Images

by Steve Jennings

Thirty four years ago this November, we packed a few teens, me, and a trunk-load of coats and sweaters in my 1976 Oldsmobile Cutlass and headed to the intersection of 15th Street and Constitution Avenue for the first of hundreds of “TOP Trips” that would follow.

Recently, as I reflected on that first night, my mind’s eye was flooded with images that have come from this ministry over the years. I was able to capture a few on-camera but most live only in my memory. I would like to share a few of them with you.

Ross

The old man pushed his grocery cart to a low wall in front of the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington, DC and sat down with a grunt and a sigh. I sat down next to him and started a conversation. For the first five minutes or so, it was a friendly conversation with a delightful old gentleman. Then things began to change.

Ross started telling me how his blood ran through the steam tunnels in the Federal Triangle of DC and that he gave life to all of the federal workers. He went on to say that he was the father of “all the Indian nations”.

As he told me these tall tales, the look in his eyes changed. It seemed as though he looked through me as he spoke. That was my first encounter with a delusional person. There would be many to follow. But, despite his delusions, Ross became my friend. He would call me “Stevie.” The last time I saw him before he passed away, we had a wonderful, delusion-free conversation that lasted over 30 minutes.

The Guy on the Grate

We were serving homeless people in a little plaza at 21st St and Virginia Avenue in DC. As we carried our stuff to the park, we walked by a man passed out on the sidewalk. When I saw him, I decided to bring some food and water out for him just as soon as we set our stuff down. I returned to the spot less than 2 minutes later only to discover he was gone. I didn’t see him anywhere. Maybe God’s reason for all of this was to show us far homeless life can pull you down.

homeless man on grate
A homeless man lies on a steam grate in Washington, DC

Beautiful Connections

Esther had just finished her first semester of college and was ready to head to DC to minister with the homeless the Sunday before Christmas. I told her how her homeless friend of 5 years, Bob, was able to walk away from the alcohol addiction that held him captive on the street, get a job and move into a rented room. She was literally jumping up and down for joy at the prospect of seeing him. I called him to make sure he would be there.

It was gray and rainy at the park when we arrived. Esther was serving food out of a van. Bob found her and ran to the van. The two of them embraced. Bob’s back was to me, but I could see the smile on Esther’s face. For 5 years she shared his pain and struggles. Now she got to share his victory (which was a miracle, by the way). I wish I had a camera, but that image will be forever etched in my memory. Sometimes prayer and friendship are the two most important things to change a life.

Another special connection took place in Lynchburg about 10 years ago. Caitlyn’s youth group was serving in Lee Park. She joined several of us as we prayed for a young mother whose children were in foster care because she allowed them to stay in the house too long with her now-ex-husband who abused her.

After a couple of adults prayed, Caitlyn began her prayer with “Hey God, it’s me again.” By the time Caitlyn had finished praying, the young mother was sobbing. Caitlyn reached across the prayer circle and hugged her. The two of them spent the next half hour crying, praying, talking and finally laughing together. Both young women were forever moved and impacted by that moment. You may recognize this image from our Facebook page.

Teen comforts distraught single Mom
Caitlyn comforts a distraught young, single Mom

These are but a few of the images I carry of my 30+ years in this ministry. It hasn’t always been easy, and there have been some painful, difficult moments, too. But they pale in comparison to the joy of serving and teaching others how to share in that joy.

Church Needs Better Infrastructure to Expand Ministry in Low Income Neighborhood. Really?

Part 1 of a series of blogs on Messy Ministry

A well-heeled congregation began an outreach to a low income neighborhood.  They started a food pantry and began meeting other physical needs for that community.  They started well.  Working with two local churches they were able to provide things that were truly needed instead of just guessing.  Their assistance provides families enough food to get through the month, and if they do nothing else, they are making a difference.

I was talking with a leader in the church about whether they planned to expand their involvement in that low income community.  Do they have any plans to get involved with people on a personal level? The answer was a “Yes, but…”

“Yes, but we’re not sure which way to go. There is no infrastructure for more involved ministry.”

The answer struck me as odd, but I didn’t have a response to it during the meeting.  As I drove home I pondered that phrase, “no infrastructure”.  What kind of infrastructure does it take to get to know people?  The first step in relational ministry is to get to know the people you are serving. Address their perceived needs.  Don’t assume you know what they’re hungry for.

Is there a place where people hang out in that community?  A park or playground?  If so, you have the infrastructure you need to get started.  Take a cooler of cold drinks there on a warm day and hang out with them.  Make friends.  That’s a great start.

The church in ministry works with two churches in the community. Do those churches have sanctuaries, parking lots or lawns?  If so, you have the infrastructure you need to get started. If there are no options with the local churches, is there a vacant lot in the neighborhood or a parking lot for a business you can use on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon?  If so, you have the infrastructure you need to get started.

Begin with a community gathering.  A block party is a great way to open doors.  To register for a door prize, a person has to fill out a survey.  From that survey and the conversations you have with people, you can assess where to move next in ministry.

Transformational ministry doesn’t need great infrastructure.  It needs people who are willing to make unlikely friends. It needs people who are willing to spend time with other people.  It needs people who are willing to risk broken hearts and disappointments in order to experience the shared joy of transformed lives.  It needs people who are willing to be transformed themselves.

God’s grace to you,

Steve Jennings, Executive Director

TeensOpposingPoverty.org

When My Heart Stops Breaking, It’s Time to Leave

For nearly 26 years I have worked with people who have pushed their own self-destruct buttons, fought without success to break the fetters of addiction and suffered from the callousness of a society that prefers to keep its distance from them.

For nearly 26 years my heart has been broken over and over again. With each new crisis in the life of a person we serve, I re-live the heartbreaks of the past.

As I prepare to visit yet another friend going through a tragedy of monumental proportions (sorry, but I can’t tell you about it right now) a part of me can’t help but pray for a healthy dose of “professional detachment”. That part of me yearns to be able to seal this sad situation in a box that I open only when necessary. The rest of the time I can go on my merry way oblivious to the anguish as I perform the more mundane tasks of ministry.

But is that what I really want?

Is it better to keep that emotional distance, or is it better to feel the pain?  I confess that sometimes I “grow weary in well-doing” and even dream of days without a phone call or vision of someone’s suffering or desperate need,  but over the years I have made a discovery:

Walking with people through their pain, sharing grief in their defeats and joy in their victories is the fuel for my passion.

God’s vision for this ministry is the engine and the Holy Spirit is the spark that gets things started every day. But it’s my passion for the people we serve, our staff, volunteers and donors that keeps the engine running on what has become a very long trip.  And I think I have enough fuel to go just a little farther.

God help me if I lose that passion.  God help me if my heart stops breaking.  When that happens it will be time to leave.

God’s grace to you,

Steve Jennings, Executive Director

http://www.TeensOpposingPoverty.org

 

Emotional Gas

Two churches were sharing the duties of the ministry trip for Teens Opposing Poverty on a cool Sunday afternoon.  One brought the hot dogs. The other brought the chili.

We served about 30-40 homeless people in McPherson Square, just a few blocks from the White House. There were no long lines, no rush.  They just kind of trickled in for food.  The atmosphere was relaxed. Our volunteers had lots of opportunities to connect with the people they served..

As we transitioned from mostly serving to mostly talking and visiting, David, Oliver and I stood between the chili and hot dog stations.  Oliver was bringing us up to date on his decision to propose to his girlfriend and told us how good he was feeling right now.  He suffers from a number of chronic health problems.

After some unrelated small talk, the discussion turned to household bills.  David shared the recent break he had gotten on his gas bill.  Oliver was lamenting that the gas company estimates his bill every other month and they always overcharge him. One month he will have a huge bill, the next month he will have a huge credit.

As they continued their conversation, a wave of emotion swept over me.

I have known both of these men for over 10 years. They both used to be homeless, trapped in the prisons of their addictions.  I watched how God used our friendship, relationships they formed with our volunteers and other influences to get their heads and hearts in the right place so they could endure the rigors of overcoming their homelessness.  It wasn’t an easy road for either of them.  There were setbacks too numerous to mention, but they persevered. They beat the streets.

And now they were talking about their gas bills.

I put my hands on their shoulders, looked at them, smiled and asked, “Ten years ago, could you have ever imagined you would be having this conversation right now?”

They they looked at me and at each other. In nearly perfect unison they smiled and said, “Never.”

Who would have ever thought someone could be grateful for a gas bill?

God’s grace to you,

Steve Jennings, Executive Director

http://www.TeensOpposingPoverty.org

 

30 Years – Part 4 – Where the Rubber Meets the Road

This is the last in a series of self-indulgent blogs celebrating the 30th Anniversary of my new life in Christ. Check out Teens Opposing Poverty’s Blog for the rest of the story. 

February brought with it the formal filing of divorce papers.  Ever since my “warm honey” experience in November, I had been free of my angst over the situation.  I thought nothing else would bother me about it.

I was wrong.

As I signed the divorce papers, I was overwhelmed with a sense that I was a failure.  Instead of signing my name, I thought I should have written “LOSER.” My feelings took me by surprise and threw me into another funk. It wasn’t the mind-numbing emotional pain I had felt before, but it wore me down nonetheless.

Hoping to change my attitude, I dug into my research with gusto. By Groundhog Day, I had concluded that Christianity, the faith of my childhood, made the most sense both intellectually and in the way it fit with my experiences over the previous three months.

Once I embraced following Jesus on an intellectual level, it was up to the Holy Spirit for my faith to travel that short, but obstacle strewn, path to my heart.

I can’t tell you the date or even what week it was, just that it was February. I remember that it was a clear, dry day and I was cleaning stalls in the barn of my parents’ horse farm. I had scooped up a fork full of horse manure and stood there staring at it with the words “failure” and “loser” filling my mind. I looked at the manure and thought, “This is your life. This is what you are on your own.”

I continued to stare at the manure when, all of a sudden, memories of sitting with my grandfather watching Billy Graham Crusades flooded my thoughts.  I could see the crowds shuffling down the aisle toward the platform.  I remembered the prayer of salvation.

It was time.

“Jesus, without You my life has turned to this. What scares me is that I know I can go lower, and I don’t want that to happen. I know I’m a mess. I know I’m a screw-up. I know I’m a sinner, but You want me despite all of that.  I guess that’s what I see in you that’s so great. I’m yours. You paid a huge price for me. Forgive me for turning away from you and all the other sins I have committed. I can’t begin to count them.  Do what You will with me. You lead. I’ll follow.”

I dumped the manure into the wheelbarrow.  To be honest, I didn’t feel that much different. I just knew I had done the right thing; the best thing. The wild adventures of faith that would follow over the next thirty years and the ones still ahead continue to convince me that I chose the best path.

God’s grace to you,

Steve Jennings, Executive Director

http://www.TeensOpposingPoverty.org

 

30 Years – Part 3 – The Search (continued)

Around Christmas 1982, I picked up a book my grandfather had given me that had sat unread on my bookshelf since I was 12. It was “All the Apostles of the Bible” by Herbert Lockyear.  I pored over the accounts of the lives and martyrdom of Jesus’ disciples and the generation of Apostles that followed them. They suffered tremendously for the gospel.  Most of them died horrible deaths in order to share Jesus with the world.

Would they die for a lie?

Would they deny themselves the core comforts their civilization provided for something they knew to be false?  I know I wouldn’t.  If they had achieved great earthly gain, I would have continued to question the validity of the resurrection, but their sacrifices reached across the millennia to satisfy my doubts.

On Christmas Eve, I took the Bible I had received when I joined the church in 1965. I opened the red cover and smiled as I looked at the inscription that had misspelled my name.  Then I headed to the second chapter of Luke and looked at the wax stains on the page from where I had set the Bible in front of some candles as a Christmas decoration in my room many years before. It was time this book stopped being a decoration and started giving me some answers. I started reading.

Over the next week I read the four Gospels and the book of Acts. The words of Jesus made sense. If everybody lived according to His teaching, the world would be a much better place. I marveled at His parables and contemplated His words.  I also discovered that my understanding of Jesus as somewhat of a wimp was totally out of step with the man revealed in the pages of that long-dormant Book.

Throughout January I continued to read and compare. I reflected on the things that Mary said in our conversations that seemed to be just the thing I needed to hear, and I began to hurl questions at my grandfather.  I didn’t stop studying other faiths, but I began to feel an irresistible pull toward Jesus.

God’s grace to you,

Steve Jennings, Executive Director

 If you haven’t gotten the rest of the story, here are the links.

 http://teensopposingpoverty.wordpress.com/2013/02/28/30-years-part-1-flashback/

http://teensopposingpoverty.wordpress.com/2013/03/01/30-years-part-2-november-to-remember/

http://teensopposingpoverty.wordpress.com/2013/03/02/30-years-november-to-remember-continued/

http://teensopposingpoverty.wordpress.com/2013/03/04/30-years-part-3-the-search/

30 Years – Part 3 – The Search

After the events of November 1982, I spent some time searching. I wanted to know this God who had revealed Himself to me as a personal God.

The only religion I was familiar with was Christianity, but I didn’t immediately turn to this “default religion.” The search I was about to undertake wasn’t just about finding a set of beliefs I was comfortable with; it was about finding the truth.

So I spent the next few months studying religions, New Age, Wicca and other even more esoteric belief systems. I rejected out-of-hand the ones based on “human potential” and those that weren’t based on a god you could relate to on a personal level. My own experience belied those choices.

During my search, God continued to drop divine guideposts on my path to point me to Him. One of those guideposts was Mary Ashby.  As we talked on the phone about arrangements for my move to Texas, she shared brief nuggets of treasure about her faith. I found myself looking forward to our conversations.

Another guidepost was my grandfather, Rupert Kincer. He was a strong-willed man with a powerful faith in Jesus.  He knew the Bible inside and out, and fearlessly shared Christ with whoever would listen.  Not only did his personal relationship with God impact me, but he had given me some books years before that I had never read.  One of them, in particular, would have an impact on my decision.

At first I didn’t think Christianity was unique among religions, but as I examined it more closely I realized I couldn’t have been more wrong. Every other belief system I studied was based on laws, rules or levels of consciousness. Attainment of rewards ultimately depended on the believer’s discipline or adherence to a standard. In most of them, the believer could call on divine help to achieve the goal, and all of them had the potential to grant their followers a level of purpose and contentment. 

As I continued my search, something kept pulling me back to the faith of my childhood. When I began my close study of the core tenets of Christianity, it all made sense.  First, it recognizes that we are all imperfect, and as long as we are in this tent of flesh we will always be imperfect. In looking at myself, people I knew and the world around me, that was an obvious truth.  The Christian faith also recognizes that we cannot attain holiness and righteousness in our own power. Reaping the rewards of the faith does not depend on our abilities. It depends on how much of ourselves we surrender to the leading of the Holy Spirit.  Our salvation comes through the works of another who was worthy.

Christianity’s accurate assessment of the human condition pulled me strongly in its direction. But I still had a problem accepting the resurrection. For some reason, I found that proposition hard to swallow.  Little did I know that God would answer my concerns.

More searching to come.

God’s grace to you,

Steve Jennings, Executive Director

http://www.TeensOpposingPoverty.org

 

30 Years – November to Remember (continued)

Fast forward to the weekend before Thanksgiving.  I had dropped back into my funky fog as I was headed south on Interstate 81 to Tech. I was indulging in my pity party when I saw the blue lights flashing in my rearview mirror.

I pulled over.

The state trooper asked, “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“No sir.” I answered

“You were going 14 miles an hour over the speed limit. I tracked you for over three miles at that speed. Were you in a hurry?”

“No. Just going through a tough spot.  I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

I put the ticket in the glove box and headed more cautiously down the road, fighting back anger at myself for letting my problems get to me so badly. For the first time since I was a young boy, I prayed.

“OK, God. I’m a mess. I don’t know if you’re a personal God or just some cosmic force.  If you’re real, now would be a great time to prove it.”

I finished my meeting in Blacksburg and headed to the nearby town of Dublin to spend the night with my grandmother. My uncle was there, too.  He had come down for a hunting trip.

That night we had a delicious dinner of wild turkey.  As we ate, I noticed my uncle drinking a lot of water.  He was diabetic and I knew what was going on.

When we were out of earshot of my grandmother, I said, “Your blood sugar’s all out of whack. Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

Nah, I’ll be alright.  I cut back on my insulin when I hunt. This morning I took the lower dose, but didn’t go out because it started raining. I’m back on it, now. This will pass in a couple of hours.”

It didn’t.

At 2:30 in the morning, I awoke to the sounds of Tommy throwing up in the bathroom. I went to the bathroom door.  He could hardly stand up. I called for an ambulance, but the dispatcher said something big was happening and it would be 30 minutes or more before they could get there. We couldn’t wait that long, so I called my cousin Tony, who lived nearby. He helped me carry Tommy down the stairs so I could take him to the hospital. Tony stayed to tell my grandmother what was going on. Tommy had to be admitted to the hospital and put on an IV to get his blood sugar under control.

The next day, as I was driving home, I thought about what a coincidence it was that I just happened to be at my grandmother’s on the exact night Tommy went into sugar shock. I found myself thanking God that my grandmother didn’t have to deal with it.

As the miles rolled under my tires, I settled back into my all-too-familiar funk.  “Gee, thanks, God,” I thought. “You’re doing a great job here.”

I was nearing a rest area north of Harrisonburg with my emotions still spinning like a waterspout, my brain foggy and my attitude in the toilet when the most amazing thing happened.  In an instant, my mind cleared and my emotions calmed. Something wonderful washed slowly over me like a bucket of warm honey being poured on my head. It was beautiful and refreshing. I got an answer to my prayer.

“OK, God. You have my attention.”

God’s grace to you,

Steve Jennings

Executive Director

Win-Win

By Dina Thompson

[Dina’s church, Providence Chapel Church in Frogtown, Virginia, had their first day of ministry for seniors at a subsidized housing project in their home county.  She was so moved by the experience that she wrote down her impressions the day after. It’s easy to see that when we give we often receive more in return] – Steve Jennings

We  were  greeted  with  smiles  and  hellos  as  we  carried  in  the  boxes  of  canned  food  and  fresh  fruit  to  the  common  area.  Some  had  already  gathered.  They  knew  we  were  coming  and  they  were  waiting  for  us.  We  fixed  small  packages  for  those  who  were  bound  to  their  rooms  to  be  delivered.

 “Mr.”,  we  called  from  the  hall,  “we  have  some  things  for  you”.  We  could  hear  that  he  was  trying  to  get  the  door,  10  feet  away  dragging oxygen tubes and  using a cane.  It  took  several  minutes  for  him  to  eagerly  let  us  in.  We  put  the  food  away  in  his  cabinets  and  invited  him  to  the  common  area.  We  told  him  of  the  people  that  gathered  to  meet  him,  small  children,  and  music.  His face lit up.  We  could  see  and  feel  the  excitement as  he  tried  to  hurry  his  pace.  He  could  leave  his  oxygen  behind  for  just  a  little  while,  he  insisted…..  we  placed  a  chair  close  to  his  door  so  it  would  not  be  so  far for  him  to  walk.

We could barely hear her  call  to  come  in.  As  we  entered  the  room,  filled  with  cigarette  smoke,  all  her  necessities  surrounded  her  so  she  could  reach  them  easily.   An  older  woman,  she  seemed  to  be  confined  to  her  chair.  We  could  not  stay,  as  the  cigarette  smoke  overwhelmed  us,  but  she  thanked  us  gratefully.

A  pink  heart  shaped  welcome  sign  and  angel  wings  decorated  her  door.  As  we  waited  in  the  hallway  at  her  door,  I  thought  the  music  playing  loudly  inside  the  apartment  was  unusual  for  an  elderly  person.  Only  meeting  elderly  so far,  the  sight  of  the  young  woman  with  her  feet  and  body  strapped  to  the  wheel  chair,  instantly  grabbed  at  my  heart  and  put  a  lump  in  my  throat.  I  consciously  held  my  breath  a  moment   so  not  to  gasp  out  loud.  Like  the  angel  wings  on  her  door  foreshadowed,  she  was  beautiful.  She  had  the  face  of  an  angel,  a  vibrant  smile,  and  beautiful  blue  eyes  that  lit  up  with  tears.  “Yes!!”  She  nodded  eagerly.  She  would  like  to  go  upstairs  to  listen  to  the  music. Her  speech  was  difficult  but  the  brightness  in  her  eyes  and  the  yes  and  no  movements  from  her  head  allowed  us  to  understand.  Known  to  love  sitting  in  the  sun,  a  calendar  with  beach  scenes  was  found  for  her.  She  nodded  eagerly  and  marveled  at  the  beauty  of  the  beaches  as  I  read  about  each  on  the  back  cover.  A  small,  stuffed  puppy  was  so  soft that  she  enthusiastically  managed  to  turn  her  hands  slightly  and  her  eyes  sparkled,  when  I  placed  the  toy  in  her  hands.

Song  requests  were  called  out –  “Jesus  Loves  Me”,  “Amazing  Grace”,  “How  Great  Thou  Art”,  turning  the  afternoon  into  a  grand  hymn  sing,  party  atmosphere.

The  elderly  man  sitting  next  to  me  explained  that  he  was  the  victim  of  a  stroke  which  took  his  left  side.  He  used  to  love  to  sing  in  the  church  choir  and  cook  chicken  and  dumplings.  As  Providence  church  members  and  others  sang,  his  beautiful  baritone  voice  would  come  through  in  brief  spurts  of  energy  and  highlight  the  music.

“When can  you  all  come  back?”,  a  woman  asked.  “Yes!”,  the  rest  joined  in.  Another  said  she  would  have  sing  along  books  printed  for  next  time.  Good  times!  A  good  time  was  had  by  all.

Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise. Psalm 98:4

http://www.teensopposingpoverty.org

A Lesson in Thankfulness

I’ll never forget the blizzard of 1996.  At least I think it was ’96.  Anyway, the snow was approaching and I had to get to Washington, D.C.  to keep a promise to my homeless friend Jakob.  He said his gout was acting up and asked for some aspirin.

I arrived at dusk. The street lights from Pennsylvania Avenue and the White House cast an eerie glow on the bench at Lafayette Square where he planned to sleep during the blizzard.

“Are you going to be OK?  This is supposed to be a big storm, you know.”  I tried to make my tone of voice sound ominous and urgent.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured me.

I guess my ominous tone wasn’t very ominous.

“I have been blessed with a stack of blankets and two tarps, I have lots of warm clothes on and I just had dinner.  I have everything I need.”

We stood for a while in the glare of lights from the home of the President of the United States. The air felt like the snow would start any second. After a few more words, I said goodbye, got into my truck, turned the heater on and drove home. That night and all the next day I sat in front of a warm fire, sipped hot chocolate and looked out the window as 40 inches of snow piled up outside.

As I was leaving, Jakob crawled under his tarp and between his many layers of blankets on the bench.  He awoke the next morning thinking somebody was sitting on him.  It was just the snow.  He had been warm and slept soundly through the night.

The homeless people we work with through TOP are a grateful bunch.  For many of them, if they have clothes on their backs, food in their bellies and some way to stay warm through the night they have enough. Everything else is a treat and a blessing.  You can’t believe the “thank you’s” we get just for handing out underwear!

So the next time you are tempted to complain about the hassles and aggravations of life, think about Jakob (he’s still on the streets) and give thanks for your underwear.

God’s grace to you,

Steve Jennings, Executive Director

www.TeensOpposingPoverty.org