The "synod assembly" (i.e. an annual denominational conference held in a particular geographic area) was held inside a church building that sits quite a bit north of 8 Mile (the infamous road that separates the largely African American and poverty stricken city of Detroit from the largely white and much more prosperous northern suburbs) and so I didn't actually see the problem first-hand. Instead, I saw it through the eyes of those gathered.
Here's what I thought was interesting: Those who live above 8 Mile seemed much more depressed about what's going on below 8 Mile (and across the region, as a result of it) than those who actually live there. [Not that people outside the city shouldn't be concerned. They should be. Some of them are among the wealthiest people in the U.S. The bishop called on these folks to join him, during this 40th anniversary year of the 1967 riots, in renouncing racism, working toward reconciliation, and advocating economic justice for all. He seems serious about having people actually DO these things.] It's not that people above 8 Mile shouldn't be concerned. But many of those I talked to seemed more than just concerned. One said, eyes darting around at the relatively posh environment we were in, "To look around here, you wouldn't know anything was wrong. But it's just a facade. Underneath the surface, everybody is scared." And, I would add, really sad. It's like the problems have become so enormous, no one can see their way out of the mess.
On the other hand, some of the people who actually live below 8 Mile told me stories about what it's like to be the church there. They see the mess, alright. (One African American woman called it "the uglys.") But that isn't all they see. One pastor (who I'm quite sure is African, based on her accent, in spite of the "Kiss Me, I'm Norwegian" T-shirt she was wearing!) said the neighborhood her congregation's building sits in is about 90% African American. The congregation itself is 60% white but very few of the white members live in the neighborhood. "Why are they there?" I asked. She seemed confused by the question. "Did they used to live in the neighborhood?" Still puzzled. "Did they belong to your congregation when they lived in the neighborhood and just drive back in from the suburbs because they can't stand to leave 'their' church?" She said, "No." Then, I asked again, "why are they there??" She smiled at me like I was stupid, "Because they see that they are needed there." Members of that congregation have taken in dozens and dozens of foster children over the 12 years she has been serving there. Some of those children end up staying in the church...or coming back to it...even as adults. It has become their family. "Many of the other churches in our community, if a young person gets in trouble, tell them 'You can't stay here. You have to leave.' But at our church, we say 'God loves you no matter what.'"
The highlight of the weekend for me was the Detroit metro choir - all black - that sang during worship one night. Because I have faith, "I can!" they shouted/sang. And I believe them.
From above 8 Mile, all you see is the mess. But from inside the uglies, it seems, you can also see Jesus.
Which makes me think a couple of things: 1) We shouldn't be so afraid of messes, 2) If we can see Jesus there, we ought to be able to see Jesus everywhere, and 3) I need to spend a lot more time with people who believe they can.
How about you?
Showing posts with label faith in action. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith in action. Show all posts
Monday, May 14, 2007
We Can!
I spent the weekend with 400+ Lutherans in Shelby Township, outside of Detroit. There are few places in the U.S. more economically stressed than southeastern Michigan and that creates all kinds of other problems. It's been argued, in fact, that Detroit's crisis is no smaller than the one post-Katrina New Orleans is in...and worse, because no one is paying any attention to it.
The "synod assembly" (i.e. an annual denominational conference held in a particular geographic area) was held inside a church building that sits quite a bit north of 8 Mile (the infamous road that separates the largely African American and poverty stricken city of Detroit from the largely white and much more prosperous northern suburbs) and so I didn't actually see the problem first-hand. Instead, I saw it through the eyes of those gathered.
Here's what I thought was interesting: Those who live above 8 Mile seemed much more depressed about what's going on below 8 Mile (and across the region, as a result of it) than those who actually live there. [Not that people outside the city shouldn't be concerned. They should be. Some of them are among the wealthiest people in the U.S. The bishop called on these folks to join him, during this 40th anniversary year of the 1967 riots, in renouncing racism, working toward reconciliation, and advocating economic justice for all. He seems serious about having people actually DO these things.] It's not that people above 8 Mile shouldn't be concerned. But many of those I talked to seemed more than just concerned. One said, eyes darting around at the relatively posh environment we were in, "To look around here, you wouldn't know anything was wrong. But it's just a facade. Underneath the surface, everybody is scared." And, I would add, really sad. It's like the problems have become so enormous, no one can see their way out of the mess.
On the other hand, some of the people who actually live below 8 Mile told me stories about what it's like to be the church there. They see the mess, alright. (One African American woman called it "the uglys.") But that isn't all they see. One pastor (who I'm quite sure is African, based on her accent, in spite of the "Kiss Me, I'm Norwegian" T-shirt she was wearing!) said the neighborhood her congregation's building sits in is about 90% African American. The congregation itself is 60% white but very few of the white members live in the neighborhood. "Why are they there?" I asked. She seemed confused by the question. "Did they used to live in the neighborhood?" Still puzzled. "Did they belong to your congregation when they lived in the neighborhood and just drive back in from the suburbs because they can't stand to leave 'their' church?" She said, "No." Then, I asked again, "why are they there??" She smiled at me like I was stupid, "Because they see that they are needed there." Members of that congregation have taken in dozens and dozens of foster children over the 12 years she has been serving there. Some of those children end up staying in the church...or coming back to it...even as adults. It has become their family. "Many of the other churches in our community, if a young person gets in trouble, tell them 'You can't stay here. You have to leave.' But at our church, we say 'God loves you no matter what.'"
The highlight of the weekend for me was the Detroit metro choir - all black - that sang during worship one night. Because I have faith, "I can!" they shouted/sang. And I believe them.
From above 8 Mile, all you see is the mess. But from inside the uglies, it seems, you can also see Jesus.
Which makes me think a couple of things: 1) We shouldn't be so afraid of messes, 2) If we can see Jesus there, we ought to be able to see Jesus everywhere, and 3) I need to spend a lot more time with people who believe they can.
How about you?
The "synod assembly" (i.e. an annual denominational conference held in a particular geographic area) was held inside a church building that sits quite a bit north of 8 Mile (the infamous road that separates the largely African American and poverty stricken city of Detroit from the largely white and much more prosperous northern suburbs) and so I didn't actually see the problem first-hand. Instead, I saw it through the eyes of those gathered.
Here's what I thought was interesting: Those who live above 8 Mile seemed much more depressed about what's going on below 8 Mile (and across the region, as a result of it) than those who actually live there. [Not that people outside the city shouldn't be concerned. They should be. Some of them are among the wealthiest people in the U.S. The bishop called on these folks to join him, during this 40th anniversary year of the 1967 riots, in renouncing racism, working toward reconciliation, and advocating economic justice for all. He seems serious about having people actually DO these things.] It's not that people above 8 Mile shouldn't be concerned. But many of those I talked to seemed more than just concerned. One said, eyes darting around at the relatively posh environment we were in, "To look around here, you wouldn't know anything was wrong. But it's just a facade. Underneath the surface, everybody is scared." And, I would add, really sad. It's like the problems have become so enormous, no one can see their way out of the mess.
On the other hand, some of the people who actually live below 8 Mile told me stories about what it's like to be the church there. They see the mess, alright. (One African American woman called it "the uglys.") But that isn't all they see. One pastor (who I'm quite sure is African, based on her accent, in spite of the "Kiss Me, I'm Norwegian" T-shirt she was wearing!) said the neighborhood her congregation's building sits in is about 90% African American. The congregation itself is 60% white but very few of the white members live in the neighborhood. "Why are they there?" I asked. She seemed confused by the question. "Did they used to live in the neighborhood?" Still puzzled. "Did they belong to your congregation when they lived in the neighborhood and just drive back in from the suburbs because they can't stand to leave 'their' church?" She said, "No." Then, I asked again, "why are they there??" She smiled at me like I was stupid, "Because they see that they are needed there." Members of that congregation have taken in dozens and dozens of foster children over the 12 years she has been serving there. Some of those children end up staying in the church...or coming back to it...even as adults. It has become their family. "Many of the other churches in our community, if a young person gets in trouble, tell them 'You can't stay here. You have to leave.' But at our church, we say 'God loves you no matter what.'"
The highlight of the weekend for me was the Detroit metro choir - all black - that sang during worship one night. Because I have faith, "I can!" they shouted/sang. And I believe them.
From above 8 Mile, all you see is the mess. But from inside the uglies, it seems, you can also see Jesus.
Which makes me think a couple of things: 1) We shouldn't be so afraid of messes, 2) If we can see Jesus there, we ought to be able to see Jesus everywhere, and 3) I need to spend a lot more time with people who believe they can.
How about you?
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Let Justice Roll - Amos 5:24
My son came home today glad for the "A" he got on the presentation he made in his English class this afternoon. But he was totally bummed out, anyway. His paper was on the role of propaganda in the genocide the world let happen in Bosnia a decade or so ago.
As we were making dinner tonight, he said, "The world is messed up." And he's right, of course.
On the other hand, today my stepdaughter participated in her high school's version of the "National Day of Silence," in support of gay & lesbian rights. She wore a T-shirt that said "My best friend is gay...and my moms are, too." On the back it said, "Got anything to say to that?"
Tomorrow, my son is attending a rally in Springfield, in support of school funding reform in the state of Illinois. He's taking a bus down state along with 75 other kids from his school.
And I was in the crowd of 150,00 marching for immigrant rights today. Some of my photos are posted here. There weren't any church bodies represented at the march, as far as I could see. But there were unions. And the Human Rights Campaign. And a lot of very ordinary people who are just sick and tired of not having a voice.
I wore a T-shirt that said, "Let Justice Roll - Amos 5:24."
Got anything to say to that??
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