weeping and rejoicing

On Sunday a dear woman, Gladys, age 78 and mother of three, had a massive stroke at home. She was worshipping with us at Zion only an hour or two before.
The family spent a couple of days with her in the hospital, though she never regained consciousness. She died around 7:00 am on Tuesday morning. I was privileged, as Pastors and spiritual leaders often are, to be with her and her family in the days and hours before her death. The breadth of human emotion is expressed in a time of imminent mortality. We laughed and cried. And there was GOD's grace and mercy.
Then, Tuesday night I went to Vacation Bible school at Zion in Leola. Cherie and I are offering gathering music to welcome kids every night. It is fun and light-hearted and happy-clappy.
So, on Tuesday I spent time mourning with a family in mourning and rejoicing with a crowd of rejoicing kids and adults! What other job in the world is like this---with people in the midst of the ups and downs. It can feel like a roller coaster, schizophrenic, and I love it!

trailer park incarnation

This famous picture Of Jesus is not Jesus. Sorry everybody who has this picture hanging in your house somewhere. It's not Jesus. I saw Him last week.
On Thursday afternoon I decided to take some flyers to a couple of local trailer parks, inviting residents to our 1st clothing giveaway and community cookout. I went to Hilltop first. Its a nicer trailer park, modular home park south of Akron. Most of the units in this community are newer, nicer dwellings. I saw a few people outside and invited them, all said thanks.
Thenk I decided to drive over Steinmetz toward the Clark's neighborhood on Hurst. On my way, however, I noticed a few mobile homes I'd not noticed before. It is a small park with maybe twenty dwellings on Steinmetz in Akron. I walked through and distributed flyers. Most of the dwellings were in disrepair, older, and poorly maintained--I wuold call them glorified shacks. There were a few vehicles in the park. I saw two women, one with an infant son, and an older woman in her fifties or sixties. I admit that being there felt like I was in the third world. Broken glass, old vehicle parts, papers, trash, cigarette butts. After I finished distributing I saw a man behind me. He was taller than me and thin. He wore torn shorts and a t-shirt. He had long, dark hair and a beard that had a braid in it. He wore sunglasses and held a long stick that he spun like a weapon. He was an amputee, missing his right hand. He was smoking. I approached and said hi. He said hello. I asked if he received a flyer. For what, he asked. I said, from my church...he immediately said, "No. I'm not into organized religion." To which I responded, "Its just a cookout." "Yeah, I know," he said. I left. I quit distributing after that. I thought about that park, that guy, the condiions of poverty I perceived there. I wondered how detached and isolated the residents may be from the places, people, and things that might improve their situation. I judged them with pity, felt some anger about not knowing they were there, and wondered how to reach out to them. After my encounter with the guy I decided that some people are beyond my capacity to reach. I don't know how to relate there. I felt like an intruder, an invader, and an unwelcomed presence. I was not dressed in the clothes of organized religion, clergy garb. But the very thought of a church presence there was rejected by that guy.
The clothing giveaway came and went. Around 200 people were welcomed here to receive gifts of clothes and food. I didn't give a lot of thought to that guy.
Then, last night in bed after beign awakened by baby Eli for the night time change and feeding, I had an overwhelming feeling. I had the feeling that that guy in the park, the dirty, bearded, scary-looking amputee, was Jesus. And I can't shake it. I think he was Jesus. It isn't his appearance exactly, but the enitre brief encounter that stirs me. His opposition to "organized religion" raised my anxiety and caused me to keep moving. I didnt know how to respond to him. he cleary dismissed my invitation without even seeing what it was for. What if he was Jesus? Did I miss an opportunity to hear something important or to offer something to Him? Or am I being called back there even now by Jesus. And if so, how and in what way? Might I go there with Rodney and set up a table with hot cocoa or coffee or food or something? I don't know. But I was stirred last night by the image of this guy--this Jesus in the flesh of a man in a forgotten old trailer park in Akron. I know that I saw Jesus there. I think the message may be hidden in that very encounter. Maybe I am supposed to realize something about this context and about local poverty and the church's role in it. Could it be that orgnized religion is seen as elitist, exclusive, and dipassionate? Are we viewed as condescending, know-it-alls, who think we can fix the "problems" with a little money and annual benevolence?
I saw Jesus last week. And last night he came to me again to reveal himself to me in that park so that I might be changed by Him for Him for others for GOD.
I saw Jesus. Funny, the other week Jesus was a woman who came to me for prayer, money, and my cell phone at javateas too. Her name was Betty, a poor soul with an oversized black t-shirt that read, "Yay, God" on the front. Ask Mark Rutter about it.
Is part of discipleship to see Jesus everywhere, incarnated in the faces of random people we bump into on the way? Do we see Jesus often and am I only now becoming more attuned to His presence? It seems that the more I allow myself to be sent, the more I sense Jesus is sent to me. he's everywhere, but mostly in the person next door. May you come to see Jesus in the people you encounter, who are sent to you in the stranger you would have chosen to avoid, overlook, or dismiss. May you see Jesus in the person you might fear. I want to see Him again.