they will renew the ruined cities

in my last post when i said "more thoughts of the serious variety tomorrow", i really meant "more thoughts of the serious variety in the near future when i can slow down enough to turn the jumbled mess in my brain into understandable, organized statements on paper." that time, as it turns out, is now.

last weekend, i boarded a plane that took me from one dangerous, dying city to another in an attempt for a bit of vacation. rather ironic, i know, but the abandoned houses, barred windows, drug house across the street felt more like home than other "vacations" i've taken. i even slept better than i normally do when away from the comfort of my own bed.

even though it felt like home, it didn't look like home. i've been in enough "inner cities" to know what one stereotypically looks like, but this city was different. this city didn't seem to have hope. in "my" city, you can drive through the worst neighborhood and come across a street of people who have intentionally moved in to be neighbors, to do life. they shop at the local stores, walk to church, and choose not to use air conditioning so that they sit on their front porches. with that comes hope for restoration; for peace. in detroit, very little of that exists. the people that afford to, are moving out of there quickly, leaving houses and buildings boarded up and falling down; causing the local economy to fall apart; making the poor become even poorer. the hopelessness was like a foggy polution.

my friend chris is one of those people that i never imagined living in barred house across the street from both a pimp and a drug dealer. chris was a small town preacher's kid, and the counselor who worked his way up to supervisor at the mostly white, christian, suburban kid's camp where we met. he went to a mostly white, very conservative reformed college. during his senior year (shortly after we became friends), he showed up in the exhibit hall of a conference called urbana where i happened to be working, and he said to me, "i think god might be calling me to teach in a city." i spent some time showing him around my city (which had just topped the most dangerous city chart a few months earlier) and processing what a decision like that would look like. i wasn't surprised when a few months later he chose to teach english in japan instead. chris needed that year in japan (although it was very hard), but god brought him back, set him right in the middle of a decrepit neighborhood, and said "enter into this mess. love the kids. bring some hope." chris has done just that. he's been there all of six months and has done what many experienced teachers in mainstream classes cannot do: he brought his students up to grade level in math and reading. urban children that live in small houses with eight-ten other people; in single parent homes where drugs and alcohol and a number of boyfriends and girlfriends keep children up at all hours; where good nutrition is not affordable; in a school with very little money and fewer resources; in a city where the graduation rate is 27%. chris brings hope.

a part of me really wants to rejoice that i live in the city where hope exists in little pockets; to be proud that i live in the city that is no longer dying. but then faces of the students in chris's little school give life, give a name, to the hopelessness. they didn't choose to live there, but they unknowningly depend upon the people who do choose to live there for a chance to "get out" or even just a chance to survive.

there's a promise in the bible that i have loved for years which takes on an even greater meaning after my visit. it's a promise i'm choosing to believe in and pray over the city of detroit. it's a promise that i hope will bring encouragement to chris and jessi and jessica and eric and dana and the few others that believe god has not yet forsaken the city. it goes a little something like this:

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
because the LORD has anointed me
to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the LORD's favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
(this is the best part)
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the LORD
for the display of his splendor.
They will rebuild the ancient ruins
and restore the places long devastated;
they will renew the ruined cities
that have been devastated for generations.