Posts Tagged ‘Montana’

In the fall of 2001, I encountered Jesuit priest Father Greg Boyle for the first time and am ashamed to admit I was not impressed. Father Boyle was speaking as part of the Pepperdine University convocation series and told how founded the nonprofit Homeboy Industries in inner city Los Angeles, the largest gang intervention and re-entry program in the country. He talked about serving gang involved youth with criminal records by inviting them from criminality into community and creating employment opportunities for them in a bakery and silk screen shop. Father Boyle, better known as “Father G” in his neighborhood of Boyle Heights, reported from the front lines how the light was stepping into the darkness, but I could not comprehend it.

Under Father Greg Boyle's guidance, former gang members and prison inmates find work, community and healing at Homeboy Industries in inner city Los Angeles

“Nothing stops a bullet like a job,” is the Homeboy mantra. “Jobs, not jail,” Boyle said of his social justice entrepreneurial endeavor. But in recounting his interactions with the gang members, Father Boyle also cursed up a storm, speaking like the young people he was working with and arguing that doing so had been an effective means of building rapport. Only 18 years old and in fierce protection of my heirloom faith, I could not see past his riling rhetoric to the incredible significance of his work pulling kids out of gang violence through love. I appreciated that young men and women were giving up gang allegiances to work side by side in reconciliation, but I did not understand why Father Boyle would “stoop to their level” by speaking so profanely. I felt his message was lost in translation. I was a Protestant who didn’t cuss, he was a Catholic who did. It seemed a bridge too far. Never mind that this man was practicing much of what he was preaching and that I was just a child attempting to play Border Patrol on behalf of the church.

I didn’t begin to understand what Father Boyle was about until God placed me in the gang neighborhoods of South Central Los Angeles almost immediately thereafter. Many students find work study jobs on campus, mine brought me on weekends to Raymond Street, a boundary line separating the Crip and Blood neighborhoods in South Central. I’m certain the only reason they entrusted the job to an 18 year old first semester freshman is because everybody else had already said no.

But it was in South Central that for the first time I witnessed injustice in person and was given eyes to see. It was on Raymond Street that for the first time, someone I knew was murdered; a 14 year old whose death attracted no outrage or even a raised eyebrow from society. It was in these streets that I realized you can’t pull yourself up by your boot straps if you weren’t given boots. Perhaps my greatest realization was acknowledging that had I grown up in the neighborhood I was working in, I would have chosen a life of gangs and drugs and that it could have been my body in the outline at the end of the taped off street. God created all men equal we say, but we sure don’t act accordingly.

A decade has now passed since those first Pepperdine days, and wouldn’t you know it, I again encountered Father Greg Boyle this week. Only instead of walking away upset this time, I felt privileged to listen to a humble servant summarize rather succinctly and eloquently what has taken me ten years to begin to learn and process.

Boyle was interviewed, along with two former gang members and current Homeboy employees, by Tom Ashbrook for the NPR’s “On Point” which aired on Monday May 16, 2011. Ashbrook asked Father Boyle about changes he would like to see in society and here’s how he responded:

“Well, I think in the end it’s about creating a community of kinship, such that God in fact might recognize it. So, there’s an idea that’s taken root in the world, it’s at the root of all that’s wrong with it, and the idea is this, that there just might be lives out there that matter less than other lives. And how do we together stand against that idea? And, so, what I think Homeboy seeks to do is to stand with the demonized so that the demonizing will stop.”

Boyle continued, “In the end if we want justice and we want peace, those things can’t happen without an undergirding sense of kinship where we recognize that it’s an illusion when we talk about them. There’s just us. And you want to seek to bridge anything that separates us or creates the distance. Once you have kinship, you can get to justice and you can get to peace. But if you think there’s an us and a them, we’ve got too far to go. And so that’s the task, the task is to remember that we belong to each other.”

Father G ended by expounding on Acts 2:43 where “awe came upon everyone” upon the founding of the church. “In the end, (awe) is the opposite of judgment, you know? We seek a compassion that can stand in awe at what Loretta and Robin (the former gang members alongside him) have had to carry, rather than stand in judgment at how they carried it. And so the measure of our compassion really lies not in our service of people, but in our willingness to see ourselves in kinship with folks who are different. And who have had to carry more than I ever was asked to carry. And I grew up just like them in the gang capital of the world. But because I grew up in a certain part of town with two wonderful parents, a trauma free childhood, and wonderful siblings, and opportunities and education, that doesn’t make me morally superior to Loretta and Robin. Quite the opposite. I stand in awe at what they had to carry. And awe came upon everyone. That’s sort of the measure of the quality of our communal life it seems to me, when we can move from judgment to awe.”

Amen.

A lot can change in a decade, thank God. Father Boyle joked that during the first ten years of his gang ministry that times were so turbulent he considered changing the after hours voice mail to say, “Thank you for calling Homeboy Industries, your bomb threat is important to us.” Thankfully, over the past ten years, the organization no longer receives death threats or hate mail and Homeboy Industries stands as a beacon of proof that things can improve, even if hope is built slowly and incrementally.

This sentiment is echoed in “Follow Me to Freedom”, a collaborative effort between civil rights leader John Perkins and modern day prophet Shane Claiborne. In the book, Shane records his first meeting with Mr. Perkins when he shared his frustration that after three years of ministry in North Philadelphia, things did not seem to be improving much. Claiborne writes, “John looked me dead in the eye and, with the gentleness of a father, plainly and sincerely explained the way things work: ‘Oh, Shane, you’ll start to see some things change. You’ll start to see signs of transformation – in about 10 years. Or maybe 12.’ And he didn’t flinch… I gulped… yet somehow I knew he spoke the truth, and it gave me hope.” Now ten years after that first conversation, The Simple Way and other New Monastic communities are providing hope to all of us by pointing to the possibility of another world.

I’m not sure where I’ll be ten years from now, but I am extremely grateful for where God has faithfully led me over the past decade. From Pepperdine and the neighborhoods of South Central, to an amazing woman I am blessed to call my wife and a great adventure in the Big Sky Country of Montana, to this present time in the Northeast enjoying our three beautiful children and preparing to live intentionally in community and plotting a missional church plant on God’s time.

The progress will continue to be slow and incremental I’m sure, but we will continue to pray that we can be led by the Spirit. In the words of Homeboy employee Loretta Andrews, we must not “fear to change.” When we allow change to occur by God’s hand, I believe He will lead us across the bridges of racism, classism, poverty and injustice until we come to a fuller understanding that there really is no them, only us, despite differences in our upbringings, cultures, and language. Jaime and I look forward to committing to a community long term and perhaps a decade from now, we too will be able to say that awe has come upon us.

In mid-October, Jaime and I traveled to the Dallas-Fort Worth area for four days to participate in Mission Alive’s Theology Lab (which I hope to share much more about) and then I was off to Florida for three days traveling for my job. The sum total of flying around the country, some recent changes at work, the onset of my Seasonal Affective Disorder and finally Halloween resulted in a very chaotic few weeks of recovery.

Things got so busy that I didn’t even have time to shave. However, my facial hair hasn’t drawn too much attention for luckily it’s Novembeard! “No Shave November” is gaining steam as the month in which men, either for charity or just because they can, pledge not to shave for the month (or longer). I read somewhere that “No Shave November” has its organized origin in a 2003 Australian charity event, but certainly the idea of growing out a winter beard has been around as long as Father Time’s grizzled thatch.

Growing up in Southern California, I was unaware of the custom of seasonal bearding as we didn’t really have seasons. But I quickly became aware during our first autumn/winter in Montana in 2004, that the winter beard is no small matter. In honor of the opening of hunting season usually around September, all the real Montanan men and all those who wish to be, strike up a silent accord to let their stubble free as an expression of their God given masculinity. As the bristly whiskers become face swallowing tufts, wives kiss kissing goodbye until the Spring and the neo-Esaus head into the woods. It’s all quite entertaining. I definitely gave it a shot once or twice, but really couldn’t get past the itching and came to grips with the fact that my beard thickness is less than ideal. While some unshorn men could easily be mistaken for beasts or World Series closers, I feel my best attempts pale in comparison to Nixon’s five o’clock shadow.

Clara shows her feelings toward Novembeard's whiskery kisses

Yet here we are again. The cold weather beginning to bear down and my mixed feelings about to shave or not to shave. On one hand, we live in a hairless culture. We are bombarded by literally thousands of advertisements a day and unless the product being pushed is lumberjack related you will struggle to find any full bearded dudes in the commercials. So, it feels as if not shaving equates to laziness or being unkempt. On the other hand, just taking a week off from the razor is freeing, letting things be as nature designed, at least before the dreaded scratch kicks in. But I must admit each of my fall beard attempts begs to answer a deeper question. How do I measure up?

We all consistently compare ourselves to others, but I find particular intrigue in comparing myself to my father. There is something almost primal about wanting to understand where you come from and Dads, when they are around, are often the best source of that information. Specifically with my Dad, I grew up looking at a framed picture of a fully bearded Randall Fisher in a close-up engagement style photo with my mom, which I’m guessing was taken shortly before they were married in August 1982. My parents look happy in the picture, and how could my Dad not be when sitting next to a beautiful young lady and sporting a blond beard a lion would be proud of? If my time stamp of the photo is accurate, it would make my Dad 27 years old in the picture, the same age as he was when he got married. The same age I am now.

I frequently noticed that picture in my adolescence and wondered if someday I would be able to grow such a beard when I was 27. I suppose now I can find out, if only I could get over feeling like a scrub and the feeling of incessant itching. I doubt I’ll be able to last all November, especially since I got a head start by beginning the shave boycott in late October. But until the razor gets its revenge, I’ll be smiling as I recognize that my annual beard attempt is a tribute to the great Montana men I have grown to love as well as proof that after 27 years, I still want to be like my dad.