The First Baptist Church of Shingleton, a small African-American church in NorCal, decides to hold their annual youth retreat in San Diego.
The kids have never ventured down to the southern side of the state and the newly hired, hip young pastor wants them to see new things. Naturally, the youth group is pumped!
Bags are packed, waivers are signed and before you know it, a van filled with 17-18 year old kids heads south for San Diego. The lush green backdrop of NorCal slowly gives way to the empty, open fields of the Central Valley. Hours and hours pass. Light fades. Then suddenly ... the city. Los Angeles. Hustle and bustle.
Amazed, the children ask the young new pastor to make a short pit-stop. Hollywood. Hollywood is what they want. The stars, the glamour, the fame. "We want to see Hollywood!" they shout.
And so it is that the young new pastor, swayed by their demands, took the exit - Hollywood it is. Let's stop for dinner.
--------------------
It's about 10'oclock now. Dinner is over. They've all done a bit of sightseeing; the group is getting ready to head back to the van. Its getting late.
As the pastor and the kids are walking along Hollywood blvd., a group of 20-somethings start to follow them. At first, there's no notice. Nothing out of the ordinary. In time though, the pastor picks up the pace. Things get a little tense. Something isn't right. Sensing the urgency, the kids follow their pastor's lead. They all speed up. They're being followed.
Things begin to spiral out of control quick. This group of hoodlums, gang-members - starts to hurl insults at the young kids running. Racial slurs of every type accost the pastor and these young teenage kids; inhuman words, words that dare not to be mentioned or graced with recognition.
Insulted, humiliated and in fear for his life, one of the young teenage boys turns to face his pursuers. Infuriated by their ignorance and hate, he demands that they stop. He demands dignity. In the background he hears the voice of his fearless leader - the pastor - shout: "keep running kids don't stop!" It hits him. He is abandoned, alone to face the hate of his pursuers. For a minute, it almost seems that they'll leave him alone. They stare at him, as if amazed that he would have such bravery - such gall. But then it happens. Swift punch after swift punch. Bat to the jaw. The irony taste of blood in the mouth. Sharp piercing pain in the chest. Then - blackness ... unconsciousness ... helplessness. The young teenage boy is left half-dead, sprawled out lifeless by the curb.
Across the street a curious figure approaches. An odd heroine. She emerges cautiously. A provocatively dressed, heavily make-up' ed prostitute makes her way to the boy. She heard the cries of the young man as she traveled to work - i.e. her corner. She stopped to see what the commotion was and now she stands over the half-dead, lifeless African-American boy sprawled out on the curb. She looks one way, she looks the other. Moved by the young man's helplessness, she picks up his cold, bloodied body and carries him away from the scene.
She takes this boy to her place of work - i.e. a motel. She lays him down on the bed and dresses his wounds to the best of her knowledge. Like a mother to her child she nurses the boy back to consciousness.
"Thank You" he murmurs with the little breath he has.
"You're still not well hun. I needa call an ambulance for ya ... you need more help than I know to give." says the prostitute, "but I can't be around when the police get here ... they don't look too kindly on my profession if you know what I mean ... "
So she calls the police and the paramedics. She gives them the room number and the name of the motel and she leaves the boy behind.
--------------------
It's the next morning now. The whole youth group stands bedside over the young man. The pastor, excited and proud to see him awake, jumps up.
"The police contacted us as soon as they found you! Thank God you're alright! The kids and I, we were so worried for you! We prayed long and hard for you last night and look, God answered our prayers!"
Here the young man shakes his head. He looks out the window and back at his peers. He gathers up the rights words and simply asks:
"Where were you guys? Why did you leave me? Why didn't you come back to get me?"
The whole room is quiet while the pastor looks sheepishly at the scratched white hospital floor.
"You left me in need. I was lifeless - half-dead in the streets and you prayed for my well-being while a prostitute off the streets dressed my bloodied wounds. You did nothing while this stranger saved me."
"You tell me," says the young man, "last night in the streets - who proved to be a neighbor to me?"
A long silence is broken by the young man's wise brave words:
"Please pastor, you've told us that we are called to love our neighbor ... go and do likewise."
Needless to say, the drive home to Shingleton was a quiet one.
The kids have never ventured down to the southern side of the state and the newly hired, hip young pastor wants them to see new things. Naturally, the youth group is pumped!
Bags are packed, waivers are signed and before you know it, a van filled with 17-18 year old kids heads south for San Diego. The lush green backdrop of NorCal slowly gives way to the empty, open fields of the Central Valley. Hours and hours pass. Light fades. Then suddenly ... the city. Los Angeles. Hustle and bustle.
Amazed, the children ask the young new pastor to make a short pit-stop. Hollywood. Hollywood is what they want. The stars, the glamour, the fame. "We want to see Hollywood!" they shout.
And so it is that the young new pastor, swayed by their demands, took the exit - Hollywood it is. Let's stop for dinner.
--------------------
It's about 10'oclock now. Dinner is over. They've all done a bit of sightseeing; the group is getting ready to head back to the van. Its getting late.
As the pastor and the kids are walking along Hollywood blvd., a group of 20-somethings start to follow them. At first, there's no notice. Nothing out of the ordinary. In time though, the pastor picks up the pace. Things get a little tense. Something isn't right. Sensing the urgency, the kids follow their pastor's lead. They all speed up. They're being followed.
Things begin to spiral out of control quick. This group of hoodlums, gang-members - starts to hurl insults at the young kids running. Racial slurs of every type accost the pastor and these young teenage kids; inhuman words, words that dare not to be mentioned or graced with recognition.
Insulted, humiliated and in fear for his life, one of the young teenage boys turns to face his pursuers. Infuriated by their ignorance and hate, he demands that they stop. He demands dignity. In the background he hears the voice of his fearless leader - the pastor - shout: "keep running kids don't stop!" It hits him. He is abandoned, alone to face the hate of his pursuers. For a minute, it almost seems that they'll leave him alone. They stare at him, as if amazed that he would have such bravery - such gall. But then it happens. Swift punch after swift punch. Bat to the jaw. The irony taste of blood in the mouth. Sharp piercing pain in the chest. Then - blackness ... unconsciousness ... helplessness. The young teenage boy is left half-dead, sprawled out lifeless by the curb.
Across the street a curious figure approaches. An odd heroine. She emerges cautiously. A provocatively dressed, heavily make-up' ed prostitute makes her way to the boy. She heard the cries of the young man as she traveled to work - i.e. her corner. She stopped to see what the commotion was and now she stands over the half-dead, lifeless African-American boy sprawled out on the curb. She looks one way, she looks the other. Moved by the young man's helplessness, she picks up his cold, bloodied body and carries him away from the scene.
She takes this boy to her place of work - i.e. a motel. She lays him down on the bed and dresses his wounds to the best of her knowledge. Like a mother to her child she nurses the boy back to consciousness.
"Thank You" he murmurs with the little breath he has.
"You're still not well hun. I needa call an ambulance for ya ... you need more help than I know to give." says the prostitute, "but I can't be around when the police get here ... they don't look too kindly on my profession if you know what I mean ... "
So she calls the police and the paramedics. She gives them the room number and the name of the motel and she leaves the boy behind.
--------------------
It's the next morning now. The whole youth group stands bedside over the young man. The pastor, excited and proud to see him awake, jumps up.
"The police contacted us as soon as they found you! Thank God you're alright! The kids and I, we were so worried for you! We prayed long and hard for you last night and look, God answered our prayers!"
Here the young man shakes his head. He looks out the window and back at his peers. He gathers up the rights words and simply asks:
"Where were you guys? Why did you leave me? Why didn't you come back to get me?"
The whole room is quiet while the pastor looks sheepishly at the scratched white hospital floor.
"You left me in need. I was lifeless - half-dead in the streets and you prayed for my well-being while a prostitute off the streets dressed my bloodied wounds. You did nothing while this stranger saved me."
"You tell me," says the young man, "last night in the streets - who proved to be a neighbor to me?"
A long silence is broken by the young man's wise brave words:
"Please pastor, you've told us that we are called to love our neighbor ... go and do likewise."
Needless to say, the drive home to Shingleton was a quiet one.
Luke 10:25-37
God help us to tear down the boundaries and limits we set up of who we will and will not love
God help us to tear down the boundaries and limits we set up of who we will and will not love
//Ex Profundis//
