Loving Judas

About ten years ago, when I first started working with the homeless at a Nashville ministry, I met Leroy—an affable, strapping man whose smile lit up a room. He had spent years in prison for a violent crime (I never found out exactly what he’d done, nor did I really want to know). The ministry leaders gave him a dry place to stay. They entrusted him with some responsibility and offered him friendship. I looked forward to seeing him on the days I volunteered and welcomed him into my home for several holidays.

Then, one day, Leroy took off without so much as a goodbye. One day he was thriving, and the next—well, rumor had it that he’d been spotted under the Jefferson Street bridge, but no one could find him.

My heart broke that day. I didn’t yet understand that a broken heart is not such a bad thing.

Investing yourself in the lives of the addicted, the mentally unstable, the transient, and the chronically homeless is risky. Loving them is even riskier. Granted, loving anyone at all is risky—that’s why some people close themselves off and simply won’t do it—but the odds of being hurt are somewhat greater when the friend in question is at war with him- or herself.

Three years ago, when Manna Café was brand new, Kenny befriended a homeless man named Charlie. Kenny encouraged Charlie to drop by anytime and hired him for odd jobs around the Manna House to instill a sense of purpose and pride. One day, Charlie stopped showing up. On the same day, we discovered that someone had crawled into the Manna House window and made off with a computer.

Then there was Danny, who was such a talker that he’d converse with a lamppost if there were no humans around to listen. He was funny and eager to get involved with whatever was going on. He was one of those guys who drives you nutty and crawls right into your heart at the same time. We loved him. And then one day he stole a couple hundred dollars and spent it on drugs.

Then there’s the old veteran who shows up at our doorstep every year or so and brings laughter and affection into our lives—and who, after a few months, inevitably goes on a week-long bender and hops a bus to Lord-knows-where.

Sometimes these “high-risk” people steal from you. Sometimes they plunge back into their addictions or slide back into mental illness because they refuse to take their meds. Sometimes they land themselves back in jail.

It never gets easier, and it always leaves you wondering, “How could they do this? I’d have given them the shirt right off my back, so why did they steal from me? What did I do wrong? Why wasn’t my friendship enough?”

We can’t understand why someone would act so foolishly when we love them so much.

It’s a valid point. After all, no one has ever loved like Jesus loves, and yet look at the way we act. He gives us everything, and then we hop the next bus. When He went to the cross, He knew that much of humanity would reject Him and that even those of us who do love Him would continue to mess things up again and again and again. But He did it anyway, because He loved.

And think about what happened just before Calvary. Jesus picked up a towel, knelt down, and washed His disciples’ feet. Judas was one of the those disciples. In other words, Jesus took Judas’s dusty feet into His hands and washed them just hours before Judas double-crossed Him. Jesus shared His life with Judas, traveled and ate and laughed with him, and brought him into the inner circle, yet this didn’t keep Judas on the straight and narrow. Loving Judas wasn’t just risky, it was a guaranteed fail. But Jesus loved him anyway.

I don’t pretend to understand love like that. But I’ve experienced it a million times, because I am Judas. A million times, in small ways and big ways, I have broken faith with the One who loves me most. And therefore, even though it hurts—a lot—when I offer my heart and it’s ravaged, I’ll do it again.

And again.

And again.

  

   

The Nature of Grace

There are a variety of opinions in regard to the homeless, and most of us have heard (or even voiced) the following: They don't deserve a handout. No one is twisting their arms, forcing them to shoot up or buy another bottle. No one forced them to leave their families to go live under a bridge somewhere.

Plenty of people land on the street through little or no fault of their own—yet it's also true that some are less than model citizens. I learned this early on. Five years ago, when Kenny and I were spending time in Tent City in Nashville, there was Howard, a sex offender. Then there was Sarah, a twenty-something girl who made money by posing for online porn photos. And there was Donny, who mentioned the first time I met him that he'd just finished a lengthy stint in prison. Within a month or so he ended up back to jail for allegedly threatening to remove a man’s head with a hacksaw. Every town, including Clarksville, has its Howards and Sarahs and Donnys. It's not uncommon to ask about one of our Tuesday or Thursday Cafe regulars only to be told, "He's back in jail, didn't ya hear?"

I love Kenny's point of view. He's convinced that if someone is capable of being a functioning member of society but chooses to live under a bridge, it's because he believes it's all he deserves, and therefore that person needs our acceptance even more than most. He needs to know that Jesus died for and loves him. And therefore, whatever the reason for a person's destitution, it's our job to feed, love, and welcome him.

Here's the crazy thing about grace: The model citizen doesn't deserve it more than the pedophile or the prostitute or the guy who sells drugs to 12-year-olds. This doesn't seem fair; surely Mother Theresa was at least a teeny bit more deserving than a repeat offender, right? Wrong. If grace were about fairness, it would cease to be grace.

One of the most liberating things you can do is acknowledge your own immense and imminent potential for sin. It will make you aware of God's grace like never before, and it will prompt you to give grace to others without measure. You'll look at the homeless man and see yourself looking back. You'll look in the mirror and see a thief. The person who lavishly loves others is the one who acknowledges, "I am the worst of sinners. I don't deserve Jesus. And yet He loves me, and sees me as perfect and beautiful."

One Woman's Prayer

This past week, Manna Cafe was given a card that was actually a birthday card to Jesus, with a monetary gift and a prayer inside:

"Dear Jesus, Happy birthday. You have been so good to me. I know we're not supposed to pay you back but I know you would want me to help the homeless and poor. I praise you and honor you forever."

There was also a note for Kenny:

"Brother Kenny: I'm so glad you're helping the homeless. I have two sons living under a bridge. Pray for them."

As a mom, I can barely imagine the pain of knowing my children were spending these frigid nights under a bridge in a distant city. But this woman has allowed God to transform her pain into a prayer and to create compassion and generosity from her suffering. She's learned that even though we can't "pay back" the kindness of God, we can pass it on.

How about you? How has God used your suffering to bring relief to someone else?  

Country

This is David, or--as most people call him--"Country." He saw me taking a few pictures one night as he passed by the dessert table, and he was more than willing to let me snap a photo of him.

"So tell me," I asked, "what do you like about Manna Cafe?"

Country didn't hesitate for a moment. "Well, I love Jesus, and He's puttin' this on!"

"That's the truth," I agreed. Heaven knows this thing is way bigger than Kenny is, way bigger than even our whole team.

Later, as Country was getting a second plate to take home with him, he flagged me down. "Gimme your hand," he said. I complied, and he proceeded to pray the Lord's Prayer for me.

"Wow," I said. "That's so cool that you just did that. I almost always talk to God just like you and I are talking, but today I specifically prayed the Lord's Prayer."

Country's eyeballs bugged out with intensity. "You should pray that prayer every single day!" he nearly hollered. "Every single day! I'm tellin' you what--God will answer you. He may not give you what you want, but He'll give you what you need, by golly Moses Andy!"

No kidding--that's what he said: by golly Moses Andy.

Here's a man who's often unsure where his next meal is coming from, yet he feels that God has given him what he needs. Proverbs 30:8 reads, "Give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread" (NIV). I love this verse because it suggests that American's definition of "enough"--i.e. four bedrooms, a stack of mutual funds, and sufficient clothing to go three months without doing laundry--is not necessarily heaven's definition of enough. 

Country has found contentment because he believes that God has blessed him with enough. We could all take a lesson from Country.

"He'll do it, He'll give you what you need, by golly Moses Andy!" 

Family life is a bit like a runny peach pie - not perfect but who's complaining? ~Robert Brault

Many of us are blessed to have blood relatives nearby, but some people have virtually no one. Recently, during a jail visit to one of our regulars, I asked, "Are there phone calls I can make for you--someone who needs to know you're in here?"


"Nope," my friend said. "There's no one to call."


Can you imagine suddenly being locked up and having absolutely no family to call? 


Yesterday, we had a combination birthday celebration/baby shower at the Manna House. Charles, who started coming to our mobile meals to eat almost two years ago, was at the party, because he's always at the Manna House these days, sweeping floors, singing songs, and washing dishes. As we all ate cake, he proudly showed me his name tag, which read "Manna Family Member" instead of "Volunteer."


"Ya'll are my family," he said.


"I'm so happy we're your family," I said, "but do you understand that you're our family, too?"


Charles was taken aback. "I am???"


"Of course you are. We're your family, and you're our family." Charles flashed a million-dollar smile and walked away with a bounce in his step.


That's the thing about serving others. You might think they need you--and to a point, of course it's true. But then one day you realize that your life has intertwined with theirs, and there's no "undoing" it. Even as you were becoming family to them, they were doing the same for you. They've taken up residence in your heart and you need them just as much as they need you.


And maybe even more so.

Volunteers and Vittles

Today's post is actually a repost that I ran across while tweaking some things on our website...

On July 24, 2010, Manna Café carried out its first Mobile Pantry with the help of some of the most selfless servants I've ever met. Here's the story of that event: 

Two and a half years ago, Kenny and I were using a borrowed utility wagon (in his words, a glorified little red wagon) to distribute muffins and bagels to the homeless folks in Tent City—the community of tent-dwellers who lived near the river until the flood of 2010 drove them out. This past Saturday, with the help of Fellowship Church and Second Harvest Food Bank, we gave away two trailer truckloads of food. That’s about 30 thousand pounds. Three hundred twenty-five families received everything from whole hams to peanut butter, pasta, bread, and organic veggies. Many families had more than four people per household, so if you do the math, you can safely assume that we touched about 1300 people that day. The enormity of it all made me both laugh and cry.

At around nine on Saturday morning, Kenny got the call that two food trucks were at Exit 11, ready for him to come meet them and show them the way to the church parking lot where the giveaway (officially called a Mobile Pantry) was to take place. Normally, a Mobile Pantry is allotted one tractor trailer of food, but Second Harvest had gone beyond the call of duty to ensure we had an abundance that day. My husband—who looks like the type of guy who might pinch someone’s head off their shoulders under the right circumstances but who’s actually a big softie—confessed that he couldn’t stop crying when he looked into his rearview mirror and saw those two tractor trailers following him. Meanwhile, the rest of the core team and I were at the church, along with a shockingly large group of ready and willing volunteers. The majority were from the host church, but more than a few were from elsewhere. I’d love to know just how many organizations and denominations were represented that day.

Watching the trucks pull into the lot was surreal. But there was little time for reverie; within minutes, the day had begun in earnest. Pallet upon pallet of food was rolled off the two trucks and lined up, assembly-line style, under a few tents meant to shade us from the sun. (It was predicted that the heat index would peak at 107 that afternoon.)

Volunteers jumped into gear. Later, Second Harvest would tell us that this was one of the best-organized Pantries they’d seen. As our assembly line was being sorted out, community folks--dozens and dozens of them--were gathering in droves to sign up for food boxes.

I’ve seen people unite in order to complete a task, but this event will always stand out in my memory. As the day progressed, people found their niches. Their gifts quickly surfaced. We barely had to ask for help before volunteers took on specific jobs—and sometimes we didn’t have to ask at all. Example: at one point, I went inside the building, where our guests were waiting to fill out their applications and receive a number. Behind the kitchen counter was a collection of adolescent girls, hurriedly placing cupcakes on dessert plates and pouring drinks. No doubt an adult got them started, perhaps suggesting that refreshments would be a great idea, but now the oldest person behind that counter looked about 13. Periodically, one of the girls announced from the microphone that anyone who was hungry should help him- or herself to granola, cupcakes, and juice. I stepped behind the counter to wash my hands and thank the girls, but they barely noticed me as one of them asked the others, “Where are the garbage bags? We need a garbage bag!” and the others happily fussed and fretted until the bags had been located.

Meanwhile, outside in the scorching heat, Pastor Charles, who fervently believes that faith is reflected by action in the community, was overjoyed at the scene. And Kenny was in hog heaven—euphoric at the prospect of distributing the mountains of food in front of him. He had mentally charted how things would play out: while volunteers divided up the food at each station (e.g., the canned veggie station), a dozen or so other volunteers would roll shopping carts down the assembly line, collecting a designated amount of food (adding up to a good 70 pounds or so per cart). Then they would each be assigned a guest and would carry the groceries to the guest’s car. For the next several hours, our assembly line volunteers happily performed this task, again and again and again, in the roaring sun.

These wonderful servants just blew me away all day long. They refused to take breaks, claiming “No, I’m fine!” whenever I encouraged them to sit for awhile. One particular woman purchased a dozen or so pizzas with which to feed all the volunteers. A petite, utterly adorable young woman played the part of bouncer, standing all day at the door to the building, directing our guests to their shopping cart volunteers: “Number 178? Right this way… Bob will push your cart to your car, just show him the way. God bless you!” Another volunteer helped hundreds of people fill out their applications, while a couple more sat at the door and personally greeted each guest upon arrival. Several gentlemen in particular acted like pushing shopping carts was the most exciting, delightful thing they’d ever done; I dare say their smiles grew wider as the day progressed and the heat index rose. One young woman who suffered from heat exhaustion two years ago valiantly pushed through her dread of sun exposure rather than miss out on the days’ mission. One of our core team shocked us all, morphing before our eyes into a natural leader; she filled in all the gaps, caught the vision of how things should play out, and understood the logistics as well as Kenny did. She proved so competent that she has since executed a Mobile Pantry with her own team.

I want so much to thank not only the key players of this first Mobile Pantry, but everyone who labored that day—an impossible task, as I didn’t catch all their names. In fact, at the peak of things, when Kenny asked if there were any guests who might be willing to jump in and help while waiting for their turn, we had a handful who readily agreed, and they worked as diligently as everyone else. One man joined the effort on his own, commenting that he and his wife had come to get food, but once he saw what was going on, he knew he was in it for the duration. He turned out to be one of our most cheerful, energetic grocery-cart-pushers.

At the end of the day, 325 families had received food. We were utterly spent, but the job was complete. I believe it’s safe to say that every person who was present that day was changed in some way.

The Book of Love

Back in early January I discovered that one of our Manna Cafe regulars, G, had landed in jail for forgery. G has no family--at least no one who claims him--so he hadn't yet received his "24-hour bag," i.e. the bag of essentials like bath towels and books that every inmate is allowed. So I gathered some things, including a bible, and dropped them off at the jail. 


A few days later, during my first visit to G, I quickly realized that conversation was going to be rough at times, and it's no wonder. He was profoundly depressed. I interact with a lot of broken, confused, hurting people, but G's story is one of the most heartbreaking, and now here he was in jail. To top it off, because of certain issues, he's considered high risk, and therefore he's completely isolated for 23 hours a day, with no communal meals, television, outdoor time, or any other diversion. 


Even so, G was reading his bible every day. He was clearly unfamiliar with it, so he was seeing it with fresh eyes, and he grew more animated as he talked about what he'd read. It was difficult to get through the list of names in the first chapter of Matthew, he said, but the rest of Matthew was pretty good.  


During each subsequent visit, G always mentioned his daily readings. This past weekend he reported, "I'm in Hebrews now. It's all about the heavenly temple. There was a tabernacle on earth, you know, a holy place with a Holy of Holies inside it, but Hebrews explains the heavenly temple and makes comparisons between the one on earth and the one in heaven." 


Wow, I thought. 


But that wasn't even the best of it. G had also been reading Romans. And, in the midst of depression, confusion, and loneliness, he had discovered what some people fail to discover in a lifetime: 


"Romans says a lot about faith . . . but what it's really talking about is love. There's so much about love in there."