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.
