Tuesday, February 12, 2008
So what happens now?
I don't have a good answer for this question. No matter how often it's asked of me. Many changes have occurred over the past few months that have put at a doorstep of uncertainty. 

So I'll share what I do know with certainty. Three and a half years ago I began the spiritual and academic journey of seminary. Back in December that journey ended, and I graduated with a Master of Divinity with an academic focus in Old Testament studies.

The plan of action following that has been application to four schools with Ph.D. programs in Ancient Near Eastern Studies or Hebrew Bible. I visited two campuses. One was a really great experience. One wasn't. The word from each of the programs is that March is the earliest I'll hear whether I'm accepted. There were also a pair of fellowships for which I also applied. 

In addition to all this paperwork, I also applied to be a probationary member of the Oklahoma Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church as a deacon. For the past three years I've been going through the process as a certified candidate for ministry. This is the next step, and a pretty big one. It involved distilling just about everything I learned in seminary in 50 pages. So, while school was finished in mid December, I didn't escape the pressure of producing until a little over a week ago.

So what happens now? Waiting. And more waiting. I'm not good at that, but for now I must practice it. In the meantime, I work full-time at the coffee shop, and I was just promoted to a supervisory role. You should come visit. Once the neighborhood thaws out a bit (last night there was about three inches of snow followed by ice and sleet), I hope to hit the streets, hopefully with camera in tow, ready to meet the neighbors and see where God is working in these streets of the Oh-5. 

I wrote about my first encounter with Joe several months back. Joe died of liver failure just after Christmas. He drank himself to death. It's a sad thing. He's not the first such casualty of this community, and far from the last.

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posted by Peter at 10:08 PM
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Thursday, October 18, 2007
An Oh-5 wedding

We celebrated a wedding in the Oh-5 last Friday. Becky and Charles got married. It's a really good story. And Aaron knows it better than I do.

Read his post "My Big Fat 05 Wedding."


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posted by Peter at 10:07 AM
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Sunday, October 14, 2007
Evangelizing Twelfth St



The other day I'm walking home from the bank. It was a breath-taking day. The first brisk, fall afternoon of the year. Nice to get some fresh air. The kind of air that makes your lungs catch just so.

I'm just about to Laura and Jessica's house when two young ladies cross the street and approach me. They're maybe late teenagers. Maybe a little older. They introduce themselves as Rose and Miranda. Rose does all the talking. "If you were to die today, do you know where you would go?" I'm not really sure she caught my name. I hadn't been feeling too great all day, so I wasn't at my smart-ass sharpest. Then again, that could have gotten me into some real trouble.

She asks what I would tell God when he asked why He should let me into heaven. I try my hardest to explain that me and Jesus have been pals for a while. I go to The Rock right around the corner. I don't play the seminary card thinking that might label as the worst kind of pagan. She's not really listening to anything I say anyhow. She whips out a New Testament (that could have got me really going, now that I think about it), pointing to the Romans Road verses that are highlighted in blue. I'm chomping at the bit to ask if she's read the whole book, that chapters 8 and 12 are my favorites. But she probably wouldn't have heard me anyway. I'm such a jerk. She goes to great efforts trying to explain to me what the word "gift" means, that I don't have to do anything for it. She talks at me for maybe 10 minutes.

There was a lot I wanted to say. Honestly, not all of it mean, either. I've been doing a lot of reading about evangelism lately and thinking about what it means in this place. But they really weren't interested in a conversation. They sped through their presentation and handed me a flier about their Baptist church and said I should come. Chica, I told you I already go to church. I asked where the church was. "Oh, it's on Winchester Rd right around the corner." Seriously, that's not very close at all. I wouldn't be able to walk there. And then they were off.

Sometimes I'm cranky and Christians piss me off. I confess that. I was feeling pretty territorial about all this. They didn't want to hear that I knew God, that I moved to this street to meet Him and serve Him and hang out with Him amidst the characters of this street. Why didn't they want to listen? Why is their punchline for me to come to their particular Sunday gathering? Do they really want to know the street? Do they really want to know what God is stirring up?

They went on down one side of the street. I noticed another guy knocking on doors down my side of the street with two little tikes in tow. They left a tract in the door of the vacant duplex next to ours--"How to Get to Heaven from Kentucky."

The irony was pretty thick. And they had no idea. This is definitely going in my research paper on evangelism in the Oh-5.

And Christ, give me mercy for the next time I meet someone who won't listen to me.

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posted by Peter at 11:25 PM
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Monday, October 01, 2007
Pastor as ward heeler
From Blue Collar Ministry by Tex Sample:

The key to the power of the political machine was the ward heeler, the person who had a thoroughgoing knowledge of the ward. The ward heeler knew who needed a half ton of coal, who needed a job, who needed help with a hospital bill, or whose taxes were overdue, and so on. The ward heeler knew where the trade-offs were and where a bargain could be struck that would meet the needs of disparate parties and turn them into a coalition.
...
First, it is a role that can work in the complex relationships found in church and community.... Second, when properly conceived and practiced, it addresses the question of dignity in the relationships between pastors and working-class people (134-35).
Makes me think of Karl Malden's priest character in On the Waterfront, in one of my favorite all-time scenes in a movie.

Aaron's got me reading some Tex for my independent study. Tex spends about two-thirds of this book just describing the social framework of working-class white people. And at about this point he's got this great chapter about the role of pastor as "ward heeler." It has historic precedent in the 19th and early 20th centuries when politicians would work the streets to gain peoples' favor in exchange for votes. It may sound crass on the surface, but the process of quid pro quo and the idea of reciprocity are hard-wired into people.

For many of us, we've forgotten ministry is a two-way street. To give and give and give and never let the "poor and needy" give to us robs them of some of their imago Dei human dignity. I mean, think of the quid pro quo of the cross. Is that manipulation? Jesus died with an agenda. So we love God because he first loved us.

And so maybe one day the world will love the Church because it sees the Church, the bride of Christ, acting on behalf of Jesus, first loving the world.

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posted by Peter at 6:32 AM
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Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Jesus of the O.5.

Aaron introduced me to Jesus last week. It seems Jesus has taken up residence in a dilapidated blue trailer back behind the church. At first look, Jesus looks like Sawyer from Lost, but only if Sawyer just stepped out of a downtown soup line instead GQ. He has that squinty-I-could-charmingly-con-you-if-I-wanted-to look. When he opens his mouth, he sounds like Lawrence from Office Space, but only if Lawrence had a dark, menacing streak you don’t want to mess with. In one hand Jesus nurses a bottle wrapped in a paper sack, while with the other he dabs with a tissue at the blood leaking from his knee. Every so often Jesus lifts up the bottle, closes one eye and peers down the neck of the bottle. Maybe he lost something down there. He’s sitting in a white plastic lawn chair.

It seems like every portrait I’ve seen of Jesus, he’s got fair skin and flowing blonde hair. Something is lost in translation because as I stand here in front of him, he’s got an unkempt Kentucky mullet. His face looks like its seen its fair share of fists. He’s missing some teeth on right side of his smile. His own fists are pretty big and look like they could go through the wall of that trailer. And maybe they have.

Jesus’ brother had gotten caught up in the riptide that is the Monday night mercy ministries at the church. This is how Aaron knows Jesus. Jesus’ brother was a tough nut to crack. Aaron and Jesus’ brother went toe-to-toe a couple times. Living on the streets makes you tough, so I hear. Real tough. But Jesus’ brother died a couple months back. Jesus thinks he was about 42. Jesus talks rather lovingly about his brother. Like about the time he broke his brother’s shoulder. And how his brother broke Jesus’ shoulder and busted out his teeth. Or about the time some dude stole his brother’s blanket so Jesus’ brother doused him in gasoline and set him fire and watched him run down the hill in flames.

Jesus’ old lady steps outside the door of the trailer. I do a double take as she’s wearing an ivory-colored business suit with gold buttons and she’s barefoot. “See the angel pin I found?” She’s grinning ear-to-ear and points to the lapel of the suit. The shoulder pads give her petite frame a very rectangular shape. Apparently she and Jesus are planning to come to church Sunday morning. “We’re gonna dress you respectable for once in your life.” Jesus shrugs her off with another swig at the bottle. Her face looks worn, like it’s seen twice as much of life as it should have by now.

Jesus asks what line of work I do. “I work at Starbucks.” This is a surreal conversation. “What’s that?” Surreal. “I, uh, make coffee. Talk to people.” “It doesn’t sound like my style.” Apparently he’s looking for some work at the moment. “I’m a carpenter by trade.” To be honest, I’m not so surprised. “Lost my tool belt though. All new tools, too. Got drunk. Got in a fight.” He waves the now blood-blotted tissue in his old lady’s direction. “Next morning it was gone.” “You was bein’ stupid. That’s what that was.” She interjects.

There’s an old beat up Oldsmobile station wagon sitting in front of the trailer. There’s a sign in the back window: “$500: Runs good.” But apparently it doesn’t. Jesus’ old lady points at it. “That one don’t start.” She points at the other car next to the trailer. “And that one don’t stop.” Jesus says it’s something he can fix, but he won’t because it’ll only get him trouble since he doesn’t have a license. 7 DUIs. He wouldn’t be caught driving it anyway, it’s so beat up (“a time machine,” he calls it) and his long hair and he says he’s a magnet for the police. “Step out of the car. Put your hands behind your back…” he rehearses out loud like it’s his own memorized liturgy. He claims his been to the local jail 52 times. It’s a long walk home, he says. Even longer when you’re panhandling for beer along the way.

Somehow the conversation turns to drugs. “I don’t do no drugs,” says Jesus’ old lady, sitting on the steps now, cigarette dangling in her fingers. “I just smoke cigarettes.” “Them cigarettes is a drug,” observes Jesus in a condescending tone. “Lust is a drug,” he adds from seemingly out of nowhere. Someone makes a crack about being thankful there’s no piss test for that or we’d all be in trouble.

After about 20 minutes or so of this, Aaron asks if there’s any way we can pray for them. Jesus’ old lady talks about her bad back and losing feeling when she walks. Jesus turns to me while she’s explaining this. “That’s from when her husband broke her back. He got out of jail on the second. I’m surprised he hasn’t been by yet. He’s had several assault and battery charges.”

We all grab hands in a circle and pray there in front of the trailer. “That was beautiful, pastor,” Jesus says as he hugs Aaron. I shake his hand. Nice to meet you, Jesus. I’ll look for you Sunday morning.

I’m walking home and I see a freshly shed snake skin in the middle of Twelfth Street.

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posted by Peter at 1:49 PM
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