The Gospel According to John the Anarchist

Nashville is a wonderful city. It's the musical city, which is right up my ally. I'm a multi-instrumentalist, and every chance I get to listen to music or play, I take it. It's warm, welcoming weather and pleasant systems of streets and corners reminds me of PA in the summer, but the north just doesn't have the southern flare. Pennsylvania doesn't offer people shredding their guitar necks so much it looks like they're going to crack the fretboard right off the whole instrument in every bar or club you walk by. And every time I hear those strings sing, I melt. I absolutely melt. It's a great city, clean, but has it's hidden wounds.

Nashville is great. Lots of churches. Lots of people.

And lots of poverty.

I'm a man of faith. By that I don't mean I just believe in some God. I believe that Jesus Christ died to save my soul, and also to totally unite creation under a banner and declaration of love and peace. I'm part of a missionary organization called Youth With a Mission and I'm looking to do God's will. And bring the kingdom out of each one of us, even though the general consensus is that the Kingdom is somewhere distant and unable to be seen.

I recently spent a late afternoon under an overpass. It was windy, with a storm coming through and the ceiling of concrete vacuuming the dirt into everyone's eyes. I'm here for a soup kitchen ministry called "Under the Bridge" Ministries. It's a ministry which provides an incredible amount of food for a good size group of people. The count could have easily touched around 200. It also holds a church service or the homeless who come, and most of the congregation participates, but there's still a high number that isn't sobre, so they stand off to the side and swap salvaged cigarettes. One guy looks like he just got out of surgery, with incisions fresh on his stomach and ribs, and what looks like a stab wound. He stumbles along the overpass cabin with a crooked smile on his face. I doubt he knows where he is, and he gets sincerely convicted to bow in front of the girls I was with to pray when the time came. It was a good effort, but the ladies weren't having it. Sorry, Outpatient Joe.

I'm not directly in the ministry or even involved, but I'm there to converse with the homeless. Keep in mind, they're not an invisible species. Shocking, I know, but I'm fairly certain they can do the whole chameleon jam in front of rainforests and lakes, just not brick. So, they're pretty clear to spot. I like conversing with them. It keeps me humble and thankful, though I'm still income-less and botched out of an insurance plan. Plus, they have the greatest stories. Always.

I begin to walk and pray. It's interesting to see who comes. It's mostly individuals, but I see little clusters of families in line, waiting for their pasta and chicken and bread. A fitting meal for a luke-warm day. I circle around the whole crowd and kick a rock around back to my group. The head staff member with us comes with me to talk to some people who have sat on the sidewalk. I look at each one: Nope; nope; nope; ...yes. That one.

A man with a beard so large that he talks with a moustache (you know, like a santa claus character in a cartoon movie? No lips. just the upper 'stache.) sits eating. I ask to sit.

"Of course! It's all God's creation! I'm just borrowing it for a bit." I chuckle at his statement as I find it beatiful and profound. I rest my butt on the patch of grass near him and the girl eases down. We begin to talk small talk: What's your name? You come here often? So you believe? etc. etc. And then we get to the dirty talk: How's about this situation we have on our hands?

We begin to converse about the world and it's state and we share--actually, more like he vents. I mean, he does nothing but think all day, every day. He's got a lot to get off of his chest, so I cut him some slack. he raves about the war in Iraq and says war doesn't give anything good to anyone. It's just something else to get capital, as he gives the example of our economic climb out of the depression a result of our crippling most of the world with the Allies' effort against tyranny. Which, I could agree with that statement. I hate the fact the world is torn by war, and that America is very much an empire in many ways, but I always wrestle with justifications and boundaries of killing. My mind swims in very muddy waters of whether or not we can justify murder, and whether Jesus says we should or not.

John, this guy I'm talking to, seems like a total anarchist. Which is a bit of an exaggeration. I tend to exaggerate due to the fact that it's natural to do so in Lancaster, PA. Case and point, I'm out casted as the local liberal (which really means I'm alright with welfare and I think Barack Obama ain't that bad of a dude. Apparently, he's evil, but I don't think clinging to our guns because the guy has roots in Kenya is a good idea, folks. We can let this go. This doesn't change who our savior is.) But I always get smashed a called a democrat for that particular reason and for the fact that I didn't think Bush did such a hot job. Also, I'm nowhere near a democrat, for the record. You can write it down. It'll be an answer to the quiz later on. But this guy has his opinions about authority. And they're pretty liberal. But he's also smart when he talks about labor unions and companies and local economy. This guy isn't dumb. He thinks.

We shift gears to talk about materialism. He goes on about how it's really very silly that we feel the need for all these houses and things we can't afford. And I agree, painfully, as I reflect on so many christians I see with their "blessings" and "gifts" from above. But I swallow my pride, as I come from a middle-class background, and I have no place to judge people.

But mansions do piss me off something fierce.

I confess to him I fall short to the glory and that I'm not perfect and-

He stops me dead in my tracks, without hesiation, declaring, "Of course you are. So am I, man."

What do you mean?

What do you think the cross did? I screwed up in my life. I've made many mistakes. The shit has hit the fan for me, and I know it. I've had the best fifty years I could ever ask for, but that doesn't mean I got it right. And he redeems and sustains me every day. How can you look at the cross and at what Jesus did and not call yourself perfect? He died on that cross to make you perfect and for you to believe that you're complete. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise. You are completely perfect and made whole. That's what Christ did. He completes you and me every day. We get it wrong, but he still calls us into his courts. We're perfected, son. Perfected.

I sit silent.

And so does the girl.

He looks at me and smiles through a squint, because I really can't see his lips at all. I just know smiles by cheek raisings and lowerings. And then he shrugs his shoulders while smiling to show his satisfaction with what he knows to be true. As if he let Jesus talk for a sec and looks at us to ask, "Wasn't that freakin great?!" He believes this stuff. And he talks about his kids like they're the greatest thing to happen to him. He adds on that when he held his little girl for the first time, it was like he knew what God felt for us. And he loved that children where in the world, because they make us realize how much bigger everything is.

Because God, as I have found, if more than we say.

He.

Is.

I keep listening to his love story of his daughter and I see sincerity in his eyes. We all have fun chatting and discussing everything from hating the crave you get after not smoking for a few days to some shipping docks he's worked on. You can spot a liar, usually, and this guy has legit written all over him. Plus, I can't keep my eyes off this dude's beard. It's well kept and combed very neatly.

We finish off the conversation with our reassuring each other that his plan is perfect, and that America isn't the Kingdom that God intended, though it masks it very well. We talk about the creation and community and local economy being things that aren't unrealistic goals. And for a while I have hope. I have hope from a homeless man other than my savior. Usually when I talk to individuals about more welfare and federal programs, they say bridging society's gaps is very socialist and scary and destroys liberty. (And we should all model after freedom fighters like Rush Limbaugh. It's safe to say I vomit to that statement.) And when I speak of everyone having the capability in them to help each other out and provide for one another, I get the response of idealistic utopias which can't exist because people aren't perfect and it just won't happen. It's unrealistic and intangible.

But what if, and go with me here, I can really help people because the cross enables me to be perfect like St. John the Anarchist says? Or like how Philippians 4:13 tells me I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me?

Something to ponder.

May we all bring the Kingdom closer to the earth through His love and grace.