One Song, Two Locations
There are five of us left, huddled around a propane fire circle in the middle
of the parking lot of the Radiant Inn—myself, Diane, and three of our
friends who live there.
This Tuesday before Christmas has been full and beautiful, starting with
time in the Family Room. Ten or so people crammed in the small space for
devotions, prayer, cookie decorating, and “shopping” in the store with
points they’d earned. Team members had bought individual Christmas gifts
for our friends. Was fun to see sparkling eyes at the gifts, sobering to
realize that they will get few if any gifts beyond this.
Then, out to the parking lot to set up heaters, a fire ring and chairs. Time for
Christmas carols, hot chocolate and s’mores. A taste of Christmas. Several
of our friends had never had s’mores. Watching them bite into melted
marshmallows and chocolate smooshed between graham crackers was an
exercise in watching ecstasy. A small thing in our world, a big thing in
theirs.
Our Tuesday night motel team shows up, joins us by the fire for the
activities. Late-arriving gifts are given, carols sung. Then the team heads
out, food in hand, to visit our friends at a half-dozen nearby motels,
showing up, loving our friends. A few of us stay by the fire to keep this
warm space available for a while.
Finally, just me, Diane, and our three friends. Two—Donna and Mike—had
been out earlier, left and returned. Another friend—Kenny—wandered out
from his room to see what was happening. Disappointed that we weren’t
grilling, he settled for a s’more and then ate graham crackers that he
toasted over the fire. That, and a sandwich I found in the Family Room,
was his food for the night.
Kenny asked if we could sing “The First Noel” and we did. Then, others
suggested songs, Christmas carols, songs of Jesus. We sang as best as
memory allowed. We even tried “The Little Drummer Boy,” struggling with
everything but the “Pa-rumpa-pum-pums”. We nailed those!
We sang “Silent Night,” another request. I look around the dark parking lot,
then at our friends around the fire, thinking about each of them and their
lives and journeys. Hard stuff for each, each growing step-by-step. I think
about 6 years of memories we have here at the Radiant. Both the dark of
the night and the light of the fire are symbolic. The light of Jesus into this
world, characterized by a thousand forms of darkness. Christmas living
through shared, small acts of love. Here, trying to give our friends a bit of a
“normal” experience of Christmas.
My mind slides back a week or so, singing “Silent Night” in a starkly
different world. Diane and I went to a Christmas Concert at a well-to-do,
comfortably middle to upper-middle class church in the burbs, back to the
world we inhabited for many years. We have friends and former
parishioners here. People here are comfortably well-off and highly
educated. It’s a good church—solid, Jesus-believing, Bible-teaching.
The night is beautiful, a choir and orchestra of 150 or so, some 800 of us
filling up the beautiful sanctuary. The music—a celebration of Jesus’
birth—is excellent and heart-felt. Mostly, the musicians perform and we
worship through listening. But there is one song we sing together, “Silent
Night.” I sing, but as in the parking lot of the Radiant, I look around. I see
the people in the pews, the beautiful sanctuary, feel the lovely, even
elegant evening. Then I think of Colfax and our friends.
The contrast is stark. There, successful-looking people, comfortable
surroundings, signs of wealth. Here on Colfax, no such signs of success,
comfort, or wealth. Just the harsh reality of multi-leveled poverty.
“Silent Night” feels different around a fire pit in a Colfax motel parking lot
than it does in a comfortable suburban church. Two different worlds,
separated by a meager 30 minute drive.
I hold these two worlds in my mind and heart, loving both, loving the people
in each, praying over all. I have many thoughts and questions about these
worlds and the gap between them. Dreams too about closing that gap. Stuff
for future blogs.
There are similarities between these worlds. People, as the saying goes,
are people. Created in the image of God, filled with the same hopes,
dreams, and fears. Sin, addiction, and mental illness are in both worlds.
More, both worlds need Jesus, need “Silent Night” and its haunting beauty.
Yet, as I hold all this in my heart, one of the deepest truths God has taught
me on this peculiar journey, moving from life in the burbs to life in the hood,
stands out: We—rich and poor alike—need each other.
That the poor need the rich we grasp quickly. Food, clothing, creative paths
out of poverty, active love, prayer, and financial help make a difference
here. We at JOC can only serve here because of the generosity of people
like yourself.
Less clear but equally important, this truth: We—the well-to-do—need the
poor. They have gifts to give us and lessons to teach us that help puncture
the bubble many of us live in. I have more thoughts on that than I can share
now, but I pray for you that God will use those on the margins to also bless
you, even as you seek to bless them.
Thank you for your love, prayers, and the many forms of support which
keeps us deep in this world. We need all of that. That said, let me
underscore that we do need your financial generosity. Our ministry
opportunities are endless but the limiting factor is often money. Not just for
the bigger dreams like the building project or the potential purchase of a
motel or two. But, more importantly right now, also the support to keep our
small staff able to pursue this work full time, leading the many volunteers
who also come and serve. If God puts it on your heart, we would love it if
you would consider a year-end gift. Details are below.
One song, two locations, one Jesus. Where might that lead each of us?
PS: Continue to pray for the sale of the building. We have one very
interested party at the moment. Pray for God’s direction and provision.
PPS: All names and some details changed to protect our friends.