Kum Ba Yah
April 27, 2006 
"I once heard the saying, "God comforts the disturbed and disturbs the comfortable." In my suburban comfort, I increasingly felt disturbed by God. I became very uncomfortable in the comfortable suburbs. The beautiful thing was my discomfort arose not from a cynical judgementalism but from a longing for something more. I did not want to settle for a life detached from the groaning of the slums or the beauty of plaiying in open fire hydrants and having block parties in the inner city. I wanted to see the community of Willow Creek shared with the lonely suffering masses that needed it so badly but would never make it to Barrington. The more I read the Bible, the more I felt my comfortable life interrupted." [Shane Claiborne, "the Irrestible Revolution"]
I really wish my experience had been the same. I remember working in downtown Toronto, and walking Yonge Street every day to and from the restaurant. There was a glut of beggars on the market then; they were everywhere. It felt like running a gauntlet, sometimes. You develop rules for yourself - don't make eye contact, walk along the curb, keep moving - as you attempt to pass the beggars with your emotions unscathed. It became easier to do with practice, and in the end, I'm sorry to say, they never got a cent from me. They never got acknowledgement that they existed, that they were human, that they mattered to God, or me, or anyone else, for that matter. Instead they received my contempt and scorn.
The poor were never discussed in church. I remember one particular Bible Chapel we briefly attended as a family, a tiny, wooden building with a rackety piano and creaky floorboards. We sweltered in June and shivered in January on hard wooden chairs; a tiny raft of faith kept afloat by one faithful servant of God and his family. It all seems so beautiful now. We never discussed God's love for the poor mostly because we were all poor together. Absent that exception, I don't know what to say. I never heard about God's love for the destitute and downtrodden, never heard the prophets cry out for justice. It wasn't in our Sunday School classes, it wasn't in the sermons, it wasn't in the music, it wasn't anywhere, and it certainly wasn't modelled.
None of this, however, excuses my adult way of insulated thinking, feeling, and living. The Mission has been a transformative experience, and now I find myself struggling to not be judgmental with those who don't 'get it'. That's not easy - I want to bellow and roar. And frankly, somebody needs to. There are problems inherent in the Mission's structure as well - no ministry is or can be perfect. But when I look at the way Christ lived and the way we live I have to wonder, is it really enough for the disciple to be as his master? Or have we become someone altogether different? We are hipsters and cool-cats and frauds - almost every one of us - as we soak in the radiated glory of ourselves, and I top the list. I have quite literally walked the streets downtown and wept, crying over what we've done to Jesus - and yet am fully aware that I'm not willing to give it all up for the very same Jesus.
When I look back on running that gauntlet of beggars on Yonge Street I can't help but wonder if it would have killed me to put a lousy quarter in every dirty, upturned ball cap and say hello. What would it have cost me? A couple of bucks a day - far less than what I spend at Starbucks for a latte. I know - there's lots of places for street people to get food and shelter, so 'should' I have done it? I don't know - the word 'should' carries a lot of baggage. But really, how much would it have hurt? How much could it possibly have cost? Why did I make a touch from Jesus' hand and a few healing words from his lips so hard to come by?
We all see ourselves walking along the road with Jesus, off to someplace else, busy for the kingdom, en route to a miracle. Few of us realize that we're the ones sitting at the side of the road, blind since birth. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to start hollering for Jesus to stop here. I'm ready - so ready - to feel his palms holding my face, to hear him ask what it is I really want.
Lord, I want to see.
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Reader Comments (15)
Paul
rhymes,
I hate when I see this in myself, but sadly, I often do and quickly look away or make excuses for myself.
When, I look at the abundance of need, it is overwhelming. And more than not knowing where to start, I believe that I'm afraid of not knowing where to stop.
Paul - Mostly I'm just trying to figure this stuff out as I go along.
Bill - I long for the day when all our hearts will be so filled with Christ's love that we can't help but wade into the morass surrounding us. A heart that is filled >with< God's love, however, is not always the same thing as a heart filled with love >for< God. I think this might be related to what you were saying earlier about people being in sync with God but not knowing it, but I haven't figured it out yet.(What can I say - you really got me thinking!)
grace - You are so very, very right. I'm beginning to think that the only "safe" way to practice whole-hearted grace and uncompromising love is in community, where the dynamic tensions inherent in multiple relationships who are striving to embrace a common meta-narrative...
Aww, fer cryin' out loud - why don't we just get some folks together and do stuff? (And maybe we could keep an eye on each other while we're at it)
I'm also in Toronto at a little bible chapel. Keep in touch
There are many "invisible disabilities", and even the able are only temporarily so, in this life.
As we consider changing churches (and we don't know for sure where we are to go yet) I keep thinking, "I just don't want to end up in a body that has no sense of local mission."
I'll play off JFK's words...Ask not what your church can do for you, but rather, ask what your church can do for your neighbor. That's where my heart is these days.
joanee - I know. Comforting thing is that it's a journey and not a test. (Doesn't always feel that way though, does it!)
Shawn - Nice to "meet" you! That Bible Chapel no longer exists - it was back in, ahem, the um, sixties. (Hey - I still look young!) Since then I've crossed a lot of denominational lines.
Julana - I've learned never to assume a guy at the Mission should be out working, just like that. Hidden disabilities can be powerful and yet remain - doh! - hidden. I don't know what else to say - in my life I've only had one experience of a person who was profoundly disabled and that was a'God moment' - so I surely don't 'get it' either. But it's so hard to not sound glib.
sparrow - The "fer cryin' out loud" was about me - I'm the worst one for talking - or writing - endlessly. I really feel there's a movement afoot in the body whereby people are longing - really longing - to connect with the world outside the church walls and all they need is leadership.
I read this and wonder why I write at all. You say what's on my heart better than I ever can.
I'm plain tired of playing church - and missing Jesus. I long for a way for the Gospel to become alive, not in us, but in me, so that I truly am an extention of His heart, His hands, His loving compassion.
Thank you - it seems so trite to say that, but thank you.
Back when I worked at a homeless shelter the temptation to righteous anger all the time at (as you say) those who didn't get it was too much for me - but I was in my 20s then. Now, when I'm in a sort of "second time around" on social justice in my 40s, it's a little easier to understand that I'm the blind beggar too - and to resist elevating the few glimpses I've had of what acting justly is into a standard to use against others....
Beth - I struggle with that righteous anger all the time. I glad Shane was like that in person - he seems very much full of joy and humour in his book. His writing is really very profound but has such an upbeat, happy and conversational tone - he's really quite extraordinary.