I Don't Love You Like I Should

I’m overwhelmed at the degree to which God is making Himself evident in these first few weeks. He hasn’t been subtle. He hasn’t been sneaky or sly or lurking behind any corners. My calling, my faith, has been thrown at me like a grenade at an enemy:

When I first began to explore the city for things to do I ventured downtown and some of the other usual places a 19-year-old guy would go to have fun, or at least maintain the allusion of fun. And then, after a good two-hour class on Walt Whitman, I began talking to my teacher, Professor Folsom.  I told him I came to Iowa for the developing undergraduate program in creative writing, and that I was a fan of Flannery O’Connor, who I knew had graduated from the workshop. Looking quite surprised, Dr. Folsom informed me of the spot where she used to write on campus, at the city park next to an outdoor theatre.  And, as I’ve mentioned before, I went to that park.

Now, this may seem bland and insignificant to you, but it meant a lot to me. The first week allowed me to realize that I’m not fantastic at making friends, and that, although acquaintances are easy to come by, Christ-thirsting followers of God are not. I was lonely. I prayed to God for comfort, something that seems odd to pray about, and He threw it at me in the form of a park. I held on to a verse:

“My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

It comes from Psalm 121:2, and has been a hopeful light to me for some time. When I go to the park, and sit on the bench under the bent willow, I ask God for His help and His company, His comfort. And what has surprised me most is that God wanted me to wait just a bit, as if He was scolding me for my complaints about having no friends the very first week of school. I now that He wanted me to wait because the past few days have seen several new people surface themselves and offer themselves as friends, new friends.

            While at the park I asked God (and Flannery) for inspiration, affirmation, and direction. God thrust upon me the realization that, in fact, I am a writer. I’ve always wondered and doubted and questioned, but now, and not to say that I won’t have doubts in the future, I realize that God wants to use me in a great way through writing, whatever that means to Him (I think it could mean many things, maybe I’ll never get published but you read something of mine and it inspires you to do something great for God, this is called Pecan Pie theology and was explained to me by my Canadian friend Vic). Thus closes the explanation of God’s first revelation to me.

            I have also talked about this reason some, but do not hesitate to take advantage of the opportunity to use more words. If you have not been to Africa, I strongly urge you to go. It will change you. You won’t have any say but it will change you, and I do not necessarily promise that it will be for the good. Africa, as has been the case for so many Christians, can raise doubts on God and His character, but I was lucky enough to not experience these but to experience doubts about myself. I’m sorry for the tangent. Africa—when I entered the science lecture hall and learned that my teacher was Nigerian I no longer questioned God’s reasoning for me to take a shitty science class like that, I was at home, in Jos, Nigeria, with a man who had lived his life in that wonderful place and now we were able to share memories and laughs and pictures and stories of Nigeria. On Labor Day I went to the potluck dinner where my Nigerian teacher told me I could meet other Nigerians and other Africans; I went and it was absolutely amazing. I talked a long while with my teacher and also his daughter, Kimwa. (Oh these names warm my heart.) At the potluck I experienced the best Christian fellowship I had felt in a long while. Thus concludes God’s second obvious manifestation in the unlikely Iowa City.

            His third (and most certainly not last) manifestation is in the process of coming to fruition. This past summer, in Dallas, God gave me a heart for the homeless. Many days in Dallas it seems to me that people pretend like nothing is wrong, especially in North Dallas or the Parky neighborhoods. Everything in our city is fine, right? First of all there is a huge and obvious racial divide in the city. Oak Cliff and West Dallas is where the African-Americans live. There are so many Hispanic people now that they have many “little Mexicos” throughout the city, and the white people live anywhere the other races aren’t, whether it be suburbs or North Dallas or Highland Park. Next to the racial divide we have the Pharisee-like hypocrisy of so many Christians and churches in the DFW area. Disclaimer: the hypocrisy is everywhere else the church is too, but I lived in Dallas and that is where I know it, so that is where I will critique it. And I freely admit that I daily participate in this same hypocrisy, but brothers and sisters we must change. When the first thing someone thinks about a Christian involves politics we are not doing what Christ intended us to do. We should be throwing, hurling ourselves at the feet of the needy. We should be embracing the prostitute, holding the homosexual, and sitting with the homeless. I should be at the door of the widow, offering my help with no pre or post requisites. Grace is not for the disgusting aristocracy that still exists underneath the nominal democracy around the world. For so much of my life I unconsciously understood that the gospel was for upper-middle class white people. No, my friends, that is what the fisherman Peter would call bullshit. And what truly blows my mind is that, when you read the gospels, it should be obvious whom Jesus loved. Everybody! And that is exactly why I have such a hard time with the gospel. I do not have a hard time loving the homeless, or the homosexual; I struggle with extending grace to the corporate CEO and the nominal Christian, both who need and yearn for Christ (whether they know it or not) as much as I do. I find it difficult to love the frat boy, and the girl who is orange from tanning and who has three pounds of makeup on. But, despite my rants, I do love these people. And I pray to God daily that He would grant me the ability to receive and dispense grace like He does. Because I love them, I love this country, and I love the Lord. Only through His love will I truly be able to love.

            All this said, I am now ready to reveal my third blatant encounter with God. Just a few hours ago I met with a man whose name is Michael the Churchplanter, and he shared with me his vision for a church, called One Ancient Hope, whose goal it is  to minister to the homeless, the displaced, the homosexual, the doubter, the hater of the gospel, and the one who has horrible things to say about Christ. I am for this, and it is only through God’s grace that such an opportunity, the chance to help plant a church, has surfaced. That’s three. 

(I need a phone call.)