The group is called “The Loving Hearts Club” and it’s one of those rare organic messes that defies logic. There isn’t really much organization, and although a guy named Billy seems to have started it and is usually the one who appears to be in charge (when he’s there, which he is almost every week), there isn’t much else that suggests a finely tuned machine. Nobody is committed to come and serve, so you never know who will be there. Nobody organizes a menu or even knows what kind of food/drink will show up (if any), so it’s a completely disorganized potluck for others who are homeless. Somehow there is usually enough food for the couple hundred people who show up and form a line and politely wait for us to set up and set the food out. Families and singles and youth groups and former homeless people show up with food or drinks or plates and cups and plastic utensils. The food is mostly hot and in some cases nearly gourmet, and we serve it to each person with joy and gratitude. There is lots of laughter and you see people helping those who are lame and who have children or an immobilized partner to feed. It feels a little like a really good church potluck.

I noticed right away when I first saw pictures of this outdoor meal that it was often hard to tell who the homeless were. They didn’t, for the most part, look much different than those who had come to serve. Families, singles, elderly, handicapped all lining up and gratefully receiving as much food as they can fit on their plastic plate, in their pockets, and in each hand. There are the usual addicts and mentally ill, but all are remarkably well behaved in our presence. And thankful. They are very thankful.

Another thing I noticed as I have served with these folks the past few weeks is that although many of the volunteers are from local churches (and from a large variety of churches), not everyone is even of the Christian persuasion. We don’t even know all the people who we serve alongside, and the line-up changes week to week. It’s not really a social time; we show up, we set up, and we start feeding some really hungry people. We meet a few old friends now and then, and we may make a new friend. It doesn’t matter, really. There is a wonderful beauty and kindness and genuine gratitude for this opportunity to share what we have with some folks who are needing it more than we do. Most of the recipients assume that we are all from the same church, or the same faith. Maybe we are. How else could you explain this?

I spoke with a guy who looked and talked as if he was homeless (only because he had some food on his beard, but like I said…it’s sometimes hard to tell who is who in this beautiful mess). He was amazed at how this all comes together each week, how generous everyone was and how fantastic all the food has been. I told him what was really amazing was that there has never been a menu or anyone organizing any of this, but we seem to always have enough to feed everyone, and the food was always great because everyone made food that they would serve at their own home and just brought it to share. He thought we could change the world with people like this, people who would do something so important without anyone telling them how to do it. It was so simple that maybe we could make a difference in other areas of need, like housing. I think he might have a point.

Yep. You just have to show up with some food and a way to serve it, stand for an hour or so and serve portions to as many as you can until you run out, and then head home. It’s not hard, it’s not complicated, and you don’t ever have to do it again.

But once you do, something gets in your heart that makes you want to come back. There’s a lot of beauty in the mess.

Thanks be to God.

My husband and I had a lovely night out on Saturday, spending time together at Dinner in Santa Barbara and a concert afterward.  I was thinking Saturday morning that I would attempt a little experiment and that I would go out on the town and try to be more “intentional.”  To me, this meant that I would go out intending to connect with someone, have a conversation with them, and maybe make a new friend.

I planned it out in my mind. I would chat up the person seated next to me.  I would start with an icebreaker, make small talk, and then ask them about themselves and just listen, but that wasn’t exactly how it went.

First of all, my husband and I ended up with aisle seats on the third row to the furthest left of the small theater.  Then, strangely enough, there wasn’t a single soul seated next to me or even in the near vicinity.  We were literally all alone on our row.  There wasn’t even anyone in front of us.  Then, during about the third song, there was a sudden mass movement in the audience where people from the back started to relocate (they must’ve known something we don’t), and about four people came and sat on our row.  The man next to me left the seat next to me open making my attempt at being intentional all the more difficult.

Okay, I thought to myself, I will wait until the break and then I will make conversation.  The break came and everyone got up.  The man next to me turned his back on me completely and entered into a long conversation with the other three people in his group.  Then, I looked around and noticed that virtually everyone in the audience was doing exactly the same thing.  Huddled in groups, they presumably were comfortable with the friends they had come with, although I wasn’t sure if that was the case or if they were all season ticket holders who knew each other.  So, I sat in silence during the break watching them.  I felt like I wasn’t part of their community.

I’m not really a novice at this.  I’ve made connections on airplanes, on buses, on trains, and in grocery lines, but this time, I felt like I did in high school when I wasn’t allowed to eat at certain tables in the cafeteria.  So, I laughed silently to myself, this is my attempt at being intentional!

Then, I realized something about myself.  I realized that I would remember the people around me because I had noticed them.  Even now, I can remember some of the interesting faces I saw and that meant that in noticing others, I was aware.  So, I put aside my insecurities about my own feelings, and I prayed.  I prayed for a lot of the people huddled in their little groups.  I prayed that they would be open to God and to others.  I prayed that they would open their hearts and be more aware.  I prayed over the whole crowd.  Then, I smiled to myself.  It was my little secret, this clandestine prayer mission that went on inside the mind of the lady seated on the third row.  No one but God and I were in on it, while the rest chatted, unaware of the secret, invisible good will being rained down upon them.

So, was my attempt at being intentional a failure that night?  Maybe not, if you believe that a change in one’s own heart will sometime, somehow make a real difference to the world.  Maybe not, if you believe that prayers are like spiritual rainbows that collect in the misty atmosphere of life and bring with them the promise of microscopic droplets of peace, hope, and grace.  Maybe not, if you believe that God honors all prayers including honoring them for the one praying as well as the ones prayed for.

From a somewhat anonymous person who sent their story to us via the website. Looks like he does street ministry with the homeless, and seems to bring new socks with him when he can. New socks seems pretty doable to me. Enjoy.

Today while in street ministry I came into a campsite. A note was left for me by one of the guys.

It read:

brbruce,
I want to thank you for the socks this Christmas.
I was not honest when I said I needed a pair for a friend.
I kept them for my self. I know how you always run out so I lied.
I have a chance to go to Florida so I will be leaving Sunday
I wanted to tell you thank you for the love you show to us.
Not many people come into the camp and you never pass anyone and not
say a prayer.

Please forgive me for lying. One day I hope we will meet again.
I promise that when I can I will buy an extra pair of socks
and give them to some one and pray for them just like you did for me.
Happy trails to you. friend.

 

 

 

April Terry is taking a few weeks off during the holidays so I’m offering up a few gifts to you while she’s gone. This first one is from a nearly life-long friend who was one of my very first Young Life kids at Willow Glen High in San Jose, CA. He’s done pretty well since then, so I don’t think I did too much damage. Enjoy…and Merry Christmas!  ~Randy Siever

And now…Bob Goff.

I took an early flight out of Chicago O’Hare this morning for the West Coast. We tried to pull over to the curb just as dawn was breaking. As we did, a traffic cop standing in the street with a big badge started yelling at us and waving her arms wildly.

I couldn’t hear what she was shouting, but she seemed really mad – like maybe we’d run over someone; maybe even her, I thought. After we got our tongue lashing, she started yelling at the next car, and the next. Like us, none of them seemed to be doing anything wrong either. I said my good byes at the curb and walked back to where the cop was standing in the street yelling at the next couple cars. I walked out into the street with all of my luggage, pushing back the thought that she might mace me.

“Hi, I’m Bob, what’s your name?”

“Vanessa” she barked, “Why are you standing in the street?”

“You just seem really upset and I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

Vanessa looked at me for a second kind of puzzled; like she was deciding whether to reach for her gun or not, but instead, she started belly laughing and slapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t be silly, honey. I just pretend to be mad to keep myself warm.  It’s freezing out here!”

I’m going to think about that for the next couple weeks when I meet someone who at first seems mean, or short, or distracted or uncaring. It’s probably not me; and it’s probably not you either; they’re probably just fighting back the cold that might be surrounding their lives.

You can meet Bob at his blogsite, or by reading Donald Miller’s book, “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years”, where he is a bit of rock star, and Don’s primary living example of what it means to write your life story well.

Here’s the latest article from their newsletter, which gives you a peek into what a shifting paradigm looks like in a mainline church:

“Yes, I’m so excited to tell you. But wait, No…”
Well, honestly it is a tricky thing, this talking about experiences with doable
evangelism. On the one hand, after connecting with another in God’s love, I feel an
unusual sense of joy, meaning and an almost giddy urge to shout, “This is awesome,
try it!” But, on the other, can I talk about the results without taking away from an
experience that was almost too precious to be shared? Does the act of reporting take
away from the spontaneous, fun experience of noticing, praying, listening and engaging
in the conversations that follow? Will my focus change from doing what is natural in
the moment to a need to fulfill a religious obligation? Will it no longer come from who
I genuinely am?

I think not; I hope not; and yet it is a struggle, not just for me but also for many who
have shared their stories with me. Following are not only some of our stories (changed
for anonymity sake) but also our struggles with sharing them.

—I love tag teaming with a partner; one of us asks a stranger “how are you?” and
the other prays silently as the person answers. The simplest interaction that only
takes a minute or two can be rewarding. Not to brag, but, I do this a lot.

—I’m learning to ask good questions –ones that are a little riskier than I used to ask–
and to listen. I love the important conversations I’ve stumbling into as a result;
hard conversations, controversial conversations, but conversations that leave me
feeling alive and invigorated. I’ve found people terrified of judgment from the
church, hurt by Christians who want to shove rules and religion down their throat.
I love the opportunity to empathize with their hurt and reassure them that I don’t
see God that way – He’s not a God of terror and rules. I want to talk about the
fulfillment I feel in these conversations –the connection that results means a lot to
me– but I don’t want to sound like a know-it-all.

—I enjoy seeing people come to church because of the contacts I’m making. It’s
genuine for me though; I’m not just after a gold star for church growth.

—My dear friend just told me that although she isn’t sure she believes in God, for
the first time in her life, she hopes that, if there is a God, He accepts her. I can’t
talk about the details that made this interaction beautiful for me though without
divulging a confidence.

—I just realized that the joy I’ve brought to many on my daily walk counts as
evangelism; I’ve been witnessing all along and didn’t realize it. God has been
pleased with me and I only now am experiencing the fulfillment and affirmation of
serving Him.

—Evangelism is so much easier than I thought. Doable – I like feeling that I’m
not over-stepping. However, the word still brings to mind manipulative and
aggressive tactics that I deeply resent being used on people I love.

—I’m starting to see each interaction as an opportunity for a God-ordained moment.
It’s not a habit yet though. I tend to see the times I don’t give the gift of attention
rather than the times I do, and I can feel discouraged.

We struggle to share our successes; we struggle to share our challenges. Thank you to those of you who have taken the risk. I have no answers to make it easier. I’ll simply leave you with what motivates me to keep trying. I’ve found
something I’ve been searching for for years, an ability to connect spiritually with others, and it makes me want to jump for joy and shout, “This is great; try it.”

I’d noticed an older woman staring at us when we first sat down and it appeared she was homeless, but I tried not to stare.  So, I was busy playing with my cell phone while munching down on Wendy’s chili when my husband whispered, “Did you see that?”  I looked up quickly.

“No, what?”

“That woman just waited until those people left, and they left their cups on the table.  So, she went over and took one of their cups and went up front and got a refill.”

“Ooh.  How sad,”  I was slightly sickened at the idea of drinking from someone else’s cup, but sad for her.  She was dirty.  Really dirty.

My husband and son went up to order a frosty, but I didn’t want one.  Then, when my son returned with the frosties, I saw the inequity.  I asked my son to let me out, and as he asked if I had changed my mind about a Frosty, I just told him to wait and I would explain later.  Then, I went up front, and I ordered a five dollar gift card.  I went to the back of the restaurant and placed it quietly on the table in front of her.  “This is for you,”  I said, and I left it there with the receipt. 

“Thank you,” she said.

I returned to my seat, and my husband said, “That was a good thing you did.”  I just smiled. It was the right thing to do.

We finished our Frosties and got up to leave and she waved at us as we exited.  I noticed that there was a shopping cart parked on the sidewalk nearby that was filled with all her worldly goods.  As we were discussing her on the way home, my husband said, “So, what did you say to her?  Did you tell her ‘Jesus loves you’ or something?”  He had a smirky smile on his face, and I knew he was just teasing me. 

“No.  I just said, ‘This is for you.’”  He seemed more satisfied with that.  All of the sudden, it was something that I did out of the heart and not just as an ad campaign for Jesus.  I suppose that I’ve done enough stumping for Jesus in my time.  This time, it seemed to be more legitimate to him because I didn’t try to force Jesus into it.  It didn’t matter.  I didn’t have to because we all knew that Jesus was involved, anyway.  My husband told me three more times that evening how proud he was of me.

Trina records a beautiful example of the spiritual practice of noticing…a lesson learned from her very young daughter. The original post is HERE.

About eight years ago, my husband and I completed a church internship in Juneau, Alaska. I could tell you a thousand wonderful things that we learned that summer, but there is one profound story that will stick to my soul until I die. The lesson I learned didn’t come from reading a book on theology or words from a seasoned pastor. The lesson I learned was taught to me by my three year-old daughter.

Let me paint the picture for you.

My husband and I decided to take the ferry from Juneau to Haines, AK (If you’ve never been to Southeast Alaska, you should put it on your bucket list. A-mazing!). We got on the ferry with our two kids. The ferry was packed with people so we had to split up to find seats; he took our son, and I took our daughter.

Kate and I walked to the front of the ferry and saw two open seats next to a very disheveled man. I took the seat next to the man, and Kate sat down to my right.

Immediately I noticed the man’s smell. I looked over at him and gave him a courteous nod, taking note of his greasy hair and beard. In my eyes it was going to be a long four hours.

There was something about this man caught Kate’s attention. She kept leaning over me to look at the man and it started to become a little uncomfortable. I tried to distract her, but she kept leaning over to stare at him. Immediately thoughts started running through my head about what she might say.

Was she going to say something about his dirty clothes? His greasy beard? His smell?

I looked over at the man and smiled awkwardly. Finally Kate leaned over, looked the man in the eyes, and in her little voice said,

“Hi, Jesus.”

The man was so touched by her words.  He smiled and told me that was the nicest thing that anyone had ever said to him.

Instantly I knew that my little Kate had seen things in this man that I had failed to see. She saw more than smelly clothes and greasy long hair. She saw a person that was worthy of love and respect. Kate got it right.

After saying hello, Kate spent the rest of the trip coloring and playing with her toys. But little did she know on that day, she taught her mom a very important lesson. Her two words taught me more about God’s love than all the books I read in seminary. Kate showed how to see with new eyes.

I will never forget the man, the words, or the lesson that I learned on that ferry to Haines.

The other day, I was at the local high school for a quick meeting. As I was walking back to my car, I saw a teenage girl sitting on the steps with her head down. I said hello to her and started to continue on my way, but something stirred in my heart. I turned around and asked the girl if she was okay. She looked up with tears in her eyes and shrugged her shoulders.

I asked her what was going on and she began to pour her heart out. We talked for a few minutes and I tried to encourage her. Before I left, I gave her my cell phone number and told her that if she ever needed to talk, she could call me. About twenty minutes later, I received a text from this girl thanking me for taking the time to talk her and that “she really needed that.”

In all honesty, I didn’t do that much. All I did was show up.

As Christians, we should constantly be looking for opportunities to serve others in this hurting world. Sometimes that will make us expand out of our own sphere of influence. Here are some questions that might get you started in the right direction.

Do you have friends who are not Christians? Do you have friends of a different ethnic group or socio-economic status? Do you volunteer within your community? Have you ever talked to a homeless person?

Jesus was the greatest example of crossing all barriers to share His love with others. He didn’t allow social rules to dictate who He would minister to. He ministered to people from all walks of life. I believe that we should follow Jesus’ example.

Evangelism doesn’t just happen at luncheons or at Billy Graham Crusades. It happens every day of our lives. God has given us many opportunities to share His love—all we have to do is show up. Where might He want you to show up today?

Joel McBride It’s easy to serve the overlooked & ignored when they are your focus and you travel away from home to meet them. But, now comes the real missionary work: noticing and serving them where they are in your everyday and everywhere life!!
Tuesday at 7:15am via Mobile Web · LikeUnlike · Comment

Here’s part of our conversation that followed:

Randy Siever Noticing is a spiritual practice. It requires discipline and regular, uh…practice (which is why they are called spiritual “practices”!). This is the challenge of the modern church…to move from spiritual events to spiritual practices. From hit and run connections with those outside to normal, respectful connections every day with those all around us. Thanks for making this observation and comment today. Glad you guys had a good trip!
Tuesday at 7:43am · LikeUnlike

Joel McBride and thanks to you, Randy, for reminding me of what you helped me discover over the past few years with these ‘practices’. It’s been too easy for me lately to slip back into my ‘ignoring’ mode. It’s been a prayer request for me as well as our youth group to become more other-focused. And, I need to be open and willing to have that prayer request become answered! Tuesday at 3:11pm via Facebook Mobile · Like