Community of the Risen

I realize now why so many people in ministry burn out: they burn out. 

I have worked harder in this one week than I have in a long time, and on top of that I went to a concert on Sunday and I travel with the gospel choir on Sundays.  Basically, I have no day off. 

There is a reason that God called the sabbath holy.  Because we need rest to survive.

Today Cody came into camp.

Cody is a girl.

Her nephew was murdered on the Fourth of July.  Let freedom ring.

I don’t mean to spend all of the time talking on this blog about murder.  I know that it is a morbid subject, but I like to talk about life.  And here in Camden, murder is a part of life.  It is a thing that people around here have to get used to.  I’m not sure how they do it.  I mean murder is not like a baseball game, you don’t get used to murder.

Last night we walked in Philadelphia for the fourth of July. 

“Man, it is really starting to rain,” I said.

“Yeah,” Chelsea chimed in as well.

As if God himself had heard me, the rain began falling down hard after that Wet and sloppy we made our way down towards the fireworks.  We tried to find a starbucks to duck into out of the rain, but they had all closed early after the rain.

While we were walking I caught a conversation between Nina and Tony. 

Tony grew up in Camden. 

 ”I didn’t grow up in no religious family,” Tony told Nina.  “Church for me was sitting on the porch with my boys just talking about God.”

Nina listened intently. 

“I tried to find churches while I was going to college at Eastern.  I went to everything.  I went to straight-up Baptist churches and then pentecostal churches.  I tried everything.  But, I don’t know,” Tony paused.

“You just ain’t found one that’s right for you,” Nina interrupted.

“Yeah,” Tony said.  “You know, this one time.  My brother Albert and I, we’s sitting on the porch and he says, ‘I don’t believe in God.’”

“Really?” Nina said.

“Yeah, straight up, he was like, ‘There ain’t no God, and their ain’t no devil.  They just wicked people tryin’ to use the devil as an excuse for their evil actions.  And their ain’t no God, or places like Camden just wouldn’t exist.’”

I always appreciate honesty.  I appreciate people who don’t try to hold the world in their hands like they own it.  I like people who say how they feel, even if the feeling means they are uncomfortable with their surroundings.

“But, you know,” Tony went on.  “As we was sittin’ there in the rain, and Albert was cursing God, the rain stopped.  This ain’t no joke.  The rain stopped, and a rainbow came out in the sky.  And I pointed it out to Albert, and Albert just sat there staring.  You know, it’s the promise.  That story.  You know…”

“Yeah.  Noah’s ark,” I said.

“Yeah, Noah,” Tony responded.  “It’s the promise, and Albert never said anything like that again.”

“Can I get on your back,” Sam asked.

Sam is six years old, and he has half his teeth. The other half is still growing in.

Sam is in my group for Bible buddies, and we took them to the 7-eleven to get slurpees.

“Yes,” I answer. “You can get on back.”

We walk for while, and then I begin running pushing Sam up and down.

Sam screams in laughter.

“Do you like the turbulence?” I asked.

“What’s turbulence?” he asks innocently.

“Turbulence is when there is a lot of shaking, and bumpiness.”

I try to give Sammy words like turbulence to describe Camden. I realize later on that his story is much more turbulent than I had once imagined. As we are walking down the street on the way to 7-eleven he runs up to four scary looking guys. They were the type of people that my dad would not let me talk to when I was six years old.

“Pound it,” Sam says to one of the boys.

To my surprise the man does it with a smile. Then Sam gives the other three high fives. He comes back to me.

“That’s my brother,” he says.

“Oh really,” I say. “What does you dad do?”

“My dad is dead,” Sam says straight-faced.

“Oh really?” I say. I am not quite sure what to say.

“Yeah. He fell off the steps.”

I don’t know Sam, but I know Camden. His father did not fall off the steps, and I want to take the turbulence in Sam’s life, and take him home with me.

“What does you mom do,” I say. I was trying to change the subject.

He motioned to me to come down to his level so that he could whisper.

“My mom sells drugs,” he says softly.

Sam is six years old, and he has half his teeth. The other half is still growing in.

“I will shoot them,” said Christian holding a plastic play gun.  “I will kill them.”

We were playing a game in recreation, and he pulled it out of his pocket when things did not go the way he wanted them to go.

Christian is seven years old. 

His dad was murdered on the unforgiving streets of Camden.

And so today I think about Christian.  I think about the rage he has, about the struggles he will face in his future, and that if he graduates from high school it will be a miracle from God himself.  And that should not be a miracle. 

But beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and it would be beautiful to watch Christian grow up and become a member of society.  To most people in suburban America growing up and becoming a member of society is taken for granted.

“I can see how he would have so much rage,” my teammate Nick said.  “It seems like Camden creates it.” 

“Yeah,” I answered.  “It all seems so big.”

Yes.  Big.  I wonder if people realize that Camden is not the only place.  That there is 35,000 homeless people in San Francisco.  I wonder if people know that there are cities like this all over the United States.  I wonder if they would do anything about it. 

Last night we heard Tony Campolo, world famous for his Christian speaking and controversial subjects, suggested a church in Ocean City owed it to these kids to support them because Jesus Christ has chosen to give them so much.

“You owe it to these kids, just like I owe the people who helped my parents as Italian immigrants,” that is how Tony finished his sermon. 

And that is how I finish my thoughts.