I spent this past week in Cleveland Ohio. Oren and I took a road trip there to bring Oren's cousin Fletcher back to his parents--my brother Jonathan and his wife Emma. I spent several days with them. Jonathan is finishing an MD/PhD program at Case Western and he is in the process of interviewing for a place to do his residency. Emma finished her PhD and does research in the field of sleep deprivation (I think). They will need to leave Cleveland, most likely, and the prospect is daunting. Their neighborhood is the poster-child of the national housing crisis. At a glance it is a lovely block of charming, older housing stock, in quite good condition. On closer inspection there are for sale signs everywhere, but then, when you look in the windows of most of the other houses, the rooms are empty. Jonathan told me that almost all of the houses on the block are for sale of foreclosed. The for sale signs for most are long gone. Houses have lost more than half their value, and in fact can't be sold at all because of the state of the neighborhood. When they leave, they will only take a huge loss if they are lucky. At worst, they may not be able to sell it at all.He has told me the biggest problem right now is theft! Apparently there have been numerous break-ins into the abandon houses to steal all the copper plumbing! A house without plumbing, in an already blighted neighborhood is not a real selling point even at a bargain price. Jonathan has told me that the few remaining neighbors, including them, usually park one of their cars in the drive of an abandoned house next door. It has the benefit of providing additional off road parking, AND gives the illusion that there are more people in the neighborhood than there actually are.
Our visit was, despite all of this, quite cheery. Oren and Fletcher had a great time playing together. (Fletcher has a nice train set.) They also visited the indoor exhibits at the Zoo, the Botanical Garden, and the Museum of Natural History. It was bitter cold and snowy for much of the time we were there so Fletcher and Oren did a lot of running around in all of these places. Fortunately there were not many visitors on Tues, Wed and Thurs. morning, so they did not wreck too much havoc. On our last evening, we ate at Skyline Chili (famous for Cincinnati chili) before heading our on Friday. The trip back was uneventful except that Oren did not sleep for the first 7 hours 10 minutes of the 7 and a half hour drive, and wanted a constant stream of snacks and stories. He fell fast asleep as we turned onto the Baltimore beltway.It was good to be back with Rebecca and David again. They did well, even in our absence. David had his doctor visit and had to get his first of a series of many shots. Rebecca described his reaction as pretty awful. Like he had not known that pain existed until that moment. But he is happy as a clam now and even smiles now when he is happy. It is amazing how soon personality begins to emerge.
We have been communicating quite a bit with partners and friends in Burundi, some strategic plans and progress reports are due. Our Congolese partners have been writing us about the desperate situation there and have been asking for emergency food aid for refugees. If you have been keeping up with the news, you know that the situation seems to be grim and not getting better any time soon.
I also received an email from a good friend and someone I have been honored to come to know in Burundi: Simon Guillebaud. He and his wife Lizzie have been working in Burundi with Great Lakes Outreach for 10 years (their family picture is here). He evangelizes, raises money and works tirelessly for many excellent charities in Burundi. They are part of the church we go to and our Bible study as well. They also have two kids close to the age of Oren and now David. I have great respect for Simon and he seems to be known by most everyone here. He keeps many people up to date with prayer letters, and I was convicted by the last one he sent. I can identify very well with the impulse he felt, to look away from the face of desperation, but knowing that that is not what we are called to do. I am going to post his letter here for you to read. It is not a letter of holiday cheer, but perhaps it may motivate you, as it did me, to see beyond the veneer of good tidings, at the need that surrounds us. This is a season that celebrates, at its best, our spirit of generosity. Don't let the prospect of hard economic times take that away. I can assure you, if you are reading this blog, that you are better off than 'Sam' in this email. This is not a call for funds, but an invitation to examine your hearts this season:PRAYER LETTER NO.59 11th December 2008
www.greatlakesoutreach.org
Christians have bumper stickers and catch phrases.
Believers have creeds and promises.
Disciples have scars and stories.
Dear Team,
I’m feeling raw. I want to share that rawness with you, so apologies in advance if the jumbled thoughts lack coherence, but please feel the anguish with me:
Today’s my prayer day. There’s a half-built cathedral a hundred yards from my office, so I often go there, take my shoes off, and stomp up and down praying in the cool and quiet. After about an hour, this young lady interrupted me. Now you have to understand, I spend my life out here getting asked for money. It’s relentless and draining to deal with. So I thought to myself, whilst ‘in the Spirit’, as she approached me: “Just go away, leave me alone, can’t you see I’m praying? Don’t you dare ask me for money!”
Her lips were quivering. She was dressed reasonably well, but she looked rough with beads of perspiration on her nose. I could tell she was scared to approach me. But she was also desperate, and desperation triumphed over her fear as she tentatively but boldly broke in on my special time with God.
Now hear me, I’m compassionate. I feel people’s pain. I do care, and I vote with my feet by going and giving, crying and caring. But I still thought: “Oh God, please, can’t she just leave us alone together? I’ve had enough! Of course she’s in need, but there are thousands of people in need. I can’t give to everyone. Surely I can tell her to go away?”
“No, give her a chance, just a few minutes, listen to her story, give her some dignity.”
So I did. Sam told me she was feeling terrible. She’d just gone for an AIDS test, to confirm the almost inevitable. She’d already been kicked out of her family and is 4-months pregnant through a boyfriend who loves her but wants her to have an abortion. She talked of a wound that would never heal, and eventually showed it to me. It was disgusting! She peeled back her trouser leg to reveal an oozing puss-filled mess from above her ankle to below her knee. She could hardly walk. She’d had a motorbike accident the previous week, her back was sore, and she wanted to do an ultrasound to see if the baby was still alive.
Apart from feeling angry that my precious time with God had been interrupted, a number of other thoughts were going through my mind. I was asking God whilst she spoke if He wanted me to intervene. Or should I just pray for her? That’s what I wanted to do, because then I could get back to my prayer time. But then I thought of one of my sermons last summer, which included the true story of a pastor who was too busy for a homeless lady who’d asked him to help her, so he fobbed her off with a promise to pray for her instead. She wrote this poem and gave it to a local Shelter officer:
I was hungry, And you formed a humanities group to discuss my hunger.
I was imprisoned, And you crept off quietly to your chapel and prayed for my release.
I was naked, And in your mind you debated the morality of my appearance.
I was sick, And you knelt and thanked God for your health.
I was homeless, And you preached a sermon on the spiritual shelter of the love of God.
I was lonely, And you left me alone to pray for me.
You seem so holy, so close to God
But I am still very hungry – and lonely – and cold.
Ouch! So, Simon, are you going to practice what you preach?
“She’s my daughter, Simon, in obvious pain, in a worse state than you’ve ever been, and all she’s asking for is $10.”
She carried on pouring out her woes. I carried on thinking as she spoke. She’s messed up. It’s her own fault. She shouldn’t have got herself pregnant. Why didn’t she use a condom at the very least, especially if she has AIDS? That baby’s going to be born into a hell of a life. How irresponsible! She’s reaping what she sowed. I’m sorry, but we’re all responsible for our actions…
“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”
Did you stay chaste until you got married, or are you still a virgin, waiting to get married? If so, well done! I mean it. That’s truly special.
But for most of us, there’s no way we can cast the first stone. I can’t. All it takes is one time, to get pregnant or to catch AIDS…
It could have been me. It could have been you.
But it’s not, thank God.
At least Sam wants to keep the baby, although she’s being pressured to have an abortion. She’s a victim in this – yes, she’s guilty before a holy God, as we all are – but right now she needs love, dignity, acceptance.
I asked if I could pray with her, and shared the love and hope of Jesus. She didn’t need to be told she was a sinner. She did need to know that it wasn’t too late for her to turn. She decided to turn, and repeated a prayer after me. Maybe it was just to please me. I hope not. God knows. That’s between the two of them.
I gave her $10. I wanted to cry, but settled for a sad sigh.
So can we agree to pray about this?
- for Sam, that when she comes back to see me tomorrow, she’ll be able to tell me she’s not got AIDS, she’s embracing a fresh start with Jesus, the baby’s still alive and kicking, and that her story will have a redemptive ending.
- for me, that God would forgive my bad attitude, that my heart will remain soft, and that I’ll be Jesus’ hands and feet out here in Burundi, rather than just talking a good game.
- for you – what should we pray? Be assured that however hard you have been squeezed by the credit crunch, things are not that bad. It’s a question of perspective. You’re still probably near the top of the pile; you’ve just allowed yourself to be deceived into thinking that so many luxuries in your life are needs.
We can’t change the millions of Sams, but we can all do our bit. Will you do your bit, will you care in a way that costs you? As God has made us in his image, have we gone and returned the favour? Maybe there’s some serious repenting we need to do…
But as Christmas approaches, it’s not too late to choose to believe – maybe for the first time – in the radical incarnate message of Jesus, rather than being sucked into the consumerist lie. And not just to believe it’s true, but to act out the truth of that belief. Not out of guilt, but out of gratitude. He did so much for me, I’m thrilled to be his. Sign me up! The Christmas story involves scars, not bumper stickers or slogans.
I said at the start I was feeling raw, so there’s the raw challenge. Your call. I’ll pray for you as you pray for me.
Here’s to Christmas scars, from the stable to the cross, or wherever our journey with him leads us,
Simon Guillebaud
Great Lakes Outreach
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