It's been 3 or 4 years since I actually went to church service, and I had no plans of doing so in the near future. When I signed up for
City Impact with my roommate's church, it was definitely for the volunteer aspect, and I didn't know I would also witness somewhat of a religious revival experience.
I used the word witness, as I considered myself an observer rather than a participant in all of this. I was touched by the sermons, the testimonies, I cried, sang and even prayed. All my feelings were genuine and actions sincere. I was slightly confused, until when we walked out of the door, and overheard my roommate chatting with a friend, and saying "I just hope this isn't some high that you just get over when you leave the room."
Then I got over the high.
Getting high, even on God, is exhausting. Now that I've had a good night's sleep, I can finally recount the experience so I can have something to remember it by. The morning started out with a long wait at the registration line then walking into a dark room with moody blue lights, fist pumping music, and a feed of all the exciting people posting about
Fracis Chan and City Impact. As the countdown clock started and the chatter slowly subsided, a guy jumped on stage and started talking about the history of City Impact, and how wonderful and novel it was to have a pastor cancel service for an entire Sunday to participate. His speech was stand-up comedian like and brought laughs from the crowd, but also provoked thinking. As Christians spend Wednesday nights studying the Bible and making friends among themselves, Sunday mornings at church listening to sermons, who is actually out there in the battlegrounds of this messed up world of ours saving all the lost souls angry at God and humanity?
I pondered this question through the worship session, where a great band led the crowd in some beautiful singing. That's definitely one thing I actually miss from my church days, but I kept my mouth shut as I found it rather hypocritical for me to sing to a God I'm still doubting. Then Francis Chan came up and gave a sermon. I have to say, he was a great speaker, but sadly I don't really remember the content of his sermon :( Although I blame this on my own distracted mind, rather than the speech itself. I was very confused in this environment of fervent religious people, and felt quite out of place. So when we were asked to pray about the day, I was happy that my roommate took charge and prayed for us (with my input).
I felt much relieved as I left the building, and spent most of the day photographing kids at the carnival. The timid ones, the bold ones, the one tugging at her sister's skirt, and the one sitting up on dad's shoulder. They are growing up in a neighborhood where people drive by with their doors firmly locked and walk hurriedly through the streets averting eye contact. Their eyes are still full of warmth and excitement, trying their hardest just for the thrill of competition itself. The
sports camp leader, Tony Stewart, was wonderful with kids. The drills weren't just drills, they each had a lesson, and I was glad (and somewhat surprised) to hear the kids recount the lessons they learned. Sadly, because I was in a frenzy running around taking pictures, the only thing that stuck for me was to live a purpose driven life. I don't know how much the kids will remember of the lessons after yesterday, but I do hope that they also remember this one lesson, and find a purpose in life that's more than just survival.
As I remember my own adolescence, growing up in a poor but motivated family, I'm again reminded of how much I had been given, and how grateful I should be. I never lacked encouragement from others to be something greater and do something worthwhile, even when I doubted myself. When I see the bright smiles on their faces, I'm not sure if these kids know the cards they've been dealt aren't the best in the deck, and how many will triumph through life's unfair competitions and cruel jokes. Some of them may one day end up on the streets of the Tenderloin, their eyes cold and defensive, showing disdain to the people walking by. I wonder how many of us, years from now, would walk by one of these kids and avert our eyes, because we had long forgotten we had held their hands and laughed with them, and now judged them only by the street corner they stood on.
After the carnival ended, I found the rest of the crew at the corner park, where people were given medical care, free clothing, haircuts, manicures and pedicures. I have the utmost admiration for those who chose to kneel and wash people's feet. I'm not a germaphobe, but I can't even see myself touching my own friends' feet, much less strangers' feet that have walked on grounds much dirtier than my apartment floor. I saw those who were in deep conversation, sharing stories with people they normally would not have had the courage to go up and talk to. I saw people who were "regulars", who knew what to expect and came only to get what they needed. I saw immigrants who did not know how to say "thank you" but said so with their eyes. For the most part I watched, and observed, because I did not have the courage to go up and say hi, for fear of rejection. I'm afraid that they would see through the facade of caring when in fact I was still afraid and did not love them the way Jesus loved them.
The night concluded with the sharing of stories. The one that made me cry, was where a seven year old child asked how he could get toys, the proceeded to enter a whipped cream eating contest. After he won, he chose a doll for his one year old sister, still in their mother's arms. The mom did not speak any English, so only when a Cantonese speaking volunteer went up to her and praised her son, did she admit with tears that he was lactose tolerant, and avoided all dairy products. They had taken a half hour bus ride to the carnival because they heard free backpacks were being given out. Their dad, a construction worker, also spoke no English, and the only way they learned was when their son came home in the evening and tried to teach them some simple words and broken phrases he picked up from school. But how proud they should be of their son, and of the way they had taught him.
The pastor spoke of religion, and how many people disliked religion, not because of the teachings themselves, but because of the examples they've seen of bad religion. Being an outsider, I wholeheartedly agree. While I still doubt his holiness, I've always thought of Jesus as a great man, who was wise and good, who taught lessons that all should follow. I remember those WWJD bracelets from high school, and I still think it's a great idea, and people really should live more like Jesus, whether they believe he's the son of God or not. Get out of your church pews and get off your yoga mats, stop introspecting and just go out and do something good for the community, for the world, or at the very least for those around you.
And that's something I fail at miserably myself. I spend weekends helping strangers that I would soon forget, and yet I don't know how to comfort those around me, or be patient enough to help those I love. Perhaps that is the most important lesson I was taught yesterday. Before you care for heaven, for far away villages, or for people on the streets, you should look around and ask those around you. Maybe they are the ones that need you most of all.
