the cry of a crackhead

As I looked at my phone my stomach sank. It was on silence and I had missed several calls, calls that came from one section of my city, repeat calls, calls from the police chaplaincy...I knew they could only mean one thing. As I hung up the phone, memories of the little boy on a bike, at camp, always with an ornery grin, in trouble a lot of the time. He had grown up, into a bigger boy, in a car, on the street still with and ornery grin, and in trouble a lot of the time. I drove over to the scene, and was escorted to where his mother stood, close to his body lying on the sidewalk. I heard her call my name, and began to weep. As I stood there holding her up, I remembered her daughter who had been brutally stabbed to death 7 years ago, her younger son who had died of a heart disease, and now she stood by her third dead child.  The rest of the scene was not unlike most murder scenes...yellow tape, blue/red lights, police and detectives scuffling around looking for evidence...muffled sobs of mother/grandmother/and baby mama. The young men saying little, but anger, fear and pain begin to melt into a silent rage...muted emotions hardening the already weary heart. At each corner the crowd begins to gather, whispering the same muted questions...Who did it? Where’s his mother? Where’s his brother...his kids. 

This night, as I walked back to my car, I stopped to talk to some friends. We too, whispered muted memories and fears of revenge as a beat up old car slowed, its driver wanting to speak. It was an old kid and her friend; both had succumbed to the addiction of crack. She asked what happened, and I told her who had been shot and killed. As I was finishing my sentence, both her and her friend let out a scream and began loudly sobbing. I could hear their weeping as the car slowly drove all the way down the street.

As I laid down that night, the sound of the two "crackheads" weeping would not leave. The piercing, un-muted, unmonitored, non calculated cry was actually appropriate. It mirrored the truth, an accurate response to a young son, brother, father, friend shot down in the middle of the street. It had no time to judge, reason or excuse...it simply escaped and shattered the muted pain beneath the surface of so many of us there that night.

Truthfully, I believe it echoed the heart of the Living God. The one who hears our cries, and knows the depth of pain that comes with living in a chaotic place, void of true love. The honesty of the cries that night, tore back the silence of God, the Lover of our souls, and pierced the darkness through the voice of broken, but beautifully loved humans.

we will spare no expense

As the media voiced it's anger of the hanius crime...a shooting leaving 3 month baby Izack dead and his parents wounded..I heard our Mayor's comment "we will spare no expense to catch these baby killers". In a vacuum all this is true, outside of the vacuum it is true...but it is not alone.What happens when the "baby killer" is only a baby?
My mind continues to work hard to find the words, to articulate the dilemma that many of us feel....as we weep for the family of the baby killed, and with the babies that killed.
Today everyone wants justice...swift, direct and harsh.
Today everyone cares about the young Latino family with 2 kids, today everything is clear...there is black...there is white.
Yesterday...justice wasn't the word on the street...no one came running when communities were buried in poverty and unemployment. No one cared that a mom worked in the
'big house" while paid under the table, too small of an amount to make ends meet. No one cried for justice when he rode 50 min to a high school that never wanted him and found him 3 grades levels behind his peers. I heard no one outraged as he sat on my step crying...tired of being broke, scared, and lonely. These guns, the ones used in the death of baby Izack,  were not hard to get, nor is this the first or 1000th gun made easily accessable, and still I've heard no media out cries.
The truth is we have spared all expense, prior to this call for Justice. We cut the funding for youth programs, we stomped out the Dream Act, turned a blind eye to the "risk factors of  gang violence" and a deaf ear to poor families and their concerns. We have overwhemlemed our school systems, impacted juvenile systems and ignored rehibiltation options.

If convicted, we have a baby, killer, who killed a baby. a symptom of much bigger issues...bubbling under our silence.

Peace on Earth Good Will to Men

I was thinking about Christmas this year. About a little baby...born in Bethlehem. Then I thought about the Shepards, tending their sheep...when angels from heaven appeared from no where... I imagine the Angels' so excited to give the good news...the GREAT news. Maybe even pushing and shoving (in a very angelic like fashion) to be in the front row..to see the faces up close. You see, they have seen us in our fallen state. They have heard the whole world moaning to be set right. They have watched as we wept, as we fell out of our purpose, as we limped, only a small shadow of who we were created to be. I imagine that the angels heard the unfamiliar crack of the God of the Universe's heart breaking, and the conversations which lead to the birth of the baby/God. I imagine how the angel's must have felt...to be able to relieve the pain in our eyes with the big announcement. I'm not sure who decided what was going to be said...I imagine it was God...but I know the angels had to be thrilled!!! Behold!!! Listen...don't miss this!...we've seen the chaos, we've heard your cries... Peace on Earth!!!! Good will to men!!! It is here!!! All that you have longed for...He did it!!!!
Today I am wondering what they must think? Are they confused? Bewildered? Maybe angry? Do they question if we can hear? If we can see? Where is the simple peace? The good will towards others? How can we so quickly forget all that this birth means? How do we worry and and not lean into His promises? We are to busy with own selves, positioning, posturing, climbing to think of others. It seems as if Peace and Good will are hard to find, hard to handle and hard to keep. In this chaotic world, I can still hear the angels sing...well more like plead. It's here, in the manger, His Name is Emmanuel (God with us)...kneel down, bring your gifts and you will find it.