"What the Neighborhood Has Taught Me" by Kyle Story

Living and working in the neighborhood has been a time of real growth. I imagine the time as time spent at a table eating rich, filling food for some reason. But when I sit and think about this year, it becomes clear to me that there are things I have learned from being in a Christian community and then there are lessons learned from the neighborhood itself. The lessons have often been hard and at times discouraging, and I don't think I would see the silver lining in either without Scriptural encouragement to trust in.

I suppose one of the lessons that the neighborhood has taught me would be that a very real, tangible kind of racism still exists in our society today. This racism still manifests itself in the form of segregation. Physical, cultural, spiritual, and economic walls have been thrown up all around inner city communities like Binghampton and Orange Mound. As several authors of the books we have read mentioned, the goal of church culture is seldom to lift these communities out of exile, but instead to sit back and welcome anyone worthy to join them after they have made it out of the ghetto. I think that the term exile is really effectively to describe the situation of people living in the inner city neighborhoods of the world. Technically, exile is a noun meaning "the state or period of forced absence from one's country or home." Residents of America's inner cities have, as a result of several forces like racism and classism, ended up in a state of forced absence from the rest of society. People, who were originally created to live in right relationships with each other, have been separated and are now hostile towards each other. Blighted inner city communities consist of the kind of people with which the "healthy" world does not want to interact with. People with means have moved away into homogeneous suburbs with homogeneous school districts. Businesses have followed people in this flight and have left inner city communities underserved. Private school systems have popped up creating a segregated educational system. People left in the inner city have been forcibly exiled from the functioning world. They are the product of the selfishness and ignorance of people who are intended to be in community together. Now, the affluent world has not so much denied this responsibility as it has conveniently forgotten it.

I say all this, I suppose, because seeing the result of this exile is pretty powerful. The neighborhood has taught me that only Christ is capable of truly bringing about spiritual and physical change here. Without an understanding of Christ's call to go to places like Binghampton and make disciples, people would really have no reason to interact with this community at all. The neighborhood has taught me that Christians have to take responsibility and once again return to places and people previously exiled and so as to be salt and light. It’s a tremendous call and I have only recently heard it.

What has made this particular lesson so poignant has been the times that I have gone out to big, affluent suburban churches to speak about the work SOS is doing. The times I have gone to these churches with Big Dog have been even more interesting. These trips stand out to me for a few reasons. The first reason is that although what I have to say about SOS is almost always well received, I have never heard someone indicate that they desire to do anything more than perhaps write a check or volunteer once and a while with us. Perhaps I have just missed it, but it appears that most people are very willing to see us as uniquely equipped missionaries rather than regular people. We get patted on the back just for doing what we are clearly called to do by Jesus himself. I think looking for easy ways to volunteer a few times or writing checks have just become ways church folks assuage guilt. I have yet to see someone compelled to be involved with the ministry that is going on in Binghampton with any depth. I assume a great deal that perhaps I'm not in position to assume, but I know that for the most part the church in America has failed our inner cities. We refuse to acknowledge that our desire for comforts and the pursuit of the American dream has left our brothers and sisters in the inner cities to fend for themselves and wallow in the situation our flight from responsibility has created. Rather than jump alongside those serving in the inner city, most are comfortable offering prayers cheapened by an unwillingness to make personal sacrifices in the name of service.

Another thing that has become painfully obvious to me as a result of my time sharing about SOS in suburban churches is that we are still a society full of prejudices and racism. Folks at the largely white churches leap at the chance to interact with Big Dog, a very large black brother. Yes, he is a charming man with an incredible testimony, but there is no way I could be convinced that they would treat him the way they do if he was white. At one church in particular, after being introduced to a man Marlon had just met, the man I shook hands with moments before acted as if I had turned and walked away. Shortly thereafter a circle of middle-aged white guys formed around Big Dog. Despite his attempts to include me in the conversation, attention remained focused exclusively on Marlon. I simply was not interesting enough to merit even a second look. I am sure that it was because these guys, despite being decent people, rarely interact with an African-American in their daily lives. When the opportunity does present itself they leap at the opportunity, almost as if it was a way of assuring themselves that they are accepting and not in any way racist after all. The slow developing exile that has so clearly divided class lines here in the South has created to different worlds, a white world and a black world.

For all the despair and darkness I know see around me, and for all the problems I have been exposed to living here in Memphis, I still have not resigned myself to real frustration. It’s because I trust that Jesus Christ will continue to work and will continue to push people towards true reconciliation and true Kingdom work. There is so much good being done here and it’s been an incredible blessing to be a part of it all. After all, I keep reminding myself that the greater the problems here in this world, the more glorious New Jerusalem will be when Christ comes back and sets things right.

April, 2009

"Lessons from the Hood" by Lacie Schultz

In a word, the neighborhood has taught me humility. Lesson after lesson can be boiled down to God humbling me. These lessons have been difficult, but essential. I came to the neighborhood thinking I had something worthwhile to offer. I thought making friends with neighbors would be easy and come naturally. I heard people say that it would be harder than I thought, but I didn’t believe them. And yet here I am, eating my words.

My first month was the most difficult. I called my parents crying one night. I was interning at Christ Community Health Services and I felt unneeded and more of a hindrance than a help. It didn’t seem like I was having any sort of impact on any of my neighbors – in fact I barely knew their names. I had believed the lies Satan was telling me about who I was to God. Worse than purposelessness, he was hitting me with feeling expendable and lacking value. But the Lord spoke to me through friends and Scripture. He told me I was valuable and more priceless than gold. Isaiah 29:11-13 promises that not only does God have a perfect plan for my life, but also that when I seek him with all my heart, I will find him. He told me in Colossians 3:17 that everything I do should be for God and that it should be done with my whole heart, regardless of circumstances. I was reassured that I have eternal worth in his eyes and that I need to be okay with seasons where I am the one learning rather than the one teaching.

The neighborhood has taught me that being a neighbor is really very simple. A friend of mine that lives down the street once told me, “To learn to be a neighbor, you just have to go outside.” I think there is wisdom in her words. Being a neighbor is as easy as sitting on your porch and talking to your neighbors. It’s as simple as going to the park and playing with kids. You listen to people’s lives, learn their needs, and seek to meet them. It’s that basic. And yet it has been so hard for me. My flesh wars against it every day. All I want to do is go home and relax. If I do go out, I want to spend time with friends who are easy to be with, not work to make new friends with people next door who are literally from different cultures. It boils down to a choice: I have a choice to go outside and spend some extra effort knowing people or to stay in. It’s a choice I have to make every day.

Living here, I’ve also learned that I am very interested in other cultures. I genuinely enjoy learning about them and relish the moments that cross-cultural connections are made. I don’t mind spending the time it takes to attempt to communicate with people who don’t speak my language. If anything it just makes me appreciate understanding even more. I love talking to the refugee students at tutoring about life outside their school work and learning that we have things in common with each other. Even simple things like directing an Afghani man where to get his food stamps are fulfilling to me. This realization about myself makes me feel more confident about the heart God has given me for overseas medical mission work.

I’m feeling tired of this “learning” stage of life where I am surrounded by spiritual mentors whose lives I want to emulate and am ready to start emulating them already! But God keeps using this neighborhood and the people in it to humble me. I think it is a good place for me to be. Until I am able to realize my complete inadequacy and embrace the Lord’s perfect provision, I am in no condition to set out on my own to emulate anyone. In a nutshell, the neighborhood has taught me that I have a lot to learn.

April, 2009

"The Unseen Community" by John Geiger

So far this year has been a year of reflecting on all the things I thought I knew. I have lived in low income neighborhoods, dealt with people in these same desperate situations and personally lived on the same side of the despair. This has given me a sort of arrogance and pride that says, “I know how to relate better than most Christians”. I have learned that this is not the case. Just because I can use some familiar slang (in its proper context) and say, “Yeah, I been locked up”, does not give me any leverage with the kids in the Bing.

I can sit on my porch and chat with some neighborhood boys and rough house with them a little, but this shallow relationship has me nowhere near their hearts. I can give kids rides, provide for some minor physical needs, but I still have not heard one word about what their lives are like at home. I am closer now than I was a month ago, but I am nowhere near being trusted by them. How could I even consider leaving in August and think I have had an impact? If I leave in August I will leave a changed person, but I would not have changed Binghampton, I will be another passerby who tried to do a little good while I was here.

I have also learned that my wife and I are not perceived by residents here as a sign of relief, or of much needed help. We are seen as middle class white people who are a threat because we will buy up land, build a nice house, and clean up the street, raising property values and cut the thread that so many people hang from. It will take more than a year or two for a family to take our kind gestures for what they are and know that we are here to live this life, just as they are.

We desire to be part of the Binghampton community. That is why we came. But there is a community here that we can’t even see because we are too wrapped up in trying to make a community. We as middle class white people need to understand that we are not here in hopes that people will learn to live like us, but that neighbors will plainly see that we love them and we love Christ and our hope is that they may do the same. Binghampton is a strong and tight knit community with a rich history. We are just outsiders that (with pure hearts) have moved in here and ruffled some feathers, put a few smiles on faces and hoped for the best. It is going to take a lot more effort and a lot more time to really become part of Binghampton.

I am not sure how this life is supposed to play out but I do know that we start by building relationships. Once a solid relationship is built, reconciliation might begin. Once reconciliation begins we might be accepted by some as part of the community. Progress can and will happen but it is going to take much more effort than I have been willing to give. I have not yet laid down my life for this community. There are few people here whom I believe have embraced this calling. I hope and pray that in time I will have the courage to do the same. Until that time comes I can only look up to those who are doing it, sacrificing of themselves as they try to figure this thing out. I do know that there will be failures and successes, but if I learn from them and continue to focus on the One who has called me here, He will be the one who changes Binghampton and I will learn it has nothing to do with me.

April, 2009

"The People In My Neighborhood" by Melissa Geiger

I’ve learned I have no strength on my own
I’ve learned black and white mean more than I’ve ever known
I’ve learned there’s despair in feeling alone
I’ve learned I can’t expect people to live how they’ve never been shown

Door bell rings… during naps, and talks, kids have such timing
Hey coach take us here, give me a dollar, can I sit in your chair
Finding the balance between sucker and sharing
Can be quite exhausting when you are “this far” from caring

Potentials unreached and skills not taught
Make tragic lives when different avenues are sought
Young men in the streets with guns in their hands
Looking down upon futures and dreams bleeding in the sand

Kind wave, and a smile, a morning hello
Is the time that I give you, when my day’s on the go
I baked you bread once and when the grass gets long we pay kids to mow
But I’ve never been in your house and your last name I don’t know

Loving people is hard and I get sick of trying
I’m pushed to my limits with frustration and fear
But I always find Jesus upon ending up there
And He reminds that I was once in need of His love and saving

Death, Drugs, and Despair in these streets can be bought
But Strength, Service and a Savior can be found on the corner where Your word is taught
There are some, that are drawing a line in the sand
To show that the our only hope is lying in Your hands

Being a neighbor is more than going with the flow
It’s letting people in, instead of putting on a good show
Jesus please forgive for turning to love so slow
And help me to see that my neighbor is anyone who is feeling low

I’ve learned I have no strength on my own
I’ve learned black and white mean more than I’ve ever known
I’ve learned there’s despair in feeling alone
I’ve learned I can’t expect people to live how they’ve never been shown

April, 2009

"Community from the Perspective of an Isolationist" by Emily Howell

On the street behind ours live two young girls, sisters, who attend the neighborhood girls club. They are both a little older and tend to be quiet (at least compared to the other girls). When girls club began in August and they found out that we were close neighbors, they would be waiting with their bicycles at the end of the street to follow my car home. We would then have a little conversation in the driveway about school or girls club and I would politely say that I needed to get inside. It did not take long for them to stop waiting for me and stop coming by the house.

You see, I live like an isolationist in a group-oriented community. I value my time, my food, my swing, my clothes, my sleep, my job, and my commitments above the relationships physically surrounding me. These girls were teaching me how to neighbor (as a verb), and I was showing them how to selfishly take care of my personal business without care for neighbors. Since then, I have realized that there is much to learn from these sisters, as well as a few lessons to learn from other neighbors.

Last weekend, my Hispanic neighbors hosted a bash of a birthday party. There were a few things I picked up on throughout the day. First, everyone was involved. Men were moving chairs, children swept the porch, and women blew up balloons and made other colorful decorations. It took a full community effort for adequate preparation. Second, they held the party on the front porch. Where my natural inclination would have certainly been to host a gathering in the controlled environment of my living room, the neighbors willingly shared the joy of their party with everyone who passed by. They were vulnerable to the neighborhood and I know what was going on in their lives because they made their lives available to the community. Third, they dressed up. Everyone had on his or her best to celebrate the occasion. I am often tempted to just adapt my dress to my environment, and not to what my environment should be. For instance, I wear professional clothing to work, but feel comfortable in outdated, ill-matched clothing at home. This is not to say that my clothing matters, but it can be an indicator of the heart. If I want to show the neighborhood that I care about them, I need to dress in such a way that says I have a hope to celebrate and they are worth the effort.

I have also learned the value of honest conversation. One day in passing an elderly lady flagged me down an asked me if I knew of anyone who might want to buy a DVD player. She had an appointment the next day and knew she was going to need to fill a prescription, but did not have the cash or credit. This woman could have asked me for money, she could have petitioned me to buy her probably broken DVD player, but instead she just put it out there that she had something of value that someone else might need. I told her I would keep my ears open and went on my way. This woman knew the value of dignity. She knew the value of my dignity when she did not ask for a pay out in the form of straight cash. She knew the value of her own dignity when she followed the rules of supply and demand and made her offer to society. I doubt that she received money for her DVD player that day, but she did retain some honor and taught me how to have honest conversation.

As spring is beginning to show us that it is here to stay, people in the neighborhood are coming back to their porches and evening neighborhood walks. They are a little more willing to try speaking up and are still willing to make new friends. It has been almost eight months since the sisters followed me home from work and talked to me about my day. In that time I have learned many lessons, the most pronounced being that time and location are gifts for which we have the honor of being responsible. Proverbs 6:6-11 teaches us about the ant, who “without having any chief, officer, or ruler, she prepares her bread in summer and gathers her food in harvest.” I hope that in the same way I can be trusted to use my time in community for the utmost glory and honor to God.

April, 2009

"The Day of an Anomaly" by Melissa Geiger

I am a twenty five year old whitewoman. I am married with no children and I have a college degree. I live in an inner city neighborhood called Binghampton, fondly known as “The Bing.” I am an anomaly in my neighborhood. This is a day in the life of an anomaly.

I wake up and roam around my 800 square foot house, the standard size for most houses on our street and begin to get ready for my day. As I leave my house I double check to make sure my doors are locked and I wave to my neighbor Huah who is cycling on a stationary bike located on the front porch. He is Vietnamese and we mostly communicate through hi’s and the exchange of food (he makes amazing egg rolls). I pull out of the driveway and wave to Sondra my other neighbor who is standing on the corner of our block greeting passing cars with a smile and a wave. This is her corner and she greets people every morning and afternoon. It is her way to reclaim the streets, to renew them from the prostitution she once used to sell. God changed her and now she uses her corner to spread the love of Jesus instead of sex.

I drive one mile to the high school where I volunteer, passing many people walking or waiting at the bus stop. Poplar is a main drag through “The Bing” and to other parts of Memphis. Even though public transportation is new to me it is not at all new to the people who use these buses to get where they need to go everyday.

At the high school I am greeted by a random metal detector check and uniformed high school students going from class to class. I arrive during their fourth period. I make my way through the kids, down the stairs to the art room. I get a lot of stares and many students ask if I am a student or a teacher. I volunteer by assisting the art teacher in her art 1 and 2 classes, which usually have twenty four to twenty seven students in them. I try to be an extra pair of hands and eyes to her and the kids. I also spend this time trying to engage the kids to get to know them on a personal level. In my first class there are two white kids, one is in foster care is dearly in need of acceptance, and looks a lot to me for affirmation. Thomas is habitually absent, and since the schools only attendance policy is that a child cannot miss more than ten consecutive days of school.

Half way through the day I need to use the rest room, but to do this I must run up the stairs to the bathroom that is in the main office. This is because due to smoking, sex and other things all the restrooms in the building are locked. The teacher I work with does not have a key so kids who need to use the restroom must get a hall pass, interrupt the class down the hall to get the key, return the key and come back to class. This process overwhelms me, so I usually try and hold it till I get home.

Many students in the class struggle with basics like grammar, using rulers, and writing skills, but they excel in the art program. They feel they have a freedom here that they do not get in any of their other classes. They all aspire to go to college, Deon wants to become an architect and Brahiem wants to become a pharmacist. They dream of studying abroad and owning homes outside of Binghampton. On the other side of this coin there are two girls in this same class who are pregnant at sixteen and seventeen. There is another girl who usually gives up on herself before she even gets started. Most have little self confidence. They all have big dreams but they cannot get the education necessary to equip them for those dreams.

In the next class I work mostly with a girl one on one. Bianca is a quiet girl, very sweet; she hates art and would rather be playing basketball. She rarely says more than two words to me the entire class. My goal is to pry through her shell and get her to speak full sentences to me. This class period is split, with lunch in between and sometimes we have trouble with students not coming back after lunch. There are a lot of bright kids in this class: Corey, a football player who writes beautiful poetry and Terello is a self taught fashion designer who with the right help could really go places. On the other hand there is one girl in particular who sticks out to me and struggles constantly with her self worth. She believes she never does anything worth complimenting and puts herself down a lot. She has made great strides in her work though, and she is a very beautiful girl.

As the third class rolls around the end of the day draws near. This means the students are easily distracted and a little rowdy; they are also the largest class which only adds to the chaos. This class also has the tendency to blow off their work. They have trouble focusing and want to tease me about how to use the word “crunk” in a sentence. I laugh and have fun with them.

As I leave school I stop quickly at the grocery store. This store is a central location for a lot of people because it caters to all types: my neighborhood, many college kids, and a fairly nice suburb that is near by. This store is about two miles from my home and considering the next one is about five miles further, I shop here. Due to the fact this is the only grocery store central to these three areas, it is constantly packed. This tends to irritate me. Even going there at one pm in the middle of the week, like I am now, you can expect five lanes to be open and each line to be about four people deep. The aisles are hard to maneuver with so many people and I usually leave the grocery store quite frustrated.

I pull into my driveway and look across the street to the neighborhood park. It is flourishing with activity; there is a Latino soccer game going, throngs of kids playing unaccompanied on the play ground, and women walking laps on the sidewalk. It is a nice day so I grab my book and sit on the porch swing and wave at some neighbors. Huah is cutting his grass up to an imaginary line in the exact middle of the front yard. This is where his yard ends and the yard of his duplex neighbor begins. This makes me smile because the neighbor’s grass is already very long and this makes it appear even more so. This also makes our yard look bad and in need of a mow.

When John gets home we eat dinner and decide to take a walk around the community. We stop and play around with some young boys who call John, “coach.” My husband helped coach a flag football league with some boys in the neighborhood and the name stuck. The boys look up to him. I expect this is because they do not receive much male attention at home. We continue walking, saying “hi” to people sitting on their porches and offer help to a couple loading things into their car. We meet another couple and chat for a second. We begin to wander home as it gets darker; we walk in the street to avoid broken sidewalks. When we get home John makes sure the tool box on his truck is locked (an unlocked tool box is merely an invitation to steal). We sit on the porch swing and enjoy the night like the rest of the community. Later we head inside, lock the door, spend the rest of the evening together, and get ready to begin again tomorrow.

December, 2008

"A Lesson in Humility" by Lacie Schultz

For one reason or another, I seem to have grown up thinking that I have something valuable to offer to the world. I’m not arrogant; I don’t treat others with contempt. But I seem to have been under the impression that people should be glad to have me around, at least I hoped (sometimes above all else) that they were. Moving into the “hood” has rightly challenged this assumption. It has begun to teach me humility. The Lord reminds me daily that my value is not wrapped up in how highly people regard me. My value comes solely from the fact that I am a daughter of the King of the Universe who loves me. That is more than sufficient. God graciously sends me small reminders of my significance in His eyes, small reminders that I probably wouldn’t acknowledge if I thought I was something special.

The day I moved into Binghampton and met my Spanish-speaking neighbors, I thought to myself, “This is perfect! You know some Spanish. You grew up in a city that’s over fifty percent Hispanic, so you’re familiar with the culture. You were made for this!” I knew that it wouldn’t be easy, but I was optimistic. I’ve since learned that it takes a lot more than basic Spanish and a relative familiarity with the Latino culture to develop relationships with my neighbors. My first problem is that I am naturally an introvert and have a hard time getting excited about the work it takes to meet and develop relationships with new people. Additionally, I was raised in a culture that instilled in me a disposition to always be busy and fill the day with activities. This culture also tells me that I am entitled to some down time each day. Consequently, if I’m not running from one thing to the next, I’m relishing some “well-deserved” time to myself. Nowhere in my mindset is there room for “getting to know neighbor time.” God is reminding me, even as I write this, that I am entitled to nothing. I haven’t earned anything. My time is the Lord’s. He could end it at any moment He pleases! My daily activities are his to orchestrate. He could change my circumstances at the drop of a hat! If I try to take over, no amount of “me time” will rejuvenate and no number of worthy activities will fulfill. Thus far, the only person who has succeeded at being a neighbor is a four year old from next door named Jennifer. Recently, I was sitting out on the porch reading. She came out and started talking to me from her porch. Then she scooped up some toys and headed over to mine. We sat on my porch for no less than thirty minutes playing. No wonder Jesus told us to be like little children! Until now it seems my bad Spanish and good intentions haven’t gotten me past the occasional greeting and a package of homemade tamales. I am praying that the Lord would give me a true burden for the needs and hearts of my neighbors—that they would become a priority above time to myself and a day filled with errands and plans.

My internship is with Christ Community Health Services and shadowing health care providers is part of what I get to do. About a month ago, a fifteen-year-old girl came in to the health center. Her father had been murdered a year before and she had dropped out of school to be with her family. She had high blood pressure, diabetes, no insurance, and a positive pregnancy test. My heart broke for her. The tragic thing is that she is not an exception. She represents the medical problems of most of the population of inner city Memphis. It is patients like her, the ones no one else wants to treat, that I’m committed to serving. Though I experience many such valuable things at my internship, sometimes I get frustrated. Since I haven’t had any real medical training, I don’t have much to contribute medically. Additionally, in my part-time job at the administrative office, I often feel like my contributions are small and unessential. I get discouraged when I feel like I am not contributing something worthwhile. Yet, I am confident that through this, the Lord is speaking. Though I prefer to be the one who is serving and accomplishing and succeeding, I think right now God wants me to be the one learning, reflecting and humbling myself before Him. More and more I hear Him whisper to me in His reassuring voice that the King of the universe values me; that is enough. It seems I listen best when the world has failed to let me know that.

Still, God is faithful. I prayed that He would speak to me in the small things to remind me that He is using me. I help tutor refugee students of all ages on Wednesday evenings. A few weeks ago I was helping a young Burundi girl make a model computer out of a cardboard box for her school project. Her brother, David, approached me and asked if I had a box he could use because he needed to make one for class as well. I made him promise to wait there for me then drove back to my house and returned with shoebox in hand. David’s eyes lit up when I walked in and he asked if I would help him too. We sat there and made his computer together for the next half hour. He’s only eight or nine so he needed some help with the glue and tape. Once we were done and it was time to go he hugged my waist, thanked me, and asked if he would see me next week. Being able to meet his need was the highlight of my week. David needed a box and I had a box. It was that simple. I thanked God for allowing me to love David in this way. God affirmed that I was significant to Him.

I know that I’m only just scratching the surface of humility and that I still have much to learn. But living and learning in Binghampton gives me a perspective I’m confident I wouldn’t be able to gain otherwise. I’m the one who should be glad to be here, not the other way around. And through it all, Abba continues to provide small reminders that I am of eternal significance in His eyes.

December, 2008