Frozen Heart

For the first time this year (and the first significant time this whole winter long), snow rages through the air and settles deep on the ground.  And as I sit here, coffee betwixt my fingers and thumb, warm to the bones and full to the brim with everything I need and many of the things I want, I remember...

I remember Walter, the man with the cardboard sign who only asked for help to keep his 6-year-old son off the streets.  I remember the many veterans, men and women, who have fought long and hard with body and mind, now frail in both, who sit on the side of the highway exits, judged for being physically and emotionally and mentally scarred by the battles they've seen.  I remember the man under the overpass, his bed of old, smelly sleeping bags made with care, practicing his kirate -- or dancing; I couldn't quite tell.  And the snow flew anyway.  And as the ground beneath them froze, so did my heart.  And I realize I don't know the meaning of these words as well as I often think I do:

Remember my affliction and my wandering, the wormwood and bitterness.

Surely my soul remembers and is bowed down within me.

No, that I do not remember.  But they do.

But it's not too late for them, for their frozen bodies.  Nor me, for my frozen heart.

This I recall to my mind, 

Therefore I have hope.

The Lord's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease,

For His compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;

Great is Your faithfulness.

His lovingkindness and compassion are extended to my heart each and every day, and I have the choice each day to extend it beyond myself, to those in need.  

I've said it before, and I'll say it again:

I was raised in a culture that said, "God helps those who help themselves" and "You reap what you sow" and "I'll help you if you prove to me you're worth it."  Nowhere in any of those statements is the gospel present.  The gospel is about God helping people who cannot help themselves, and reaping something that someone else sowed, and understanding that we're all unworthy of help and that's why it's so awesome that God's love and care is not based on worth!  The gospel is God helping the poor, namely me and you.  And those who've heard and understood and accepted this gospel are called to be extenders of the same grace we were given. 

That means helping people who can't -- maybe even won't -- help themselves. 

That means giving people things that they didn't work for. 

That means extending care and grace and provision to people whether we deem them "worthy" or not.  Because neither are we.  Yet, God lavished all of his fullness on us anyway.

And you know what?  You and every other person on this planet may not be worthy of another's unconditional love and provision, but we all have eternal, immeasurable value -- God's image imprinted on every eye and every fingerprint and every soul.  And with that value comes responsibility for making that choice, for extending that grace, for loving God by loving our neighbors.

Yes, my heart is often distracted -- or even intentionally turned away -- from the needs of others.  But I pray God above and within will help me turn my eyes and spirit to those in need, and help me extend to them my arms and my love, cold though it may be, that His love working through me might warm and thaw this frozen heart.

The Same Grace We Were Given

I've been gone for a long time.  Over a month, I see...  

Don't know what kept me away, except the realization that I didn't have to do this.  I didn't have to have a steady flow of blog posts to have friends who think I'm pretty fun.  I didn't have to write cleverly or poetically or even thoughtfully about trivial or important things in order to be understood and loved.  I just needed to step away for a while to see that.  Now that I'm back, I find I'm the recipient of a bloggerrific honor (Much to my surprise! Thanks, Jenna!), and that -- while I may not have a storehouse of interesting things to converse about with my world wide websters -- I do have a few things stored up in my heart that are longing for an out.  And I do have friends out there who might be interested to hear about them.  And as long as I don't base my self esteem on the inflow of positive comments, I can actually enjoy this outlet.

And so I return, fresh blog post in hand and my heart not quite so on my sleeve, but certainly available to those who ask for it kindly.  Or those who rip it from my chest.  Well, I'm getting ahead of myself...

*****

One thing I've been thinking a lot about in the last several days is urban poverty and homelessness.  Last week Hope For Chicago (who's Executive Director I work for) and Holy Trinity Church (our home away from home), along with several other gospel-centered social justice groups, sponsored/attended a one-day conference (directly following the three-day Gospel Coalition Conference) entitled Christ+City, which was headlined by Manhattan church-planter Tim Keller (who has a most excellent theology of the gospel lived out as both justification by faith and social justice in our communities... but that's a parenthetical statement for another day!).  I can't believe I just sputtered that out all in one sentence, but there you have it.

Between that conference and BSF's recent study of Isaiah 58, I've been done in with thoughts and prayers for the urban poor.  Especially on days like today -- cold, windy, rainy, pretty much the epitome of miserable days -- I am quick to think of my own misfortunes (Sheesh!  I can't take a leisurely walk to my favorite new coffee bar and drink in Spring's glory!) and not the misfortunes of others, which may very likely exclude the cozy chair and warm cup of one's own home-brewed coffee with a roof over one's head and dry clothes on one's back.  

It's taken a long, long time to see poverty through the eyes of Jesus.  I was raised in a culture that said, "God helps those who help themselves" and "You reap what you sow" and "I'll help you if you prove to me you're worth it."  Nowhere in any of those statements is the gospel present.  The gospel is about God helping people who cannot help themselves, and reaping something that someone else sowed, and understanding that we're all unworthy of help and that's why it's so awesome that God's love and care is not based on worth!  The gospel is God helping the poor, namely me and you.  And those who've heard and understood and accepted this gospel are called to be extenders of the same grace we were given.  

That means helping people who can't -- maybe even won't -- help themselves.  

That means giving people things that they didn't work for.  

That means extending care and grace and provision to people whether we deem them "worthy" or not.  Because neither are we.  Yet, God lavished all of his fullness on us anyway.

The gospel -- justification by grace alone -- demands that we extend it in just the same way we received it.  It demands that we care more about the person on the corner with the cardboard sign than we care about what that dollar or two that we painstakingly give him might be spent on.  (Really?  You care more about a practically worthless piece of paper than a human soul?)  Please forgive me if this sounds like a frustrated rant.  I promise you it's as much -- and even more -- directed to my own heart than it is to anyone else's.  I suppose part most of my frustration comes from the realization that I've been walking with the Lord, meditating on his word, sitting under the teaching of good theology for years, and am only just now starting to have these sore, oozing eyes parted, slowly and painfully and resistantly opened to the reality of my place among the poor and my calling to their welfare.  Consider these words, spoken from God's lips to our hearts:

  Is this not the fast which I choose,
         To loosen the bonds of wickedness,
         To undo the bands of the yoke,
         And to let the oppressed go free
         And break every yoke?
   Is it not to divide your bread with the hungry
         And bring the homeless poor into the house;
         When you see the naked, to cover him;
         And not to hide yourself from your own flesh?

That is our calling, my friend.  That is our fast, our prayer, our demonstration of our faith to our God and our fellow earth-dwellers.  To bring freedom through the gospel to people.  Freedom not only for the poor, enslaved to their poverty, but freedom also for the rich, enslaved to their wealth; freedom that breaks every yoke.  And freedom involves sacrifice.  For Jesus that involved death.  Can I, then, not spare some food, money, shelter, clothing, etc., for the freedom of others?  For me, that's what it will sometimes involve.  It most definitely always involves giving respect: Is the fast which I choose not to hide yourself from your own flesh?  To me that says, don't turn away.  Don't look in the other direction when you see someone in need.  Don't ignore them.  Respect their personhood by looking them in the eyes.  Respect them by not only acknowledging them but speaking to them, and not with pity but with compassion.  Showing pity is not the same thing as showing compassion.  Pity says, "I'm sorry," and then may spare some loose change for the alleviation of one's own guilt over being richer than someone else.  Compassion builds a relationship with someone, and then says, "What do you need?  How can I help?"

I've shared a song, "Winter's Ashes" on here before.  Eric and I recently worked on a video/montage for it (for the above conference), so I hope you won't mind me sharing it again.  Look and listen and pray let the spirit stir in your heart and mine a grace for others more like God's... more like the grace we were given...