Note: The following is one in a series of posts tagged “the people of god and…” These posts are intended to stir up conversation around the mission of God’s People in everyday life. Each will be a window into true stories of believers I know who are trying to live the good news. Read, think, comment!

We continue with John’s story, which was first mentioned here…

As John began to consider helping the day-laborers congregating a mere hundred yards from his office more seriously, he began to better appreciate the complexity of their situation.

The day-laborers were Hispanic almost to a man, which presented a challenge: John knew enough about Hispanics to know about Hispanic male machismo. Machismo made things more complicated. It meant that if John simply approached the men with free money, or lunch, or any other kind of handout, odds were that they might simply turn him down. Worst case, they might be offended, hurt, or shamed.

He was watching from a distance one day when a truck pulled up to one of the spots where the men were standing. They swarmed around it, desperate, yelling out their qualifications to the driver. He thought about how they prized their masculinity, their honor, their ability to work and provide. He watched them beg the driver to take them into his truck, and thought “This must be one of the worst days they’ve ever had.”

With renewed resolve, John started praying. More questions arose:

• What if he did help them and was seen as exacerbating the “security problem” at his company?
• If he and his friends could figure out a way to have them work for them (maybe they’d overpay them), would that be illegal? Probably.
• Did they like donuts?
• Why didn’t he pay more attention when he was learning Spanish?
• How could he help these men and allow them to retain their dignity?

John pondered this last question of dignity, convinced it was important. The day-laborers encountered people on a daily basis, and each person gave them a different message.

The people nervously walking around them to John’s building gave them a message: “We don’t trust you. You are criminals.”

The people driving past them to the hardware store they congregated at gave them a message: “We don’t need you. You are useless.”

The people that stopped, that hired maybe one in twenty of them at absurd and unjust wages gave them a message: “We don’t value you. You are nothing to us.”

John would give them a new message: “I value you. You are my brothers.”

As it turned out, giving them this message was surprisingly easy. It was so easy that he felt embarrassed telling people about it. John simply changed the route he walked from his bus to his office. Instead of cutting through the parking lot, which was the fastest way, John walked along the sidewalk at the outer edge of the parking lot. This allowed him to look each man in the eye, smile, and say in an ultra-gringo accent “Ola! Buenos Dias!”

At first he felt very silly doing this. Most of the men looked haggard and tired. Many of them turned away when from his forced and sometimes stilted greetings. But then, little by little, day by day, they began to acknowledge him. First there were cautious nods. Then nods and smiles. Then some of them had knowing, remembering smiles. Then, one of them began beating him to the punch:

“Amigo!” he’d yell from a distance, smiling, “Como Estas?”
“Bien! Bien!” John would answer, grinning back.

John felt like they understood what he was trying to tell them in spite of his awkward, halting spanish. “You are going to work, I am going to work. We are the same. You are trying to provide for your family, I am trying to provide for my family. We are the same.”

John’s opportunity to serve the laborers more formally came soon enough, but when it happened he wasn’t alone. A few of his co-workers heard about what John was doing and wanted to be part of it. After some discussion, they decided that they would bring Starbucks coffee to the men on a Friday morning.

It was a success that surprised them all. The men, recognizing John, were grateful for the coffee as the day was cold. Somehow, the arrival of three strangers armed with cardboard boxes of coffee, sugar packets, and large plastic cups full of half-and-half didn’t seem strange at all to them on that day. It was difficult not to make a half-joke about loaves and fishes when they (coincidentally?) handed out the very last cup to the last of the 40 some-odd day-laborers that wanted coffee.

Earlier that morning, one of John’s friends had asked “Hey, if they ask us why we are doing this what do we tell them?” John responded, “Just tell them why you are doing it. We probably all have different reasons.”

John knew exactly why he was doing it. As he looked out at the group, he saw that one of the men was wearing a hoodie with words printed on the back. They read, “Hecho En Mexico”: Made In Mexico. The words served as a reminder: these men really were here illegally. They really had committed a crime, according to the US government. Some of them might be punished for that crime. And yet, John felt obligated to come out of his place of safety (his office and his law-abiding legal standing with the United States of America) and serve them. John did this because he knew exactly what it was like to be in their shoes, to be served, accepted, loved in spite of being a law-breaker. John looked at the man with the hoodie again.

“You are a criminal, I am a criminal,” he thought. “We are the same.”

You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Romans 5:6-8

It wouldn’t be right to post about Millenium Park and Crown Fountain and skip over the Chicago Projects. You hear the same theme over and over again when talking to people about the projects: disbelief.

How could this kind of poverty exist in America?

If you haven’t been exposed to the projects before, try these books and audio documentaries. In addition, here are some documentary clips shot in the Robert Taylor, Ida B. Wells, East Park, and Harold Ickes Projects and others to get you started.

Since we are on track to plant The Line in January 2009, this seems like a good time to briefly re-state our purpose and vision for those of you that haven’t yet made it to those sections of our website.

Simply stated, The Line is a movement of the People of God in Chicago. Let me touch on the key concepts in this statement.

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In Chicago

We speak and live the gospel in a unique place, time, and culture: 21st century Chicago. We celebrate those places where God’s image is present in this great city while grieving over its brokenness. We champion the causes of reconciliation and reconstruction through bold action. Our love for Chicago isn’t fueled by affiliation to a political party. It is fueled by our love for and gratitude towards Christ. The question is less “Who are we going to vote for?” and more “Who are we going to die for?”
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The People of God

God’s great plan of redemption has been accomplished through Jesus, the Christ. In Jesus we are adopted into a royal family. In Jesus we are forgiven for our rebellion against our Father God and restored to a life of unimaginable wonder with Him. In Jesus, the plumb line of Israel who is making straight all that is crooked and bent, we participate in the glorious triumph of redemption and the renewal of all things.
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A Movement

As we bring the good news of Jesus’ work and reign to Chicago, we stress the kind of discipleship that multiplies and sends missionaries (the people in God’s family). We work hard to become a broad, diverse network of Christian communities that heal, reconcile, and bless the city of Chicago in Jesus. Our emphasis will be less growing by one hundred members in a year, and more growing a hundred churches in a generation.

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Be sure to browse the other sections of this site, which describe this vision in more detail. I’d also love to answer any questions you have personally. Leave a comment on this post or email chicagoline at gmail dot com.

Note: The following is the first in a series of posts tagged “the people of god and…” These will be written to stir up conversation around the mission of God’s People in everyday life. Each will be a window into true stories of believers I know who are trying to live the good news. Read, think, comment!

My friend (let’s call him John) has this problem. John has a great job as a innovation manager in a large, well-known software company that has offices scattered throughout the downtown area. Most of the offices are pretty posh: well-designed, located in areas known for good restaurants, conference rooms that look out on whole expanse of the city, that sort of thing.

John’s office building is not so posh. It has more of a worn-out and dirty sweatpants kind of style, and is located in a neighborhood that most of the other employees of the company are scared to visit. John, who doesn’t mind the location, tires of the constant half-joking remarks about getting shot at on the way to get lunch, and has a hard time not saying rude things when people talk about “how much this area is improving” (code for “how much this area is embracing white urban culture”).

In less pharisaic moods John acknowledges to himself he doesn’t have that much room for judgment, being a white urbanite earning six figures per year and not doing much for this neighborhood himself. But he’d like that to change. And here we arrive at John’s problem.

About a month ago, his director called all of the employees in the building to an meeting. The subject line for the meeting request was vague, which heightened both the excitement and the tension in the air as John’s fellow employees filed into the conference room in which the meeting was to be held (the conference room’s windows look out on a dumpster).

It turned out that the meeting was to discuss “serious security concerns that many of you have mentioned.” John listened carefully, weighing each complaint as the director of security began to rattle off the flood of complaints that had been brought to his attention since someone’s (unlocked) car was stolen from the lot.

“We have found homeless people sleeping under the bridge to the parking lot and had them removed…” Okay, that wasn’t terrible. Sometimes homeless folks have mental illnesses. “Had them removed” was a little strong, but…
“…Limited lighting in the lot after hours…” Fine. John had never noticed this, but more lighting would be nice for the folks that worked late at the building.
“…You’ve complained that there is no gate at the entrance to the lot…” Hmm… none of the other lots have gates…

“…and finally we’ve had a number of complaints about the growing population of migrant workers next door at the Lowe’s.” Huh? What did that have to do with security? “This isn’t a political issue really. A number of you have said that you don’t feel safe around those men. We’ve asked Lowe’s to take care of their problem and call the right authorities, but as you can see today, this hasn’t been too successful. We will keep working on this.”

It was true that the number of day laborers had been increasing since last summer. Every day now at least thirty stood all along the entrance to the neighboring parking lot. John, who rides the bus to work, has been thinking about them quite a bit lately. He’s been thinking about how difficult it must be for these men to stand outside in the rain and cold day after day, almost begging for work. Before today, he’d been wondering if he should do something. Do day laborers like coffee?

What does the gospel here? John weighs the options back in the room full of bored meeting attendees. If he was flirting with the idea of a missionary venture before, he was ready to go down on one knee now. What can John do? What would you do? How could Jesus make this situation new?

Things could have been a lot rougher when Kayla and I got assessed as church planters at the Acts 29 Boot Camp in January. We actually found out that I had cancer the day before our final interview. We knew by then that cancer meant we had to put planting a church in Chicago on hold (if you’re new here, you can catch up below - we’re back on track and planting in January 2009).

By God’s grace on the day of our interview we found ourselves in a situation that was the opposite of rough: we were with brothers. It took all of five minutes as we sat in a cold church basement talking about our lives and dreams for us to realize that our three assessors were there for two reasons: love for Jesus, and love for His workers. I left the intense, two hour interview refreshed and excited, feeling humbled and served by my betters.

So if you are in Omaha, Minneapolis, or Duluth please look these guys up, buy them a cold beverage of their choice, and forward me the bill.

This just in: my oncologist informed me last week that he found no traces of the cancer that I have been fighting. Although I will need continual examinations for a long time (read: the rest of my life), all signs currently point to a cancer-free body.

This comes as an answer to many prayers: ours and yours. Kayla and I spent last weekend at a friend’s cabin-on-loan on Hood Canal. We are excited and renewed as we begin to go forward with plans for The Line. I will be posting more regularly in this space going forward. Stay tuned.

For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and springs, flowing out in the valleys and hills, a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey, a land in which you will eat bread without scarcity, in which you will lack nothing, a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose hills you can dig copper. And you shall eat and be full, and you shall bless the Lord your God for the good land he has given you.

Deuteronomy 8:7-10

The Problem Of Comfort

I have never known horror. To be sure, one can hardly be a pastor and remain free from terrible, grief-laden experience (sometimes that of others, sometimes your own). The kind of naked horror that is commonplace for many all over the world, however, is a stranger to me. My wife bore our last child in the near Hilton-like comforts of Swedish hospital, not in an IDP tent in the Sudan. And if I’ve never known horror, I’ve only ever had a passing acquaintance with physical need. I sometimes wonder if this impedes my understanding of heaven.

During the past few months, I have undergone a series of treatments designed to free my body of cancer cells. The treatments were accompanied by some unpleasant side-effects. These increased in intensity for the duration of the treatment, but didn’t peak and then start to abate until several weeks after my last radiation dose. During the worst of it, my doctor, who was surprised by their intensity and confused by their form, ordered me off of work and into bed.

Since that time I have been slowly recovering, and have returned to work. Aside from a mildly irritated throat and a Nevada-shaped patch of brown on the side of my face, the side-effects have wholly vanished. Every so often I hit a patch of fatigue that reminds me that my body is still trying to un-microwave itself, but these are rare.

What is most striking to me about the whole ordeal is how little real suffering was involved. Each day, on the way to my treatment, I would pass a window revealing several gaunt women who were obviously in pain. I could only assume from their robes that they were waiting for full body treatments, and that radiation therapy was, at this point, the least of their worries. Their faces said that they were there to refill the windshield wiper fluid in a car in need of an engine replacement.

Still, if Physical Need hasn’t moved into a spare bedroom in the Youngren home in the past months, at the very least he’s been over for coffee.
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The Table of Plenty

There are times when my hopes seem woefully inadequate: shallow desires for more sleep, more exercise, more time to study. Need (physical or otherwise) exposes these as reflections on hot desert sand. They are as real as the desert is dry, but at the same time illusory. A generous retirement is a laughable longing compared to the renewal of all things.

And so, rather than a dry fact-filled update (the essentials are above), I would rather talk about the latest glimpse of heaven that Need brought to my home during my treatment. Ironically, it came knocking at my door.

There were various kinds of soups: some potato, some chicken, some broccoli. They expelled the storm-clouds of Vick’s Vapo-Spray from our home and replaced them with rich, creamy sunshine. I was struck at the care taken to make sure all of their contents were able to be eaten by someone with a somewhat mutilated throat. I can only guess at how long it must have taken to puree some of these dishes. They were a balm.

Some brought wonderful pastas and Italian dishes. Thoughtfully, these were made in the mildest fashion possible to ensure again, that my already inflamed throat would be able to handle them. There were cheesy pastas and hot Lasagnas. One dish even had baked bread crumbs scattered all over the top. Delicious!

Night after night this phenomenon would occur: a knock at the door, a greeting, a smile, a careful inquiry (I want to know how you are doing but I don’t want to interrupt your rest), and then, a full-course meal for my entire family. Many times, these were brought by women with whom I had only a few interactions previously.

The main dishes themselves were offset by all kinds of sides, deserts, and drinks. Sometimes it seemed like the ladies who brought us these meals were using the occasion to simply fill our refrigerator with groceries. They would bring in box after box of goods while I watched helplessly in a percoset-induced stupor.
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The Kingdom Revealed

It is often in times of great need that the Kingdom of Heaven is most visible. Like an enchanted fortress, it sometimes reveals itself most clearly in the most desperate hours of night. And how much more beautiful are its thick walls, its soaring battlements, its hearth-fires to the one who finds himself wrapped in the strength of its embrace in his hour of need.

It was with great joy that I found myself in that Kingdom again and again, as I was attended to by its agents night after night. At the end of it all there was no bill to pay, no thank-you cards required, just simple smiles on the faces of those who know no greater pleasure than to serve their King.

And the King will answer them, Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.
Matthew 25:40

I am going for my “all clear” cancer examinations on May 7th. Although I’ll need to continue regular check-ups for the next five years, this one is significant in that we’ll be checking to see if the treatment worked. Please be in prayer.

I won’t be posting regularly for the next 3-4 weeks, other than to send the occasional update on my cancer treatment.

We are currently on treatment 10/17. Truth be told, the past week or so has been somewhat physically demanding. The symptoms associated with the radiation treatment I receive daily arrived much earlier than expected for some reason. The past 9 days have been peppered with nausea, dehydration, a worse-than-Bob-Marley’s-worst-ever dry mouth, and a sunburn on my throat (a sunburn on my throat?).

I wish I could say more — there are nuggets and experiences in these past weeks that I will carry with me for a long long time — but for now: love and thanks to my deeply committed community, and to my wonderful, patient wife and family. And humble gratitude to my God, who suffered unimaginable pain so that I could have life. Who can complain about a short trip to the desert when it’s so full of manna?

Snapped this on day three: