A Different Kind of Greeter

“Master … when did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?” Then the King will say, “I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me — you did it to me.” — Matthew 25:37-40 (The Message)

Here at Gather Church, we are discovering the myriad ways we can serve our Lewis County community: Hundreds of individuals come through our doors every week, some of them needing hot meals or clothing, others needing just someone to talk with, and others needing more than Gather by itself can provide.

That’s where we can tie into services provided by other Christian and civic organizations. Our small county abounds with agencies that deal with medical and dental care, substance abuse, mental health, domestic abuse, legal issues, housing, pregnancy, transportation and housing.

Pastor Cole Meckle (pronounced “MECK-lee”) recently led an initial training session for “resource counselors,” volunteers willing to help match those services with the needs of people who walk through the front door of Gather Cafe. The cafe has grown into a spot where Gather folks can socialize any day of the week, where students from Centralia College, which is just across the street, can sip coffee and study, and where homeless and lonely people are welcomed and embraced.

“God promises to be with the poor,” Cole explained during the session. “Jesus calls us to some pretty radical hospitality.”

Listening as ministry

Gather Cafe, a place where we can express the heart of kindness that we ourselves have been shown.

Three or four times a day, a person will come into the cafe for the first time, hurting, cold and confused. That person needs more than just a cup of free coffee.Having someone there who is open to conversation can change a person’s day, and sometimes his life. Cole described how people are often surprised by how they are welcomed.

One fellow, Philip, said he met Jesus when he was accepted instead of being shunned. “I asked him about his tattoos to break the ice,” Cole said.

“People’s lives are complicated, and we can offer them help while preserving their dignity. People don’t need to feel worse about themselves.”

Just a short, welcoming conversation can be a first step in helping a person in need. Cole said he has been surprised by how willing people are to talk about how they got into their situation.

A hungry stomach or cold hands may be the immediate need, but usually there are deeper unmet needs. Someone requesting financial resources may need help in creating a budget, for example. Or someone with housing needs may be escaping a domestic violence situation.

The church or other agencies can help the symptoms, but Jesus helps the cause. The ultimate goal of Gather is to establish a relationship with people and help them build better lives in Christ.

This is the essence of evangelizing, or “gospeling,” Cole said: declaring the Lordship of King Jesus in deed and word. We’re not pressuring people to join anything. Instead we want them to feel cared for and relaxed enough to talk through their options. God has made an appointment for us to minister with Him.

Digging deeper

Part of the training for resource counselors is learning to discern the truth of people’s situations. “You may need to ask the same question in multiple ways at multiple times in the conversation,” Cole said. “Out of desperation, someone may tell you what they think you want to hear in order to get the help they need. They may exaggerate, ‘sweeten the pot.’”

We’re not trying to catch people in lies, he emphasized. We’re just trying to find them appropriate help for their specific needs.

Any given person may not know Jesus as Lord. Cole advised us not to assume either way. We should establish trust and not make someone feel as though we will not meet her request if she doesn’t know Jesus or that we will for sure if she does.

Our agenda should not be bait-and-switch. We should, however, be open to sharing Jesus.

Batting .500

Cole said he figured about half the people who get help are gaming the system just to get a bag of groceries or a tank of gas or a night in a motel.

“There will be times we will get ripped off, and I don’t care. I care about people having hope in their lives, having a relationship with Jesus. That’s what is different about us as a church. We’re not concerned with tracking outcomes.”

Getting this involved in people’s lives can be both wearying and energizing, so having more volunteers ready to sit down and talk with strangers spreads both the burden and the blessing.

Sometimes “church people” need to have their eyes opened to what’s going on outside their walls. “Widows raising grandchildren in this community are having their power cut off,” Cole said. “That is just not OK!

“Throughout Scripture, God’s people are called to care for the marginalized: the widow, the orphan, the stranger,” Cole said. “Caring for the needs of others is central to the life of Jesus’ followers. Without intentional care for the poor, the church will be at best immature, and at worst, not really the church.”

— Steve Brown

It’s All About Me (?)

“Hiding in my room, safe within my womb,

I touch no one and no one touches me.

I am a rock,

I am an island.”

— lyrics from “I Am A Rock,” by Paul Simon, 1965

I used to be the only sentient being on the planet. (Keep in mind I’ve always read a lot of science fiction.) When I was young, my firm belief was that God had me under a microscope to study how I interacted with all the robots under His control.

All these other beings, including those in my own family, seemed to know exactly what they were doing, exactly what comes next. Me, I was clueless.

God would precisely direct all the actions on the stage around me (the microscope slide, in my mind), leaving me to figure out how to react.

Being insulated, isolated, I eventually became fairly comfortable in my own skin, knowing that nothing else was real. If others’ actions were rehearsed and their emotions feigned, how my life affected them was meaningless, as well.

Over time I heard other people offer this same theory, but I figured that their words were just lines being written for them by God, who was reading my mind.

So I determined to be unpredictable, rebellious, just to keep Him — and myself — entertained. This on-the-inside-looking-out world view was my reality for the first 20 years of my life.

But there came a moment when God did something entirely unexpected and shattered my world with a single touch.

When He made Himself real to me, suddenly everyone else was real, too.

Where I had been the star of the show, surrounded by all these “extras,” now I understood each of these others had the leading role in their own lives.

Picture a scene of an epic movie, like “The Ten Commandments” or “Hunger Games.” The main characters are backed by hundreds or thousands of people who form the background for the story.

But actually, in their own eyes — and in God’s eyes — each of these “extras” is the main character. Not just those who speak up. Not just those who get involved. Not just the attractive ones. Not just Christians. Not just Americans.

When we become aware of who surrounds us and realize each person has reality and value, it becomes possible for us to let go of our own lives and our own time to touch them. And to be touched by them.

When we take that risk and climb off the microscope slide, we can affect the history of the planet.

“Humility is not thinking less of yourself. It’s thinking of yourself less.” — C.S. Lewis

— Steve Brown

“Joseph and Mary”

(Joseph)

Pudgy fingers tugging at your mother’s long, dark hair

As you gaze up from her breast with brown eyes old beyond compare.

Your mother cried in pain as she waited for your birth,

But now a peace has covered all the Earth.

What kind of child are you? I’m proud to call you mine

And the wonder that I feel to see the star they call your sign.

My home is yours, and all of its protection I will give,

And the wonder of just knowing that you live.

(Mary)

Barefoot from the dusty road, dirty fingers every day,

You ask me for a treat that you can share with friends at play.

Your hug and kiss and happy voice give meaning to my life,

And the joy of being a mother and a wife.

What kind of boy are you? I wonder every day

The see the way you grow and then to hear the things you say.

Your tears were made for greater things than having scraped your knee,

But for now, you know that you can come to me.

(Joseph)

Your hands are strong but gentle as I watch you work with wood —

I’ve watched you carve a beam the way I’ve always wished I could.

But this is not your trade, my boy — go do what you must do:

Your work’s with human lives, to shape them true.

What kind of man are you? I’m beginning now to see

The things you learned from your father, you did not learn from me.

But I’ve been honored just to know you and to help you see

That a humble man’s the greatest thing to be.

(Mary)

You paid the price you knew you must for speaking out God’s truth

And the world can only see a man who’s cut down in his youth.

I speak your name — I know you’ll hear, although your heart is still.

Your blood and words you spoke, they’ll never kill.

What kind of God are You, who could come to be like us,

Knowing that a closest friend could still betray Your trust?

But the memories of the child remain — You gave all that you could:

A father’s child whose work was done in wood.

(Joseph and Mary)

The tomb of stone is empty, and the shroud’s an empty shell.

The aftershock of Easter touched the very depths of Hell.

Your spirit has renewed us and has made Your power our own,

To live the kind of lives that You have shown.

What kind of Master are You, who could test our faith so much,

Knowing we could not succeed without Your constant touch?

So day by day we seek You, though You’re never very far,

And Your life outshines Creation’s brightest star.

— Steve Brown, c. 1983

The Story of Dlu-Dlu

Dlu-Dlu looked around to his left, and he looked around to his right, and he saw his thick, heavy shell. And he knew he would be hot again today. And he looked down and said, “Oh, no.”

For Dlu-Dlu was a tortoise. A tortoise is like a turtle, except he lives in the desert, where summer days are hot — soooooo hot — and dry — soooooo dry. And living inside a thick, heavy shell means you will be hot — soooooo hot — on a hot day.

Dlu-Dlu saw that the sky was scorching white and the sun was blinding white. And he would find no relief, not even any shade. You see, Dlu-Dlu lived in an arroyo, which is like a narrow, steep-sided canyon carved by water in ages past, but the water was long gone, and Dlu-Dlu had never even seen water.

His friend Romzi, the coyote, came trotting by and greeted Dlu-Dlu: “Dlu-Dlu, if only you could run, you could make your own breeze and be cool. But you have a thick, heavy shell, so we cannot run and play.”

Dlu-Dlu looked down and said, “Oh, no.”

His friend Equis, the snake, came slithering by and greeted him: “Dlu-Dlu, if only you could crawl under the ground, you could find shade and be cool. But you have a thick, heavy shell, so you cannot hide.”

Dlu-Dlu looked down and said, “Oh, no.”

In the afternoon, the hottest part of that soooooo hot day, Dlu-Dlu heard a roaring sound far away, and the roaring grew louder by the minute.

Romzi the coyote came running past, and paused just long enough to say, “Dlu-Dlu, there’s a storm coming. Run as fast as you can.” And Romzi was gone in a flash.

The ground started to tremble, then grumble, then rumble.

Equis the snake poked his head out of the ground and said, “Dlu-Dlu, there’s a flash flood coming. Run as fast as you can.” And Equis was gone in a flash.

You see, several miles away, a rainstorm had broken wide open over a mountainside, and all the rain from that mountainside funneled down into the small arroyo where Dlu-Dlu lived.

The ground was shaking and the wind was howling, and Dlu-Dlu looked around to his left, and he looked around to his right, and he saw his thick heavy shell, and he knew he could not move fast enough to escape. And he looked down and said, “Oh, no.”

As he saw the wall of water rushing down on him, Dlu-Dlu pulled his legs and head inside his shell and shut it up as tight as he could.

With a crash, the wall of water pounded him down and lifted him up, sending him spinning and tumbling and crashing and bouncing and whirling and banging and … it seemed to go on forever … just thudding and spinning and tumbling and crashing and whirling and …

At last the rush of water died down, and Dlu-Dlu carefully peeked out of his shell. He saw shallow puddles of water all around him, and he felt a cool breeze on his face, and he took a deep breath of fresh air.

Dlu-Dlu looked around to his left, and he looked around to his right, and he saw that his thick, heavy shell had saved him. And he looked up and said, “Thank you.”

— Steve Brown

Gather. Scatter. Repeat.

When did you become a Christian?

“I, Stephen Frank Brown, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”

It was with no small amount of trepidation that I spoke those words the morning of Feb. 29, 1968, in El Paso, Texas. Alongside me were 40 other young men whose voices were no doubt shaking, too. At that moment, we were U.S. Army soldiers.

We didn’t have a clue about what those “regulations” might be, and the Uniform Code of Military Justice had an ominous ring to it. But we took the oath.

We didn’t look like soldiers, and we didn’t know how to act like soldiers. I, for one, certainly  didn’t feel like a soldier.

We got the haircuts and we put on the uniforms. Then they taught us how to stand, how to march, how to stand in line, how to salute — all the military things. I still didn’t know if I felt like a soldier, but I started to act like one.

They taught us how to polish boots and how to clean latrines. They taught us hand-to-hand combat, and they taught us to fire our rifles and use our bayonets and throw our grenades. They taught us how to crawl under live machine-gun fire.

And — most importantly — they taught us how to look out for each other. We had started out as strangers; we had become a unit.

Somewhere during those first nine weeks of Army life, we were transformed from young men into soldiers. But in reality, we were soldiers from that moment when we spoke the oath of enlistment back in El Paso.

It’s more difficult for me to point to a particular moment when I became a Christian. You may know exactly when you started your walk with Jesus, but there’s certainly no one-size-fits-all experience for entering the Kingdom.

You may have repeated some version of The Sinner’s Prayer along with a preacher or an evangelist. You may have felt God’s healing touch where no one had reached before. You may have fallen to your knees before His unmistakable power. You may have just laid down your burden and stepped peacefully into His presence.

Whatever you did, I suspect you didn’t start feeling like a Christian right away. Did your language glorify God? Did your thoughts and actions suddenly become holy?

Did it happen when you were baptized? Some of us even felt we probably needed to be baptized again years later after we had wandered off the road, because we no longer felt like Christians. Did it happen then?

But as we were taught from the Scriptures, and as we learned to pray and to serve, we began to get more familiar with this Christ, and we grew to love Him.

Somewhere along the line, then, did we grow into the title of “Christian” and actually become Christian?

No, I think we became Christians when we became Christ’s. He chose us, remember? (John 15:16) We didn’t invite Him into our lives; He invited us into His.

We don’t know the when of that event — how long it took for us to first hear Him — but we know the Who, and that’s all that matters. We know the Who, and we know we want to become like Him.

I think we are most like Christ when we are no longer individuals, when we have become a unit. Looking out for each other. Considering each other more important than our own selves.

I think that’s why Pastor Cole often changes up the lyrics of praise and worship songs from first-person singular to first-person plural: “You are the air we breathe” … “We will call upon Your name, and keep our eyes above the waves” … “God is our victory and He is here!”

Father, we are so grateful You have invited us into Your presence, and You have changed us in ways we’ve only begun to discover. Please let our service to You and to each other reflect the heart of our King and our Savior, our Jesus.

— Steve Brown