There was some sort of relief, I decided, in having set foot in the Occupy camp and finding it quiet. Wednesday, Oakland was paraded across the global consciousness as national news media displayed scenes of urban warfare, with ghostly images of terror-stricken faces sent helter-skelter across the airwaves. Zach showed me the frontpage of the BBC website (Occupy Oakland protestors disrupt city) and made a cutting remark about how the protestors were making fools of themselves on global media and how Oakland was going to suffer. The next morning we all got worried emails and well-intentioned text messages from friends and family: hey, you doing okay? to which we’d respond with sheepish grace that no, we weren’t part of the protests and no, Oakland hadn’t burnt to the ground. Yet.

That Saturday we walked the downtown Oakland area and stood among the protestors in Frank Ogawa Plaza and I tried taking it in, inhaling the hot, musty mess, sidling up to the sleeping giant. I’m not quite sure what I had expected: chaos, rowdier citizens, widespread aggression and disquiet? Instead we found sleepy-eyed campers, dreadlocked ponytails, and hand-drawn raggedy signs. You could smell the weed from blocks away. Nate confirmed the portable toilets were overflowing and rancid.

Self-conscious, I realized later, is how I feel, not knowing how to identify with this spectacle. My sentiments about the whole thing are less of explosive outrage than subtle helplessness. Here I was, middle-class and Asian-American, walking through the tent city of the dispossessed, and I felt both a repulsion to the sideshow and an isolating sense of guilt knowing that I was a stranger to racial and economic injustice.

We bumped into Bonnie on the way over, a homeless friend of ours who makes appearances often at the church. “You should have been there, they had us cornered” she exclaimed with wide eyes, giggling in her two-toned accent. “Pohh-leece got us trapped up on both sides. I got some of that gas stuff in me, and it make you tear up real bad.”

Bonnie had stayed with the protestors for a couple of days. “It was like a war, let me tell you, and the sad thing”–her voice dropped to a whisper–“is nobody can help you.”

I wondered what Bonnie must have felt; my mind replayed scenes from a Free Speech Movement documentary I once watched at Cal. Observe: an aerial shot from what must have been a tall building or a helicopter, riot police on either ends of the block, smoke rising from the street in lazy, elegant arcs. Notice: a couple of figures limp for cover, fumbling to cover their eyes. See: grainy film, shot black and white, viva free speech & the cause of justice, fin.

So I was relieved to find Frank Ogawa Plaza rather pleasant. A tent city had risen, built on fresh-laid straw, with hypnotic Native American drumming drifting through camp. Smiling stoners sat cross-legged in a corner beneath a tarp and gazed intently into the distance. A mini-rally proceeded in another, where a megaphone-toting Latina woman was organizing that afternoon’s march on Wells Fargo. In other words, it was amusingly like college. We opened our burritos and ate on the steps of the City Hall amphitheater and watched the tent city pulse as it awoke.

The Tuesday night that things got bad, I was running the lake under the assured hum of news helicopters, but I couldn’t tell you if things were out of the ordinary. It was strange, I suppose because I had imagined that should my city go down in flames, everybody should know about it and share in the panic and outrage. Women pushed murmuring babies by in fancy strollers. The wind whispered through the grove of trees around the lake’s finger-bend. Runners grunted to each other, pushing gravel through the ground. Starlight & Lake Merritt’s necklace, swan, geese, & ghetto birds all there to witness war, but somebody had forgotten to remind me.

Saturday, Kylan and Betty and I walked up Telegraph and prayed for Occupy Oakland and I felt rather foolish for not knowing what exactly to pray for. I remembered Silvia’s weight of sadness, when she showed up and wound up feeling lost and helpless and hurt for the brokenness of the world she lived in and the chaos unfolding around her and the need for Jesus to show up right there and occupy…

Proverbs 29 was a comfort, the words breathing and expanding in my thoughts:

When the righteous increase, the people rejoice but when the wicked rule, people groan

and,

The poor and the oppressor meet together, the LORD gives light to them both

Earlier that morning I dreamt we were evacuating our city in long single-file strands. We wound through our neighborhood, and I remember standing in our living room arguing with Justin whether we should load this or that couch into the U-Haul. People shuffled by outside in colorless clothing, feeling here and gone at the same time. Children whispered to each other in shy, hushed tones. The helicopters were there again, whirling lazily, watching overhead. In that moment I knew (though a dream) the question had become not how we would leave, but whether we would stay.

I woke far too early, thirsty, trying to recall how the air felt against my cheeks: thwup thwup thwup thwup thwup.

Listen, I ain’t gonna lie about it. I’m an alcoholic. I don’t drink because I’m sad. I drink because I liiiiiiike drinking.

I don’t know if I can trust you anymore, man. You lost my trust.

Hey, can I get a flashlight? There’s someone behind these bushes.

You got a bite to eat? Listen man I just need a bite. Did I come too late? What time is it?

I been all around Oakland, and this is the safest place to be.

Get out. You can’t just come in here and help yourself to our food.

Is she breathing? Yes? Okay let me call the ambulance.

Listen man, I feel hurt I don’t know who’s making those accusations about me but I’m telling you I ain’t selling the food. It hurts me that they’re saying these things.

It’s Essie’s birthday today! (singing of birthday songs).

I told you not to sleep on these steps but I saw you here last night.

Me and her are gonna get married on the 14th.

Rico thinks he’s gonna die. I think he’s given up.

Rico’s been doing real well lately. I think he’s turning a corner.

Listen man can I say a prayer for us?

I don’t know how to give grace to the people who drink on our doorsteps. I get resentful of people who have entitlement attitudes, and sense a creeping sense of dread of answering the doorbell to give food to folks who ask for it. I’m tired of cleaning up human shit from our sidewalks and parking lot. I’ve come to realize that my biggest fear is that I will annihilate myself in service, deeds, good works and on top of that nothing will change.

Once Dave and I busted out onto the entranceway where homeless folks sleep on our doorstep because they were making a drunken racket. We yelled at them, hard: pointed at their beer bottles–don’t you ever drink on our doorstep again!–gesticulating angrily, adrenaline flaring–don’t you lie to me! You can’t sleep here anymore. Yes, it was a power trip. No, we couldn’t tolerate the noise and racket they were putting up. Yes, they were annoying the entire neighborhood. No, we weren’t doing it very lovingly. Who’s right? What was the right thing to do? Where was Jesus, and what would he have done?

They returned the next night.

I think we romanticize urban ministry sometimes, serving the poor, but have forgotten to count the cost. I often feel like that rich young ruler who, having heard Jesus’ call to sell his possessions and leave a comfortable life, leaves sad. Because honestly, I do not know if I want to be here.

Lord, help me. Jesus, show me where you are right here, right now. I don’t like dwelling in the tension of the brokenness of my neighborhood and the peace that is far away, already promised but not yet here. I know the answer is somewhere in hearing the inner voice of Love, in simply being a son and being Loved. Right now, I just feel stuck.

Last night I went back home to the quiet streets of Saratoga and I knew I couldn’t go back. It didn’t feel real. But I don’t want to stay here either, swimming through the garbage in my soul and not knowing how to be well. Do I want to be well?, the Healer asks. Yes, but help my unbelief.

This week, the interns and I have been at the Not for Sale Academy receiving training on human trafficking before we head out to the Philippines in April. I’m feeling a lot of heaviness, hearing stories about people held captive under another’s power.

A few things I’ve been chewing on:

• The perversion of masculinity, a fascination (and insecurity) with power, control & ego versus the created Ideal: protective, disciplined, self-sacrificing, Christlike.
• I’m nervous about entering darkness; the thought of walking a red-light district scares me. Can I handle it? Also: thoughts on continual prayer as we walk through the shadows. We need to pray to survive.
• I’m glad I’m going with this group of guys.
• It’s okay to feel pain. I’m wondering if I even want to be identified with this movement because of the heaviness surrounding it. I’m realizing that maybe the pain of the world is what God wants us to feel–to grieve alongside the broken and the powerless and to be saddened by the injustice in the world.
• On the other side, I’m thankful that our God is a God of vengeance and justice. He promises to repay for evil. That is very. comforting. Honestly, I’m not sure how I would deal with the brokenness without an Absolute, a Good framework.
• But honestly, I mostly want to turn and go back to life as usual and pretend like I haven’t looked into the void.
• “Don’t you see?” (I’m imagining the voice of Tim Keller here). “Jesus Christ suffered the ultimate injustice so that we can be justified–and so that the world can know Justice.” The Gospel is that the justice that was to be exacted on the murderer, the pimp, the politician, the single mother, the CEO, the checkout clerk and me… was placed on Jesus. Augh. Grace. Bitterness-melting, soul-lifting, hope-restoring Grace.
• This is a sexy movement. Call+Response was about rock stars. The t-shirts are fashionable. We talk about entrepreneurial ventures and new business paradigms. People I meet are well-put together. But would I still be out here if this were a movement to end homelessness? How about adoption?  I wrestle with the question about whether it’s about me wanting to be identified as a hip, socially-aware Christian, or if I’m actually loving people and moving out from there.

Tonight my small group simply picked up trash around our Lake Merritt neighborhood. But I was talking with Tammie and Justin about how it should be the case that a neighborhood should be better off because Christians live there.

It is uncomfortable and we are getting nervous with the onset of darkness. We say hello to a woman at a street corner who merely mumbles back. Lazily, a police helicopter hovers in the skies.

An infographic for Freedom Sunday at Regeneration. Download as PDF.

I’ve been thinking about human dignity, suffering, humanity, real-ness… a lot of swirling thoughts in my head. What does it mean that we live in the suffering of the “not-yet” and the reality of the “already“ness of the kingdom? I’m headed to the Philippines in less than three months preparing myself to face the realities of the sex trade and… I sense some fear in myself I’m trying to stuff away. What if I can’t handle the darkness?

Suffering has a contagious quality about it, and that’s why we avoid it. I fear being drawn in to people’s pain. I can easily wear a mask that displays a concern about justice with a capital J, as if I were noble and proud and compassionate. But between you and me, I fear compassion. I fear empathy and much rather prefer self-preservation.

Looking back, a lot of my life has been played in a role, idolizing perfection, a good outward image, wearing a mask, and covering my weaknesses. Personal pain, thank God, smashed a lot of my masks and is helping me recover from my notions of being likable, competent, powerful, attractive.

In Isaiah 61, we hear about God’s promise to redeem the brokenness of the world through Jesus and his eventual coming. The Gospel moves to bring “good news to the poor”, “bind up the brokenhearted”, and provide “beauty for ashes.” But embedded deeper into the passage is a promise of the “day of vengeance of our God”–that makes us squirm a little bit. But the more I think about this, I realize I am happy that our God is just, fierce, vengeful, Good. “Our God is capable to redeem suffering,” Dr. Langberg said. And even more than that, our God himself suffered at the hands of men like me and you.

What do we speak to the unfathomable horrors of a girl who is sold into sex slavery, the despair of a woman who is abused by her husband, the self-hatred of the boy molested by his uncle, the loneliness of the middle-aged man still feeling the rejection of middle-school? We as compassionate humans are called into the strangely attractive, “divine vocation of suffering.” What does that mean? I want to know.

Thanks for your generous donations. We raised $1140 for IJM!

I’m excited, no doubt. Tony and I are going to run this race and we are going to finish strong.

Some pre-marathon thoughts:

• I need to be hydrating constantly today and into tonight so my body has enough fluids to start the race.
• I’ve been eating lots of carbs lately–wheat bread and pasta and noodles and such. I won’t be overdoing the carb-loading tonight.
• Note to self: no fibers today. Roughage = digestive tract activity = really bad on race day.
• I’m visualizing the course and watching course videos. Also checking out the map and making mental notes.
• When will I hit The Wall? What are my strategies to get through it? I have no idea.
• San Francisco is beautiful. I am stoked.

I just found out that my friend Alvin is the lead cyclist on my wave–how cool is that?!

Fundraising update!

Today is the LAST DAY of fundraising for the International Justice Mission! To-date, we’ve raised over $650 — great job, everyone! Let’s make good on the goal of $1000. Find out how we’re doing, or just go donate now! »

Again, if you’re interested, keep up to date on my pre– and post-race thoughts in my Twitter feed.

Support us as we run for the IJM! I’ve opened up a donation link through an application called Causes. You can go ahead and donate via credit card as shown:

Donate to the cause online! »

We hope to hit our fundraising target of $1000 by race day (August 3rd). That’s only NINE days away. I’ll be keeping you updated as the days go by. Keep track of the cause via Facebook. Spread the word; let’s do this.

Love yuh,
–Andrew

I answered to the effect that 1) it was the first organization that my friends had mentioned to me regarding human trafficking and 2) I have an older friend who worked there a couple of years ago.

I want to follow that up with a third reason: IJM "exist[s] within the Christian community and [attempts] to rekindle the social engagement of evangelical Christians."

I want to clarify this a little bit. I believe that causes to social ends can and usually should be supported regardless of their affiliation. There are perfectly great organizations that do great work. However, as a Christian, I must admit I am partial to supporting folks who have the same framework for social action as I.

I believe that a Gospel-centered Christian framework leads to social action

Christians believe that all of us are sinners and slaves. This applies to us in a moral and a physical sense. We're deeply broken (far from inherently good). We're chained to sin. We're chained to materialism. We're chained in forced prostitution. We're chained in abusive relationships. We're chained in oppressive social structures.

Jesus suffered, and can thus identify with the suffering. He was poor and homeless. Jesus was mocked and suffered an excruciating death. Jesus was "wounded," "crushed," "afflicted," "oppressed".

God is about justice. There's a passage in the Gospels that tell of Jesus proclaiming the beginning of his ministry as he enters the temple and reads from the Scriptures:

"The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me, because the LORD has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and the opening of the prison to those who are bound..." Isaiah 61:1-3 (ESV)

God's heart (and by extension, Jesus') is right there with the "poor," the "brokenhearted," the "captives"!

Jesus claimed to be God himself, accomplishing God's mission on earth: salvation and redemption (whether that is a ridiculous claim or not is a separate and interesting discussion!). That's the point of the Gospel itself: that there is a new order. The Kingdom of God is rapidly advancing and it means Good News to sinners & slaves.

I know I'm in theological deep waters here and there are a lot of things left untouched and unspoken. Feel free to question me or ask for elaboration on anything and we can start a conversation.

Personally, experiencing Grace lends me to action

My friend once told me her experience working with social justice causes on the Berkeley campus, noting how many activists work out of bitterness or anger, letting entitlement or hurt be their motivation to act on social change. Some activists work out of a rosy desire to change the world, believing in the power of the human spirit.

In the end, she noted, it can be tiring and frustrating because these actions lead to a focus on the self, sapping energy from the self and allowing results to dictate one's effectiveness and worth.

I believe that Christian activists are different. Christians believe that God activates social movements. When Christians see God's ultimate plan for restorative peace and justice--Heaven on earth, no less, they get excited.

(Of course, there are criticisms of faith-based initiatives. I encourage you to read "Jails for Jesus," a Mother Jones article spotlighting the effects of a faith-based program in a Kansas prison.)

I'm just getting started. I've got to be honest with you: six months ago, I barely cared. It's easy to get caught up in yourself and the small minutae of your life.

A little while ago, I got thinking of the Big Picture of my life. If my faith in Jesus is well-founded, then my belief of what the Kingdom of God looks like needs to expand. Jesus' death and resurrection means Grace and forgiveness for me, and freely given to every living being on the planet, captive or free.

What does Grace look like to a woman kept under sickly terror by her pimp?

What will justice be to a American executive who visits the driving range three times a week?

The answer to both questions is one and the same. The ultimate Judge who promises Justice came to earth to redeem the past, present and future. And in reflection of Jesus' revolutionary life, death and resurrection and the new framework of Redemption, I feel ever more the freedom (and the driving impulse) to act.

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