"The Referral Game" by Bob Lupton

while watching football during what has become an undeclared american holiday, i found myself in a conversation with a new friend from my new church about just what it takes to effect change in a community. it got me thinking about two men that have influenced some of the social justice oriented decisions i have made for my life. one them, randy white, has actually become my friend in recent months. his stories turned into reality as he drove me around his neighborhood this summer. he and his wife are incredible jesus-like models for incarnational ministry in the roughest, poorest neighborhoods should like. randy will be the first to tell you how many times he's messed up, and he'll repeatedly tell you that they don't have it all figured out. the other guy, bob lupton, lives in atlanta where he gave up a career in business to move into a neighborhood that seemingly redefined his life, his assumptions about christianity, people, and the hood. both bob and randy along with another guy, scott bessenecker, are the kind of writers that i would like to be - story tellers really, with a knack for making you feel as if you are an unnamed character in the story. the key is that their stories have purpose, they aren't just time fillers. below is a small section from bob's book "Theirs is the Kingdom." get the book. it's good. but brace yourself as his stories (as well as randy's and scott's) will wreck what you believe to be the truth about christianity and "social justice." but we all need a little punch to the gut every now and then.

The Referral Game

He was a bearded man. He was probably in his late thirties, although it was difficult to tell from his disheveled appearance. With the sleeve of his shirt, he wiped the sweat from his face and readied himself to make a proper reception desk presentation.

He was hungry, he told Trisha. Needed some food real bad. Trisha dutifully responded that our lunch was on Wednesday, but if he would go down the street to St. Anthony's...

The bearded man cut Trisha short. He was no longer able to maintain a meek countenance. His anger flared as he recounted his last two days of trudging through the city, following one empty lead after another. He was now very hungry and desperate. He couldn't tolerate any more of this kind of help. He had come to the end of the Referral Game.

"Referral" is a game devised by people helpers to assist the needy in finding help somewhere else. It appears kind and is laced with compassionate words. It can be played by all kinds of churches and agencies. The only requirement is the purchase of a social service directory and a volunteer to dispense the appropriate information.

"Referral" is an attractive game for churches. Christians can discharge their responsibility to the hungry, naked, and homeless with efficiency and cost effectiveness. Referral requires little personal contact with the poor. It can be done by phone. Serious players, of course, schedule five to fifteen minute personal interviews, fill out data forms, and even make phone calls on behalf of the interviewee. Some Referral fanatics have computerized the game, dramatically reducing the processing time and adding a cross-check dimension that keeps the poor playing by the rules

Referral, like Monopoly or Risk, involves true-to-life situations. It is often played with great emotion and intensity. We can learn a great deal about poverty, the system, and even ourselves by playing it. But for us Referral is different from real life. We can close the manual and go home whenever we decide

Referral is a serious game. The pawns are human beings. They know what the players do not. They know there is not enough food in the game to feed everyone. They know the allocation of beds and jobs is half enough to go around. Yet the pawns continue to allow themselves to be moved from place to place. Perhaps they are hoping to find a Referral player who will remove his or her helper mask and become a real-life neighbor. More than anyone else, pawns understand that in real life there is an abundance of food and shelter. There is enough for everyone. And they know that real neighbors share. Therein lies their hope

Referral is serious, too, because it deludes the resourced people of God into believing they have fed, clothed, and housed "the least of these." In fact they have neither shared their bread, nor given their second coat, nor invited a stranger into their home. Referral allows us to process poverty with rubber-gloved safety rather than enter the contaminating world of redemptive relationships

"Damn racists!" the bearded man exclaimed with a glare. He turned and without looking back limped out the church door, slamming it behind him. A real person. Alone.