Mr. Rogers Had It Right

Yesterday, my friend threw up all around our neighbor J.'s taxi cab.

Granted, my friend is 18 months old and was very upset about being left with a babysitter (me :)), but the whole situation got me thinking about the people who live on my street. As we left the "scene of the crime," I kept thinking how I knew whose taxi cab it was, and how I cared if it would bother him. Now, I know that doesn't sound too profound, but it has taken me over two years to get to this place. God has been teaching me that our presence in this neighborhood matters far more than I realize.  For a teacher, I can be a pretty slow learner.

Here are some other facts I know about J.: he is from New York; he has a tattoo of the Virgin on his arm and some pretty massive gold rings; he has one working Cadillac and three resting on rims in the back because "Caddies never die." It's not much, but it's a start. Here's how I learned even this much.

I had been working on the computer all day and had just learned to knit, so I was switching back and forth between a screen and two slippery sticks. Thrilling. I was bored enough to start knitting again when I felt like God was whispering, This is not what I have for you right now. Grumpy at not having any better ideas myself, I asked in my head, Well, can I at least walk to the mailbox? Would that be okay with you?! Ignoring my attitude, I felt like God gave me the thumbs up, so I slipped into the heat. On the way back from the mailbox, I noticed my two neighbors J. and P. chatting in P.'s driveway. They invited me into the conversation and what followed was a gift.

We spent the next twenty minutes as an unlikely trio in the hot July sun. We talked about interstates and my grandfather's GM days. We talked about truck driving and Detroit and the school system in town. We talked about our baby and their jobs. I listened as P., a man I had thought of with distaste (we've a few suspicions he sells things a little stronger than Girl Scout cookies :) ), share how he has "hopes for this city." We entered into each others' stories. This, this entering into the stories of my neighbors, is something beautiful, something biblical, and something worth devoting the rest of my life to.

I think one of the reasons why Jesus is hard to find in our neighborhoods is because we go about sharing him so differently than he shared himself. I have avoided neighbors who smoke or drink or yell too much. I have hoped neighbors would find Jesus so they wouldn't smoke or drink or yell so much. I have made mercenary friendships where I've seen conversion as the main goal of our relationships. I  have felt like a benefactor of goodness. It's a good thing we moved in or who knows where they would be. Jesus was not like this!

Jesus shared wine and bread and heated conversation. He sat and got down to some deep heart issues while people did their daily tasks, like drawing water. He told stories of enemies paying for medical and hotel costs for someone banged up by a rough neighborhood crowd, of one house in heaven with many rooms instead of a million mansions with manicured lawns. He let people host him, touch him, banter with him, cry with him.   He entered into the stories of those around him and in doing so, revealed the Father's heart. It is the same for me. Since it is no longer I who lives but Christ in me, when I give and take from my neighbors, Jesus will be shared as a matter of course. No sophisticated outreach or system will transform my neighborhood. A few potlucks just might.

Donald Miller shares in his book Blue Like Jazz about a time when he heard another author, Brennan Manning, speak about Zaccheus. Manning had shared that the anger of an entire town did nothing to change Zaccheus' exploiting his neighbors and selling out to the empire that was oppressing his people. Jesus came and ate with him, and Zaccheus paid back everyone he had ever cheated.

This week, may we all be a little less like rugged individuals and a little more like Mr. Rogers. The kingdom could come in some small, powerful ways as a result.