a weekend in the city

I am a self proclaimed city boy from the country. It sounds stupid but it's the truth. My first trip into Baltimore and I knew that was for me. The suburban lifestyle was not for me and the city, my friends, called my heart.

This weekend I visited a new city and what I saw, I never thought I'd be that close to seeing, hell, to think about it: to being.

I was a lead member of the church's Youth Service trip, where I was in charge of a group of kids who never stopped all weekend. There wasn't a moment I wish I hadn't come along and am glad, after the week I had, that I decided not to call off.

We stayed at a church where their one mission was to love every member of their congregation then when they question why they're loved unconditionally, the answer is easy: because God loved us first.

This congregation consist of local business owners, the elderly who have been going to the church for longer than they can remember, addicts, recovering addicts, and homeless.

This church serves as a breathing place for those who need to be loved the most: those in our society has turned their backs on and what I saw this weekend lifted a weight off my heart, knowing there are still people who can love and not judge.

We did a lot of work, and even though ti's Tuesday, I'm still a bit sore, but it was such a joy to see so many that just gave. I was saddened to see so many struggling with something or another but guess what?

We are all broken.

Each one of us is broken. We have those things in our closets that no one sees. It doesn't have to be drugs, sex, rock and roll, but anger, jealousy, lying, or a whole rack of other things, but there is none among us who aren't broken.

All of us are messy, all of us. All of us, you know, Greek for: all of us.

The fact that we're told a sin is a sin, that I am a thief as much as I am a murderer, as much as I am a liar because I have a habit of speeding, of bad mouthing our President (bible says to respect your government) and because I miss the mark of perfection, I have sinned as much as the drug addict who I sat next to at dinner, or the prostitute who I accidentally ran over in my chair.

The weird part is, I didn't see any of them that way. At dinner, I felt nervous because I wasn't sure how I'd react if spoken to, I wasn't sure if I could compose myself enough, the whole weekend reminded me how close I was to living on the street, addicted to whatever I could get my hands on.

I believe in the healing power of Christ, and I believe that every one of those people, who come and really want to change, can, and they'll have the greatest support system I think I could ever ask for. The church creates a family, a loving family, setting for their congregation and that, in itself, is healing.

If I ever had to move north, I think I'd find a way to drive to the city every night. Even though there is no handicapped parking, or ramps, or lifts, I'd find a way to pull myself up into the Sanctuary, down into the Kitchen, each week. God is in their hallways, in their closets, in their hearts, and I'll never forget this weekend.

If you're ever in Frederick, Maryland on a Saturday night or Sunday morning, over on West 2nd Street, there's a little church, Centennial Memorial United Methodist Church, ask for Pastor George and tell him Jesse from First Saints says hello and God Bless.