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Shame

There are few things more embarrassing and shameful than to beg for food.  Sure, you can think of the time you tripped on stage during the school play or when you found your zipper down during a presentation, but asking someone else to provide for you and your family because you can’t do it… now that can be humiliating. 

It took every part of her soul to muster up the strength to get out of that Honda.  It had been idling for a few minutes.  She wasn’t sure how the people in the office would react.  Just an hour ago she found herself at another church’s food pantry.  Head bowed low, her purse clenched tight acting like a shield to protect her heart, Sarah* felt the disgusted look of the volunteer handing out canned products.  “You’ve been here before! “ the volunteered snapped.  “Stop taking advantage of our programs!”

Was she going to receive the same type of treatment at this church?  She began to weep in her car.  As the tears began to flow, a knock on the window ripped her back to reality.  The woman outside of the car motioned her to roll her windows down.  “Are you okay?” she asked.  Wiping her tears as quickly as possible, Sarah stepped out of her car, shook the woman’s hand and followed her into the church.

The receptionist gave Sarah a warm smile and asked her if she needed any help.  All Sarah could do is nod.  Sarah needed food.  She lost her job, her business, her house, and could no longer provide for her family.  Her situation represents the outcome of a failing American economy, and it’s growing at an incredibly fast rate.  A volunteer led her to the food pantry. 

Sarah was amazed at the kindness of everyone she met along the way to the pantry.  When she entered the storage trailer she was overwhelmed at the amount of food available to her.  The volunteer told her to take any and everything that she needed.  She loaded up three grocery bags full of pasta, canned foods, cereal, and bread.  The volunteer asked her if she needed more and Sarah’s response expressed itself in tears.  Why do these people care?

Out of her sobbing, Sarah felt compelled to tell the volunteer that her teenage children were struggling.  They reacted rudely to any type of authority enacted by their mother and they were constantly fighting. The volunteer stood there and listened.  No advice was given, just a shoulder to cry on.  By the end of the conversation Sarah felt better.  She finally let go of all the burdens that she was carrying, and she did it by merely talking to someone who took the time to listen.  After asking question after question about God and faith, Sarah decided to surrender her life to Jesus Christ and to begin a journey filled with the love that only God can provide.  She left the church with groceries and a sense of joy that she had never experienced before.

If every person approached a church building with fear, then we’re certainly doing something wrong.  Churches have always been a place of refuge.  We were once able to declare, “I’m in a sanctuary… I’m protected,” in the midst of violence and destruction. Society has always fled to the church to find a place of comfort.  The people who made up the church were seen as saints.  They were viewed as God’s hands.  If someone had a prayer request, God moved the people of the church to help answer those requests.  Today, we view the world through cynical eyes.  We’re afraid of being ripped off and we protect our resources in a covetous manner.  We’re afraid that we won’t have enough provisions for ourselves. If we mimic the hospitality of the social security office, WIC, the housing commission, and all the government aid services that exist, then shame on us.  No wonder why people don’t flee to the church anymore. 

We must take care of each other.  Let us stop worrying about what the government will do for us and start caring for those in our community.  Keep in mind… my experience in helping those in need has led me to believe that simply putting a band aid on a problem never did anything to transform a person’s life or situation.  It does, however, buy us more time to find a better solution and proves to the one receiving aid that we actually care.  Then, we have earned a platform to speak into their lives.  The only way to receive true healing, to find true joy in grim circumstances is to turn to the only hope we have in this world, Jesus Christ.  But how can anyone know if no one is available to tell them?

AIDS – A Christian Response

A small square sticker “officially” sealed the door to Greg’s apartment.  It was under quarantine for 30 days.  I placed the bouquet of flowers down and approached the facilities manager who was slowly making his rounds.  This has been the first death this community experienced in half a decade and he was obviously despondent.  I took my time walking to the common area observing the beautiful gardens that several residents had cultivated.  It was excruciatingly peaceful.

The people who live here have one thing in common.  They have AIDS.  Many of them are homosexual or have led lifestyles that follow its path.  Some of them have rehabilitated from their conditions so well that they could now live on their own.  Others were on their way to a life of assisted living.  The majority of the residents have passed midlife so you can imagine the stories they narrated about the lives they once lived.  Partying in Hollywood, drug popping, sex, entertainment, fun… life. But today I wasn’t there to simply hang out.  I was presiding over the funeral.

I was invited to come based upon my relationship with the community.  The last time someone died, they communicated the news at a meeting and asked for a moment of silence.  Then, it was back to business as usual.  You can imagine why it is difficult for this community to seek after ceremonies that have anything to do with Christianity.  The normal interactions they experience with Christians include words of condemnation, the pressure to convert, and disgusted faces that show judgment.  Don’t forget about the all-encompassing stereotype that Christians hate gay people.  Because of the Frontline Team’s unique relationship with these wonderful people, they decided to call me in – a Christian minister.

We’ve been hanging out with them for years.  They have utilized us as taxis, counselors, entertainers, and friends.  Every so often, we’ll have a party to celebrate whatever.  Amy comes in to sing or play the guitar and I usually come around so that they can make fun of me for being me.  They love theatrical plays and watching movies.  They especially love Amy’s banana pudding.  We love on them and they love on us in spite of this whole Proposition 8 mess. 

Some disagreed with me for performing this funeral.  A church in Texas refused to do a funeral for a gay man explaining that allowing for it would condone behavior that is against the Bible.  Obviously, I stand with my friends who are dying with AIDS.  I have not compromised my belief in the commands of Jesus Christ. The residents know how I feel about their lifestyle, much like how my addicted friends and the dealers who made them that way know that I wish they would change their ways.  They all still love me. 

True love must be expressed.  I hate how this disease ravages the bodies of my friends and I wish my love could find a cure. This will not be the only funeral I will perform.  For now though, we’re living life fueled by love.  After the ceremony we all hung out and ate.  We talked, laughed, made fun of each other, and embraced.  We’re coming back to watch a movie.  It’ll be outdoors with a projector in the freezing southern California weather.  We’ll also be back to pick some of them up for church this Sunday.  Could I have loved these people if I didn’t realize that Jesus Christ loved me – loved me in a way that no one could ever possibly conceive.  I don’t know….

 

KILL!

This word is a commonly used grunt that many military members sound off as an affirmation that they are listening, whether in classroom instruction or in battlefield combat.  It makes absolutely no sense as a logical response to any question, however, in the military not only does it make sense, it’s motivating. It’s kind of like saying “Amen” after a preacher gives a clever, Holy Spirit-driven, sweat induced, charismatic, phrase within his or her sermon.  How dare I connect the two words!  Now that I’ve ruffled the feathers of my anti-war/anti-military (sometimes the same thing…but not always) friends and acquaintances, let me explain more about this concept.

This word is empty in its original meaning.  When the military shouts, they don’t actually purpose to illicit a sense of morbidity and death to the listening unit – they are merely following an age-old tradition.  I would like to ease your worries by notifying you that this reverberated response is being phased out for obvious reasons – except in the church…

At 10am, the chaplain at Edson Range removes his blouse and trousers standing only in his exercise (PT) gear.  Before him are close to one thousand Marines and behind him stand 10 courageous souls.  These men are also standing in shorts and t-shirts.  There is a built in pool on stage to the left of the alter.  As the chaplain steps waste deep into the water, he beckons the man closest to him to join.

Cold-faced and scared, this soon-to-be Marine jumps into the water.  Standing a foot taller than the chaplain he continues the stern look on his face knowing very well that his fellow service members are watching.  The chaplain asks him to identify himself and so he sounds off. 

“Recruit Williams, Fox Company, Platoon 10028!!” 

In one consorted and instinctive effort, the congregation responses with a shout. “KILL!” they scream.

With all his might, the chaplain shouts a short sermon to the crowd.  He reminds them of why they respond with “kill.”  These men are in boot camp and they are ready to get baptized.  Before being baptism, these men must affirm the faith that they have recently obtained.  They are believers in Jesus Christ and they are committed to following him for the rest of their entire lives.  It is time to publicly declare and profess this faith.  They are dead to their old selves (Gal 5:24; 1 Peter 2:24; Col 3:3-7; Rom 6:11; John 12:24;) and are now a new creation (2 Cor 5:17).  These men have begun a journey where the lives they once lived have taken a new turn towards the Almighty and only God of this universe.

The chaplain immerses the man into the water proclaiming, “buried in Christ…” and then lifts him out of the water and finishes with, “risen anew!” 

Sure, many people think it impossible for any military service member to become or remain a follower of Christ.  Issues such as just war, murder, violence, and the reputation of being aggressive, vulgar, and constantly inebriated can support this.  I stand next to the men and women of this country and defend the faith that many of them have.  However, we need people to pray, serve, and disciple these faithful warriors into a life led by Jesus Christ.  Otherwise, we must cease our complaints.  Will you stand next to the men and women who defend our freedom and rejoice in their faith?

To live and die in Kindergarten

Andrew didn’t look into my eyes… not once during our 30-minute conversation.  A 7 year old in first grade, Andrew felt like the king of his class.  Every once in a while he’d enter the door that connected his 1^st grade class to a kindergarten class and stare some of the students down.  Though he hadn’t truly been “jumped in” he still claimed Center Street.  His uncle lived next door and was a highly respected O.G. at 30 years old and taught his nephew the way of the gangsta’.  His 5-year-old brother and a few other kids would see him enter the class and stand straight up.  They’d throw up the gang signs of rival enemies and tell him to f-off, even though they themselves didn’t know what those signs really meant.  This was far from the playful wrestling and clowning I did when I was in elementary school.   

I was talking to Andrew because his 5-year-old brother, Christian, had just gotten suspended.  Before class started Christian was in line for some water.  There was a third grade girl drinking from the fountain and was dying of thirst.  She guzzled the water down, but unfortunately she took a long time… Christian punched her in the middle of the back (He’s about a foot shorter than this girl).  She turned around in anger but before she could yell at the kid, he socked her in the jaw and knocked her out.  The P.E. teacher saw the whole thing and as soon as she intervened, Christian called her some insanely derogatory names and strolled back to class.

The teachers tried to diffuse the situation.  It didn’t work.  Christian threatened to kill the teachers and told them that he was going to bring a knife back to school… a knife because he wanted to give them a chance to get away.  With the help of law enforcement, the situation was handled and Christian was suspended for the time being.  Remember, he’s only 5 years old.

Though this sounds like an extreme situation, Laurel Elementary School has had many like it.  These children are caught up in gang life.  They are constantly looking for a place to belong to.  Most of these children do not have a father.  As a matter of fact, 70 percent of juveniles and adults incarcerated are without a fatherly figure.  Andrew, Christian’s older brother, seems like he has the greatest chance at becoming a “good boy.”  Though he is one of 5 children living in a single parent home, there are people at the school who care for him, and he knows it. 

After telling him that we were there for him, he said thank you.  We invited him to church and though he called it boring and stupid, he was willing to check it out on one condition: that we came back to the school every week to play with him.  We can change this community.  If we only took a few hours a week pouring into these children, we can prevent gang violence, homelessness, and poverty.  I’m not asking people to learn how to teach; I’m asking people to be a friend and love on children who don’t feel the love of Christ that we as Christians do.  Let’s prevent the problem before it begins.

Ecumenicism

Christian Ecumenism = the attempt at Christian unity between denominations that are divided by doctrine and tradition; in a more specific sense, it is the attempt to tear down the wall between the Catholic and Protestant faith.

For over a decade of my life I had been educated and indoctrinated in the Catholic faith. I can still recite numerous prayers and even tell you the order of Mass.  I can walk into a confession booth and tell you what is needed to fulfill the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  Though I despise the misconception that Christianity and Catholicism are two different types of “religion” (I shudder at that word), I stand firm in my theology as a Protestant minister.  Obvious differences within the Christian faith stand out (like I do when I visit Mississippi) so much so that one can find over 33,000 Christian denominations. 

However, one big difference still remains.  The level and depth of spirituality in the Catholic Church far outweighs any Protestant tradition I have experienced or researched.  The move toward a deeper spirituality within the Protestant community, especially among young adults, is rooted in Celtic and Catholic history.  Just observe the practices of ministries such as the International House of Prayer (www.ihop.org), the numerous “Prayer Room” organizations, and emergent churches such as the Mosaic and Rock Harbor.  If you think our sexy, candle illuminated, contemplative, prayer-led college services are a new design, think again. 

With that said, many of my colleagues and fellow church goers would be appalled to learn that my “Spiritual Director” is a monk…more specifically – a friar.  He belongs to the Franciscan Order (Ordo Fratrum Minorum) and besides the fact that he dons a cool monk outfit, he is also a very spiritual dude.  I meet with him regularly seeking guidance in my spiritual journey.  As a Christian community, we cannot reject the teachings of other denominations.  From the activism and spirituality of the Catholic Church to the charisma and healings of the Pentecostals – and even the traditions of the seeker sensitive movement, we must embrace our differences.

A week with Frontline Ministry means that you will feed the poor, clothe the naked, visit or at least communicate with those imprisoned/sick, help children learn, minister to gang members, pray for random people on the streets, counsel recruits in boot camp, save the lives of unborn babies, provide for widows and single mothers, do social work, fight injustice, mow a neighbor’s lawn and definitely proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ amidst the chaos.  It’s very easy for the Frontline team, especially me, to get caught up in doing, rather than merely being a follower of Jesus Christ so there must be times where we retreat into the arms of God.

This is where the Catholic Church seems to have a one up on us Protestants.  They are the major religious entity plowing through issues of social justice.  Admittedly, Christians as a whole are responsible for establishing the majority of non-governmental organizations (NGO’s) in the world.  Christians give more and do more than any other group put together including most government groups.  However, the Catholic Church has found the balance between activism and spirituality.  It’s true that there are many Catholics who rarely crack a Bible open once every two years.  That used to be me.  But the ones who are immersed in the Word of God are extremely spiritual.  As the leader of Frontline Ministry, I feel like I have the right to tell any of you involved in any type of action oriented ministry to ensure that your are seeking God before you begin to think about seeking justice. 

 

One at a time…

Sometimes the wonderful smile of a child takes me back to moments in my life that don’t seem to have any connection whatsoever. 

Leaning back on the newly tiled wall I let the resistance of grout and cement slow my descent to the floor.  Marie watched me, no facial expression to be found, and asked, “Are you done yet?”  After telling her to calm down she rolled her eyes and plopped down next to me.  She began to read one of my all time favorite books, Charlotte’s Webb.  She stumbled over her words but looked up at me with a smile void of two front teeth, cueing me to pronounce the word for her.  I did and she continued to read.  Nothing could take her focus off of the page, not even the little boys who ran past her making fun of her pronunciation of certain words. 

After finishing the chapter she proclaimed, “All done.  Did you like the way I read?”  Every part of me wanted to exclaim how proud I was of her, how she could read better than I did when I was her age.  But I remained prideful wanting to avoid acting too girly and said, “It was okay.”  She looked down, started to walk away in a pout but I coughed, “…better than everybody else…”  Without a look back she skipped off to the tetherball line with a humungous smile on her face.

Behind the glass barrier he gripped the black phone receiver so tightly that his knuckles were white.  They had letters tattooed on them that spelled L-I-V-E.  He read out of the Bible very slowly and every time he couldn’t pronounce the name of a region or of a person, he looked up cueing me for assistance.  Nothing could take his focus off those tattered pages.  After repeating the chapter and verse number, he looked up at me with the biggest smile I’d seen all day.  In fact, he was the only guy smiling in that cold visiting room.  You would never guess that he once murdered a person and was locked up for life. 

Transformation takes time… in many instances it takes the time and effort of a servant to merely be someone who can listen.  When we serve the students of Laurel Elementary School or visit those incarcerated at Vista Detention Center or Donovan State Prison, our goal is to express love – one person at a time.  If you’ve ever wanted to change the world, how about starting with one person.  

fragrance

 

It took him about two minutes to get up and out of the wooden bench. His whole body trembled as he gripped the sides of the bench. He struggled and moans seemed to be coming from his muscles rather than his mouth. As I approached him for assistance he sternly shrugged me off. Walking across the parking lot, we must have angered passing motorists due to our snail like pace. He was focused on walking and to keep from getting distracted, he counted from 1 to 100.

His stench was indescribable. I had been in the Middle East at the beginning of the Iraqi War and went over a month without taking a shower. We slept in the dirt and didn’t change our clothes, but the way we smelled differed from his stench. This smell can only be produced by a sick man drenched in sweat and the sewage he slept in night after night. His left hand was frozen in place; not quite a fist but closed tightly enough to hold a ten dollar roll of quarters. His right arm was bent – almost impossible to straighten due to the pain. His upper back had failed him and now a pinched nerve or a slipped disc shot pain down his entire right side. His hand began to swell and by the time I got to him, it was the size of a small boxing glove.

We made our way to Wal-Mart to get a set of new clothes and some food. He insisted on staying in the car because of the pain. After purchasing some jeans, t-shirts, underwear, and socks we made our way to my place for a shower. During the ride, he began to let his story unfold. Though obviously mentally ill or suffering from some type of post traumatic stress, his story was clear. A once vibrant and strong man, he worked as a re-fueler at the Dallas Airport. He drove sophisticated vehicles as well. Although he didn’t admit being educated, the words and grammar that left his mouth came from a man who had had college level instruction.

Entering my place, the sweet fragrance that Amy ensures contrasted sharply with his stench. He sat on a small wooden chair that leaned up against the wall. He was tired and accepted my offer for lunch. I would have expected him to inhale his meal but his disabilities prevented him from eating properly. I prepared the shower for him and walked him across the hall into the bathroom. He needed help.

I unbuttoned his thick, hooded jacket (this is what he wore no matter how hot it was outside). He couldn’t take it off because of his inability to bend his arms properly. I removed his shoes. I had to cut his shirt off because it had shrunk so tightly that his head could not go through the opening. I cut his pants as well. My experience as a nurse prepared me for the task at hand. I think I would’ve thrown up had it not been for that. He took his time underneath the comfortable water and tried his best to properly soap himself. He couldn’t get his hands to his head to utilize the shampoo. Later, I found out that he couldn’t take his socks off so he showered with them on. I cut them off afterwards and had him air out his feet (I’ll spare you the details). We dressed him and left for the barber shop.

The hair clippers slowly transformed the familiar face before me. It was like unveiling a valuable painting on its opening night. This friend had refined features that gave him a distinguished look. His beard was so thick that I hadn’t noticed even the color of his eyes. They were a beautiful blue. Surprisingly, he had straight, intact, and white teeth. His smile spanned the length of the room. Getting up and out of the chair, my heart beat faster than usual and I was taken aback at this new man. God is so good.

At the doctor’s office, we watched Home Improvement. He was mesmerized. His laugh was contagious and his smile brought me to a place of peace. As I spoke to the nurse about him I observed him leaning to his side to talk to Amy. It was hard to believe that he was homeless. We made a pact that he would visit me at my place once a week to shower and to launder his clothes and in turn, he would tell me stories. I love this guy.

We can’t help everyone… I know that. There are people who will do whatever it takes to take advantage of you and rip you off. I know that from personal experience as well. But the Bible talks a great deal about the poor… especially those who are within the church. Though this man doesn’t set foot in the church during service (he doesn’t want to anger anyone), he is a believer. He is a part of the church. In the New Testament, whenever Jesus or Paul tells us to take care of the poor, he always refers to our brothers and sisters (For a theological treatise, refer to the blogsite).  The Bible tells us a lot about helping people within the Church – not to be confused with the building.

What does it mean to bear one another’s burden’s? Does it mean to put up with each other… does it mean that we merely accept each other’s faults and try hard to not let it get to us? I believe that it has a lot to do with working hard to take care of each other. I see people at New Song doing this all the time. They’ve helped this individual with food before and have spent countless hours talking to him. On behalf of this friend, I thank all of you who, according to him, “…changed my heart.”

Edwin Samson

Holy Indigestion

Los Angeles County has churches on almost every block.  The closer you get to downtown the more likely you will run into some type of Baptist church (usually with a congregation averaging below 100 members).  A couple of years ago, Justin and I went on a journey to gather just a brief glimpse of the transient life on the streets of LA.  Along this journey we passed by and stopped at several churches, none of which had the sensibility to offer any assistance.  Who can blame them?  The homeless population is in the tens of thousands while the needy families overwhelm even that statistic. Still, I expected to find at least one place of refuge… sadly, the stereotypical comfort of a warm church was nowhere to be found.  

I have been commuting to Pasadena for almost a year now (home of Fuller Theological Seminary’s main campus).  Currently, I embark on my travels twice a week.  Not surprisingly, my walk from the campus to the subway is riddled with churches.  There are literally churches on every block of my walk.  However, the difference from downtown LA to Pasadena is the quality of the buildings.  Many of them are majestically built.  I don’t know how Pasadena regulates their building codes but every building is beautiful… even the YMCA’s sobriety housing is magnificently constructed.  I just took my final exam and had plenty of time to spare so I decided to step foot into one of the more beguiling Episcopal churches. 

As I pushed open the gorgeous oak doors, the sights and smells took me back to my days as a Catholic alter boy.  The whole church was lit up with candles and track lighting.  The chandeliers were made in a medieval fashion.  There wasn’t a single sound to be made besides the thud of my boots and the clicking of my bag’s zippers.  As I walked down the side isle I let me hands pass over the wooden pews.  The setting of the sun made for an extravagant image as my eyes focused on the stained glass windows.  Coming upon the wooden pulpit, which was slightly elevated and made of the finest oak, I imagined myself giving a dry homily putting the entire service to sleep.  Then I knelt down at the foot of their humungous alter.  I wasn’t sure if that was okay, but hey, no one was looking. 

A feeling suddenly overwhelmed me deep in my gut.  Was it the Holy Spirit?  Was God trying to soften my hardened heart (I was angry because someone ran a red light and almost ran me over.  I wanted to cuss)?  What supernatural thing was happening to me?  Was I having a second baptism of the Holy Spirit?  After minutes of shear nervous anxiety I burped.  Oh… I had indigestion because of the unmicrowaveable pizza I microwaved and ate.  Alas, much like the run-down Baptist churches of downtown LA, I didn’t find what I was looking for…comfort.  

The Bible calls the Holy Spirit our “paraclete,” or comforter.  I realized that no building could bring the comfort I had been searching for.  Church is not a building… it is a body of believers.  When that body is not present or functioning as it should, then the Holy Spirit is not residing in its Holy Temple (You, His people) in a manner that can express itself with the power of Christ’s love.  Sometimes we get in the way. 

Almost always, what I’m searching for has already been found.  The Bread of Life ranks up there with Hawaii or Baghdad (j/k) as a place to visit.  Seriously, every time I enter that building many of my worries, distractions, and problems seem to vanish.  Actually, I know that what’s really happening is the overwhelming feeling of Jesus’ love that emanates from the homeless individuals who attend.  I am privileged to be on their preaching staff and feel blessed that they consider me a dear friend. It is a run down building with just enough space to feed over a hundred homeless people.  Behind the pulpit (a music stand) you will find the most stunning painting of Jesus and His disciples.  One of the homeless guys, Rasta, painted it.  When a group of believers come together to worship God in total and complete dependence, one can’t help but explode with joy.  Either that or you’ll break down and cry… still with a sense of wondrous joy. 

Who am I that God would allow me to experience such sensations?  God is good and he utilizes, as the Bible and Roy would say, the foolish to confound the wise.  I am constantly dumbfounded with the fact that I don’t need to search for the comfort of the Holy Spirit.  It’s already there… I just need to let my stereotypes, presuppositions and… my indigestion get out of the way. 

Edwin Samson

 

 

An Apology to You

As I sit on this carved stone slab overlooking luscious grass and a naturally adorned purple-leafed tree, I am drawn into some reflection time.  In the course of this day dream, I am suddenly drawn into a conversation, not of my own, with two similar people recounting their days of persecution in a closed country in East Asia.  I should’ve just pulled up a chair because of how enthralled I was of their tales evading authorities eager to spill blood.  I pictured them in the thick of some jungle, sweating and attempting to remain silent as their captors tirelessly searched for any sign of movement.  Then I imagined the journey they embarked to find a safe place of refuge.  How exciting!

Much like the vintage houses that pepper the campus (acting as office buildings and classrooms) of Fuller Theological Seminary these men were not what they seem.  As they walked away from me I observed the refined swagger of professionally clothed individuals.  Two professors, walking side by side, unknown to the rest of the world that they had endured torture, observed death, and rejoiced in freedom for our Lord Jesus Christ.  Their experience and training landed them a seat at Fuller’s missions department and it was time for them to instruct budding missionaries committed to serving the Lord.

My previous post narrated an incident that occurred some days ago regarding one of our displaced brothers, Bill.  This post is an apology for those that I have offended.  I withheld my desire to delete it in order to bring justice to those whom I irritated and to show that I was truly remorseful. Even though I wrote it, I didn’t know that that particular post led members of my community to feel like they were being portrayed as faithless bystanders.  I don’t blame them for feeling that way.  That was not my intent and it is my fault for neglecting various perspectives.  I publicly apologize to you all.  I am a disciple committed to loving, not hating.  I took it upon myself to condemn when such a task can only be attributed to the Holy Spirit.  We are a community that stands in solidarity against the forces of Satan and the last thing I want to do is to create strife and division.  My love for the Body of Christ will eventually lead to a death I gladly accept.  My love is great because I daily drown in the ecstasy of God’s AGAPE.  So, please, forgive me. 

The professors I mentioned earlier pour out their knowledge and experience to students.  Their hope is to transform lives in the service of the Kingdom of God.  They teach in a particular manner because of those experiences.  My experiences form my actions, words, desires, and thoughts.  Please bear with me as I address this.

Each moment of my life is assessed with presuppositions and spiritual gifts that ultimately guide my choices.  There are reasons why I reacted so harshly (though not justifiably) when I heard just one account of the incident that ensued regarding Bill.  I see despair and destruction, not only in the news, but in the lives of people I encounter everyday.  I know, as many of you know, the devastating impact of drugs and depression.  I preach weekly in venues outside the walls of our church.  As the Holy Spirit moves through me, the face of my audience gradually transforms to that of Jesus Christ. I can’t prevent this.  There are times when I am brought to tears and the ache of my heart becomes so unbearable that I make attempts to escape.  Those are times when my efforts to help the disenfranchised are tireless.  I have seen much death in this world… I have caused death.  My life covers almost every sin in the Bible.  I have lost best friends in death and through infidelity.  I’ve traveled the world to experience life, only to come home reflecting on despair.  I ran away from home, from responsibility, from family for selfish reasons.  I was a block away when my mother was raped by a transient, and present to enact vigilante justice that put my dad in jail.  My experiences had hardened my heart at one point in my life.  Crying, showing emotion, and compassion were once absent.  Nothing could stop me from pulling a trigger and ending the lives of enemies… or the innocent for that matter… they were just numbers.  Jesus has changed my past and has married those experiences with the life I lead now.  Though I am dead to my old self, God still uses its void for the glory of his Kingdom. 

So when I respond the way that I do, sometimes I lack good judgment.  I live my life influenced by strong emotions.  Again, I’m not justifying anything; I am merely opening myself up to you who I love.  It is a painstaking battle to separate my emotions from the people and situations I encounter everyday. 

I encourage you to continue to love like there is no tomorrow.  Love those who hate you, take care of those who burden you, and worship the Almighty God who requires nothing but the surrender of your heart.  Grace and peace to you all. 

In the Name of Jesus Christ our Lord,

Edwin