Everything Sad is Coming Untrue

There is just something about the rain when I am weary. It is as if God is showing that the world, too, is weary. The world, too, has been groaning and the rain is a moment of respite. “Rest,” says God.

“Rest.” And behold My glory in the face of a man who becomes excited at church and says, “I bet you’re surprised to see me here, Bri!”
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“Rest.” And know that afflictions are for your good and My glory. Even when that heartbreak comes in the form of a homeless man telling you and the team that he is too evil to come to church with you, and that you all are out of his league.
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“Rest.” Because your pride is being broken and your sin being dealt with, and rejoice.
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“Rest.” Because it is not your love that your neighbors need, it’s Mine.
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“Rest.” Because in the words of Jason Gray, “Everything sad is coming untrue.”
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I will never grow out of my severe enjoyment of the rain. It shows me love. I would say ‘reminds me,’ but no, it shows me. It is quite the miracle, inescapable. We can forget our own wonderful, individual intricacies, in the ‘commonness’ of ourselves, but we cannot forget the rain which comes as if to say, “I, too, am a promise. All will be made new, though for a little while creation groans. Let me show you grace.”
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Grace has come as I and my team serve in Louisville. It has been difficult and rewarding, there is no question. But God is gracious and faithful, for He is not like us.
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A longer update is on the way, but for now, this will suffice:
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The team is bonding and getting along well, even after the shelter (Jeff St.) flooding twice. The second time, the team was up until 1:30 AM mopping and bleaching the floors, which had had sewage wash up onto them.
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The neighbors with whom we come in contact are opening up to us, even feeding the womens’ team one evening last week.
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We have had a couple new guys join the addiction recovery program (called Advance Louisville), and we have had seven men graduate from this past 12 week program. And though growth is often so slow, it seems it cannot be measured, we wait. His mercies are new every morning, great is His faithfulness!

Hope for Louisville: Hope Again

Fiction and Faith

I have realized that I am quite drawn to book titles with words like "remnant," "return," "last," and "only." Or phrases like "once and future." I know these words may not seem to have much in common. However, I really think that these words convey a nuance that I always hope to find in a good book--that of a recognition of the author of a broken human nature and a future hope.

One man comes into Jeff. Street nearly every day repeating, "God is good, God is good." You ask him how his day is, and he says, "God is good." This same man was passed out at the shelter's front door yesterday, severely intoxicated. Discrepancy in what we say and what we do...broken human nature.

Jeff. Street is undergoing a renovation in ministry, pushing for the best use of resources for the greatest impact in Louisville and individual lives. Currently, we are in an emergency state due to lack of funding (See our Executive Director's post http://www.jeffersonstreet.org/news/urgent-appeal/) However, there is future hope.

G.K. Chesterton often mentions the value of fairy tales in how they point to the greatest tale of all--that of humanity's fall, our individual guilt and rebellion in the face of a righteous and holy God and Creator, and our subsequent redemption through the slaying of God's own son and his substitution on our behalf. If we forfeit our hold on our lives and claim Christ as our own, if we recognize our guilt and hopelessness...there is restoration in this crazy story of our lives.

Saturdays are outreach days for the Hope team women. A neighbor was invited over for dinner who, in the past, had been very hesitant to participate in life with us. Yet she came, ate, and discussed life. Restoration before God? Not yet...but we pray and press on.

I think that if one were to read a story like the ones whose titles I praise, and not know the reality of genuine redemption, one would fall into despair. There would be human suffering painted in its many-colored tales of sorrow and the fictional promise of healing and hope, yet one's longing for that hope would become stronger than reality could offer. Truth is, I do believe in humanity's sin and rebellion, God's grace, and redemption with restoration. Thus, when I pick up a book, I see a truth that runs more deeply than, perhaps, the author intended. If we don't give praise, the rocks will cry out; maybe too with narrative.

Hope for Louisville: Unplanned Return

The fourth day of my second summer as a member of the Hope for Louisville team...I did not think, a year ago, that I would once again participate in training and be preparing to serve in Louisville. Truth is, God always knew. When I take time to consider how He prepared me for last summer, and will not leave me unprepared this summer, I am amazed. Unplanned by human eyes does not mean unprepared. I recognize that this summer will be difficult. At times, I will be in tears due to exhaustion, frustration, or sorrow. At other times, it will be more evident that the team's toil is not in vain. I trust that our Lord knows what He is doing, and that He will sustain.

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The formal training for the ‘new’ Hope team is nearly complete–with training has come many moments of questioning my reasons for being in Louisville. At first, I was struck once again by the commitment required for this summer. And the Louisville heat. And the stretching of resources. And the struggles of living in community. And the apparent lack of women to whom the women’s team can minister. But let me tell you what God is showing me….
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I am in Louisville because of God’s love for me, and His love for the people of Louisville. The brokenness I see around me is the human condition without Christ. I, too, am part of this brokenness (this is part of the ‘already but not yet’ of the Apostle Paul). My neighbor here in Louisville needs to know Christ’s love. How better to show her but by being here, again, for the second summer in a row, and explaining why I do so? And if there are no women to whom we can minister at the shelter…perhaps our purpose lies in finding women in the community and telling them of what JSBC has to offer. Perhaps our purpose lies in supporting the men’s team. Perhaps our purpose lies in exhorting one another to love and good works, knowing that although this summer may be more planning and less action (in a sense), we are where God would have us. Let us keep diligently seeking His counsel and revealed will in Scripture, that we may press on to know the Lord.

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I am in Louisville because, as of yet, not everyone is a worshiper of the Creator of the universe. I am in Louisville because, in the days of Adam and Eve, the human race began to rebel against a holy God. Our foolish hearts were darkened, and yet, God demonstrates his own love toward us in this–in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. In His death, taking the penalty of our sin upon Himself for everyone who believes, we are made dead to our sin. And in His resurrection, we too are raised to newness of life, that we may live for Him. Glory be to our great God! This is why I am in Louisville.

truth

A man pointed to a robin saying 'look
at that fat one.'
I kept a smile in my head wondering
if he knew all robins are that size.

Don't Give Up

"Your restless heart won't win, 'cause you take but you don't give/
and you'll keep moving on until you learn what love is" Sanctus Real, Don't Give Up


hm. I need rest.

For your Easter.

Sisters, brothers, fathers, mothers, body of Christ, this is for you. That you remember what our brother, Savior, Lord has done, and that death has no victory.

Seven Stanzas at Easter

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that–pierced–died, withered, paused, and then
regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping, transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mâché,
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow
grinding of time will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair,
opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are
embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.

—John Updike, “Seven Stanzas At Easter,” 1964