Faith and Impudence

I was asked recently, "Is there anything you have asked God for that he has not given you?"

I thought about it for a minute and answered, "No."

Faith is knowing God. Faith is knowing God to be so good, so loving and so powerful that there is not a moment of hesitation in our thoughts that God may not do what we ask when we are aligned with his will. Faith is remembering and expecting.

I forget, and therefore, I doubt.

I need to share these stories of faith so that I do not forget, and so that we all can be encouraged in our faith when there are no visible signs of God at work. This is why God told Israel to celebrate all those festivals in Exodus and Leviticus and Deuteronomy: to remember who God is by celebrating what he has done.

Because there is nothing God has not given me that I have asked for - nothing hinders me except my own doubt and reluctance to throw myself all in and give up control. But faith remembers and gives control to God. And once faith remembers, it asks impudently. Faith makes outrageous requests, just like Jesus tells us to in Luke 11.

God can do anything. And when I ask, he gives. Simple as that. Not always as quickly as I would like, but he has never failed. So here is a list of remembrances that he has given me in the past 5 years:

- Permission to start the ministry in Troy
- Ordination
- A people in North Central
- A ministry partner - actually, many ministry partners
- The cafe building
- My cat came back after 2 weeks on the streets
- Money to quit my job and do ministry full time
- Friends
- Megablocks, etc.
- An altar
- A foosball table
- Finances for 4 years of ministry
- The middle-school girls
- The kid that I baptized
- An apartment
- A car
- Money to complete my STM degree
- The teenage boys in the park
- The adult community in North Central
- Beaver Cross scholarships for 10 kids
- Money for a new building to accommodate the growing ministry
- Now I am asking for the building

God has told us to ask for the city of Troy. I look at that list and wonder how I can think that is impossible. This blog exists so that we can all remember who God is. So, let's remember and ask. Boldly. Impudently. Without ceasing. And remembering the lavish, abundance of God's goodness to those who surrender to him.

[I thought I published this months ago, but apparently it never went through. Apologies]

North Troy is a neighborhood without fathers.

Amid the drugs, despair, poverty, gangs and anger, we constantly see children and teens who don't know the faithful, loving presence of a father in their lives.

So we tell them about The Father. The Good Father, who isn't like the fathers or mothers they've known. We tell them the story of the Prodigal Son enfolded in the Father's arms. We tell them so they can know the Father and become true fathers and mothers in the next generation.

There's a 7-year-old boy at Oaks who's preparing for baptism. His dad is in prison, and we see him struggle with turned-in anger and telling the truth. But, he has heard of The Father.

One Saturday during dinner, a few boys asked me why I always wear a crucifix. This little boy piped up, "I know why!"

I smiled at him. "Why?"

He said with beautiful confidence, "You wear it so you remember that God is your Real Father."

The Mentor is Mentored

Today, I team mentored a couple of boys from our neighborhood -- boys we've baptized at Oaks.

I had a teaching task ahead of me today -- these kids, a few times, have barged in and out of the Eucharist, interrupted everyone else's worship, and demanded communion. So the mentoring goal today was to teach them that worship is about honoring God and being fed by Word and Sacrament -- not just about the bread and wine isolated from everything else.

I began by saying, "You guys are baptized. Why did you get baptized?" I steeled myself to hear, "So we can drink the wine" -- a common initial motivation for the kids who request baptism.

Instead, their responses humbled me. "To have God live in me." "To follow Jesus."

Then I asked them to describe what we do in worship. Their answers: Pray. Eat the bread and wine. Sing praise to Jesus (here they sang a spontaneous medley of about five worship songs we do, including the Sanctus). Hear the Bible stories.

And did they know the Bible story about the bread and wine? They did -- it's about when Jesus was about to die. "It's Jesus' blood, the wine." "The bread is his body." And they pulled out our comic book Bibles and opened right to the story of the crucifixion. We talked about what it meant to remember him. And the point I wanted to make? It was made.

But my little brothers in Christ taught me today. I learned another lesson in perseverance.

Discouragement is a constant temptation in the ministry at Oaks. We work very hard, and we don't often see what the Lord is doing in the hearts of our people. It is tempting to think we're not making a difference. But the Lord condescends to my weak faith, and he sometimes gives me a morning like this morning -- to show me he's done more in the hearts of these two boys than I could ask or imagine.

Who but God can say what's he's done in the hearts of his people?

Is Jesus glorified when we only seem to be making burritos?

Sometimes, Oaks Cafe is nearly empty. We'll have five adult volunteers hanging out with two kids. But those times are getting more and more rare.

Yesterday afternoon, we had the opposite scenario. A couple of adult volunteers and 45 people (mostly kids) coming through our little building in a 2 1/2 hour period.

It was pandemonium. Little kids racing around and playing with toys. Teens congregated on the window sills, playfully trash talking and flirting and occasionally picking a real fight. A cluster of kids around a table with coloring books. And a roving army of kids of all ages, following us around and firing off questions: Why isn't my burrito done yet? Where's my brownie? Why won't you move jobs back to Friday instead of Wednesday? Why isn't there a hip hop concert tonight? Why haven't you put out more apples yet? Can I play the guitar?

And so on.

On days like this, I feel like a mish-mash of a cop, a day care worker and a short order cook. One moment I'm in the back, mixing more burrito filling together. The next, I'm getting someone a glass of water or saying, "Please watch your language" or wedging myself onto the window sill in between the teens to keep a small riot from breaking out. Some of the time, in my better moments, I'm quietly praying under my breath.

And I'll admit, I find myself asking: Why am I doing this again? Is Jesus visible in the middle of this madness? Where is the gospel being seen or heard in this place?

Yesterday, a teen who isn't in much answered this question for me. She shook her head and said, "How on earth do you do this? I couldn't. These kids are rude. They never say please or thank you."

And I said, with all my heart, "Only by the grace of God."

She said, "I guess. You gotta know Jesus to be able to do this."

And there it was. Jesus getting the glory, in the middle of the crazy. Doesn't that make an entire day worth it? And weren't there other moments -- little stolen moments when I managed to pat a kid on the shoulder, call them by name, ask how their day was?

And then there was the 5-minute prayer service at the end of the day, when 8 of us stayed behind to sing and hear a Bible story on Jesus searching for the 1 sheep in 99.

"He would look for the 1," one of the kids said with confidence. "He counts all of them to make sure he doesn't lose any, and he looks for any that get lost."

That he does.

Twerps

Every teenager has moments of being a twerp, right? When they repeat every word you say in a mocking tone. Or say, "Can I have a dollar?" exactly 587 times. Or giggle because you're so uncool. (Can't say I blame them for that last one).

We have a small army of preteen and teen boys who cycle in and out of twerpitude. And in our less patient moments, we have to remind ourselves -- God is crazy in love with this twerp. Jesus died for these twerps.

So last Sunday, Hannah and I were beginning to worship. I'd just finished praying the Collect for Purity, and a big group of these boys come cantering into the Cafe, looking ornery. Hannah reflexively launched into a rousing guitar setting of the Te Deum, and we both sang our hearts out.

And something crazy happened. The boys got quiet, and they sat down. At the end of the song, improbably, they clapped.

I invited them to worship with us. And they did -- all of them! They listened intently to Hannah's sermon on Zacchaeus "the snitch" and thief, now redeemed by Jesus' kindness and his repentance. And you could see a new realization in their faces -- "I could be redeemed. I could be a saint like this short little snitch became a saint. I have a choice."

At the communion invitation, a few of the boys loudly proclaimed they'd been baptized and that they wanted the bread and wine. I paused, then explained what the Sacrament means. Taking Jesus' living presence inside of you. Living a totally new life for him -- and dying to the old one. The boys looked serious, whispered, and then admitted they weren't ready to receive. They had something I've never seen in their faces before -- reverence for the holy.

To top it off, after communion the boys began asking questions about God. For 15 minutes. What's heaven like? What about hell? Is it true the devil used to be an angel? A lady once told me I was going to hell because I'm Muslim -- is that true? And so forth. It was astounding.

We ate dinner afterward with the boys, trash talking each other's NFL teams and generally bantering. And when they left, Hannah and I looked at one another in amazement and gratitude.

The Lord did it again -- overwhelming us with doing miraculous work in the hearts of the people around us. And he was good enough to let a couple of twerpy priests see him do it.

Reflections from the Defendant's Chair

Today, I accompanied one of my parishioners to court for an eviction hearing. Wore full black clericals and my collar and Franciscan crucifix. Got lots of stares.

My parishioner wasn't especially upset about going to court. She wanted to be evicted -- in the dizzying world of social services, she said eviction is one of the most effective methods to bring about a move to a different part of town that isn't an emergency. She went to court today quite willing to meet her landlord's request to get out -- she just asked to stay where she was for two weeks.

For her and her three kids, two weeks would make the difference between moving straight into her new place or moving temporarily into a shelter. She wanted to spare her kids that. So did I, so I went with her.

The landlord, who eyed me somewhat nervously, seemed like a decent guy who had no problems helping my parishioner out. He simply wanted legal backing to protect himself in case she stuck around past her grace period. I can't blame him.

Sitting in court today, watching case after case go before a straight-shooting, wise-cracking judge, several things occurred to me:

First, most of the folks sitting in the defendants' chairs were black, and most of the folks in the plaintiffs' chairs were white. At least half of those white people were attorneys.

Second, it was clear from the way the cases proceeded that some of the tenants were taking advantage of their landlords. In other cases, it seemed likely the landlords were allowing their tenants to live in lousy conditions. Some landlords extended a great deal of grace. Some wanted their tenants tossed out by the city marshal asap.

Third, as I anticipated sitting beside my parishioner in a defendant's chair, it occurred to me that I didn't want to. I even felt scared and embarrassed to sit there, although neither my comfort nor my good name were at stake. Why? Because the defendant's chair had a strong aura of guilt and powerlessness. And, I didn't want to sit in a seat with no power.

Fourth, I noticed, in a different way than I ever have, that my collar gave me a weird kind of power. The landlord was intimidated by me. The judge greeted me. People stared at me. And, my parishioner assured me, my silent presence helped make it possible for her kids to avoid the homeless shelter.

So, when the case was called, I marched my pious-looking self over to the seat with no power. And I thought, "This is the seat you deserved years ago, Christina. You drove drunk so many times in the past. You deserve the worst this seat can throw at you, and sheer mercy saved you."

And then I thought about Jesus. Sitting in the defendant's seat. Sitting in the seat with no power. Taking the worst it could throw at him.

The judge greeted me. "What church are you with, Reverend?"

"Jesus' church, sir."

"Well, yes. Which one?"

"The Episcopal Church, sir."

"One of many."

"Yes, your honor."

The thing a priest can't escape is -- no matter where we go -- we represent the church. And today, I got to represent the church by sitting in the seat with no power, and that was used for good. That gives me joy and satisfaction.

But -- more than anything -- sitting in that seat today made me love Jesus more.

"I'm scared to have God inside me"

Last Sunday as I read from Colossians, one of our Baptismal candidates (a 9-year-old boy) sidled up to Hannah and whispered that he might not get baptized that afternoon after all.

After some questions from Hannah, he admitted, "I'm scared to have God inside me."

So, he got it. Hannah explained that's not a bad thing.

On July 28, two kids died with Christ in the waters of the Hudson River, just a block and a half from Oaks Cafe, and arose to new life as children of the Father Almighty, filled with the Holy Spirit.

One of them, the boy, has been passionately drawn to the person and story of Jesus ever since I introduced them back in 2011 in Ingalls Park (see blog entry: http://oakstroy.blogspot.com/2011/10/aslan-is-on-move.html).

The other new child of God, a girl, has dozens of questions and a hunger to learn. During the Baptismal vows, in response to the question, "Do you promise to follow and obey (Jesus) as your Lord?", she smiled with a quiet peace beyond her years and said, "I promise."

Now these two young people belong forever to Jesus. But Sunday's baptisms did more than that. Here are two things we witnessed:

1. The Baptisms exposed and confronted a hatred between families.

Ironically, the family of one of the baptismal candidates has a strong dislike of the other family. Let's just say the word "dirty" was being thrown around as everyone sat down for worship. So, we bluntly told the offenders that they'd be asked to leave for the day if they couldn't keep their mouths shut.

And then, there was Hannah's sermon. She pointed out that Baptism is death -- death with Jesus in the waters, death to our sins -- and rising to life with Jesus and freedom. And it's adoption -- to be God's sons and daughters. And that means....

"You," she said, pointing at the boy, "and you," she said, pointing at the girl, "are going to be brother and sister."

There was a small uproar of protest. And Hannah continued, firmly, to insist upon this truth. When the kids pointed to a family member we'd baptized months back, Hannah smiled a little impishy and said, "Oh, he's already part of the family."

2. The Baptisms are a sign that God is making all things new in our city.

When Hannah and I first came to Troy, we walked around and prayed a lot. During our walks, we happened by the Hudson River and the little gravel beach littered with broken beer bottles and scraps of clothing.

We sat by the water and sang worship songs to God. We asked him to cleanse the beach spiritually of things that had gone before. We touched the water and asked him to cleanse it. We asked God to make it holy. And we prayed and believed that, one day, we'd baptize someone on that beach.

And we waited.

During Easter Vigil 2012, a group of about 20 Christians from different denominations marched to that same beach. We renewed our baptismal vows. We felt the spray of water from the river, flung by an aspergillum. We remembered our own baptisms.

And we waited.

The wait is over. We have seen, yet again, God bring his promises to pass.

And we wait. There is more to come.