where are the tears?
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Hold on to your saddles; this is going to be a trek.
Since returning from school, I’ve settled back into suburban life and found that I don’t fit like I used to. I realize that sounds silly, seeing how North Greenville is hidden in the foothills of upstate South Carolina. But even though I live on campus, my heart stretches into downtown Greenville, just as the hearts of friends on my impact team. The bus station, the soup kitchen, the salty alleyways - all reaching inside and dragging my soul into the grime. I feel myself still leaning into the darkness. I feel myself wanting to escape Suburbia. I feel a warm yearning for something other.
I’ve been studying the letter to the church of Rome the past week or so. It’s a terrible letter to tell you the truth. I mean, I wouldn’t say the kind of things Paul says if I were writing it. The church in Rome was comprised mostly of lower class immigrants and slaves, some with Jewish and others with pagan religious heritages. Paul, a Jewish aristocrat who abandoned everything to follow the way of Jesus, writes to the church community to explain the good news he is spreading to prepare them for his upcoming visit. He pens a grand introduction, discussing his love and concern for the church and presenting the main subject of the letter. In the eighteenth verse he starts his discourse, and I expect to hear something along the lines of “God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life…” but that is not what I find.
“the wrath of God is being revealed from heaven against all the godlessness and wickedness of men…”
“their foolish hearts were darkened…”
“they exchanged the truth of God for a lie…”
“and received in themselves the due penalty for their perversion…”
“they have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity…”
.
.
Is this really the beginning of good news? If Paul is looking for followers, this is a terrible way to start his pitch. And if I were to go into more detail, some of the things he says might make you downright angry. It upsets me. He attacks everything we hold onto as good and normal and acceptable. But in reality I don’t think Paul really cares what we think. He seems to be concerned with what is true and real in the world, and he’s not afraid of shoving it in our faces.
Paul takes me to a friend in Greenville. Pat grew up as a recluse, rarely stepping outside of her house except for the most necessary tasks. She and her mother were very close, spending most of each day together - cooking, cleaning, telling stories. Pat’s mother no doubt was aware of Pat’s special needs and I imagine she spilled all of her time and energy into Pat. But Pat’s mother became deathly ill. With no other family to turn to, Pat sought religion for comfort. She tried all sorts of prayers and rituals, even traveling to Jerusalem to visit holy places. God promised Pat four million dollars, she tells me.
Her mother died.
I don’t know what happened next. I can only imagine Pat hiding in shadowed curtains as her house fell into to disrepair. The house was condemned and Pat kicked out on the streets. Today she still wanders the streets of Greenville, waiting for the four million dollars and resisting any assistance, thinking someone is out to take her house and her money.
Is this the beginning of good news?
Paul takes me to a girl who refused to eat or drink anything. Her parents could do nothing to persuade her to eat; they were forced to put her in a special hospital for eating disorders. In a role-play situation, the girl told her doll, “No more food for you. It’s time for you to die.”
She is four years old.
Is this the beginning of good news?
Paul takes me to the edge of ground zero and I read the words of a police officer etched into the barricade wall: “Hate is what took these buildings down, with love is how we’ll remember those no longer around.”
Is this the beginning of good news?
The beginning of good news is quite ugly. Paul paints a picture for the Romans of the utter decay of the human spirit. He paints with broad strokes of brokenness and deceit, colors of murder and strife, human nature red in tooth and claw. A hateful portrait emerges. A portrait absent of the First Cause. A portrait opposed to its own Artist. And Paul reveals how God has given them over to their own devices. We can do what we want, no matter how ugly, arrogant, or disgusting. No matter how violent. This is you. This is me.
But I fear those of us who live in Suburbia never see this darkness. We have created worlds of comfort where inconvenience is removed, service is demanded, and pampering is expected. Suburbia is a lifeboat with too few seats. We are all trying to prove ourselves, to prove why we deserve that last spot on the lifeboat and why the other guy should be thrown out. We are begging a jury of our peers to affirm us in our currency, whatever it may be. We put stock in our neighborhoods, our paychecks, our looks, our clothes, our occupations, our schools, our wallet, our lovers. Just listen to the way we talk about relationships: “I like to spend time with that person,” “I’ve invested a lot of time with that person,” “I am indebted to your for your help,” “I’m going to pay my respect to this loved one…” We discuss our relationships using financial terms. In Suburbia, life is a negotiation for validation. We desire affirmation from the community. We want to prove that we deserve a spot on the lifeboat.
There is no reward for associating with the ugly and disgusting. There is no reward for associating with the poor. We may make altruistic gestures, but we are not really interested in establishing meaningful relationships. It could cost us social points to be associated with the marginalized. Donald Miller describes one of these “inconvenient” situations:
“While standing in line at the checkout counter, the lady in front of me pulled out food stamps to pay for her groceries. I had never seen food stamps before. They were more colorful than I imagined and looked more like money than stamps. It was obvious as she unfolded the currency that she, I, and the checkout girl were quite uncomfortable with the interaction. I wished there was something I could do. I wished I could pay for her groceries myself, but to do so would have been to cause a greater scene. The checkout girl quickly performed her job, signing and verifying a few documents, then filed the lady through the line. The woman never lifted her head as she organized her bags of groceries and set them into her cart… On the drive over the mountain that afternoon, I realized that it was not the woman who should be pitied, it was me. Somehow I had come to believe that because a person is in need, they are candidates for sympathy, not just charity. It was not that I wanted to buy her groceries, the government was already doing that. I wanted to buy her dignity. And yet, by judging her, I was the one taking her dignity away.”
The ugly face of good news makes me upset and angry because I realize that I am a member of this decaying race. There is no lifeboat. We are all sinking, dying. We abandoned hope of rescue long ago and instead seek the validation of our peers to affirm our pudgy lifestyles. As John Piper said at Passion07, we coast around in SUVs dropping nickels in the dreams of kids with cancer or African orphans while leaving a fat inheritance to affirm our children in their worldliness. We are not real or true - we just want validation; I think of U2 who sang, “I’ve seen enough of romantic love/ I’d give it up, I’d give it up/ For a miracle, a miracle drug.”
Do we see why Paul begins with “their foolish hearts were darkened?” I am not trying to indict the suburbs as more sick and ungodly, and I am definitely not trying to present the city as a window for enlightenment. Rather, I want to destroy the imaginary wall between the two. There is not a different type of people “in there” or “out here.” Nothing about being a well-adjusted, middle-class suburbanite makes us better than anyone else. I’m sure we would all nod at that statement. What we might have more difficulty swallowing is the statement that we suburbanites are just as flawed as the homeless bum standing on the side of Wendover Ave.
There is a mind shift which occurs when you enter a downtown district and come face to face with the “unpleasantness” of society. For myself, I view Sunday morning worship differently when I have to step over a drunk passed out on the sidewalk. I cannot condemn the man as someone more deserving of derision than me. In fact, all I can do is identify with the man, realizing that I am just like him, sinking quickly in a broken vessel. Paul writes, “You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge the other, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things.”
However, I am beginning to learn that suburban religion does not care to do business with the ugly face of the good news. Christians would rather build little castles with overflow rooms filled with high-def televisions crafted to capitulate to the preferences of the masses than get their hands dirty in the world of sin. At least that is what I am perceiving. I hope I am wrong. But my experience this past year sharing the good news on the streets of Greenville has transformed my understanding of the mission of Jesus, and I can’t help but suspect that the suburban church is missing it.
Paul writes later in Romans that where sin increased, grace increased even more. He is not saying that evil should increase so that good looks even better. But what he is saying is that when darkness increases, light appears even brighter. I am no pastor or theologian, but I have been to some dark places and I have seen the ugly face of the good news. But I have also seen the beauty of the good news. I have witnessed its power to bring life to dead hearts and freedom to captive souls. Yet I fear that the suburban church is missing it. I don’t believe it has a clear grasp of the gospel - the good news I have been speaking of.
Jesus rescues, but where are the tears of the saints for the captives? Where are the cries for mercy?
Jesus redeems, but where is the passion for His fame? Why is He only a sideshow?
Does anyone really care?
Does anyone want change?
there are many prodigal sons
on our city streets they run
searching for shelter
there are homes broken down
people’s hopes have fallen to the ground
from failures
this is an emergency
there are tears from the saints
for the lost and unsaved
we’re crying for them come back home
we’re crying for them come back home
and all Your children will stretch out their hands
and pick up the crippled man
Father, we will lead them home
Father, we will lead them home
there are schools full of hatred
even churches have forsaken
love and mercy
may we see this generation
in it’s state of desperation
for Your glory
this is an emergency
sinner, reach out your hands
children, in Christ you stand
sinner, reach out your hands
children, in Christ you stand
and all Your children will stretch out their hands
and pick up the crippled man
Father, we will lead them home
Father, we will lead them home
(leeland, “tears of the saints”)
