things that don’t have faces

Besides that this may very well be my favorite sentence of all time, what an interesting thought that is.
Things that don’t have faces.

As an aside, it is cold. This morning when I got in my car, it was -13. Degrees. Fahrenheit. Given my personality it may not shock you to learn that I rarely check the weather. As such, I often leave the house wearing inappropriate footwear, and sometimes I walk out my back door in the morning and step into a winter wonderland when I didn’t even know it was supposed to snow. But on Sunday at the food pantry I had so many people alert me to the weather that this time I knew it was coming. One of the things I get to do at The Well is pray with people, and we prayed a lot this Sunday about the impending temperature drop. We prayed for jobs to come through so that they could afford a motel room for a couple of days, things like that. A mere 48 hours later, yesterday, I walked out of the gym and the sweat in my hair froze. It was at that moment I started to really worry about those who wouldn’t have a place to sleep when it was in the negative teens.

I haven’t worried much about this in the past – I have to admit that. It’s never bothered me to the extent that it did yesterday, anyway. And I felt like such a jerk, because it was the first day I worried about it, but it was far from the first time people had been homeless in subzero temperatures. I felt selfish and ignorant and hypocritical. But maybe it isn’t that I was a soulless human being before yesterday (fingers crossed). Maybe it’s just that this time when it struck me that people would be without homes in this disgusting cold, it didn’t just look like a special on the evening news, it looked like people I hugged and laughed with not two days ago. It’s not that I’ve never had compassion for people sleeping on the street, it’s just that now, homelessness has faces.

It’s sometimes hard to really understand things that are beyond the realm of our experience, because those things don’t yet have faces for us. It’s not that I don’t care or don’t see it before, it’s just a different, more wholehearted kind of care and sight after. Giving pain a face makes it realer. And when something gets real for us, I don’t think we need to be embarrassed because we didn’t get it before. It doesn’t mean we’re heartless, just so very human, so very limited. And I think in getting it, however late we feel we are, we get to experience firsthand the character of God.

I didn’t have much empathy for addiction until it had names and stories, until they were in my family, until I saw my own face in theirs. Maybe divorce is just a statistic until it happens to your best friend. If you come back from Africa and suddenly can’t talk about anything but, it doesn’t mean you’re going through an Africa Phase or that your concern is a fad. It’s that now, Africa has faces. Maybe you never felt the need to speak out against derogatory slurs until homosexuality was a friend you dearly loved and mentally handicapped was the sweet kid holding your hand tightly at Young Life camp. I didn’t often think about cancer until it bulldozed my family, and now even hearing the word hurts. And I didn’t pray much about people sleeping on the streets until sleeping on the streets had faces.

My stomach was in knots as I tried to pray over every name I could think of. But through the knots there was a whisper of truth: I didn’t need to know their names because Jesus knows their faces. God knows each of our faces. We are all faces, names, stories, children, and the knots that I feel over the twenty or so names I know is nothing compared to the love, compassion, and pain that Jesus feels for us and with us. God is so big, and Jesus is so personal that the smallness of it can almost seem counterintuitive. The Creator of the universe knows your face and my face and the faces of everyone I just mentioned and then some. The very hairs on our heads are numbered. If even just one of us is lost, he knows it, and he comes looking.

Maybe this whole face thing is another part of why we’re meant to be together, in community, doing life with one another and taking care of each other – so that we can catch a glimpse of the immensity of the  tenderness of God. When we feel the knots (that come, inevitably, with community), that’s Jesus. It’s a reminder that God is big enough to be powerful and small enough to be personal. What a lovely juxtaposition.

Let our hearts break for the things that break God’s heart. Let us see faces.

Here’s a link to Megan’s website:  http://auntmeggie.blogspot.com/

She’s a truly extraordinary writer.  Check her out.

The following was shared during church on January 9, 2011, by Mike Musselman, a volunteer at Wellspring.

“Hi. I’m Mike. And I’d like to invite you all to come to church with me today.

I take it from the looks on your faces that you think I’ve finally lost it. Mike, we’re in church, buddy. Look around.

Yeah, I know. This is church. Us, here, together. We’re the church.

But I’d like to encourage you to expand your vision of the church.

Almost two years ago, I got involved in the Compassions ministry here at Wellspring. Since then I’ve also joined the ministry’s Fishes ‘n’ Loaves team.

I’m not going to lie to you. This year in the Compassions ministry has been the one of the hardest of my life. I watched people climb up out of addiction and poverty and begin new lives only to see many I’ve come to love relapse and make painful, costly mistakes. And I get their first letter from the jailhouse. Worse, 140 homeless folks last year lost their lives on the street.

Its been hard to watch, humbling, and has me rethinking just about everything I believe.

I’ve been reminded of what God promised, through the prophet Ezekial, to a people who had abandoned the pursuit of justice for their own safety and comfort: “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.”

Stone hearts can’t be broken. But here in The Well and on the Fishes team, I’ve been given a new heart. And it’s been broken by the things that break God’s heart.

But you need to understand that this also has been the best year of my life. Stone hearts can’t love, either. But down in the Well and at Cushing Park with the Fisherfolk, I’ve fallen in love with some real people who I fully expect to be my friends for life.

I was there a year ago when my pal Kevin chose sobriety over a life of drinking on the streets and courageously turned himself in to the authorities on an outstanding warrant. I recently helped him move into his own place, paid for with his own money, the first place he could call his own in many years.

I saw my Fishes friend Jay take communion for the first time in forty years after going up on the mountain with Marked Men, and I got to celebrate with Jay and my friend, Sandé, at their baptisms.  And I’ll be there at the A.A. meeting tonight when Sandé gets her one-year sobriety chip — I wouldn’t miss that for the world.

I’ve watched my dear friends Marlene and Scott take their recovery to new levels by going back to school and not just survive, but get As. I was there as my pal Dirk not only recovered from addictions but also recovered a lost dream by pouring himself out sacrificially as the volunteer cook for Oasis and Fishes. As many of you know, he now has a paying gig as the chef at Café 180.  And I saw my friend Jeri start his new business as a painting contractor.

They’re all miracles. And I witnessed them.

Thing is, I’d have missed even meeting them if I’d just stayed here, in this room, assuming that this was all there was to church. I’d have missed the reward of walking with them as they came to believe that God does, indeed, love them. I’d have missed seeing them find new life. And I’ve have missed my own new life as well.

A wise teacher once said, “Love is spelled R-I-S-K.” I have come to believe that God is calling each of us to risk the possibility that there’s much more to church than you can see at 9:00 pr 10:35 on Sunday morning.

I don’t know what that will look like for you. I didn’t know what it would look like for me, either, when I took those first steps, two years ago, down the staircase to The Well. But I took the risk. It was so worth it.

You can, too. Come down. Meet the rest of your church in The Well, or visit the House of Prayer Englewood this afternoon at 3:00 to see your church’s Fisherfolk at work doing Winter in the Word. This spring, come hang out with Fishes at the park. Come and see.

Risk that much. You might find, as I did, that your new heart is there, waiting for you.”

Lately I’ve been thinking about sin management. For some reason, this has come up in a number of conversations, and the more I have thought about it, the more clarity I’ve gained about the effects of my spiritual upbringing (another blog for another time).  When I say “sin management” I’m referring to this idea about Christian living that we are to do certain things and not do certain other things and then we’re good.  Then we get a gold star and can begin freely judging anyone we see as lacking in their own ability to manage sin (pardon the blatant bitterness).  I suppose the idea is that by being so overly concerned about how we are acting we will somehow back into some kind of inward transformation. It seems that churches are filled with people that attempt to live out this skewed philosophy of faith. Churches are also filled with people who have mastered the art of ignoring the inner turmoil while slapping on a Sunday smile.

I decided a few weeks ago to talk about this at R@W and in my preparation I came across a video titled “Effective Sin Management”.  After listening to it for about a minute, I over-emphatically rolled my eyes and decided to just look up the scripture passage used to back this message.  It was Ephesians 5. Looking at this passage it seems like we ARE being told to do certain things and not do certain things.  It was good for me to see this because it reminded me of how multifaceted this living as a Jesus follower thing is.  Sin is real and we aren’t immune to it.  We are called to live a certain way and God delights in our obedience while our disobedience brings consequences. It is still natural for me to fall into the backwards thinking that if I manage everything properly on the outside, the inner Kenneth with somehow fix itself (and I wonder why I have anxiety issues…).  The problem is that this way of “living clean” is not enough.  It does not allow for vulnerability and transparency and leads down the road to legalism. This isn’t license to live like a Motley Crue roadie as long as we are “working on our stuff” (see Romans 6:1-2) but the inner brokenness HAS to be dealt with.

I like to think that people in the recovery community have a better perspective on this subject (as an aside, if you think that recovery is just about drugs, alcohol and so on, you are wrong.  We’ve all got out stuff and we all need recovery).  In my talk last Tuesday about this subject I used the example of the addiction tree (just try to follow along).  Since you can’t see my drawing from Tuesday, imagine if you can, me, as a young Bob Ross painting a picture for you of a large apple tree in an orchard. At the top of the tree you have the fruit which represents the drinking, the drugging, the sex, the anger, the materialism, the whatever it is for you.  The trunk of the tree is made up of the experiences and relationships that have led to the things previously listed as the fruit. Under the surface are the roots; fear, bitterness, resentment, hurt, etc.   Now, those of us in recovery are considered sober if we can cut off the top of our tree.  Sure it’s good not be involved in whatever action or emotion at the top of the tree, but it’s not enough.  Cut off the top and the top will grow back.  This is sin management.  The top of the tree, while important, can’t be the extent of our focus. Additionally, even if we can take a look into past relationships and situations and perhaps cut the tree at a lower point, we might more effectively deal with our addiction or compulsion, but the roots are still there to run wild in the orchard that is our life.  The goal of recovery is to uproot the tree. It is to bring those things under the surface into the light so that healing can occur and transformation can begin.  I encourage anyone reading this allow yourself some grace as you get honest with yourself and dig deeper into whatever is binding you and keeping you stuck.  Sin management won’t transform us but Christ will from the inside out.

Kenneth (I work here)

We have arrived at week 9 of our 10-week course with Jobs for Life.  Jobs for Life, http://www.jobsforlife.org/needs-solutions.htm, has proven to be a wonderful tool for life transformation, both for students and volunteers.  It’s been a joy seeing our students progress from mostly hopeless, sporadic job seekers to self-assured, persistent, and active job seekers.

Next week we hope to graduate 5 students from the Jobs for Life program.  These students are guaranteed an interview in a field they choose.  Our Business Relations Leader, Jason Nelson, has talked with dozens of companies and individuals in the community to secure these interviews and build relationships.  Last week, one of our students, Dan, found a full-time job working in construction.  He decided to go ahead and finish the Jobs for Life program, finding it valuable and also wanting finish with his mentor and fellow students.

We owe our volunteers a huge debt of gratitude: to Christy and Matt, our thoughtful and inspiring teachers; to our faithful mentors, Ed, Kristian, Colin, John, Susan, Brittany, Julie, Sarah, Erin, and Vince, our mentoring leader; to Resurrection Anglican Fellowship prayer team and Father Phil for faithful covering and lifting JFL to the Lord every week; to Jason, Brain and Chris for meeting employers and finding interviews.  You all are a blessing and we thank you for giving your time and yourself to seeing our students find jobs for life.

Earlier this week a family of three came in for help.  They were staying at the Lucky “U”, a low cost hotel on Broadway.  No need to say much more about that except the irony of the name juxtaposed with the circumstances.  They had one more night to stay there: no job, no money and waiting on a disability determination.  Although they had called every known agency available, no help was forthcoming.  Someone at the hotel told the mother, who had been in a domestic violence situation, that some help was available at Wellspring Church.  So, she ended up in my office that day.

We sat down and went through a list of Denver metro area resources, which from helping out other families in recent months has been of little help.  Agencies that previously had been able to provide hotel vouchers or had openings in housing programs were either full or were no longer providing help.  Additionally, the mother was trying to keep with her a 20-year-old son and his 18-year-old fiancé as well as an adolescent son, a family group that no housing program I know of would assist.  They would have to be split up if they wanted to receive help.  I had to speak this hard truth to the mom, after which she left abruptly.  Before leaving, the mother indicated she had no faith left, feeling God had abandoned her.

I was left feeling helpless, powerless.  It’s a fairly common feeling I have down here at the Well.  It’s not an entirely bad thing.  I think as Christians we often feel we have to do something to help.  As Americans, we think we can get in there and make things better.  But many of us don’t really want to change, or maybe have been battered and bruised into thinking we’re not worthy to have a better life or think maybe no one, least of all church people, are worth trusting anymore.  So working with people who come to The Well, I’ve had to bump up against overwhelming feelings of powerlessness, as well as my own resistance to change. But facing both my powerlessness and resistance drives me to Jesus. I remember its Jesus who saves us all, as well as the people I seek to “help.” At the Well, I have the privilege of helping create a safe space, with some amazing people, which hopefully becomes a place that encourages all of us to admit our powerlessness and resistances and come to Jesus.

I also talked with a guy named Kevin this week.  He’s been hanging around the Well for over 5 years, usually homeless and doing day labor here and there.  He recently achieved 60 days of sobriety for the first time in many, many years.  It was a big deal for him.  He called me and several other friends in our community to get some help on day 59.  He didn’t know if he could make it to 60 days.  All of his past regrets were flooding his mind and emotions and he could hardly see through the pain.  He made it to Day 60.   A few things were different this time that probably helped him stay sober.  First, he had a job.  A company had given him a chance and his sobriety coincided with the beginning of regular employment there.  Second, he had taken care of his legal problems earlier in the year and had nothing hanging over his head.  Third, he allowed himself to be loved and cared for by friends and people in the Wellspring community:  a mentor, Fishes & Loaves, The Well, Recovery at the Well and a host of individuals.  Finally, he turned to Jesus.  He knew he was powerless on his own to make it and sought his savior for help in his time of need.

I asked Kevin on day 59, had he ever asked for help to get to day 60 before. The answer was no.  But that day, I know of at least 3 people with whom he talked and prayed.  And now, day 90 is only a few days away.

Yes, we are powerless to make people or even ourselves grow or change.  But thanks be to God, he desires this growth more than we do.  When we turn to him, in the power of the Holy Spirit, he helps us and he helps us help each other grow.

“Where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.”

–Psalm 121:1 & 2

Welcome to the Well’s blog page!  This blog will be updated weekly by Julie and Kenneth with news, updates, and stories from the Well, Jobs for Life, and R@W.