I picked up my borrowed copy of Under The Overpass, turned my flashlight on, and began at the preface. A twelve hour bus ride from Pensacola, FL to Houston, TX was not something that I was looking forward to. I had every reason to stay safe and sound at home in Alabama. I would be able to save some money to put into the Chevy Blazer that sits, unused and broken in my parents front yard. Some of the best musicians to tour this summer would be passing through town, and i know i would regret not being able to see them all, not to mention i should be working on some promotion of Celebration Fest for Thendy Productions. Robin was freaking out over our group plans and productions for this summer, she would need me there to remind her of the purpose behind the plan, to remind her that she was not going crazy. Yes, everything had pointed to the comforts of staying at home, and so i packed up my things, and planned to leave for one month.
Denying the nagging wish to turn around in my mind i noticed that i was already into the first chapter of the book, and had not one idea of what was said. Backtracking, the story told of two men, who feeling a sense of hypocrisy in the Christianity they claimed to live, decided to give up their comfortable lives for five months, to live as the homeless do. In order to prevent such an intense case of culture shock, Mike Yankoski, admitted himself into a rehabilitation center in downtown Denver. There he would be tossed among the least of Denver's society. Over 150 homeless men and women, all broken, all trying to recover from the wide roads of drug and alcohol abuse.
Every day before dinner was served there was a mandatory service, in which a local church would bring in a group to lead worship and deliver a message meant to turn the hearts of the people listening from their damning ways, to a better way. The Jesus way.
Mike, who had found much greater spirituality in some of the people he had met at the rehabilitation center, became angered that at every service, the only message preached was the turning from sins, and nothing else.
"Of the twenty-seven chapel services I attended, about twenty focused on hell, condemnation, sin, and eternal suffering. Are each of these relevant parts of the gospel message? Yes. But are they the most appropriate parts to focus on with such a physically needy group? ....... I thought of Christ's words, 'For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him' (John 3:17) Weren't these well-intentioned speakers condemning the broken for being broken?"
- Mike Yankoski (author of under the overpass)
Not soon enough, my bus pulled into the Greyhound station in downtown Houston.
Running on less than three hours of sleep, i stepped into a foreign city, and faced the unknown.
My first task of the day was to get some sort of caffeine into my system. After a pickup from Karen, and a really horrible cup of joe from the local Barnes and Noble Cafe, we headed to a prison for recovering women, where for the past month or so, the female members of Young Hope had been attending a Bible study with the women, and holding group sessions afterwards where they were able to talk and pray about what was being learned and what God was doing in the lives of these broken bodies.
I don't really know how i would explain walking into the women's prison. It was no high security lock down, but more along the lines of a rehab center. Zipping my jacket completely up, and leaving my license at the front desk i followed Karen into a courtyard brightly lit by the sun, scattered in painted stones and picnic tables. Women in different colored smocks sat around the tables, and on benches. Some reading tattered books, others speaking animatedly to their neighbors, and still others just sitting silently, heads down, staring into blank space of their minds. ALL battling some sort of addiction.
We walked pass friendly greetings, and interested looks into a large tent-like contraption, where there had been set up tables and chairs in front of a small television. I was astounded at the women. Or, I was astounded at the difference between the women inside the tent compared with those sitting outside in the beating Texas sun. Faces throughout the tent lit with such intensity as the women who weekly attended the Bible study, and those who conducted it, walked up with matching smiles and open arms. It was difficult to look into the faces of these women, and believe they had ever done anything wrong in all the days of their lives.
As worship began, i was able to witness one of the purest, most beautiful pictures ever seen by the eyes of man. These girls, torn down, broken, in the lowest of the lows, raised their hands, eyes, hearts and voices to the songs you and i sing in church every Sunday, however this, this was different. I watched as they held hands with each other, with guards, with leaders, and danced beneath the rhythm of praise, and i realized: I was one of them. I am just as torn. Just as broken. Just as wretched as everyone else in the place, but the difference was, was that the unconditional love God has for his children was more abundant in this makeshift chapel, than in any church i had ever attended. There was no church politics, no pressure to act this way, or that way. You weren't expected to keep up with appearances, or to have made some grand spiritual breakthrough. It was perfectly okay if you were going through a valley, and it wasn't because you had left God behind. If you were in the hills, you weren't regarded as more enlightened or closer to God than the next person. The pressures i had always felt while attending regular services were not present here. And I grieved that this is how I truly did feel about the church.
It seems that we have, for the most part, left the path of love and encouragement of our brothers and sisters, and have turned faith into a football game. Who is beating whom on the race to the end? Who has more points at the end of each quarter? I yearn to be able to walk into any and every public church, and feel the same warmth, and acceptance, and genuine care for everyone as these women were able to show me. What mattered wasn't the mistakes they had made (those barely existed to them), but the leaps they had taken. They were family, they had one Father, and that was it. We have largely embraced a policy of condemnation in the church. "Condemning the broken for being broken" is much easier than reaching out to God's creation in true faith and in love.
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