The following is a journal entry I made on 8/15/06 while on a missions trip to the Tenderloin District of San Francisco with the youth from my church. It's typed below just as I wrote it then (with a spelling correction here and there). I'm posting it because I want to be reminded that there will always be hope in the darkness. And maybe someone else out there needs reminding too.
I have looked into the eyes of despair and have found it to be horribly human.
We've been doing street ministry the last couple of days. What we did: We took these "questionnaires" with us to use as a means of starting a conversation with people. What amazed me was that people really just wanted to talk. They wanted to hear and be heard.
-The face of despair is loneliness.
-The face of despair is the realization that two strong arms aren't enough.
-The face of despair is the acknowledgement that something once done for entertainment now owns you.
In all that, in the face of all that pain, I saw hope. I saw smiles because we took the time to talk to people who no one talks to. The statement, "You are human," is incredibly powerful. It touches those who have long since began to doubt it.
I had a conversation with a guy named Everett. He just got out of prison and is living with a woman who buys him alcohol. Everett struck me in two ways. First, I knew that if he were drunk or high and thought he could, he would rob me for the money in my pocket and the clothes on my back.* Nice, huh?
Second, Everett was a man looking for acceptance, looking for a life. He kept repeating that he didn't smoke crack. He drank alcohol, but he didn't smoke crack. Over and over.
What I heard: "I made some mistakes, but I'm human."
Everyone in the Tenderloin District says, "I'm human," with some temerity... some doubt.
Jesus, I pray that your love and hope might fill this district. That you might wash this place clean. May Your salvation allow these people to rise above the struggles of the flesh and join You.
You don't need to go to the slums of San Francisco to find despair. You can find it in your own town, your own church, maybe in your own home. To all those with despair weighing them down like so many bricks, I have this to say: You are human, and you are loved by Christ. Won't you come home?
*So that you don't think I'm being too harsh on poor Everett, I should probably mention that he went to prison for pulling a knife on a man while high on crack.
I have looked into the eyes of despair and have found it to be horribly human.
We've been doing street ministry the last couple of days. What we did: We took these "questionnaires" with us to use as a means of starting a conversation with people. What amazed me was that people really just wanted to talk. They wanted to hear and be heard.
-The face of despair is loneliness.
-The face of despair is the realization that two strong arms aren't enough.
-The face of despair is the acknowledgement that something once done for entertainment now owns you.
In all that, in the face of all that pain, I saw hope. I saw smiles because we took the time to talk to people who no one talks to. The statement, "You are human," is incredibly powerful. It touches those who have long since began to doubt it.
I had a conversation with a guy named Everett. He just got out of prison and is living with a woman who buys him alcohol. Everett struck me in two ways. First, I knew that if he were drunk or high and thought he could, he would rob me for the money in my pocket and the clothes on my back.* Nice, huh?
Second, Everett was a man looking for acceptance, looking for a life. He kept repeating that he didn't smoke crack. He drank alcohol, but he didn't smoke crack. Over and over.
What I heard: "I made some mistakes, but I'm human."
Everyone in the Tenderloin District says, "I'm human," with some temerity... some doubt.
Jesus, I pray that your love and hope might fill this district. That you might wash this place clean. May Your salvation allow these people to rise above the struggles of the flesh and join You.
You don't need to go to the slums of San Francisco to find despair. You can find it in your own town, your own church, maybe in your own home. To all those with despair weighing them down like so many bricks, I have this to say: You are human, and you are loved by Christ. Won't you come home?
*So that you don't think I'm being too harsh on poor Everett, I should probably mention that he went to prison for pulling a knife on a man while high on crack.
Comments
Powerful.
Thanks.
Anonymous,
I'll hold you to that.