City Lights!!!

Hello, friends! 

Sorry it has been a bit since I have posted.

As promised, here is a City Lights update, as told by one of our City Lights rookies, Colter Snethen.  Enjoy! 

            City Lights is hard to explain. That’s why I went into it thinking I would be demolishing unused houses, helping to build new ones, spending hours in a humid soup kitchen, or any other countless tasks where I could see the physical results of my work. My work. Other than that, I knew that God was going to be in charge of this expedition to the segregated districts of St. Louis. I was told that God was going to be working in a big, powerful, visible, tangible way, but I’d been promised that before, and I knew better. Not that God wasn’t going to act, of course. I just wasn’t going to see it. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting much, overall, which actually worked in my favor. I didn’t have (many) strong, preconceived notions.

            When we first arrived, we shared some introductions and then were whisked away for a tour of St. Louis. The first destination was the Cathedral Basilica of St. Louis, a breathtaking building that really shouldn’t exist. An enormous, dome-topped structure, its eastern, Roman-Catholic allusions mix with modern mosaics. It’s towering, lasting, ancient appearance (that took seventy years to complete) is plastered with mosaics, each of which is coated with a paper-thin layer of real gold. The red of Christ’s blood in the artwork is a one-of-a-kind color: the artist created a unique formula to create a completely new color of red, specifically for this basilica, and destroyed any remnant of it so no one could replicate it. The building is a testament to man’s God-given ability to create beautiful things from His own creation. It would cost nearly $1,000,000,000 to recreate in today’s economy. I was in awe.

            While I was distracted by the beauty that pulled me in every direction, I was oblivious to a small box in the corner, which I was only told about later. Apparently, it said something like, “For the Homeless.” It originally rested in the middle of the sanctuary for everyone to see, but was slowly on its way towards the entrance, where it could be all but forgotten.

            Later, we traveled to the parts of St. Louis that were less tended to. In a sick sort of way, it is still quite beautiful. Buildings are half-burned: the north side of one could be relatively intact from the outside, and the south side could be charred, caved-in, and deserted. Unlike the main parts of the city—where the buildings are well-kempt, guarded by white picket fences and state-of-the-art security systems—the brick houses there are covered in graffiti and expletives, barred shut by plywood. Large, open plots of land (called “prairies”) are the graveyards of dead homes, where demolition projects leveled the houses but never replaced them. We visited the local church and were told of its humble beginnings. Though it has struggled to get to its stabile, lasting place in the community, the pastors and attendants still suffer from the socioeconomic and racial barriers that keep them from the community they are trying to help. The African American preachers are “sell-outs” for working with Caucasians.

It felt like such juxtaposition: the beauty of the basilica was now marred by realization. How could they (you know, they) sit there, worshiping their God in splendor while this church and its people had suffered? Was this right? Where was God? Why couldn’t He even a couple things out? After that, the building almost seemed to have no relation to God whatsoever.

On the first day we worked, I was assigned to a woman named Ms. Lovie. I was disappointed: she was known for having a magnificent garden where we could work. Trouble was, it had snowed almost twelve inches the night before, so the thought of doing “real” work was pushed from my mind. The eighty-three-year-old woman showed us scrapbooks that displayed her life, from a birthday party to her garden’s beginnings. She’d won awards from the botanical garden for starting the garden in a rough, dangerous neighborhood. And since we weren’t able to actually do anything with it, she wanted us to paint some of the trim that lined the doorway to the kitchen. Finally, something concrete to do! Certainly my work would be influential. It sure didn’t feel like it. The next day we went back and painted a door and watched The Bold and the Beautiful.

During this time, we’d have many Bible studies and times for reflection. We kept being told that God was working in the City, and I could see that the church was doing things, but I didn’t see how God was actually acting. It also sounded like they were trying to convince me to drop everything I thought God had been telling me to go towards for the past few years and move to the city, collecting garbage as a volunteer (extreme hyperbole, but still). I became confused. They kept telling me how I needed to be doing things for God, but I wasn’t sure what. How did this link back to the basilica and the struggling church? Or Ms. Lovie? I was getting confused.

For the last two days, I went to a place called “New Life,” a homeless shelter near the arch. Every person there asked me how long I was staying, appearing slightly disappointed whenever I responded with, “Just a few hours,” for each day. I was sent to work in a small “free store,” where people who needed clothes could take some when they needed it. Except it was a women’s store, where I was unable to work. I had to work in another hallway and sort a few clothes under a confusing system. The guy I was folding clothes with, someone else also with City Lights, told me he was disappointed by the experience. “I wanted to see God move in a big way, and all we’ve been doing is busy work,” he said, folding a baby’s onesie and tossing it into a bin.

I started thinking about what he was saying, but despite my thoughts on the week, I found myself disagreeing with him. I would find out later on that the Basilica is one of the city’s main sources of social work. They are funded by the Catholic church and serve the community in huge ways. And Ms. Lovie was more than thrilled with us being at her house, but it wasn’t because of the door-painting (well, not just because). She was so happy to have people with her, spending time with her, watching TV with her, and eating with her. She loved telling us stories of her late husband and her kids. It was the relationship she needed, and by being there and loving her, and allowing her to love us, we were not only serving her, but we were doing almost more for her because we weren’t totally distracted by heavy work. When we left, we were hugged by the woman who runs the store. She told us that the tedious, useless “busy work” was actually an enormous load off her shoulders. We probably could have found that out if we’d talked to her more.

For some reason, when I was folding clothes, it just clicked with me: this tiny, tedious task was God’s task. I was doing God’s work. I was always wondering where God was in all this, but He was working through me. Not that I’ve always been the best vessel, but we, as the church, are His hands and feet. We are his workers. Even the basilica is God’s work: it’s a tribute to Him. Should it have been less expensive, and should the money have been given to the poor? Maybe. Should you skimp when you’re trying to worship God? Probably not. That basilica is something concrete for His servants to hold on to. It’s a symbol of hope and inspiration. Despite how much it costs, it does a lot of good, even in the bigger picture that may not necessarily be seen on first glance. The little things you do might be more impactful than you realize, even if they seem unrelated. We are God’s big move in a world that doesn’t see him.

What is City Lights? I just reread this and realized I did an awful job of explaining it. The main idea: it’s a way to see God and yourself in a light you’ve never thought of. Try it out.