Dreams from the Lair of the City Bear

On this “Independance Day,” I’m asking myself: “Who do I really pledge my allianice to?”

This week I made the mistake of reading Amos, where I glimpsed how I unwittingly participate in and benefit froma corrupt, sinful world order based on violence greed, oppression, injustice, and hardened hearts.  I saw how, for the most part, the church in the West gets enough from the empire that they don’t want to give up their privildeges and perks in order to really follow Jesus.

As a pastor of a faith community, I am faced with at least two options:

Option A: Create a nice and groovy attractional church where people can come and gain a nice spiritual boost and consume religious goods and services.  People might even gain a sense of community, meaning, and purpose.  It could even by stylistic to the point of being cool!

Option B: Or I can create a community that is subversive.  This community would question  our culture’s values and allegiances and put us in a sort of countercultural Jesus boot camp.   It would ask us to let go of our comforts, challenge the consumerist and violent empire, and ask us to give total allegiance to Jesus and the kingdom of God.  This is certainly not “seeker sensitive!”

It’s kind of like the Matrix red pill/blue pill dilemma.  Do we really want to wake up to the world as it is–where we are assimilated into a violent, unjust, empire?  This is a very risky and radical decision.

I just started reading a book called, “Under the Overpass” by Mike Yankoski.  This book chronicles Mike’s adventure as a homeless person–by his own choice–in order to test his faith.  He did this after connecting with Paul’s words in Philippians 4:11-12: “I have learned what it means to be content in all circulstances, whether with everything or with nothing.”  With nothing?

I skimmed over a page where Mike is panhandling on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley–streets I walked many, many times.  I wonder–did I walk past Mike as he panhandled?  As he was testing whether or not he was a real Christian, I wonder–if I walked by Mike, would he experience me as a real Christian?

Once somebody asked Gandhi if he was a Christian.  He said, “Go ask the poor who the Christians are–they’ll tell you.”  As I walk past the poor and homeless I have to ask myself, would they say I am a Christian?  Jesus says that how we treat the hungry, homeless, and marginalized is how we treat him.  So how do I treat Jesus? 

Jesus calls me to a radical generosity of spirit, a love so deep and boundless! 

As I refocus myself in this new year, I’ve been revisiting some core elements of my life.  In particular, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the question, “What is a disciple of Jesus?”  I say I’m a disciple of Jesus, but what the hec does that mean?

A disciple might be described by the following: 

1) One who has an immediate experience of Jesus the Christ; 

2) One who intentionally participates in the community of God (a church, pilgrim band, small group, or other accountable set of relationships dedicated to Christ); 

3) One who persistently and eagerly grows in God’s Way (learning, shaping lifestyle, exploring the mysteries of God);  4) One who sacrificially serves in God’s mission to redeem the world (working, giving, witnessing); 5) One who daringly reaches out to strangers to grace (loving, compassion, risking).

(Thank you, Tom Bandy) 

Another simpler way of describing a disciple might be:

• A student and apprentice of Jesus;
• One who bears fruit by multiplying the ministry of Jesus Christ.

 The student studies Jesus to be knowledgeable about him.  The apprentice works along side Jesus to learn his trade (how to live).  When you put student and apprentice together, you might get the following: a disciple of Jesus is one who spends enough time with Jesus that he or she begins to live life to the fullest.  A disciple is more than someone who is like Jesus.  A disciple is one who, like Jesus, realized God’s potential for his or her life.

(Thank you, Bill Easum) 

What do you think? How would you describe what it means to be a disciple of Jesus?

Last month, shortly before Christmas, I heard news that a young man named Chris, eighteen-years-old, was hit and killed by a drunk driver as he rode his bike home from a friend’s house.  He was gay, and had just started hanging out at our church.  Chris was so full of spirit and enthusiasm.  He was planning on entering culinary school.

As I was preparing to leave the church one night, three goth friends of his were in the sanctuary, sitting quietly in the dark.   I introduced myself and asked if I could sit with them, and one of them motioned a sort of “sure–whatever.”  I sat with them, asked their names, etc, but they weren’t in the mood for much talking–words just don’t hold enough power to convey what emotions were in the room.  I just sat there with them, in silence,  not sure if I should go or stay.  I prayed silently for them.
About a half hour went by without anyone saying anything, until one of the three–a young goth man, started sobbing heavily, muttering something about being beyond forgiveness.  He began sharing a story quietly with me about growing up in Mexico City with abusive and alcoholic family.  One night, when he was about 13, he was asked to go to the local bar to get his uncle.
His uncle was known to be a violent drunk, and when the boy arrived his uncle was attacking people with a knife.  He tried to subdue his uncle, and the uncle turned on him.  Someone at the bar slipped him a knife, and, in self-defense he killed his uncle.  He was not brought up on charges or anything, but he knows the Bible says “Thou Shall Not Kill,” so he is sure that he is going to hell.  That’s why he has only worn black clothing from that day on.  He ran away from home and ended up here in California.  His sobbing continued.

He then shared that Chris was the only real friend he’s had since that incident.  The other two joined in as well, sharing that they were loners too, from broken and abusive homes, and Chris was the first real friend any of them had.  He reached out to the kids in school who were outcasts, and brought them together.  They became an odd band of outcast friends, and Chris was the glue that kept them all together.

I asked them what they knew about Jesus, and as they started telling me what they remember about Jesus, it dawned on them all that Chris had done a lot of what Jesus did–going to the outcasts, bringing them together in a funky, joyful community.  They also realized that if you add a “t” to Chris, you get “Christ.”  This helped them feel that Christ would care about them, that Jesus might be mourning with them.  It helped the one young man wonder if Christ might want to liberate him from his guilt and forgive him–after all, if Chris loved him, surely Jesus Christ probably would.

The dark sanctuary got quiet again.  Must have been about ten minutes of total silence.  Then one of the young goth women picked up a hymnal and started paging through it.  Then she started singing: “O Little Town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie; above they deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.” Another hymnal opened and we all joined in together: “Yet in thy dark streets shineth, the everlasting light; the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”

This was my Christmas gift this year. 

One night around one o’clock in the morning, while I was walking down Telegraph Ave in Berkeley, an old man on the other side flashed me a peace sign.  He was probably in his seventies or maybe even his eighties—it’s hard to tell because the street makes you look a lot older than you are.  He had a long, gnarly, white beard.  I waved back and he crossed the street to join me.  He said “My name is Darwin; do you believe in Jesus?”
At first I thought he was trying to engage in a witty Darwinism/Creationism debate; but I answered, “Yes, I am a follower of Jesus.�  Instead of debating me, he began telling me the problems he was having on the streets, how hard it was sleeping on the sidewalk at his age, and how he was afraid: earlier a police officer threatened to beat him.
As we continued talking, he began to get closer and closer to me, and he put his arm around my neck and drew me closer.  He was drunk.  Not only could I tell he had been drinking, but I could tell WHAT he had been drinking. His breath smelled like blackberry brandy, which he was spraying liberally in my face.  I was pulling away, feeling repulsed.  But then something changed within me.  An image of St. Francis flashed in my mind, an image of a story that is told about Francis meeting a leper along the road.  Well-known Franciscan friar and author, Murray Bodo, tells the story:
“All his life long he had panicked when he met a person with leprosy.  And then one day on the road below Assisi, he did one of those surprising things that only the power of Jesus’ Spirit could explain.  He reached out and touched such a one, the very sight of whom nauseated him.  He felt his knees playing tricks on him, and he was afraid he would not make it to the leper standing before him.  The odor of rotting flesh attacked all his senses as if he were smelling with his eyes and ears as well.  Tears began to slide down his cheeks because he thought he wouldn’t be able to do it; and as he began to lose composure, he had to literally leap at the man before him.  Trembling, he threw his arms around the leper’s neck and kissed his cheek.”
 
“Then, like the feeling he remembered when he first began to walk, he was happy and confident; he stood erect and calm and loved this man in his arms.  He wanted to hold him tighter but that would only be to satisfy himself now; and he was afraid to lose this newfound freedom.”
 
“He dropped his arms and smiled, and the man’s eyes twinkled back their recognition that Francis had received more than he had given.  In the silence of their gazing, neither man dropped his eyes, and Francis marveled that a leper’s eyes were hypnotically beautiful.”
 
Francis said of this experience, “what once was bitter to me became sweet.�  This was my experience with Darwin on the street that night.  My heart was opened and I felt deep and genuine love.  The old, gnarly, man was transformed in front of my eyes.  Inwardly, I was transformed.
We began walking around with our arms around each other.  When we were about to part company, about three in the morning, he took my face in his two hands, as a father would to his beloved son, and he kissed me on the cheek.
He asked me if I could see the Excalibur in the sidewalk—now it was three o’clock in the morning, so I didn’t have too much trouble seeing it!  I visualized the Excalibur in the sidewalk and told him, “Yes, I see it.â€?  He told me to try to pull it out of the sidewalk.  I grabbed the Excalibur with both hands and pulled it out of the sidewalk.  Darwin yelled in delight.  He then asked me if I would give him the sword and kneel on one knee.  I kneeled and he knighted me, touching the Excalibur gently to each shoulder.  He said, “I knight you ‘Sir Andrew, Protector of the Poor.’”
He then gave the sword back to me and said this: “You are holding the sword of God.  As you walk among the poor, you will attract the forces of evil.  But as long as you have possession of the sword of God, no harm will come.”

I left that night with the sword of God burning in my heart, commissioned and sent: Sir Andrew, Protector of the Poor.

I am a Chicago boy transplanted to the San Francisco Bay area.  I worked for several years as a recording engineer in both Chicago and in Berkeley (studio, performing arts, clubs). 

Jesus got a hold of me on the streets serving the urban poor and homeless.

I’ve been serving as a United Methodist pastor for about seven years now.  My wife and I have a seven-year-old son, three pomeranians, and a cat.  I am the alpha male of the pack. 

I love strong coffee, hot peppers, and drumming.

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