Please — No Food or Drink in the Auditorium!

I went to an all-day youth rally at Florissant Church of Christ, way out in the suburban counties, yesterday and it was, for me, an experience that anyone who’s ever been to a youth rally and subsequently grown up can relate to, on one level or another. On another level — a bit further out than that last one — for me, it was an experience that anyone who’s struggled with their faith in God and in the Church ever since its inception can, perhaps, relate to.

I have disliked the rigid structure and dogma of the American Church for a very long time but I do not really value my own opinions on the matter to begin with (since – whore or not — the Church is still Christ’s bride), so I will not waste my time unpacking them here. I will, however, tell you that I was struck by something at Florissant Church of Christ, way out in the counties, yesterday. You see, posted above all of the doors leading into the sanctuary, there is a sign that reads: “Please — No Food or Drink in the Auditorium!”

To all of us, I am sure that this is normal enough fare. We all grew up in homes (or were at least familiar with homes) that had one room that was off-limits to the children and their messes: for some it was a dining room rarely dined in, for others a living room, but for all of us it was well-understood that — whichever room it was — it was for grown ups and was meant to be kept neat and clean. My parents both frequent this page and, I believe, would be very offended if they thought I was insinuating the existence of such a room in our home — so let me be clear: the Yencich’s have lower standards and I ate in, played in, and systematically made a mess of every single room in our house. I had friends, though, who weren’t quite so lucky.

When I saw that “No Food or Drinks” sign posted above the sanctuary door, I drew a mental picture of a middle-finger and imagined myself giving it to whoever thought I shouldn’t be able to bring a can of Diet Coke into this train-wreck of a youth event but, being by nature quiet and mostly [outwardly] peaceable, I went in without causing the slightest hint of a scene. There are other hills upon which I might one day wish to die, anyway.

Once inside, I sat down just in time to enjoy the latter half of a long set of worship songs. One thing that must be made clear for the uninitiated is the reiteration of the fact that this was a Church of Christ youth rally and, in the Southern Midwest (and all points further south), ‘Church of Christ’ translates, roughly, to “NO WOMEN, NO INSTRUMENTS.” So there we were, about a thousand or so of us, being led through these songs by one guy on a large stage with a headset-microphone and a flashy Powerpoint. Color me uninspired.

What really got me, though, was when the worship leader starting praying. His language was soaked in cliches meant to manipulate the people of God, “drawing them in to worship”, and spoken in a tone reserved only, in my mind, for the worst of all the bad actors. If you’ve ever been to a large Church and felt like you were being duped, you will know what I’m talking about. But all of that I can easily ignore because, as I looked out at the crowd, I saw people enjoying it, reacting to it, and in many cases, being blessed by it. I don’t dig it, but whatever: I go home to Blacksoil in two weeks and life will be good.

What really, really got me, though, was when the worship leader — still praying! — invited God to come into the Church. I mean it, man: the dude was really, truly asking God to be physically present there. To many, maybe this is normal; maybe this is just what we do, what we say at Church and, if this is you, you will have to excuse me. The idea is absurd — mockery, a burlesque, and affront to what it means to worship: the thought of inviting YHWH into the presence of those who, out of fear and reverence for their carpet, post signs to keep out renegade food and drink. We won’t use instruments in our worship, we won’t let women lead, but O’ God, the One who created both women and drum-sets, we want You here, so please, won’t you make Your presence known? We want the God whose radiance is stronger than ten billion suns, the God who is more powerful than any nation, who is Master, King, and Lord of all things ever we could conceive of — that God — to show up? If that is the case, please excuse me while I make my frantic escape, for I have much greater things at stake than the sanctity of the carpet: my sins are hidden beneath the floorboards.

If God ever shows up, I am utterly convinced that we — and our carpets — are screwed.

Perhaps, though, if God never does decide to literally make an appearance in our Churches, our clean carpets will live on long after our dirty hearts as a final testament to our [ir]reverence, [in]fidelity, and [un]faithfulness to the God who Is.

Wipe Your Shoes and Abandon Faith, All Ye Who Enter Here,
Danny

Why I Love Living in the Hood.

Every morning I start my day with some exercises in my room and then a run through the neighborhood. The run in the neighborhood is usually a quiet, if not silent, experience; the most conversation I generally have with people at the early hour of 8:20am usually consists of mutual “Good morning’s”. Today, though, was different.

I recently ramped up my efforts to do more push-ups, more crunches, and to run further so, instead of just one lap around the block, today I started doing two. On the first time around, I passed a thirty-something year-old black guy, sitting on his stoop, listening to a portable CD player and smoking. He was nice enough; we said, “Hey, good morning!” and I was on my way.

I made my second lap and, as is my standard practice for the awkward “second hello”, I just waved, smiled, and made a congenial, neighborly noise in his general direction. This, to him, must have sounded something like, “Sir, I would love to hear your health advice. Please, with cigarette in-hand, anoint me with your knowledge and let me know how I could better myself,” because he responded with a real gem:

“Alright, man! Hey — you know, you should just take a laxative or somethin’, you know, to get rid of all that bad food you got in yo’ stomach. That’s why yo’ stomach so fat!”

Since my “fat stomach” is precisely the reason why I get up a half hour early every day and go through this religious ritual of exercise, I could hardly be offended and, besides — it was really, really funny. I don’t believe for even a moment he meant any sort of offense by his remark so I just took it in stride.

Really, though, I’d like you to take a moment to ponder this: can you imagine hearing something like that while running on the level and unbroken pavement of an upscale suburb? No, you won’t find that kind of human interaction anywhere else — and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Peace be with you, our neighbors, and my fat stomach.
Danny

“Why burn poor and lonely?”

To the best of my knowledge, there are THREE different Churches and countless individuals back home who are praying for my time here in St. Louis.  There are no words to properly describe what that means to me, but I am doing my very best.  Allow me to encourage you, those who pray for me, with the knowledge that I am thoroughly blessed here.  The Church is not without its problems, its snags, and annoyances but I also believe with everything I’ve got that North City is, like all those striving to be faithful Churches around the world, a part of something so much bigger than itself.  I can’t offer anyone a list or number of converts, of baptisms, or of steady Church-attendance but I can tell you this: things are happening here.

I lead a small Bible study with three of my kids.  The Church is beginning to believe that the sum of its parts is truly a Family.  The neighborhood kids are beginning to really feel at-ease and at-home at North City.   When we offer them a movie — complete with free popcorn and juice — on a projector screen in the parking lot on a Friday night, they come out of the woodwork and are overjoyed just to be here, to have something fun to do.  I can tell you that I am recognized and warmly greeted by my kids when I walk down the street not because I’m a savior but only because I am a friend.  I can also tell you that in a few cases, there is a distinct behavioral shift in my kids: they’re happier, nicer, and more likely to act like they are enjoying themselves here.  On any given VBS day, I push more kids on swings and blow more bubbles than I can even count.  I ask you, can there be anything better than that?

And so I thank you, my faithful friends, and encourage you that there are fruits to be seen and enjoyed here in the neighborhood and my only regret is that you are not here to see it for yourselves.

Love.
Danny

P.S. The title of this entry comes from a song called “Torches Together” by the band mewithoutYou.  Though the distance is great between us, I believe that we are all torches together and by the power of your faith and prayers, the darkness is beginning to lift.  Be encouraged.

Prayer as Bond.

I believe that praying collectively binds us closer to one another as well as closer to our God. In the spirit of this mystical binding, I’d like to take this time to offer up to my readers (all four or five of you) a list of things that I am already praying about with others; I would also request that, if you are willing, to let me know how I can be praying for you either on this page or via email, phone, or even snail mail (if that’s your bag).

Mine:

• I started a “30 Days with Jesus” Bible study with three of my kids from the VBS class I’ve been teaching. They’re all three eleven years old and already are asking questions and grappling with Christian faith in ways that many Bible college students never do. My kids’ names are Marquetta, Brittany, and Steven. Pray that I can be a vessel.
• I am starting to look at seminary as a very viable option for my post-GLCC future. At this early stage, I’ve already found a M.Div. program that interests me and covers all of my passions; pray that I would heed God’s call and not merely follow my own aspirations.
• Please pray for my continued growth in teaching. It is something I feel a great passion for and I am enjoying every aspect of preparing and giving my lessons but I know that I am not doing a good enough job, given the importance of the message I’m striving to convey.
• Thank God with me for His most beautiful gift to the world: children. No matter how broken, how dirty, how bad things seem here I am constantly reminded that there is hope for a future when I look at all these incredible kids.

Ours:

• Please keep my home Church, Blacksoil, in your prayers. Pray for growth, new leaders, the members of our little fellowship, and the continued sense of familial ties and binding that make this beautiful little Kingdom community what it is.
• Pray for my Church here in St. Louis – North City Church of Christ. There are many good things going on here and, like all Churches, there are certainly a few kinks being worked out. Pray that the Kingdom-work being done here would continue and the fruits being produced would multiply.
• A teen who used to be involved here at North City last year – who had since fallen away – was shot and killed last night. There are many people here who knew him well and I can see the grief written on their faces. It is a broken world we are living in. Come, Lord Jesus, and make it right.
• As our week of camp approaches, please keep the planning process in your prayers as well. There’s a lot that goes into planning a week of camp for a bunch of urban kids and – I’ll be honest – planning it sucks. There’s a lot that could go wrong, but there’s also so much more that could go right.
• Yours goes here…?

I miss you all like you wouldn’t believe and I’d like very much to know how I can be praying for you. I’ll post it on my bedside wall. So if public isn’t your thing (I’m not so sure it’s really mine, either), please email or call me. I’d love to pray with you and, even at such great distance, be bound together in one Body.

Love.
Danny

Unfamiliar Things.

It never ceases to amaze me just what kinds of extremes a man can become used to.

You move far from home and all the things that you love and, in turn, love you back. You leave behind your friends, your family and all the other great and little things that make up the fabric of your life. You leave those familiar things behind and replace each of them with something new and wholly unfamiliar — but, if you’re worth your weight in crossing cultures, you somehow get used to the temperature of the waters in your midst and go on with your life. I think I’ve done a pretty good job of acclimating myself to the place I’ve been brought to, but there is a certain set of things here in the neighborhood that, God help me, I’ll never become fully used to.

I was drinking a cup of decaf coffee one night, sitting on a metal folding chair on my front stoop, when I heard my first gunshots off in the distance, a few streets over. People here get used to that but not me. No, never me. Somewhere in my neighborhood there is someone who hates someone else enough to point a gun in their direction and pull the trigger. Somewhere in my neighborhood someone might be dying and I’m sitting out here drinking coffee and lamenting the sadder things of the cushy life left behind. Where the hell am I.

I was watching TV one night when I heard and saw an orchestra of sirens and flashing lights overtake Kingshighway — the next street over from where I rest my head. It was a spectacle and I still don’t know why it happens: if somebody died or if there was a bust or what. All I know is it was yet another broad stroke of crimson paint in the never-ending process portrait that is human suffering.

Last Wednesday I was told about a new kid that we would be welcoming into the VBS program soon. He’s new to the neighborhood, living now at a therapeutic foster home and he comes there with stitches, freshly-sewn by a doctor’s hands in the hospital. I do not know his name yet or what he looks like, but I know that he is a child and I know why he comes to this foster home; why he was in the hospital and why he has those stitches.

He was stabbed by his own mother. Dear God.

* * *

And so you see, there are certain additions to my life in this field that will never become familiar, though they will certainly become fixtures; alien will always be these things that destroy life and extinguish light. Commonplace they may become but always — always – along the periphery will be the knowledge that these things are darkness personified and to become used to such things is to become unaccustomed to the light. Please pray for this neighborhood.

* * *

Because this post needs a bit of levity, here are some new pictures of the happier things here.  Go look at the things here that are still shiny, beautiful: children, friendship, sight-seeing, and Love.

Peace.
Danny