Dear Friends,

By the time they reach my age, most inner-city missionaries are responsible for established ministries which require them to manage programs, supervise younger staff members, and raise lots of money.

Like it or not, they no longer have much time to delouse a mentally handicapped neighbor’s apartment, sit quietly with a now-destitute woman whose drug-dealing son was murdered the week before, wait in line to restore a kid’s library privileges, try to establish rapport with a twenty-something single mother of five who won’t stop watching daytime television long enough to look at you or change her babies’ diapers, taxi a few folks to the free clinic, talk gun control with a handful of young men who are armed and might be dangerous if they didn’t know you, and teach an innocent, malodorous and unparented ten year old how to successfully wipe his rear end.

I, on the other hand, had time to do all those things and more…just last week. None of it was planned very far in advance, either. In between emails, phone calls, and a few meetings about the abandoned church basement we want to renovate into our office and ministry space, all I had to do to make myself useful was walk out on the street with my eyes open. Marty doesn’t have to go even that far; kids just come to the front door looking for her to fix them a snack or watch them play in the backyard. For better and worse, our parishioners here – and their needs – are almost always available.

I will let you in on a secret: Most mornings I wake up feeling impossibly fortunate, like a man whose fondest dream has come true, because my primary job here is to creatively love my neighbors, and feeling sorry for everyone who has to punch a clock or answer to a boss. And most nights I lay in bed feeling physically exhausted and emotionally overwhelmed, my mind racing with too many people and their too many problems, and feeling envious of everyone whose job has more to do with clear expectations and less to do with love. Sounds crazy, no?

I will let you in on another secret: It may be a good thing that most older missionaries who have to raise lots of money don’t get to spend as much time with inner-city poor people as their younger staff members. Those youngsters, after all, are often so fortified by their certainty and so blinded by their guilt that they fail to understand how deeply – and sometimes permanently – other people can be broken. Their idealism makes it easier for them to be hopeful about changing lives, and their hopefulness makes it easier for their leaders to keep believing in their life-changing programs.

As genuinely transformative as some of those programs are – especially for those who serve – here again at street level my old eyes see past them, to people I know will never change in the ways we missionaries tend to value, whose lives are for the most part broken beyond repair, whose identities have been systematically drained of recognizably valuable characteristics. To invest yourself in someone with genuine potential is a joy, I think, especially in a place like Walnut Hills. Remove that potential, however, and the business of creatively loving your neighbor becomes less clear.

If I were still running a big evangelical organization, I might pretend I still see this-side-of-eternity potential in everybody, and I might not mention that my only real hope for some of my neighbors is God’s that-side-of-eternity grace for us all, which clearly will have more transformative work left to do on some of us than others, depending on how badly messed up by our own sins and the sins of others we still are when we get there. Instead, I’ll just admit that right now I’m earnestly trying to figure out how to love my most brutal and hopeless neighbors here without mixing in judgment, cynicism, self-righteousness, contempt, or any requirement or expectation of change or appreciation, and I’ll mention that, contrary to the lovely writings of Henri Nouwen, Mother Theresa, or even my old buddy Shane Claiborne, the closer we are the harder it gets.

In case you think I’m complaining, I promise you just the opposite is true. God, I’m so glad to be here, at this age, doing this kind of work along with my family, surrounded by dear friends and neighbors who can and are changing for the better, trying to change along with them, inspired by the enduring image of your love in Jesus, confident that you will forgive my evident (in this letter, for starters) failure to let your goodness guide me past my self, and buoyed by food, laughter, and other daily joys. Thank you for this second chance! Amen.Thank you too for this second chance, and most especially thank you who have been sending notes or gifts or both to help and encourage us to do what we’re doing, do more of it, and do it better. You are dear indeed, and our little fellowship is really feeling your love and support, and happily sharing it around the neighborhood.

Sincerely,

Bart

…since nobody comments.  No matter, I (and hopefully all of us working here eventually) need some place to record whats happening.  Like this:

Wednesday Marty and Karen took a family of kids for a peaceful day at the zoo…a few days later we heard those same kids screaming out of their windows as their grandmother beat one with a stick.  It’s a struggle.

Wednesday night a contractor came and told us that basement we want to make into our ministry space will cost about $10k - $15k…yikes!  Hmmm…do we go in another direction for now, or do we bite the bullet and go for it?

Thursday afternoon I shared lunch with a very cool 14 year old kid from up the street with real potential and a positive attitude…how incredibly refreshing was that?

Dinner on Thursday was very cool.  A recovering addict friend from Over the Rhine (Daryl Jackson) joined us and read some very cool poems about drugs and their consequences in a very cool way.  The biscuits and gravy were good, too.

Friday night I was summoned downstairs at about 10pm by a distraught, inebriated friend who had just been beaten up by some other women and thrown out into the street by her boyfriend.  A few hours later we had her squared away for the night, but the situation is ugly and I’m in the middle of it in a very weird way, becaue I’ve been trying to help her find a better place to live.  Now I’m praying for wisdom and hoping for a miracle.

Saturday I went to preach in a lovely, wealthy church outside of Columbes and struggled like crazy to connect my reality here with theirs in a way that would be helpful to them in their own journeys of faith. 

Gotta zoom!

So, a few weeks ago we realized two things: First, that lots of our kids had little or nothing going on this summer and, second, that we were in no position to organize a big outreach program on short notice. So, in keeping with our ’small is beautiful’ approach, we decided to pull together a week of group-building activities for about 15 of the kids we already know and love. Sort of like an in-town family vacation with a really big family.

Monday we went on a picnic to a park with a splash pool that the kids absolutely loved. We played kickball and read stories and goofed around in the water for hours. Big fun. Tuesday we did the art museum in the morning and the kids spent all afternoon outside, painting their own paintings based on what they saw. Those paintings were great, too! Wednesday we drove a few hours to a big park in Kentucky, where our friend Dan Thompson took us on great hikes over natural bridges and through creepy caves. The kids dug it and for some of them the long hike was a great accomplishment. Thursday we had our regular community dinner (with the adults) except this time we added the movie ‘Holes’ and a bunch of candy and popcorn afterwards, and Friday we finished with a serious pool party at the home of our friends the Clippards. Again, big fun.

Here’s the big thing: It wasn’t a program. We left at different times and changed plans on the fly and drove our own cars and didn’t have to discipline anybody in a way we wouldn’t have disciplined our own kids, who were part of the gang as well. The kids were relaxed because they were with people they treat like brothers and sisters anyway, there was lots of time for little chats and encouragements, and we all interacted in a way that left everyone feeling more connected. Sometimes, small really is beautiful.

Our friend Colin McCartney responded to our first letter with a  wonderful note saying he and his gang are doing the same kind of stuff in Toronto and were inspired by what’s happening here.  He followed it up a week later with this article about what is and isn’t a church that inspired us right back. 

I’ve got tons of good stories this week, but I’m not sure anyone’s found this site yet.  Holler back a comment or two and I’ll start giving the news.

OK, so it only took us a few weeks to learn how to post stuff on our own website…

During that time so many things have happened here in the neighborhood that it is hard to know where to start catching you up.  So…I won’t.  Maybe some of those stories will show up over the next few weeks, but I doubt it.  So much happens in a day here that I am beginning to understand why Jesus said not to worry about tomorrow, let alone yesterday.

Last night we had some special guests at our big dinner.  Joel Van Dyke, our old Philly friend who is now working in Guatemala with gang memebers in prison, Edwin Guzman, a no-English Nicaraguan who pastors a church of street people, and Biju Mathew, who worked with Marty and me at EAPE but now manages microloans for poor women in Chenai, India with Opportunity International, all of whom stopped in to see us on their way to other places.  They loved meeting our local friends and vice versa. 

We took prayer requests last night, among them 16 year-old Zachiah’s that God would help him get out of street life, Danny and Diana’s that their failing relationship would heal, Adam’s for the eye abrasion of his new girlfriend, and Pickett’s that he would show up at his family reunion in a truly positive, giving frame of mind. 

We also listened to little Majesty spirited acapella rendition of ‘My Girl’, which earned him a big ovation.  Bottom line:  A good time was had by all…and a lot of hugs were had by many.