Prayer Does Stuff

Last Sunday, I spent about an hour praying outside Oaks Cafe for the neighborhood. A few of the local boys were bored, so they hung out with me. They talked to me about scary movies. Then, as I continued to pray silently, they talked to one another about sports. At one point, I turned to one of the kids and asked, "You know why I pray?"

"No."

"Because it actually does stuff. If it didn't, I wouldn't waste my time."

That's the Bible answer, right? God actually listens to us when we talk to him -- divine-human communication being the first thing that happens in prayer. Abiding in the divine presence through Jesus' intercession. That's the first flabbergasting miracle.

But there's even more to prayer than that. Sometimes, God tells you to pray stuff and you can't really see much happening. On Sunday, I felt called to walk around North Troy for another hour. My mission: to softly say Jeremiah 29:11-13 over and over and over again as I walked to prophetically speak the heavenly reality of God's agenda into the place he's redeeming.

I know that probably sounds pretty weird to some of you. And I didn't see anything dramatic happen with my eyes. Just tried to be obedient because being obedient is never a waste of time. It's a way to show the Lord I love him.

Then, other times, you pray and you see God do stuff.

Yesterday was one of those days. I went on a prayer walk -- a stroll around the neighborhood, praying however I felt the Holy Spirit led me. I ended up beside an apartment where I heard a horrible, profanity-peppered screaming fight taking place. I stood there and prayed softly in my prayer language (because I wasn't sure how to pray). After perhaps five minutes, the screaming gave way to civil tones.

Then I heard someone say, "Excuse me. Are you waiting for someone?" It was a woman peering down at me from the second floor of the apartment building. I told her I was praying for the neighborhood and that I'd move on shortly.

"Could you pray for me?" she asked. "I've been through a lot."

I said I would. She gave me her name and said she was grieving the death of a friend -- that very day was the 5-year anniversary of the death. She smiled at me.

"Having you show up here today to pray is a real blessing," she said.

"I guess God's looking out for you," I said and smiled back.

Sometimes I see it. Sometimes I don't. But prayer does stuff.

Small Explosions of Beauty and Flame

"Do you want to see Jesus' crown of thorns? Come with me. I'll show you."

The kid asking this question isn't the most pious of our crew -- rarely wants to read Bible stories or pray. So, I was curious as to what he wanted to show us.

He lead a group of people outside the Cafe, turned right, and walked to the neighborhood park. He pointed to the fence. The top of it was laced with barbed wire. Jesus' crown of thorns, hidden in plain sight in North Central Troy.

Jesus' transfiguration was in a mountaintop blaze of glory, but his transfiguration of our hearts often seems visible only in a flash -- like lighting a match. If you look away at the right moment, you could miss it. If you're looking at the right moment, it is a small explosion of beauty and flame.

Last week, we were playing some baseball. One of our kids suddenly bounced onto his knees and dropped his head low. Then he looked up at me and half-asked, half-declared, "This is how God prays."

I thought for a moment, then remembered he'd watched a film version of Jesus' passion on Good Friday with us. "You mean the way Jesus prayed in the garden?" I asked. He nodded, looking at me with an indulgent expression that said, "Well, obviously."

Somehow, in the middle of the chaos of the ministry going on at Oaks, Jesus is becoming a reality in our peoples' lives. They are beginning to see Him in everyday things, amid the yelling and dog crap on the sidewalk and blowing potato chip bags and broken beer bottles and cop cars screaming past. They're seeing Jesus. They're thinking of Jesus.

The other day, a kid was being careless and hit one of our volunteers in the mouth -- not enough to draw blood, but enough to really hurt.

Now, full stop. The norm when you hit an adult: you run away. Why? The adult could scream at you. The adult could hit you. The adult may tell your parents, who could scream at you or hit you.

Instead, the kid immediately and sincerely said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." And the adult, being a Christian, chided the boy for being careless and then forgave him.

Don't look away, because this is a moment of beauty and flame. Because a boy who hurt someone didn't run. He's been around enough to know he can ask for forgiveness. And, it was granted.

Lord Jesus, only you can light these fires of transfiguration that I can see beginning to burn around me. May the grow ever brighter with your glory -- the Pascal glory of life coming out of death. Alleluia.

Prodigal update

A week ago, we asked you to pray for the young fella who broke our window at the Cafe -- that he'd own up to what he'd done and accept our forgiveness and invitation to get ice cream (see "The True Prodigal Son" entry below for more details).

Wanted to report back on the Lord's wonderful answer to your prayers. On Saturday, Hannah and I had a great talk with the young man in question. He owned up to what he'd done, we reconciled, and we shook hands.

On Sunday, we went out for pizza and ice cream with him and another one of his friends. We had a good chat -- just got to know one another better. The boys talked about typical stuff a lot of the time ... sports matches they've won or lost, gross-out injury stories, video games they've played, what girls are nice and/or cute.

And, they talked about shootings. One of the boys saw the body of a cousin immediately after he'd been shot to death over a rap video war on youtube. The other boy's father survived being shot nine times and killed his attackers in self-defense.

This violence is part of the fabric of our peoples' lives. In many ways, these kids understand the uncertainty and danger faced by people in much of the world better than I do -- including the uncertainty and danger that the people of God faced in Biblical times, throughout church history, and now. May the gospel of Christ speak into their lives as blazingly and hopefully today as it always has.

"O God, the author of peace and lover of concord, to know you is eternal life and to serve you is perfect freedom: Defend us, your humble servants, in all assaults of our enemies; that we, surely trusting in your defense, may not fear the power of any adversaries; through the might of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

The True Prodigal Son

This is a version of a sermon that I preached on Sunday. It draws heavily on something that happened at Oaks the previous week.

For those of you who don't know, I'm a missionary priest in Troy. We work in the inner city, mostly with children, in a pretty rough neighborhood. A lot of the ministry is done out of a diner that we reopened as a cafe and ministry center.

Last Friday, a group of boys got rowdy and very profane. They were throwing around racist and vulgar language, and a few of them began fighting in the street outside. My colleague, Mother Hannah, told the kids they weren't allowed in for the rest of the day.

To retaliate, they began throwing big chunks of ice at our windows, and one of them cracked. This is the same window we'd shelled out maybe $100 to fix very recently (it had a bullet hole in it previously, leftover from before we'd taken over the building).

Well, I was angry. I put on my big black coat and marched to the boys' parents' house, having two goals in mind. First, I was going to tell the exactly what their kids had done. Second, I was hoping to talk them into paying for part of the window replacement. Their mom wasn't home, so I left a note for her to call me.

So, here's the question: was there a problem with what I did? Wasn't I within my rights? Didn't I need to teach those boys that there are consequences for their actions? Don't I have a responsibility to be a good steward of the money entrusted to this ministry? Can I just let them walk all over me?

That night and the next day, I prayed about what to do. And I heard the Lord say this, "Christina, do you care about that window and your hurt pride, or do you care more about those boys?"

Because the boys live in the world of reaping what you sow. But, our Father doesn't play by those rules. His rules aren't fair. They're Kingdom rules -- overflowing with grace and mercy.

So the Lord told me, "Child, find a way to seek after those boys, not your own desire for payback." And Mother Hannah and I talked, and we figured out a way to approach the situation. We'll tell the boys next time we see them, "Whichever one of you who broke the window has to admit that you did it." (Because denial of wrongdoing -- absolute, unwavering denial despite the evidence -- is the norm in our community). "Until you admit what you did, you will not be allowed in the Cafe. And the moment you admit what you did, you'll be allowed back inside and completely forgiven -- not reparations or recriminations. In other words, your punishment lasts as long as you say it does. There's one condition of your being allowed back in -- you have to come out for ice cream with Mother Hannah and I so we can get to know you better."

So first, I'd ask that you pray for those kids and for that conversation, that they'd taste grace.

Secondly, why have I told all of you this story? It may be obvious that I was meditating on the gospel reading of the Prodigal Son as I was figuring out how to handle that pastorally. This gospel story is one of the most beloved in Scripture -- a moving account of the younger son falling away and his restoration by his gracious, loving father. I've heard a lot of commentators in recent years say this should be called the parable of the Gracious Father because it's all about him, and that's certainly true.

But here's the thing -- we all want to be the younger son in this story. And we are, in truth. We have all fallen away, and we need to feel our Father's embrace.

But despite what we want, I think we are more often the older son. That's us. Because who's the true prodigal by the end of this story? The older son -- standing in the dark, angry, refusing to enter into the celebration of his brother's new life.

And this is the good kid. The church kid. The kid who never did anything wrong. Who played by the rules.

That's who I was on Friday. I was just looking for what was due to me. But, that's not how the Father works.

And this begs the question: how often do good church people miss a chance -- as they're looking for something good and right that's due them -- to stop and say, "Father, what would you have me do? Can I set aside the broken window or whatever is fixating me and see a chance to pour your kingdom grace into a broken life?"

How many tax collectors and sinners to we put in second place behind our own agendas?

I've compiled a list of people I've heard Christians criticize over the years. This list is not exhaustive: black people, Roman Catholics, gay rights parade marchers, Tea Party members, environmentalists, atheists, Mormons, Jews, the media, Muslims, welfare moms, gun owners, drug addicts, politicians, conservatives, Mexicans and sex offenders.

Which of these people would Jesus refuse to sit and eat with? Which of these does the Father not look down the road for, long for, day after day?

The world should look at Christians and say, "Those Christians? They're crazy. They'll love anyone. They'll speak to anyone. They'll pray for anyone." We should be known for brave, reckless, extravagant love.

Do they say these things about us? They do not. And I'm not suggesting we compromise holiness or the truth revealed in Scripture. But, why do they not know we're Christians by our love?

I think we've failed. But this is Lent, a season of repentance, of turning toward new life.

And what will God do to us for our failure? He'll look into our eyes, with infinite love, and say, "Child, come inside. Rejoice with us."

St. Francis of Assisi tells a story that was important in his walk with the Lord. He used to hate lepers. Hated how they smelled. Hated how they looked. And God began to work on his heart and work on his heart. And, one day, he embraced and kissed a leper -- just as the Father embraced the younger son. And Francis found it was Jesus who he embraced.

What shall we do? Let us embrace the lepers in our lives, whoever they are.

And, when we come in from the fields doing what we hope is the Father's will, let us stop. Because the Father isn't in the house. He's outside, on the edge of the fields, gazing down the road. Let's stop, and stand by his side, and try to look where he's looking. Let's ask him, "Father, give me more of your heart to love and better eyes to see."

And let's watch with him and pray until every one of our brothers and sisters comes home.

In the name of God: the Father the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

"A Crown of Beauty"

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair...."

So many girls and women in our culture struggle with beauty. They measure their worth according to the world's standards, and they find themselves lacking. They begin to get a warped picture of themselves, seeing internal and external ugliness instead of the glory and beauty God has given them.

And I'm no exception. I've struggled to see beauty in myself, physically, mentally and spiritually. Jesus has done a great deal of healing in me in this area, and I know he will do more.

Some time back, I hit a wall when it came to ministering in Troy. I thought of Isaiah 61 -- the Scripture God used to call Hannah and I to this city (and part of which is quoted above). And I said, "Lord, this Scripture speaks of you restoring hope and beauty to your people. And I don't have hope for my future. I don't believe I have any beauty. How can you use a person like me to do your work in this city? Why have you called a despairing, broken woman to be your priest in this despairing, broken city? I'm just like Troy."

And then Jesus began to heal me. And give me hope for the future. And place a crown of beauty upon my head.

So I was right. I had nothing -- absolutely nothing -- to offer my people here. But Jesus is healing me. And, he will heal my city.

I look in the faces of the girls and women, the boys and men, as they walk the trash-strewn sidewalks. And I know they cannot see their God-created beauty. They don't know yet, but their days of ashes, mourning and despair are coming to an end.

A crown of beauty awaits them.

Peacemakers

Things are rough in North Troy. For several months, I have been pondering and praying about how to be a peacemaker in the constant fighting and chaos. Yesterday, I saw it. It was beautiful.

First of all, there is Boy 1 who we've been working with for close to a year now. He had anger management problems, demon problems, family craziness - you name it, he had it. A week and a half ago, I baptized this kid. It was a beautiful, miraculous thing. And he changed.

So, phase two of working with this kid is: how to love your neighbor and live like Jesus wants us to. He's not so sure about this bit. In his baptismal vows, this was the question that he answered, "Well, sometimes. Okay, yeah." But I think that yesterday, he had a taste of how that can be really good. He had an experience of peace instead of the war he expected.

He messes with other kids. He starts things, he insults people; he's a fighter. So Boy 2 is a new boy in the cafe recently, who is really sweet; his mother is a pastor somewhere. Incidentally she is also REALLY tall. She makes Christina look like a midget. I didn't know that Boy 1 had been messing with the new kid - I was busy stopping riots on the other side of the room and I can only assume that he was swearing at him or something. I didn't know anything about it until Boy 2 and his mother and a whole posse of other people came in. She is imposing, and everything went dead quiet. She asked who had been fighting with her boy. Boy 1 suddenly disappeared into the bathroom.

The room was full of Boy 1's cousins and siblings who immediately all started yelling about how Boy 2 had sworn at Boy 1 and he started it. His mom very firmly told them all that she didn't raise her son that way and that she is a pastor. Realizing that this tactic wasn't going to work, Boy 1's family turned on him, started yelling at him, and tried to drag him out to meet his doom - not unlike a lynch mob.

The way things work in our neighborhood is: if you mess with a kid enough to get his mother involved, it's BAD. She will chew you up one side and down the other, make sure you get whupped, and possibly get your mother involved, where you'll get it again. Or the mothers will go at it. I don't blame Boy 1 for hiding in the bathroom. Seems like appropriate personal safety protocol to me. However, this woman was just trying to teach her son about reconciliation - making peace while sticking up for him.

I made Boy 1 come out of the bathroom and he hid behind the little partition we have in front of the bathrooms. I told him over and over, "She's not mad. She just wants to talk to you." Finally, when Christina came over and said exactly what I had said, he agreed to a private meeting in the kitchen. So the four of us went back in the kitchen. Boy 2's mother told him she wasn't going to do anything to him and gave them both a little talk about how things happen, and we can agree to disagree and be civil to one another even if we're mad at each other.

Then she told her son to shake hands with Boy 1. I have never seen anyone so taken aback as Boy 1. It was an absolutely beautiful moment. He shook hands, and I suggested that he apologize to Boy 2 for their "misunderstanding." Without hesitation or irony (which is definitely a first), he said, "Sorry." And so did Boy 2.

I think he understood grace.

"Have patience with me, and I will pay you."

Note: We have a backlog of stories from Oaks of Righteousness that we wanted to share with you. This story is from a couple of months ago.

Friday nights in Advent took a turn for the crazy at Oaks. A rowdy group of boys began visiting. Their signature behavior included bullying girls and little kids, using profanity and vulgar language and throwing food around.

Eventually, we had to ask them to leave. They responded by going nuts. First they ran inside repeatedly and flicked the lights off. Next, they banged loudly on the windows. Finally, they began jumping up and down on parked cars. So, we called the cops. I saw one of the kids -- a 10-year-old -- on my trusty 2001 Honda Civic. He was standing on the roof and swinging around a tree branch like Conan the Barbarian.

Anyway, my hood was dented in. I prayed that night about how to reconcile with this kid when he came into Oaks the next day. He was often very hungry.

The morning before going in, the Lord convicted me of some heart issues. I was deeply humbled by the ugliness of my sin, and I was moved to repent and receive his forgiveness. And, through that, I knew how to talk to little Conan that afternoon.

When he came in, I explained I'd seen him on my car, and he'd damaged it. He looked utterly panicked. Then, I told him I wasn't going to press charges, but I needed to tell him why.

And I told the parable of the unforgiving servant from Matthew 18 -- the guy who owed a crippling debt and was forgiven by his merciful king. How that same guy failed to extend that mercy to a guy who owed him a comparative pittance. How the king heard of his cruelty and demanded payment of the debt after all.

So I told this kid I'm the guy who owes a crippling debt. I've done horrible things in my life, and Jesus is my king. He's forgiven it all. And if I don't forgive a little minor vandalism to my car, I am a very poor servant of my king, whom I love and serve and who commanded me to forgive.

This kid just stared at me. I wonder if he'd ever experienced grace before that. But I'd seen that look before at Oaks, and I will see it again.

It's the look of someone who, for an instant, tastes the Kingdom of Heaven.