only the losers win...

Only the losers win
They've got nothing to prove
They'll leave the world with nothing to lose
You can laugh at the weirdos now
Wait till wrongs are right
They'll be the ones with nothing to hide  - Switchfoot "The Loser"

This week I have been privileged to take my youth group to Houston to be a part of a week long day camp for inner-city elementary aged children. This camp is a combo of reading classes and vbs with a lot of loud songs, crafts, skits and games. Many of these kids are given snacks when they arrive in the morning on buses and vans because they often don’t get breakfast at home. Without going into a lot of unnecessary details, that I feel would unfairly turn these kids into a sad story that would somehow twist everything around using their poverty to boost the impact of this post, I will simply say they don’t have very much at all. But, this program that we are fortunate enough to be a part of works to fill in some of the gaps by teaching them, feeding them, clothing them (they have a school supply shopping night which includes some new clothes) and simply loving on them. So, for the week, we get to be a part of that. This trip was started by the youth minister before me. He and I have since become friends as he brings his new group the very same week and we all work together. He has been connected to this program since college and has been bringing teens for years.

One of the other places we visit that he started taking the group to and that the teens do not want to give up is a place called Liberty Island. It is a home for adults who have mental illnesses among other handicaps. On one hand, it is a very sad place. It is run down, very unclean and dreary. On the other hand, as one of my teens pointed out, if they didn’t have this place, many of them would just be in the streets. There is a guy named Les who visits Liberty Island all the time with some friends of his. When we are in town, he lets us go with him. As we pull up to the facility, there is a smattering of residents outside. A couple in wheelchairs and one without any legs below the knee cap sitting by the stairs on the concrete in the hot Houston sun. As we enter the building, there are a few more residents in a musty lounge watching tv with others seemingly spaced-out sitting on couches not aware of much going on around them. We move into a big dining hall type room with round tables and chairs. There is a window right by us where the residents come up and get their medicine. A handful of residents are already sitting at tables waiting, most of them spread out as about 40 of us come and fill in space. As we wait, more residents find their way in and take seats with us. So, there we are, feeling awkward yet determined to push ourselves a bit and interact. As we do, we find that some of the residents can carry on very coherent conversations, others struggle, but that doesn’t stop them. They are usually much more comfortable with us then we are with them. Yet by our standards, they have the problems.

Les starts some songs and we sing and clap for probably 30-40 minutes. At some points the residents dance and laugh which rubs off on us. We find ourselves clapping, dancing and laughing somewhere between just being silly and actually feeling very free and happy ourselves. Afterward, the group spreads out and we find ourselves around tables talking to residents. I found myself talking to Rhonda. She had one crazy wig on with pink blush in perfect clown like circles on her dark cheeks. Her outfit was over the top and it was amazing to see her desire to look feminine combined with her mental illness resulting in a wild outfit, wilder hair and crazy makeup. To me, she was fun and whimsical and I thought about how the rest of us who we consider sane go to such drastic lengths ourselves to look good. Rhonda could carry on a conversation, but it was hard to follow at times. Her story that day included her being in the Navy since she was 14, working at a jewelry store for 30 years and something about some white girls she worked with. I’m not sure how much was true, but it was a good story. She told me she needed to work on her temper. She felt she had to be angry sometimes to get others to listen to her. We had passed out cheetos, cookies and juice to the residents we met with. When she saw I didn’t have any, she gave me two of her cookies and found a used, but empty cup and poured half of her drink in it. Right then, Les said we had to go. I imagine if I had stayed longer she would have insisted I eat the cookies that she had passed from her wet, cheetoh stained fingers and drink the juice from her backwashed cup. The better part of me would have been honored.

I always thought the beatitudes in Matthew 5 were about me, that I was supposed to be those things to be blessed. A favorite author of mine helped me see them differently. In short, the wealthy, the powerful, the aggressive, the popular and the successful are the ones honored or blessed in the kingdoms of men. In the kingdom of God, we honor those of a different list - the overlooked, the easily forgotten, the oppressed, the merciful, and the peacemakers. Our “firsts” are the “lasts” of the kingdoms of men. Unfortunately, the honored in our congregations often resemble more closely the valued of the kingdoms of men then they do the valued in the kingdom of God. Who was the last person your church clapped for or had stand up so every could see they were there? At the risk of coming across as having false humility, two nights ago sitting in that room beside Rhonda, I found myself ready on that day when everything is renewed to gladly take last place and watch, with tears of joy and pride, as she takes first.