the phone knew him well enough to translate that as "Stefan's bringing a homeless guy with him." </digression>

By this time, Mom was texting me asking how soon I expected to get there. So, while you were putting your stuff in the back seat of my car, I replied to her with this Stefan-inspired text:

10 minutes. Jesus is coming with me. Aka Gary, who I've blogged about. Can you set another spot at the table?

I know, because my parents told me, that this caught them rather off-guard, but they went with the flow and everyone (Mom, Dad, my aunt and uncle and cousin, and a friend from my parents' church) were all incredibly gracious when you and I arrived. And may I say, despite what you said about not feeling well today, I thought you were actually physically moving around better than I'd seen our last several encounters, and you were significantly more lucid. This is selfish, but I want to thank you for that, because it made Easter lunch much less awkward than I'd feared it would end up. Praise God for that.

Praise God also, my family made you feel welcome. My suspicion is you don't get to feel welcome very often. They showed you love. And you told me afterward you really liked the egg and ham bake Dad had made, so I know you had had a good meal. My suspicion is you don't get many of those, either.

I have another confession I need to make to you: while I was sitting next to you at the table (somewhat in awe and feeling relief of how un-extraordinary the conversation was), I prayed: "God, is this enough?" Because I know Jesus would have done more. I know Jesus would have invited you to stay the whole afternoon, instead of driving you back to the Holiday right after dessert. Yet I felt God's response to the effect of, "This is enough, this is all I'm going to ask you to do today," followed by the verse about "well done good and faithful servant" (citation: it's in the Bible somewhere).

Our table conversation was truly so uneventful, I don't actually remember much of it. I recall there was a long (and boring) conversation about sports, and it looked like you took a nap during that part (I can't blame you). We heard a little bit about your military service (Reader: Gary served 29 years active duty, which, if you're doing the math, is as long as I have been alive). And my family swapped stories about the various Triduum/Good Friday/Easter services we'd attended at our different churches. And that's about it.

After I brought you back to your corner, I came back home, and we talked about you. We talked about people experiencing homelessness in general. We talked about how to respond, how not to respond, and it was a good conversation. Thank you for that gift, thank you for opening the door to that conversation that would not have happened otherwise.

Years from now my family and I likely aren't going to remember anything else we talked about at Easter lunch, but we are going to remember this Easter that you came to eat with us. All we did was feed you a meal. I hope by doing so, though, that we also gave you a portion of your humanity back, a humanity I fear is too often robbed by the perceptions others feel toward your cardboard sign.

Gary, lest I allow any amount of pride to cloud humility, let me be quite honest about this Easter journey for me: Even though I knew inviting you to Easter lunch was something God was asking me to do (I don't want to say I was "supposed" to or "had" to, because I believe in free will), it was incredibly not-easy breaking down all the barriers of unwillingness and fear, fear of judgement, etc, that I'd set up. I feared bringing you home because I feared it would be awkward. I know I could have said no; I could have driven away and no one would have judged me for that. Heck I'm not even sure I believe God would have judged me for running (first boat to Tarshish, anyone? [Bible joke, Google it]). But after a weekend lamenting how far distant I feel from the Spirit and praying to grow closer, how could I then not follow through when I knew God was specifically inviting me into this opportunity? Am I to have just turned away? What kind of spiritual leader would that make me for my future family, or for my friends and family now? Like I told my parents afterward, I needed to do this for me, because I wanted to be able to look myself in the mirror tomorrow morning. And, I wanted my cousin Amy, 16, to see a tangible example of what living out one's faith might look like (don't get me wrong, she's got a faith of her own, and she has great faith role-models in her parents, but what 16-year-old thinks their parents know anything?). Nevertheless, like I said, it was hard.

God calls each of us to our own unique ways of renewing the world and bringing God's love into it. I, for example, am definitely not [currently in this stage in my life] called to overseas mission trips. Ministry to those experiencing homelessness and poverty, though, is one of my known-to-be-Called-here mission fields. Because of that I know I did the right thing, but it's left me with, temporarily at least, a humility that won't allow me to judge anyone else for driving away. Hopefully, over time, Jesus will continue softening my heart and growing me to be more like Him.

Lastly, I want to specifically thank someone who I've written about before, but who probably has no idea she has had this level of impact in my life. To quote a blog post I wrote last June:

... my friend Nathan and his then-girlfriend-now-wife Catherine were grabbing coffee, when a homeless man approached us. We declined to help him, but Catherine was ill-at-ease with our response, and so we went to a nearby grocery store and she bought him a sandwich and talked with him. Since that moment I've hoped my future wife will be someone like that, but why wait - I want to be that person already, before I meet her. I said to myself, "all right, let's go do this."

Catherine, by living out your faith and love for people, you've inspired me into becoming a better version of myself. Thank you. I'm very glad you and Nate and I got together for coffee that morning years ago, because your actions have changed my life.

Out In The Cold

I wrote some blurbs on Facebook about Out In The Cold, but it deserves a full-fledged blog post, too.

Out In The Cold is a documentary about homelessness in Minneapolis, and we just finished shooting Wednesday (two days ago). For the movie, my friends John and JD put themselves out on the street to live homeless for seven days. While John and JD are the main "characters" in the documentary, it's really about telling the stories of those who live experiencing homelessness day-in/day-out. John and JD got to hit the "off" switch after a week, and go back to their homes and jobs. People truly experiencing homelessness don't have that privilege. We want to bring light to their stories.

My involvement started in November at an Upper Room social gathering. Talking about filmmaking with my then-acquaintance-now-friend, JD (I'm pretty sure he has a real name, but no one knows what it is, so we call him "JD"), I asked if he had any fun projects coming up, and he told me he was in pre-production for Out In The Cold. At this point I believe I began gesticulating wildly (cue Lost In Space robot) and asked how I could get involved, because homelessness and beggars are issues I care about passionately. Long conversation short, I came on board as line producer, aka, a "details man", for the production.

We enlisted dozens of volunteers from Upper Room to serve 4-hour shifts as production assistants during the shoot, to help collect release forms, carry equipment, drive getaway cars, etc. I scheduled them as best I could to give us 24-hour coverage, especially on the riskier nights that John and JD would be sleeping outside. We also made an appeal at Jacob's Well, and several people offered donations on the spot, which was incredibly humbling and affirming.

Two Mondays ago, the crew met to iron out any last minute details; on Tuesday they shot some interviews and B-roll, then on Wednesday morning, John and JD began their adventure. I didn't have spare vacation time to take the whole week off work, so I worked my normal 9-5, and then joined the crew each evening to help "on set" (downtown Minneapolis), and then take care of dumping/backing up footage & sound, as well as daily paperwork, sending call sheets for the next day, and dealing with receipts and money. Despite missing the daylight hours of shooting, I actually did get to spend a considerable amount of time with the crew, and we got along exceptionally well (I'd never met the camera operator or sound mixer before our Monday pre-pro meeting). And by "exceptionally well" I mean we had a blast. There was a tremendous amount of mutual respect, and we shared a lot of laughs along the way, too.

Even though I couldn't take the entire week's shoot off from work, it was important to me to be there when John and JD first set out, so I arranged with my manager to take a few hours off Wednesday morning. After shooting a "last breakfast", while the crew packed their gear for the day, John and JD and I circled up and I prayed over them for the week ahead. It was important to me partially because I felt guilty not being able to be there during the days, but moreso because I saw this relating to my dream job (that doesn't exist yet) of being a movie set chaplain (even though this isn't overtly a "Christian film").

For several nights during the shoot, JD had pre-arranged for he and John to sleep in one of the downtown area shelters, but other nights they slept outside in their sleeping bags. Night 1 went without incident - the boys were plenty warm and found an overpass that sheltered them from the wind. Night 3 they did not fare as well; around 10/10:30 they were showing early signs of hypothermia (apparently John said something about his scarf tasting like peanut butter, or rubbing peanut butter all over his face - there is disagreement about what was actually said), and so JD called our overnight PAs, parked in a warm car just a block away, to evacuate them. This quote-unquote "failure" was emotionally difficult on John. On the one hand, our emergency planning worked correctly - we'd staffed PAs for the overnight with explicit directions to check in on the boys often, and they were there to evacuate them immediately. More importantly, pride didn't get in the way, and neither JD nor John "tried to be a hero." On the other hand, this epitomizes the difference between a film project simulating homelessness, and people who are experiencing homelessness for real. JD and John had the privilege of pulling the eject lever, and they were safe. I wrestle with knowing not everyone can do that.

On Saturday, JD left to attend a mandatory workshop for a grant he'd applied for to help fund the movie, and I got to spend the day (starting at the inhuman time of 6:30 a.m.) with John and our crew, Ben and Matt. Since I knew we'd be spending a lot of our day outside, I clad myself in long underwear (purchased during a late-night adventure to a sketchy Kmart the night before) and multiple layers of shirts and coats. For the majority of the day I actually found myself quite comfortable. The morning started slowly, but in the afternoon we interviewed a man signing at a freeway exit, John got some free coffee and a sandwich from the Basilica, and we hung out in the skyways for a bit to warm up. We captured some really cool footage of a phenomenally talented street musician (skyway musician?) named Quinn outside of Macy's. He wasn't homeless, but we interviewed him anyway. One of his insights particularly caught me: he said it's usually the poor people who will throw a few bucks into his guitar case, because they understand what it's like to be in need; rich people just want to hold onto whatever they've got. I don't think he's wrong.

After Quinn we talked in the skyway for probably an hour with a man who'd been in and out of homelessness for 41 years since the age of 9. He didn't agree to be on camera, but was willing to share his story with John offline. And I definitely think he had one or two screws loose (specific example: he said he could always read people, and followed this by saying John was an alcoholic... which isn't anywhere near truth, so...), nevertheless it was a fascinating conversation. He also gave John a pointer on a heated stairwell in the skyway system where John and JD might be able to sleep at night (which they did, two nights later).

At this point, a "man in black" appeared from nowhere and asked us to move along with our camera equipment; he touched a weird key-like thing to a panel in the skyway wall, and then when we looked back, he was gone, poof, disappeared. This became the source of many-a-joke for the afternoon.

Leaving the skyway, we made our way toward the Target Center, where John signed for half an hour at the 394 exit. (behind-the-scenes story: while we were shooting, the Target Center security/anti-terrorism folks came and talked with us about our camera; they were all very professional and courteous, and never actually asked us to leave, since they figured out pretty quickly our camera was aimed across the street, not at their building. Matt the sound mixer and I were amused how incredibly quickly the security manager's interest collapsed when I started talking about homelessness and the documentary. I guess, thanks for figuring out we're not terrorists!).

When John talked about his experience signing, what was fascinating to me is he said people deliberately avoided eye contact with him. There were a couple people who gave him money, and they would say something like, "I'm sorry I can't give more", but then even they would break eye contact and stare straight ahead. I'm guilty of doing that, too, if I'm honest. The most extreme example John told us about was one woman, when she saw John in the left lane, stopped, backed up, and shifted lanes right, to avoid the situation.

Soap box moment: money is really tight for me right now, so I get it about not wanting or not being able to hand out cash to beggars. I'm not advocating one way or the other. But dear Reader, something FREE you can give, is dignity. You can look someone in the eye and acknowledge they are human. That doesn't cost anything. If you feel safe doing so, roll down your window and ask what their name is. Or heck, if you've got extra time on your hands, park your car, walk up to them and ask for their story.

After leaving the Target Center, we stopped at a Starbucks to warm up and de-caffeinate in their restroom. John found another friend to talk to, a crotchety janitorial guy who John said was nice, but like I said, my impression of him was very "get off my lawn." While John talked to him, we observed a young woman sitting behind them dressed ... scantily. In the safety of retrospect, now I actually wish I'd tried to engage her in conversation, because some day I'd like to get involved in the ministry of the XXX Church. I digress.

On our way to meet back up with JD, we interviewed a couple folks on the street, the most memorable for all of us, was Monty. I sure hope a lot of his interview makes it into the final cut of the film, because he was so eloquent in his story. Monty had experienced homelessness twice in his lifetime, but now he has a home, a career, and a family, and he was much better dressed than any of us. My take-away from our conversation with him was, "if I've been homeless for years and you yell at me 'get a job', how am I supposed to do that when I don't have the right clothes, or the interview skills to go in and make a good impression to actually get a job?"

That night we met a couple in their very early twenties who've been homeless for one month, trying to make their way to her dad's home west of Minnesota. We talked with them for a long time, and our whole crew really felt connected to their story. It was one more reminder to me that you never know someone's background until you ask - people enter homelessness from so many different avenues. After their interview, I told them what an inspiration they were to me - they weren't married, they'd not made the "for better and worse" vows, and yet they were truly living out those words; it was deeply heartening to be witness to their story.

On Sunday, I joined the crew in the afternoon between my church services, and to my delight they'd successfully made contact with David, a panhandler I met last month, and he was showing them around. After we wrapped with David, the crew grabbed thai food for lunch, while John ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, made using the food he'd bought his first day being homeless. I'm in awe of John, because he had the option of us feeding him "real" food, but he insisted on going method. In his words, the rest of us can do a lot of different jobs on the movie (camera, editing, producing, etc) but he felt he brought only one thing (being the subject of the documentary), and so he was going to do that one thing as best and all-out as he could. We (the crew) all admired and tremendously respected his grit, and we repeatedly said this even behind John's back.

By Monday night, we were all really worried about the shelter where John and JD would be staying that night, because apparently everyone they'd talked to on the street had told them "don't stay there, it's dangerous." On our way there we were heckled by an intoxicated fellow who'd only recently left homelessness, and was clearly very bitter about his poverty as compared to our relative wealth. As we walked away, I told him, "I know you're in no place to receive this right now, but I will be praying for you." Maybe that sounds judgmental and holier-than-thou; for me it came from a heart of sadness seeing his situation, and knowing that he was right to say I couldn't understand what he'd been through. I meant what I said sincerely. He of course, did not receive it well.

For all the warnings and the jokes-not-really-jokes we made about getting shanked at the Monday night shelter, it turned out rather anti-climactic. I'm pretty sure we saw at least one drug deal go down on our way in, but aside from that when we were inside we felt relatively safe. Just in case, though, we did have two PAs circling the block in their car as a quick getaway vehicle. We "tucked-in" John and JD and then the crew and I left. The boys were still alive next morning so... that was a good thing :)

Having spent the weekend helping on set, coming back to work Monday morning was hard. I wrote something on my Facebook wall, and it still holds true:

After spending the weekend on the streets with Out In the Cold, it's challenging coming back to my comfortable 9-5 cubicle job. I'd say "first world problem" except, the problem with that is, poverty and homelessness *IS* a first world problem. I met it face to face, through the stories of Robert, Tim, Monty, Mikal & Judith, David, and so many more.

After production wrapped Wednesday afternoon, the crew went out for drinks, and I joined JD later in the day after I got off work. In addition to discussing with JD the deeply philosophical question, "how is it a lot of these guys experiencing homelessness have girlfriends, and we don't?", it was a good time to come down off the high of the film, and share thoughts. For me, some of the most rewarding moments were hearing how the interviews affected our two crew guys, who are awesome people but still hired for the job, not necessarily emotionally invested like JD, John, and myself were. Yet I think they became emotionally invested, and were touched by the stories they heard.

Practically everyone's asked, "when will the movie be done?" JD's goal is to be accepted into an Oscars-eligible festival, which would include Sundance, South by Southwest, the Twin Cities Film Fest, and a few others. Sundance's deadline will be in August/September timeframe, so that's what we'll be targeting, at least for now.

If you're interested in following the film, check it out on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/outinthecoldfilm.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I've been around people non-stop for the past week and a half, and I desperately need some introvert time to recharge. If you need me, I'll be at home, staring at a wall.

Gary, part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

I saw you across the Hiawatha and 46th intersection, pan-handling from the median, as I turned toward home. Toward my fully furnished, food-laden home. I decided to be interruptible, to let this be a God-moment. I didn't know it was you yet - in fact my *expectations* were that you'd be a nameless stranger begging on the corner, that I could hand you a "homeless bag" (I really need to come up with a new name for those), and that when the arrow turned green, I could drive away, feeling good about myself because I'd stopped and acknowledge your humanity, but then not have to follow through in any depth. Those were my expectations, and if I'm bold enough to admit it, those were my hopes.

And so, uncannily reminiscent (in retrospect) of the night we met, I turned at that same corner, went down Minnehaha, came back on Hiawatha, and got into the turn lane.

I'm at a loss to fully describe what emotions took place when I started to recognize your unkempt, graying beard, and the eyes hiding above it. Excitement at the opportunity for redemption from my previous failures. (see "Gary, part 3") Dread at the reality that encountering you again might mean bringing you to church again. (see "Gary, part 2") Joy akin to finding a long lost friend. Relief that you were still alive and relatively "okay." Hope that our story, yours and mine somehow Divinely intertwined, was not yet over. Peace and a sense of resolution because I could finally hear what happened in the chapter after our last meeting.

I rolled down my window, and fumbled out what I think were truly genuine words about being glad to see you again. I'm pretty sure they were genuine, anyway. I'd reached acceptance from my failed attempts to contact you, but I still felt somehow incomplete. Enough "I"s.

You shook violently, muscles spasming, probably because the temperature was at the freezing point. The arrow light had just turned red, so we had some time to talk. You told me you'd been hit by a drunk driver 7 days ago. He drove for an entire city block with you still on his hood/windshield, before he was stopped by police. He's in jail now, while you spent a week in the hospital, recovering.

The light turned green. I turned and parked at Walgreens, and came back to stand with you. Why are you out here? I thought you moved into your apartment? You did. But you have no food. Your check from the VA won't come until the 15th - because of the snow out east, 1,500 veterans' snail-mail checks got delayed getting mailed, and you were one of them. You've set up direct deposit for next month, but that's no help right now.

Oh.

And here my greatest worry this morning was running late to my car's oil change appointment. Thank you for the reality check.

I thought about offering to go grocery shopping for you, but before I could offer you said there's a woman in Des Moines who wants to give you a new kidney, and your sister is going to come down from International Falls to drive you there, tonight. Maybe. If she gets off work in time. Otherwise you don't know how you're going to get there. You've been waiting for a kidney a long time, and if this doesn't work out, you told your sister you might put a gun to your head to end it, because you don't have much (any?) hope left to keep you going. You weren't melodramatic about it, you weren't asking for a pity-party, for you this was just a matter of cold facts.

The doctors want you in Des Moines by 9 p.m. so they can get you checked into the hospital and prepped for a 3 a.m. start to surgery. I briefly considered what it would look like for me to drive you myself, but asked instead if there was a bus or train or something that ran down there. Apparently there is! It costs $45. Which is another reason you're out here begging today. No food, and no bus fare.

$45 is a lot more do-able than a 4.5 hour (x2) drive. I offer, "If you want to take the bus, I will buy your ticket." Unspoken were the words, "even though I mostly trust you, by buying the ticket myself I know exactly where the money is going." A gift with strings attached. You say they only take cash, something about no credit card readers on most of the busses, and the ones that do have them, the credit name needs to match the ticket holder's name. That's fine, we can stop at an ATM on the way; I re-iterate that "if you want to take the bus, I will do that for you." You agreed.

While we were standing on the median, a driver-by rolled down his window and handed you his pocket change. You told me later you knew him, that he'd only come off the streets recently himself. I don't know the right vocabulary right now for the emotions that evoked.

I'm also left to my own imagination wondering who may have been influenced, or who I may have indirectly ministered to, by the act of standing out on a median of a very busy intersection, talking to you for over a quarter of an hour. Who may have seen that and been moved, or a seed planted? I will never have that answer, and I'm okay with that, because I can choose to imagine at least one person was affected by what they saw. I hope, anyway, because if we're not spreading good, and if there are no hearts open to being changed, then that is a sad world indeed.

You jaywalk and I follow (is it mean of me to think briefly "no wonder you get hit by cars"?), you struggle up the grass to the parking lot where my car waits, blame me that you stumbled backward and fell to your knees (sorry, guess I'll stop trying to help), and finally we make it to my car. You warn me that your walker's wheels are muddy, so I lay down a blanket on my back seat before you fold it up and stick it inside the car. You're remarkably ... "proud"? might be the word? You don't want help, you want to do as much on your own as you're capable of. I guess I can identify. I'm impressed. You might be a beggar today, but with an "I can do this" personality trait, I don't believe you are by choice.

Standing outside my car, you light up a cigarette, and explain it's going to be your last one. Like, ever. Because you'll be spending the next 30 days in the hospital, and they won't let you out for a smoke break. Your New Year's resolution was to quit smoking, and today's the day.

All-told you were remarkably more coherent today than the last time we talked. Maybe it's the hope of a new kidney tonight? Or maybe it's that you're more comfortable around me after a few encounters?

We stopped at the bank for me to get cash, then onward to the UofM medical buildings. You tell me how you've been on anti-rejection meds for the past three months. You're generally excellent at giving directions, though we did have that one disagreement when you claim you said "turn left here" and I definitely heard you say "turn left up there at <street name>" but whatever. I learn your other sister is moving back from Germany soon to live with you in Minnesota and help take care of you. All in all it kind of sounds like your life is coming back together.

I dropped you off and got your walker out for you. You got out of the car all on your own, despite your weak legs. Definitely an encouraging sign. You've got fight left in you. I asked if you could ask the hospital in Des Moines to call me after your surgery, so I know how it went. Unspoken: "so I know if you survived." You said you would. Time will tell on that; who knows what rules they have, so even if you ask maybe they won't be able to. But I hope to hear. I ask you how much money you want, and hand you enough for the bus fare, and a little extra for food.

And somewhere in our parting comments, you mentioned how you liked my morning church, Jacob's Well, and wanted to come back. I told you to call me when you're back in town, and I guess I'll wrestle through the implications of that in a month.

I feel at peace with our story. Not just acceptance at my own inability to change the situation (as before), but true peace, a sense of completion, resolution. Maybe our story will continue, maybe not. But I do thank you Gary, because you have expanded my comfort zone. I mean, you still make me feel uncomfortable, but... less so than I did before. And I believe that's what they call "growth."

May God travel with you and bring you healing. Amen.

Gary, part 2

From January 11.

Gary came to church today.

You called me last night around 9, asked if that offer to bring you to church was still good; I said yes, and you said you'd be in the usual place.

When I picked you up, I became grateful for my dull sense of smell. You had trouble moving, struggled again to put on your seatbelt. You hadn't had breakfast yet, so I gave you one of my "homeless bags" to munch on a cereal bar. You got to see me hand out a couple more during our drive. I got a quick update from you, too: you'll be moving into your apartment Monday morning - literally 24 hours from now your life will be different.

We got to church awkwardly early. No one at Jacob's Well shows up on time (granted: hyperbole), but we were like, 15 minutes early. I clearly miscalculated this. If I'm honest, I was hoping we could sneak in unseen. You wrestled your way out of my car. When we got in the door, I introduced you to ... was it Melissa? Someone. "This is my friend Gary". You mumbled something incomprehensible, because the band was still rehearsing and the music drowned your words. You meandered painfully slowly to the coffee table and poured yourself some of that black bitter water.

We found a seat in the corner where you could stretch out your legs. Is it wrong I'm grateful you didn't want to sit in the front row? I told you you were more than welcome to refill your coffee during the service; what I didn't anticipate was your difficulty navigating stairs - you less-so walked down and more-so fell-down them, but maintained vertical-ness with assistance from your bent and dented cane (apparently another taxi hit you in the last few days, adding another reminder of life's unfairness to your already-battle-scarred cane).

You talked to me a little too loud during the songs - or maybe, just maybe, I was being extra sensitive and fearful of people judging me. (why? because I'm overly concerned with other peoples' perceptions of my delicately crafted external persona; because I live in America and that's what we do).

I was eternally grateful when my friend Chris came and sat with us, so I wasn't alone.

In his sermon, Greg told us a story about his family driving back from Wisconsin 15 years ago. They were already running late, traffic was backed up, but they still stopped to help an old man change his tire on the side of the road. 15 years later none of them remember where they were coming from or going to or what happened because they were late, but they ALL remember stopping to help that man. This was, as Greg called it, one of those "damn you Jacob's Well!" moments :) Seemed timely. I think I just took a crash course on learning that lesson for myself.

Church ended, I wanted to catch up with a couple people, you said take my time, while you downed some more of that gross black caffeinated liquid. You handed me your cup to throw away, and said you'd meet me at the door. I came back to see you eyeing up the steps, bracing yourself, and performing your [scarily dramatic, Gene Wilder/Willy Wonka-esque] fall-rather-than-step act. Well, except I'm sure it wasn't an act. You stuck your landing, vertical still, a good 6 feet from the base of the steps. So awkward. I look around. Yep, people saw. Awkward awkward awkward.

Melissa came up and asked if you were new, and gave you a small bag of chocolates as a "welcome to Jacob's Well" gift. At which point you decided you couldn't wait 1 minute 'til we got to my car, but instead needed to stop walking, open the bag [agonizingly slowly] and eat them right there, in the middle of the exit pathway. I admit: I just wanted to go, I just wanted to get myself out of that situation. Because I much prefer ministering to people of my own financial class. It's easier, it's less scary, and it's less uncomfortable. You pushed my comfort zone.

I had to buckle you in and get out to close your car door for you. On our ride back you asked about my evening church; I tried nonchalantly to say "I'm meeting a friend beforehand for a movie," aka, 'please don't ask me if you can come with, please please please...' Because I was embarrassed. That whole comfort zone thing, remember? And you telling me about your medical issues, how much your stomach hurt, how you'd started bleeding again last night (don't know where, don't really want to know, just please don't bleed on my 1-year-old car! #firstworldproblem), and how you expected to end up in the ER [again] today, and maybe it's all hyperbole but it makes me uncomfortable and I'm not used to dealing with this!

Yet at the same time... I know that the Jeremy today has seen tremendous growth from the Jeremy of ten years ago. I remember in 2004 when I met my friend Matthew, he would stop and help people on the road, all the time. He told me he actually expected he'd die in the midst of trying to help people, like breaking up a bar fight and getting shot, or getting hit on the side of the road trying to help a stalled vehicle; for all his human faults, I have always admired about him his willingness and constant availability to offer help. I also always thought, "I can never be that, that would scare me too much." And now, slowly, I am becoming that person.

Last week, I was driving home, it was close to or past midnight, and I stopped to fill up with gas. A couple mid-late-twenties men approached me asking if I had jumper cables. Based on how they were dressed frankly I thought they were hoodlums looking to jump me instead of their car, but turns out they were actually nice people truly just trying to get their car started. I didn't have cables, but I did happen to have a portable battery jump-starter thing my Dad got me for Christmas, that I thought I'd never use. Well, two and a half weeks post-Christmas, on a bitterly cold night, it enabled me to help some strangers in need. Thank you, Dad.

So here I am, becoming who I want to be, inspired by people like Matthew, and Darrell. To some degree, living out Matthew 25:34-40 (the whole "whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me" thing). I still find myself praying, "Jesus, please forgive me, because I'm not You. I know You would have put your hands Gary and healed him, and invited him to Your home, You would have said 'let Me take care of you,'" and I couldn't bring myself to do that, because there's still a lot of selfishness in me. So, Jesus, I know I didn't ace this one. Probably only got a C-. But that's a few steps above an F, so let's call that progress, okay?

This church isn't for me

My friend Drew and I have struggled in recent months with wanting more out of our morning church, Jacob's Well. We've struggled because Jacob's Well is a "church for people who don't like church," and... neither Drew nor I any longer fit that demographic; we actually like church, yearn for longer moments of worship, and thirst for deeper spiritual growth. Drew made the decision a few weeks ago to find a new morning church, and I 100% respect and support his decision. My journey's been a little less clear-cut.

In my view, Jacob's Well is a church from which you want people to [for lack of a more respectful term] "graduate". It's a phenomenal home for anyone who's doubting, or who's been hurt by the church/had a bad church experience, or who's never really been sure about this whole "God" thing to begin with - at JW, it is not assumed that just because you're in church, you necessarily believe in God. That, in combination with our willingness to ask questions without assuming we'll find definitive answers, I think makes us quite unique. I can say in my own experience, JW was a restorative and safe place for me to come each week, after a rather traumatic break-up with my previous church.

My needs are different now. I want to have a consistently deeper worship experience, grow spiritually, and be in a community that challenges me to read my Bible and actually care about that more than I currently do. I also want a community that believes in miracles, speaking in tongues, prophesy, and that God is still alive and actively working in our earthly world. By all those metrics, JW is not the church for me. Also, if I'm honest: I don't even like Jacob's Well right now - there are a LOT of things that need to change, so many things we can and should be doing better.

And yet, I still love Jacob's Well. Inspired by an article I read last year called "Marriage isn’t for you," I find myself pondering if the same lesson may also apply to church. I'm not getting much out of the deal right now (well, maybe that point is arguable - you could argue I'm getting opportunities to get better at sound mixing, at guitar playing, at occasionally leading a worship song, and of learning "patience" :), but maybe it's not supposed to be about me. (Or heck, maybe it is, maybe like everything else, I'm making too big a deal of this and at some point I'll realize that and go find another church.) But in the meantime, the understanding I'm reaching is that for right now, my Calling isn't to "get" from Jacob's Well, but rather to ask where I can give back. Where, if I may perhaps be so bold, I can be the one of strong faith helping encourage and challenge others in developing their relationships with God. Because ultimately what I wish for myself is the same that I wish for everyone else: that no one's faith is stagnant.

Drew is really enjoying his new church so far, and to be completely honest I'm a bit jealous. Maybe I'm feeling trapped? Maybe I still struggle with chasing my own Calling vs chasing someone else's? I don't know. In either case, I can't shake the feeling that my work at JW is not yet complete, that I still have some purpose in being there. Or maybe I'm just being stubborn, and not willing to give up on an entity that has been so meaningful in my life. The end result is, for now, I remain committed, with the understanding (resignation?) that this church is no longer for me, no longer about what I'll gain from it, but instead about what I'm able to do in [humble?] service.

Be The Church

Yesterday morning I got to lead two songs at Jacob's Well that I really love: "Build Your Kingdom Here" by the Rend Collective Experiment, and "Be The Church" by Stefan Van Voorst (who happens to be the worship leader at Upper Room, my evening church). The theme of the morning was, "does the Church matter?"

After leaving JW I typically drive a couple blocks out of my way so I can pass by a freeway ramp, where there is often someone on the side of the road holding a cardboard sign. In my car's backseat I've a box of "homeless bags" with water and cereal bars and stuff, that I like to hand out. Normally I try to make eye contact and at least say "hi" to the person, acknowledging their humanity, but yesterday there was a car behind me so I felt a bit rushed and that made it a barely-slow-down-drive-by-handoff. The man was super friendly though, and incredibly grateful (reactions run the gamut, I've been surprised to discover), and as I drove off my brain processed seeing the words "7-year-old daughter" on his sign; normally if I see someone has a kid I'll give them two bags, this time though I just didn't register it fast enough.

Feeling badly about this, I thought about going around for another pass. At this moment, three other thoughts coalesced: 1) I realized that literally no more than an hour prior, I'd led 100 or so people in singing songs about being the church, being God's kingdom here and now. 2) running through my head were the words "what would Darrell do?" And 3) a memory from LA a few years ago: my friend Nathan and his then-girlfriend-now-wife Catherine were grabbing coffee, when a homeless man approached us. We declined to help him, but Catherine was ill-at-ease with our response, and so we went to a nearby grocery store and she bought him a sandwich and talked with him. Since that moment I've hoped my future wife will be someone like that, but why wait - I want to be that person already, before I meet her. I said to myself, "all right, let's go do this."

I drove around the block and parked and walked over to the man with a couple more bags in my hand. He was thrilled to get the cereal bars (healthy snacks for his kid), and waters (something to sip on while he's standing out in the sun). Then I asked him his story. In a recent blog post I highlighted this quote from Beggars in Spain, which, evidently, has begun to inform my life in a tangible, non-academic way:

What the strong owe beggars is to ask each one why he is a beggar and act accordingly. Because community is the assumption, not the result. And only by giving non-productiveness the same individuality as excellence, and acting accordingly, does one fulfill the obligation to the beggars in Spain.

Talking with the man, who's name was Matt, it was immediately obvious from his vernacular that he was a well-educated, intelligent guy. He shared with me that he used to be a gourmet chef, raking in $100K+ a year, but lost his job in the wake of medical issues, and now scrapes by working at Super America for $8/hour; that income isn't enough to make ends meet, and so on weekends he stands outside and begs. He and his daughter aren't homeless, they live in an apartment, and she doesn't know they're poor; and though he knows she'll find out eventually, he intends to keep her from knowing for as long as he can. They live on the edge, but with his income from the weekends, they are able to stay afloat.

We talked for a few minutes, and Matt mentioned he was getting (or had just received?) a Cisco networking certification. Hm. I asked him if he'd done much with Linux administration, and though he said "not much", I noted he at least knew the word "Linux", which I saw as promising. I handed him my card asked him to email me, because I know we're hiring an entry level admin at my work. I also qualified: no promises, I'm a nobody, but I can still get his resume into somebody's hands. The man wants to work, so who knows, maybe I can help make that connection.

Most importantly, though, I engaged him in conversation and acknowledged him as human. I didn't give him any money, and he didn't ask me for any. Maybe he'll email me, maybe he won't; God only knows if ever in fact Matt and I will interact again. Though I can't imagine begging on the side of a road in order to pay the bills, my belief is reinforced that for those of us who claim faith in Jesus and how He lived, we also then must own a responsibility to being the Church of Jesus, "Going beyond just words and songs .... Being the first to serve the last .... [and being] A blessing to the world without a need to be the stars."

Why I invited you to church

In the weeks leading up to Easter, I felt called to invite several coworkers to an Easter Sunday service at one of my churches (I am actively involved in both the Jacob's Well and Upper Room communities). Extending said invitations is scary for me, especially when they are to coworkers, and especially when I expected flat-out rejection. Two of them did, in fact, immediately decline my invites, which frankly wasn't surprising (though I had prayed earnestly for different answers). The other two were receptive, but either because of health or schedule, it didn't work out. To be honest, I have suspected for a while that one of the lessons God and I are working on is 'do what is asked of me, even when I know I will not "succeed."'

Very intentionally, my faith has become engrained in every part of who I am and how I live my life. At the same time, I've also striven (successfully) to live non-threateningly - anyone who's talked about "God-stuff" with me knows that I'm not out to "convert" them - I'm just being me, and being me involves talking about God.

When it comes to inviting friends (and I am truly blessed with coworkers I also call "friends") to church, I want to make it clear: I'm not trying to "save" you. That's between you and God. What I am trying to do, is share with you the unearthly peace, and hope, that my faith gives to me. My faith is the reason why I am an eternal optimist, and can remain so even while I'm frustrated or disappointed or hurt or whatever; in no way am I delusional about earthly life's reality - I just live for something else.

Months ago I read an article that articulated this so much better than I can. Thank goodness for Google, who helped me find it in .42 seconds: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/angela-jamene/what-people-are-really-th_b_4306949.html

It's short, I hope you'll take 2 minutes and read the whole thing (4 minutes if you're like me and not a fast reader). But if you don't read it, then let me highlight a sentence I think summarizes the piece: "Every invitation to church is an 'I love you and I want this indescribable love, peace, and joy for you because I genuinely care about you.'"

If I invite you to one of my churches, it's because I love you, I love my church communities, and I want you to have a vibrant life that you love, and that is full of hope. The only way by which I know that to be possible is through my faith, and that's why I want to share it with you.

I refuse to keep this buried deep inside of me
Yeah this little light of mine, it's time to let it shine a bit
'Cause there's no point in hiding it
It's everything I am
The source of all my hope
And it's the reason why I stand
And I pledge allegiance to being somebody real
There's no more holding it back
I'm showing them how I feel
'Cause love is more than a word
It's a noun, and a verb, and hiding it's absurd

Thank you cake from Jacob's Well

My morning church, Jacob's Well, has been in the hiring process for a new worship leader since June, when our previous leader moved down south to pursue Seminary. And for the last two months, I've been helping out by doing all the band and audio engineer scheduling. It's a task I am well-qualified to do, given the incredible similarity to extras casting, but it's also something I find very stressful (again, given the incredible similarity to extras casting :) It's stressful because we have a limited pool of musicians to draw from, and I don't want to over-schedule people and burn them out, so there's a lot of memory work involved trying to place people far enough apart from when they last played, but also give a good mix of skills in each band make-up, and then also consider who's unavailable on certain dates, and lastly, deal with the ones who cancel last-minute (for legitimate or illegitimate reasons; judge judge judge).

Our new worship leader (Chris) started last week, so I sent him a long list of "todos" regarding scheduling (I'd already scheduled the bands out for a couple weeks, so he had a little buffer), and then washed my hands. At long last, freedom!

Sunday morning during announcements Erin (one of our keyboard players and vocalists) explained how grateful she was for Chris to be here finally, not only because she was on the search committee, but because she'd been leading the band the last two weeks and that's out of her comfort zone. Then she said something completely unexpected to me: she explained how there was one other person in the audience even more grateful for Chris's arrival than she was: me. She went on to publicly thank me for the scheduling work I'd done, then called me down front to give me a chocolate cake thank-you gift (and it was delicious!). The box was pretty special, too: everyone knows about my undying love for Taylor Swift, so Erin had written on the box, "Mr. Swift, Thank You".

I was so touched.

At the same time I felt badly for all the complaining I'd done along the way about scheduling - to be honest I felt kind of undeserving of a public thank you after all my whining. It was a big wake up call for me that I need to adjust my attitude and start living out the Bible verse: "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters..." (yes, I'm taking it out of context; I'm not sure that matters in this case).

It's not the first time I've needed this reminder. My second year in AWAKEN, I complained a lot about hauling sandbags week after week, until someone called me out about how old my whining was getting. That person's bravery to challenge me on my bad behavior caused an incredible shift in my attitude toward AWAKEN as a whole - from then on, I cherished every opportunity to haul sandbags, because I knew I was a part of something bigger than me. I need to reclaim that attitude in my life as a whole.

So, new goal for the year: even in the frustrating tasks, thank God that I am blessed enough to have those kinds of opportunities. Amen.

Sermon niche

We're playing Taylor Swift's song "Safe & Sound" (from the Hunger Games soundtrack) in church this week, and I'm just a little bit SO COMPLETELY EXCITED!!!

When Justin (JW's worship leader) solicited the band to send him song ideas, naturally I suggested we should play more Taylor songs, and I justified this by explaining I'd once given a sermon about her song "Mine". Justin replied:

You have a particular . . .

niche when it comes to sermon topics.

I thought that was hilarious, so wanted to share.

The Adjustment Bureau Sermon - Part of Jacob's Well's Godflix Series 2012

Each summer Jacob's Well does a series of sermons about movies. Last year I got to give a sermon about Winnie the Pooh; this year I chose a more dramatic movie, and one of my favorites: The Adjustment Bureau.

What I found out only a few days ago, was that Pastor Greg had never actually seen the movie until our church gathering/screening. I questioned his judgement, trusting me that much :)

First time in Jacob's Well band!

Today I played in the Jacob's Well band for the first time! Trial by fire, but I'm pretty sure I didn't completely suck...

I've served as a sound engineer at JW since February, at least once or twice a month, and in that time been blessed to meet most of our wonderful musicians (the worship team has over 30 people who rotate each week). Over the months I've asked if I could eventually slip into the band rotation, and this week I was invited to trade in my headphones and join them up front.

I mentioned today was "trial by fire". I had several factors working against me today:

- No mid-week rehearsal. Normally the band rehearses on Tuesday night, giving plenty of time to work through any kinks or trouble spots in the songs. But Nate, the leader, is a brand new Daddy, so there was no rehearsal this week (quite understandably!)

- Ears. I've never used in-ear monitors before. They're sweet, but the Aviom console to mix what I was hearing in my ears had no labels, so it was hard to figure out which channels I needed to turn up to hear what I needed to hear. (Nate graciously ran through the list slowly so I could write it down before we got going too far).

- Click. I've also never played to a click. Though now I don't know how I'll ever play without one. So this isn't a bad thing, it's just "one more new thing" thrown into the bag.

- You've Got a Friend In Me. Jazz? How the heck do I play jazz? And the song's in Eb (half a step lower than standard guitar tuning, which makes it much more difficult to play). Fortunately, I have a "backup" performance guitar, so I re-tuned that and then switched between the two guitars between songs. Made life much easier. Relatively. Not only are the chords crazy, but the changes go crazy fast.

- Most importantly: I haven't played in a band for a long time. It's been well over a year since I played publicly with a band. I don't get stage-fright, the audience doesn't bother me, but anticipating keeping tempo with 3 other instrumentalists had me worried. (unnecessarily so: that click is awesome)


So I survived. I have room for improvement (always will), but I didn't suck, so all in all off to a good start. And it means I can continue breaking a stereotype by crossing the boundary between tech and musician. Frankly I think it makes me better at both jobs, because as a Tech I know what the musicians need/want/expect, and as a musician I have a solid grasp on what the tech may need me to do.