the Jesus Model

Note: not a well-written or neat little post.  messy.  probably offensive.  You've been warned.

This has been a heart-burn week, and it's only Wednesday.  

I will always thank the Lord and thank Haiti for the growth in my focus and even personality these past 6 years.  I have always been SO task oriented.  I've always got a planner, 2 calendars and iCal going, always working ahead of schedule, always satisfied when I'm getting things done.

But this people oriented, community-based culture has been chipping and chipping, and the more time I spend with people--just being friends--the more I want to, the more I realize that's all there is of lasting worth.

Everything seems to fall under the umbrella of relationship.   

I am burdened to preach the Gospel.  When I preach the Gospel to complete and total strangers, frankly, I feel like I'm trying to sell them something.  But when we're sitting together (a very big thing in Haiti...sitting together) and know a bit of each other's stories, have talked, have rubbed lives for a bit...

Within relationship, now I can and do preach, freely and with impact.

I am burdened to help the poor and care for the orphaned.  We support several organizations and people who do so.  But when I hang in their yards, when I teach them in class, when I talk with them over lunch, I know EXACTLY how and what I can do to help.  Uniquely.  Perfectly.  The RIGHT way.

Within relationship, we can and do give, freely and with impact.  

I am burdened to teach and to learn.  I can teach a nameless group of students all day and slap some learning on their surface, but until I know their names, and know who they're dating and how their children are breaking their hearts and know what they want to do and be in this world...only then can our teaching and learning go DEEP. 

And again, within relationship, we can and do teach, do learn, freely and with impact.

High-five for relationships.


But darn it.  The relationship thing is messing me up.  

The "old" Christian life I had planned on as a child would be much easier on my heart.

If I were just shouting the Gospel at strangers or leaving tracts at the grocery store or shaking hands my way through church, it wouldn't have to entangle my heart.  If I were just writing checks to some organization, so that they can help the poor and the orphaned, I wouldn't have to get my heart broken.  Wouldn't feel so sick all the time.  If I were just praying for the lost, I wouldn't have to MEET them, and be forever and painfully and wonderfully changed.

Wherever we are, we must support those people, pray for those people, give those things to GoodWill, tithe like the dickens and then some.  

But we've also GOT to be befriending the poor, the lost, the hurting.  Make sure we're putting things badly needed directly into the hands of those who badly need them, too.  Looking into their eyes.  Bouncing their babies.  Hearing their stories.  Praying for them, yes.  But also taking their hand and praying with them.  There are so many people in this world--many RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE--who desperately need some real Jesus.

We must make sure we're supporting the spread of the Gospel AND actually spreading the Gospel, too.  Support a missionary!  Please  :)  But BE a missionary, too.  First. 

The thought downright never would have occurred to me until we came here.  Never.  

Never occurred to me that the Jesus-Model is the MY MODEL.  

He actually took off his clothes, got down on the floor, and washed their muddy, stinky feet.  He actually picked the embarrassing women up off the floor and spoke lovingly to them.  Actually went to the houses of the hated.  Actually played with the children.  Actually went to Jarius's house, sat on the bed of his dead daughter.

He actually took nails in His hands.  Pressed thorns in his flesh.  Hung on a cross.    

How much more dirty, painful, sacrificial, personal, embarrassing can it get. 

I'm not sure I've cried through writing a blog since the earthquake.  

I am entirely humbled, ashamed and grateful.  

My life continues to be far too safe.  Far too comfortable.  

Family, I'm no where close to bloody.  I'm hugging lots of people, but I'm no where near their muddy feet.

I spent Monday morning with Vilmer, learning of MY SISTERS in Wood of the Low Humanity.  

I spent yesterday afternoon with my girls in Bois Kayma with Janiel and Peninah, hearing about their tiny little church plant, seeing how far they have to go for a stinking drop of dirty water.  Saw how simple and difficult their lives are, while they are blind to it and pouring out instead all around them.  So. Selflessly.  So. Sacrificially.  Painfully.  Like, not eating so others can eat.

I spent an hour this morning with Belony.  Listening to just a few of the burdens of Flavil church and school.  His burdens, as he selflessly and with NO payment has taken on.  Listened to a million problems and needs and no plan, or even HOPE of a plan, to meet them.  Listened to Belony talk about faith.  About having nothing else.  About that being enough.

And I've been in Belony's house, see.  I've held his wife's hand.  I've been in that church, in that school.  I've watched Lily play with Flavil's children.  I've sat in Peninah's living room/bedroom/kitchen/hut.  I've walked through her neighborhood.  I happily accepted baby John from his single 16 year old mama.  He spit up on my shirt.

Monday night I drove to Noel's house in the dark, stumbled into their pitch-black woven-stick house, packed out with people I couldn't even see, ALL of whom LIVE there, made my way to the back room.  Met Herloud's brand new baby by the light of a cell phone.  

Delivered in that hot stick hut with no doctor, no nurse, no tv, no monitor, no midwife, no medication, no nothing.  Kissed Herloud's cheek.  Watched her smile down at her little one...with no name and no weight and no check-up...with peace and joy and pride, just like I did, in a VERY different place, with mine.  

I continue to be and build relationship with so much suffering.  So many hurting people.  So many needs.  And I'm getting there...I'm going, I'm giving, I'm sharing.  

But my tears are pouring all the same, this morning, because there is still such a gap between me and Jesus.  

Still such a gap between loving people and living with them and LOVING people and dying for them.

When the blind beggar is embarrassingly crying out from beneath the tree, when the traveller is bloody on the side of the road, I'm still skirting the other direction.  Praying for them. 

When I know and see and understand there are so many walking with shoes with holes in the soles, or with no shoes at all, I still have three pairs of black dress shoes, just for church and teaching.  When I see there are so many living in Noel's house, which has ONE bed, I continue to relish my quiet and comfortable house with five empty beds. When I see that Peninah is helping dozens of people and is barely surviving with her own family, I still keep that last $20 tucked safely in my wallet, because...I might need it?  
Ah.  

If I'd never experienced it myself, I guess I wouldn't owe it to anyone else.

But those blunt nails through his hands I was talking about?  That beating and spitting and mocking?  That taking of the blame and separation from our Father and death?

That was for ME.