Don’t pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults— unless, of course, you want the same treatment. That critical spirit has a way of boomeranging. It’s easy to see a smudge on your neighbor’s face and be oblivious to the ugly sneer on your own. Do you have the nerve to say, ‘Let me wash your face for you,’ when your own face is distorted by contempt? It’s this whole traveling road-show mentality all over again, playing a holier-than-thou part instead of just living your part. Wipe that ugly sneer off your own face, and you might be fit to offer a washcloth to your neighbor.

Judge Not?

The advice to not judge resonated with me, but then I also heard messages that said we can’t get by without judgment. How would we choose vanilla or chocolate? How would we decide what job to look for? How would we know who to trust? How would we keep from doing evil?!

Knowing right from wrong is vital, isn’t it?

Discernment

I’ve been told that discernment is just judgment that’s well thought out, and correct. But as I’ve struggled to understand what it would mean to live free of judgment, I’ve found I see discernment differently.

Judgment is focused outside me. It’s me saying what’s wrong and right, good and bad out in the world. It’s almost like I’m declaring what I believe to be the heart of the world.

On the other hand, discernment is about knowing my own heart. I call it discernment when I’m figuring out what I value, what I love, what I choose.

Distinguishing discernment from judgment

When I’m discerning (as I use the word) I have an open, loving heart, never anger or sneering or exasperation. While discernment may lead me to avoid someone who is dangerous, for example, it won’t lead me to hate them. While it may lead me to question their ideas, it won’t lead me to make fun of them.

What seems to work for me is thinking of discernment as something that applies to *me* and my choices. I can check in with myself and see if a particular action is something I want to do, or not. (And that can be a lot of work, sometimes.)

If it’s about something that I’ve already done, or something that someone else is going to do (and isn’t asking my help in deciding), then it seems like judgment to me, and I prefer to leave that to God.

There’s nothing wrong with you.

This is something that I’ve gotten a bit of flack for saying. So I’m going to flesh it out a little.

When I let go of judgment, I let go of labeling things in the world as “wrong” or as out of alignment with the heart of reality, with the heart of God. When I consider something, I can find it out of alignment with the heart of me, of course. That’s how I know whether it’s what I want. But out alignment with God or reality, that just doesn’t make any sense to me. And it doesn’t have to. I get to leave that stuff to God.

And do the best I can, in each moment, to pay attention and follow love. Doing the best I can. Just like you, and everybody else.

Last night we walked a few blocks through our neighborhood to go to the kinda-monthly meeting of the Neighborhood Association. As we approached the street that leads into the neighborhood, we saw a group of young people. I said to Tracy, “Better call the cops.” This, you might have guessed, was a joke. Let me explain.

See, last month at the Blockwatch meeting, we (PineHillians? Pineys? P-Hillz?)… we were told that if we see a group of more than about 4-5 young people, we should call the police. Yes, indeed. We must call the police and report suspicious activity.

As we got close to the kids, and approached them, I noticed a little one in a stroller. (A teen-age-type was pushing.) One of the kids said to us, “Don’t worry. We ain’t goin’ rob you.” Then another said, “Naw, they trick-or-treating!” Which was funny, because I’d said to Tracy just before that the weather & the time of day & the neighborhood reminded me of Halloween as a girl.

Anyway, we smiled & said hello, and kept going. I considered asking if they were all right, because I could sense some agitation. I could also see some people in the distance ahead blocking the sidewalk. Was there conflict? But they didn’t seem to want our involvement. So, on we went.

Uh oh. There’s more.

Half a block later, we ran into the other group we’d seen. This time it was our neighbor, Blockwatch Guy, and a couple of security guards. (I’d have called the police, but there were only three of them. Besides, they said the police were on the way.)

I think because we appeared to him to be Us and not Them, the Blockwatch guy was friendly, and told us all about the problem. The kids were congregating at the corner store, and they needed to go. He was there to make sure they went, and didn’t come back. His demeanor was… well, let’s just say he’s made it known that he carries a weapon, and he’s not afraid to use it. It was not a posture of humility.

It made me wonder. Where are these kids supposed to hang out? There’s no “official” places, “acceptable” places, except inside the homes in the neighborhood. I can think of a zillion reasons a teen might not want to be hanging out inside their house on the first spring-like evening after months of cold and gray. Stale odors, abusive parents, boring parents, no space to move…

Tracy and I started to continue on, talking about the experience. Soon, we realized we did want to go back and see how the kids were doing. But by this time they’d left.

Neighborhood Association isn’t for “neighbors”

Pine Hills is laid out pretty clearly. It’s roughly between a rectangle and a football, bordered by a thoroughfare on the north, a creek (that I love) to the west, and freeways to the east and south. It’s easy to guess where the borders are, but if you did, you’d be wrong. The borders of the official neighborhood are drawn with all sorts of angles, to exclude all those folks in apartments. When I look at those borders, my heart breaks.

According to the census data, there are way more apartments than the 550 houses the neighborhood association includes in its boundaries. Wonder if that’s why we exclude them? We do it, not just by declaring them somehow “not part” of the neighborhood association. But also by taking an Us/Them posture at the corner store, on the playground, on the street…

What would happen if, as a start, we considered the whole neighborhood, invited folks from the apartments to meetings, hung out with the young people we run across on the streets?

Just call me Polly Anna.

So then I got this idea…

Well, actually, I’ve been really at a loss. We left our ministry in Eugene, and have been waiting, watching, walking, looking for where the path leads from here. Winter is a slow time in Columbus, and it makes sense that we’ve spent a bunch of time in quiet waiting. And it makes sense that with the first green shoots of spring (like the ones in our yard, which cheered me greatly!) — with spring, we would find ourselves breaking out, ideas forming in our minds and hearts like buds on the trees outside our window. :)

It’s not that I haven’t had ideas. I’d like to go to the Baptist Church in the neighborhood, and help the folks there figure out how to love the neighborhood. But will they have me? I’d like to get pizza or burritos and share a meal once a week, like we did in Eugene. But where? I’d like to turn my garage into a hang-out. Don’t get me started on why that’s a bad idea.

But last night, I was around real people, and something clearer started to form. (Hang on. I’ll tell you what in a second.) It’s something I’ve had glimmers of before, which is part of why this feels more real. In the past, when the “right” path has shown up, it’s shown up with a life of its own. We’ll see whether this turn out to have that kind of life in it.

ok, here it is

What if, right along side the Blockwatch patrollers, there were Radical Love Project patrollers? What if we wandered the streets and talked to people with love and respect, offered help and kindness, befriended folks and encouraged them? That might be something I could handle. No 501(3)c paperwork, no accounting nightmare, no zoning board. Just two feet on the pavement. I think that’s how God likes me. Walking.

People ask me if we’ve “started anything” in Columbus yet, and sometimes I get the sense they might feel let-down by my answer. And then I get news like I got today, and I’m reminded that what we’re doing is exactly the right thing to be doing.

What we’re doing is breathing, listening, remaining open to discernment, and loving everyone in our path. It’s no small thing, but sometimes it seems like it doesn’t count in the way that finding a group under a bridge to share a meal would count. But I’m wrong. It does count. Check it out…

Today’s news was from a friend from our cohort (think “house church”), Scot, whose life was changed by an encounter with a guy holding a “spare change” sign.

…as I came off the ramp and onto Easton Pkwy aiming for the curb lane I saw “him”…ominous black clad figure holding cardboard sign. I reflexively jerked my vehicle toward the outer left turn lane so as to avoid “him”. In a flash I remembered the aforementioned resonations…I whipped it back over for curb service. Thankfully the light was red and I was first in line and there he was 3 feet away.

You can read the rest of the story at the Central Ohio Emergent Cohort blog. I definitely recommend it.

P.S. Someone asked what video we showed. It was from the Urban Entry series from Mile High Ministries. It’s called Anything Helps.

“Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.” — Phillipians, Message style

I love that! The reminder helps me sometimes. And, to be honest, I’m not worried.

It’s not about the food. Each time we go, it’s about the loving attention, the reminder of grace. But the food is nice, too.

This week, I’m inviting you to share some of your fishes with us. If you feel called to help, we’ll use whatever donations we get to provide for our friends who live outside.

What about you? What do you do for self-protection? Lock your doors? Carry a cell phone? Carry a Glock 23?

It’s easy to say “I’d never shoot somebody.” But what about when you call the police? Hire a guard? Recruit a soldier? Would you ask someone to kill to defend you or a loved one? Is that different from handling the gun yourself?

I own a gun or two. I’m convinced I don’t need them anymore, so I’m going to sell them. Or should I melt them down, and do without rent this month?

Should I sell them to someone who is willing to shoot, who does practice self-protection? I think so, but what do you think?

“f**k human trafficking.” — Eugene Cho

My sons and I were talking about “dirty words” recently, and someone mentioned that we don’t say the f-word in public. Of course, the littlest one said “Why?” I told him that some people are scared of that word, and they get upset when they hear it. Again, “Why?”

“We don’t know why,” I told him, “but we don’t want to scare them, right?”

It made sense to me at the time, but later, one of the older ones gave me something to think about.

“Actually, my friends are more afraid of people who refuse to say ‘fuck’ than of people who say it.”

I’d never really thought of it that way, but it sure makes sense. Because what are we saying when the f-word is conspicuously absent from our speech? Are we being pious? Setting a “good example”? Demonstrating that we’re better?

What about adults who use the word around other adults, but try to give kids the impression they would never do such a thing?

“Ever notice the look of terror on somebody’s face when they swear in front of a pastor?” — Ken Loyd

What message does it send if my friends who live outside have to clean up their language to speak to me, or to feel “good enough” for me… or for God?

I have experienced what Ken is talking about, and I realized that the only way to get around it was to stop being so damn prissy. It worked. My friends are much more willing to share with me now that I use language that feels normal and common to them (and to me, really).

“Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before men, to be seen by them.” — Jesus

What does it say to God when we cuss in private, but speak carefully in public? Do we think God doesn’t hear us at home, or wherever we feel “safe” saying “fuck”? Isn’t this what our Brother advises against? Putting on a show to appear holy in public?

“I think we get caught in this idea of pleasing God rather than trusting God. And I think once you learn to trust God, it’s a lot easier to please God.” — Jay Bakker

I think as parents (and as pastors) our job/joy is to reflect God’s love and grace as best we can. I want my kids (and the people who look to me for pastor-stuff) to trust me not to judge them, to trust me to hear what’s really alive in them. Why? Because I think trusting me can help them trust God.

I don’t want them to present a different face to me than they present to other people. I don’t want them to lie to me, or pretend to be something they’re not. I want real connection, and that’s why, when it’s called for, I say “fuck.”

What about you? Do you ever say “fuck”? When? If you don’t, why not?