Balcony

I would have raised an eyebrow, too, if my children came home from school telling me that their classes had been to a local house of worship for activities, especially if that place's faith tradition had a reputation of doing things like burning the holy book of my faith. So I was glad when the women, clad in headscarves as a way of showing respect to God, came in with their daughters' classes.

They stayed with their daughters' groups throughout the event as we taught peacemaking skills and better ways to get along with one another as we share this planet.

As it happened, that day's staff also included many nursing students from a nearby university who were earning hours in community engagement. By their dress, it was clear to all that they were of the Jewish tradition.

So there, in a the balcony of a little church in an overlooked inner-city neighborhood, practicing Christians, Muslims, and Jews came together for a couple of hours to teach their kids how to live more at peace with one another.

I don't think what happened in the balcony of the church that day happened too many other places on the planet that year. For a few minutes at least, long histories of swords, guns, bombs, and bloodshed were replaced with crayons, jigsaw puzzles, puppets, and laughter as our mutual faith-filled hope for a better world was shared together by teaching kids the ways of peace.

So I have to wonder what other seemingly obscure places peace might be being birthed for a new generation. I shouldn't be surprised, really, that hope for the world might start in such an odd place. After all, I worship a God whose incarnation began in a stable in a small town in Judea.

Thank you, Lord, for letting us witness You in ways we could not have imagined.

Open

I kept the front door open while I was doing some work at the church. I let in some fresh air and hoped people would stop by and visit. So he felt quite comfortable when he came in to just pull up a chair and chat.

Him, "Let me ask you a question."

Me, "Sure."

H - You and your wife (Pause) you're (Pause) married?

M - Yes

H - And you have a child together, right?

M - Yep.

(Pause)

H - and he was born (Pause) AFTER you were married?

M - That's right.

(Pause)

H - Well, who else do you have a child by?

M - No one else. Just her.

(Pause)

H - Well who else does she have a child by?

M - No one.

After another long pause and a perplexed look on his face, he continued this line of questioning.

This went on for about 45 minutes with more pauses for him to think and more perplexed facial expressions with each answer given.

In the middle of one line of questions he stood up, looked at me, shook his head, and without saying anything else wandered out into the night. The way I thought was too much for him to handle and he just had to leave.

Sometimes I have to put the Bible down and walk away into my own night, too. There are things in thee text that I've reviewed and studied and wrestled with. I've had long talks with God about them but mostly I just shake my head. After a while, though, I have to recognize that God's way of thinking is just so very different from mine and, from where I sit, it's just too much for me to handle.

It wasn't long after that evening's open door conversation that he and his mom moved across town and we lost track of each other.

So it was a real surprise when I parked my van in front of my house one Saturday afternoon about eight years later that I saw him riding his bike up my street.

"Remember me?" he asked as he pulled up beside me. I knew his face immediately and his name just a minute later. I asked what was going on in his life.

"I have a kid," he said. He grinned and held up his left hand as he said, "The mom and me, we're married." A gold band on his finger shown in the sunlight.

I don't know if those two conversations, eight years apart, had that much to do with each other. But the two together give me hope: not only hope for that kid and his family but hope for me, too.

Because it makes me wonder about my desire to better know the mind of God and the conversations and studies I've had to walk away from. I hope that they might be silently working in me and showing up in my life years later in ways I might not even remember or recognize.

And maybe when I run across those passages of scripture again they won't be quite as far out of my thought stream as when they first perplexed me. Maybe stepping away let them quietly work into the fibers of my being without me even really noticing.

Maybe not.

But there is hope.

Thank you, Lord, for not ever giving up on me.

Generations

After being cussed out by a dad who didn't appreciate the fact that his daughter had been in a church, much less that she participated often enough to earn a trip to the church's summer camp, I headed to the next house to try to get permission for another kid to spend a week at camp. On the short walk from one house to the next, I stopped on the corner to visit with some kids who had been to camp in the past. They were all dealing drugs and my visit slowed their commerce for a few minutes.

The futility of the situation didn't improve when the mom answered the door at the next kid's house. She was clearly strung out on heroin and nodded off as I talked with her.

Until she heard the word "camp," that is. Once that little word came out of my mouth she connected. Not with me, but I could see she was off in a different space than where heroin usually takes someone.

She turned to me and said, "When I was a kid I went to a camp with a church one summer. I want my kid to do that, too." She signed the forms.

It's so easy for me to get caught up in today. So much of life seems to be an exercise in banging my head against a wall followed by people complaining that I didn't bang it hard enough to do any good. And when I look only at today (and maybe the last couple of years) then I can only agree.

But that mom's lucid moment forced me to refocus through the eternal lens that disciples of Jesus are privileged to have. The woman's life was clearly a mess, but the faithfulness of the church of her childhood was opening doors for her son's future that might not have been otherwise open to him.

And when I can look through that lens I have just a bit of hope. That hope is not for today but for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I think of what could happen if Jesus' disciples will continue to surround and bless this family for generations to come. Is it possible that each generation could grow just a bit closer to Christ than the last? Could a family's testimony of growing in Christ from generation to generation empower disciples for generations to come?

When I look through that eternal lens, I can have some hope that the former campers who were dealing drugs that afternoon will not only let their kids come to church and go to camp but will encourage them to do so.

And I can hope that the girl whose dad cussed me out because she was in church got enough good seed planted in her so that she won't cuss out the pastor who comes by ten summers from now inviting her yet-to-be-born kids to a week of Vacation Bible School.

Because my God has plans for this world that are bigger than the span of my life. I get the privilege and responsibility of remaining faithful and being a blessing in this generation, trusting that other people of faith will build on those blessings in the generations to come.

Lord, let me see with Your eyes that I may see the worth You've put in each person and the hope You have for them and their descendants.