Did you ever play the "whisper game" as a kid? You know, someone begins by making up a unique or common statement, and with everyone seated in a circle, the statement is whispered around the circle until the last person says it out loud comparing it with the original statement.
I played the game in Ms. Runkles middle school English class. Known for being a class clown (especially in middle school), when the statement was eloquently whispered in my ear, I made it my mission to dramatically alter its contents. When the last person announced the statement aloud before the entire class, my devious and "hilarious" (only to me of course) plan succeed. The only problem was that after hearing the phrase, a classmate of mine stormed out of the room in full sprint to the counselor's office leaving a cascading trail of tears behind.
The last few months have been kinda like that. Sometimes, I've felt like the guy in the circle who changed the phrase, and sometimes, I've felt like the kid blowing the doors off the hinges and wailing down the hallway.
Here's something we're learning: brokenness likes the suburbs, too. Pictures of most of the homes would make fabulous postcards, and most of the landscaping would fill an all-day lineup on HGTV. We like our SUVs, high quality schools, iPhones, and Facebook, but somewhere...somewhere...brokenness lurks hidden underneath the masquerade.
Over the last few years, we've met homeless children, single mothers who can't afford to work and can't afford not to work, and others living from one high to the next. We've met families facing and recovering from bankruptcy, couples ferociously plotting their single lives (after marriage), and friends stuck in the clutches of anxiety over the costs associated with their sexual preferences.
We're drowning in alcohol, entertainment, overspending, gossip, loneliness, drugs, racism, and financial injustices while desparately reaching for an inner tube that floats farther and farther away.
In other words, the cries of Good News are needed in the suburs (too)...even in the Bible Belt suburbs.
My friend,
Bret Wells, often asks, "Could it be that the suburbs are also abandoned places of the Empire?" Beneath the smiles, nods, and handshakes...
Our experiences continue confirming this predicament, and we are slowly, deliberately, and dependently exploring missional and monastic ways of calling the abandoned ones (and each other) out of darkness and into light.
So, we host weekly neighborhood front-yard barbecues where kids learn to play together, neighbors meet and talk with each other, and rich, poor, and in-between share a table that no one pushes away from with an empty stomach.
So, we urgently and prayerfully engage our workplaces asking God to reveal his work that we might join with him. Whether we sell insurance, teach school, or repair roofs, our jobs provide Spirit-initiated opportunities to practice sacred vocations.
So, we intentionally share meals, prayer walks, long car trips, milk, and park play-dates with friends or soon-to-be friends who are not disciples of Jesus. I'm reminded of a line from a song that became popular during my college years (late 90's), "The Jesus [they] see will be the Jesus in me."
Look around you. We've been abandoned. Materialism, the corporate ladder, transactional relationships, and People Magazine promised us the world (and then fanned the flames of our pursuits), but what good is the world if we forfeit our souls to apprehend it.
...and so, we seek counter-community moving toward and with Jesus for the sake of others...at least, we're learning how to.
*How is brokenness expressed in your suburban context?
*Is this brokenness hidden or out in the open, and what effect does this have on dealing with the brokenness?
*How is your community of faith storming the gates of the brokenness in your suburban context?
