Being Led While Leading

7:57 am in the Skid Row area of downtown Los Angeles.

"My counsel is this: Live freely, animated and motivated by God's Spirit!" - Galatians 5:16, The Message

In my time as Hollywood city director, we had yet to welcome a weekend group to Hollywood until a small, 6-person team from Kingsburg ventured down from California's Central Valley this past Friday night. And technically, by DOOR Discover group standards, this wouldn't even qualify as a traditional weekend group, because they were only to stay for one night instead of two. During planning, I decided to ask some basic questions about what the group was seeking and prayerfully shape their experience around the answers I got back, as we had no actual protocol for how this should look.

The leader mentioned that they wanted to really spend time in fellowship and care for homeless individuals, and if we could find a service project that allowed for that, that would be best. During a typical workweek, no problem, that's what we're all about here in Hollywood. But in the few weeks leading up, I learned that it's actually quite tough to schedule with agencies on Saturdays. Either they are closed, or, they have been booked for months ahead of time. Ironic in a good way: that in a town known for it's exclusivity and red-carpet, velvet rope, A-list events with scores of people vying to get in, there are homeless shelters and related agencies that get so much interest from potential volunteers, they also have to turn many requests away. One way the face of God is revealed here in LA, amen!

But after digging around a bit, no pun intended, we found that a local homeless shelter had been wanting to join volunteers and residents in the kick-off of a community vegetable garden. And, in fact, our phone call helped to crystallize the event into actually happening. So that was set, and then the leader asked, two days before their arrival, if they might be able to sleep on Skid Row the night before. While I wouldn't send volunteers to sleep on the sidewalks, as they can be a very volatile place throughout the night, I had heard that one of the downtown missions in the heart of Skid Row allowed people to sleep on their roof while they were free to spend as much time as possible both with people congregating near the building and folks sheltering inside. Sounded like a good idea, though I had little awareness about how to prepare the group for exactly what to expect.

And that's where the title of this blog applies: for the first time in awhile, I actually felt more led than leading. The animated spirit of this group, the exuberance to gently meet with people and share God's love, in spirit more than in words, was infectious. Though I was stressed upon meeting them down in Skid Row, because it seemed like things might fall apart on account of misunderstandings or miscommunication on my part in the last-minute planning, turned into something quite peaceful, calm, and lovely. After eating dinner, praying, and talking some about our conceptions of the homeless versus the reality, we found out there was a young girl's birthday party going on, and they'd love to have some help celebrating and playing games with all the kids in the shelter. What an outpouring of the joy of God's spirit.

The next morning, over breakfast, I learned a little about the group, some elements of their youth and what they do for fun, and some elements of the deep and difficult challenges they've been through. And, in listening, I learned even more things about my own city. Apparently, there is a functioning Christian radio station in LA, (I had given up after years of fruitless searches). They taught me that, along with helping me to learn of other options for volunteers in the future, just because they were willing to serve, felt God calling them to act boldly and uncomfortably, and they asked the questions to make that happen.

Living freely. Living animatedly. Living for Jesus. The powerful blessing of that reminder. Amen.

Matthew

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Why "Tiny Advantage", by Kenna

Today I was playing basketball with one of the boys who came over to hangout. We were playing a fun game of him trying to make baskets as I was running after him trying to steal the ball. As we were playing, Wendy, one of my roommates, came running by and got the ball just as he was about to shoot it and stated, “I got the height advantage”. Soon after, the ball got knocked and Wendy and him went running for it and he proclaimed, “I got the speed advantage” as he got to the ball before Wendy. As we were playing, he was coming up with all different kinds of “advantages” that he had and the one he was most proud of was his “tiny advantage”. Later on that night I was reflecting on the day and that phrase, “tiny advantage” kept coming to mind. In a game of basketball, having the tiny advantage helps to get in the tight places and steal the ball almost unnoticed. Living where the community house is on Gregory Street, is also a “tiny advantage”. The community house to the neighborhood is a place for the kids to go and feel safe. It's a place where there are people who are interested in talking with you and playing games. It's a space to run around and you don’t have to be quiet. It's a place that older kids can go to and hang out without being questioned by the police. The community house is a place that the neighborhood comes together for holidays and parties. It is a place to connect. By being a dweller and being associated with the community house I have the “tiny advantage” of trust. By fostering this trust and showing that I am worthy of it, I am able to build connections and friendships with the kids and the neighbors and for this I am blessed.

To hear more from Kenna throughout her year of service, visit her blog, "Tiny Advantage," at www.kennakoch.blogspot.com

Death into Light

“Here's another way to put it: You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you?” – Matthew 5:14-16, The Message

On Saturday, or some would say Holy Saturday, I came upon a History Channel presentation on the supposed “real” face of Jesus. To be fair, they never claimed full accuracy, but the hour-long show featured the physicists, chemists, and other scientists using cutting-edge technology to 3-dimensionalize the image on the shroud of Turin and other alleged cloths used to wrap his body. What struck me most was not the “final” image, though it was indeed profound and poignantly beautiful. Rather, on this quest and throughout the program, they repeatedly displayed holographic images of Christ’s body in the tomb, complete with all the markings of torture and crucifixion. Holy Saturday has always troubled me with this strange emptiness. The idea that for a day in history, God (or I should technically say, a third of the trinity) was dead. Dead. Knowing that he would rise the next day always got me off the hook from actually accepting his death. Like, he was just “playing dead.”

But the images of a body in a tomb, whether it’s authentic to how it truly looked or not, finally hit home in my soul. There he was, wrapped in bloody cloths, lifeless and cold. I felt it: the pain, the emptiness, and the tragedy like I never had before. And all this from a History Channel show! What’s more, to see these scientists feel similar gravity along their journey was really incredible. After accounting for the fabric’s stretch and distortion from 2D to 3D, pointing out that the shroud is stained in a way that suggests light burned it from within (how cool is that?!, kind of literalizing Matthew 5:15), and matching blood stains to corresponding wounds, one scientist took the image in and held back tears, “it looks like a body after an horrific car accident.” He had to cut the taping of his segment short, overwhelmed with emotion.

Here’s what I trust: when you look for the face of God, you find it. Maybe not the literal image of God, but you find God’s countenance looking at you with love, grace, encouragement, and conviction. You find that God is indeed, facing you.

5846 Gregory is a wonderful and challenging place. It was built by various professionals and volunteers throughout the years, so there is not a sense of unifying design by most construction standards. What it lacks for in overall structural integrity (there are some light switches in the oddest of places, light fixtures that are really finicky, floorboards that are beginning to bend and bow), it makes up for in spiritual strength. On Thursday night, Alex, Will, Kenna, and I played games with neighborhood kids whose families hail from Mexico, El Salvador, Honduras, Dominican Republic, Guatemala. Shila, a PATH intern from Denmark, joined us, so it was literally an international gathering. For too long that evening, I got lost in fretting details like, “oh, we really need to repaint some of the windows; and, we need to get some help fixing the toilets, sinks, and lights….” But the laughter from the kids reminded me that the house is still alive, even in it’s less-than-glorious state. It’s a light in the neighborhood. It’s not a pot of gold, it’s not the answer to everything that plagues Hollywood, it’s not the Savior. But it’s an un-shrouded light, a place of loud fun, a place of basketball and soccer and card-games and gardening, a place of sweaty and dirty hope.

If scientists are discovering that Jesus’ cold and lifeless body miraculously leapt out of death in a blaze of light, then surely this little house with it’s many issues can still be transformed into a loving and nurturing place, even for the brief collection of moments our Dwellers are here every year. And surely we can see God’s face alive and well in that scene, this collective and growing body of servants, and that the searing light of new life is still shining and glowing.

Curtis comes back today. The community has been hurting without him, and is somewhat anxious about what it will mean when he comes back after such a long absence. I am hopeful that God can use it to teach us, stretch us, and help us eke out even more light upon each other and our neighbors. That’s what this Easter brought to me. Death is not the end of the story.

Matthew