Sunday evening was the bi-lingual worship service. We spend an extended time in praise and then in prayer with teams moving around the room praying for people. We heard the testimony of Florentino who lost his job because of a work-related back injury. Last week he came to the Spanish language service and Jesus healed his back. Now we are praying for a new job!
This week I was teamed with Gracie Ekblad. The first person we prayed for was Lolitto, a friend from Honduras who lives in the building. He had a lot of pain from a knot in his neck that spread down his arms and across his ribs. As Gracie prayed in Spanish, I prayed in tongues, asking Jesus to lift off the things that were burdening him. Lolitto said he was depressed, so I prayed for the Holy Spirit to come as Comforter, and he began to feel heat. We continued and in a few minutes the pain was all gone and he was feeling fire down his arms and hands. He has no pain today - thank You, Jesus!
We prayed for a single mom, who had come in after hearing that we communicate with spirits. Gracie was very clear that we communicate only with the Holy Spirit, so we began to pray for the Spirit to lift various things off her. She said she felt something pulled out of her and felt much better afterward. We strongly encouraged her to turn to Jesus and ask Him to inhabit all the rooms in her and for her to turn away from anything but Jesus so He could close all the doors that let those other things in, but she wasn't willing to do that. Jesus, continue to call her to Yourself.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Keepin it real, prayer
Talking with Ramone a few weeks ago about a big problem he was headed into, we turned to prayer. As we began, Ramone prayed, "Jesus, I know You heard everything I said; so don't act like You didn't..."
Monday, November 3, 2008
The Parable of the Good Norteno
What Must Juanito Do To Live? A true story from my co-laborer, Chris Hoke, in the fields of the Lord.
I met my friend Juanito in the county jail. Short, fiesty, tattoes all over. His head, too. Big lips, even some freckles. Kicked out of his house by age 9. His street name is "Travieso," or Naughty, Mischevous.
I've grown to love this guy. More than most. I feel God put an irrational, compulsive love in my chest for him two years ago, compelling me to chase after him, find him, call him, love him, prophecy over him long before he was able to receive it. He's receiving now. The love's mutual now.
At age 21, he's a leader of the gang I work with: Florencia chapter of the Sureños (South Siders). He's facing 219 years. That's not a typo. He's accused of a drive-by shooting. That's 60 years for each of three bullets that landed on a human limb. Plus a drive by charge and unlawful possession of a firearm. He's told me if he goes to prison, there's no point living, and he would probably run until a rifle put him down.
Thing is, as much as this guy's done, he didn't commit this crime. On top of that, the gospel has so hunted him down and penetrated his frightened heart that he's considering breaking with the gang and trying to be part of our coffee project to start a new life with his family. That is, IF he gets out of this. So he's faced with THE question--the one that often gets tossed at Jesus: "What must I do to live?" What do you do?
I think people forget that this is the question that launches the "Good Samaritan" parable. The man questioning Jesus seems to be asking for the secret to spiritual success, "eternal life." But when he offers 'love God and love your neighbor' as a test reply, Jesus affirms by saying, "Do this and you will live" (Luke 10:28). When the man presses for clarification on who "the Other" might be whom he must love, Jesus spins the story around on the poor guy, and us as well. We are not the ones walking down the road, wondering if we should pick up the beat-up body (as is often the way its taught) as "Good Samarita" do-gooders. Our situation when we ask what we must do to live is more desperate than we thought, Jesus implies with his story: we're dead on the road, completely screwed, helpless and terrified. What do we do?
"Damn," Juanito said into the telephone, staring straight into my eyes through the visitors' glass (I no longer have a contact room for visits). He was tracking with the story, as he's seen his share of guys "with their domes cracked open" from being beat up and robbed in the street. I modified the story to a more relevant context for him, since he didn't have a Bible with him. "That's kinda like you right now, huh?" I ask. His eyes raise. He rubs his face and nods.
There's another twist to Juanito's story. He has no evidence in his support except for one witness that could turn the entire case in his favor: a Norteño, an enemy, who was shot in the leg during the drive-by. If he came forward and said, "I know who shot me, and it wasn't Juanito," Juanito would be free and would live. But there's a small chance an enemy would come forward and pick up a Sureño. About as likely as a hated, enemy-race Samaritan would pick up an Israelite dying in the street, I thought. Might as well tell the story to Juan.
"So Jesus breaks it down for this guy by telling this little story. The man's bleeding in the street, dead if no one comes to pick him up soon. He'd totally dependent on someone else to help him. Who do you think he's used to being helped by? Or who do you think he is hoping shows up?"
"I dunno, his homies?"
"Yeah, sure. People from his part of town, his gang. So sure enough, he bends his bloody head back and sees a guy coming down the sidewalk from his barrio." That is, a priest, a Jew. His own blood and religion. "But he crosses to the other side, like he doesn't even know him, and keeps walking."
"That's f---in' cold...!" he states with eyebrows raised, visibly affected.
He's never heard these stories in Sunday school, like most inmates I read with, so there's a level of suspense in their retelling that invigorates me, as well, with how relevant Jesus' teaching is on the streets. I go on to retell how this happens a second time with another leader from his own clique (a Levite, insider to Jesus' listener's social grouping).
"But then a Norteno comes down the street..."
"Ahhh, shit, Chris, why does it gotta be a buster [derogatory term for their Norteno enemies]? Well, so what happens? He gets his head kicked in worse? I thought you'd have a good story for me, homes."
He's surprised when he hears that the enemy Samaritan (as I explained it wasn't exactly a Norteno) walking down the street, who Jews couldn't have anything to do with, is the one who picks him up, puts him in his car, takes him to the hospital and offers to pay the bill, not using the bleeding man's insurance (if he had any).
"So that's kinda like your situation now, Juan," I look at him. "You're dead. There's nothing you can do. Someone needs to save your butt." He hangs his head then looks back up at me. "But it's God's style to save us with the very person or people we have the most judgments against. So what did the guy in the road need to do to be saved?"
"Nothing," he thinks. I smile, wondering if there is something. "Well...he let his enemy pick him up. He didn't cuss him out or say he'd rather die or anything."
I asked him if he were desperate enough to LET his enemy--who God's chosen--get close to him. There's a world of spiritual hatred, enmity, division between you and him, I said. "I don't doubt that's what's keeping this guy from coming forward and getting in contact with your attorney. Are you willing enough to renounce your judgments against all Nortenos, renounce your hatred, and bless this enemy, pray for him?" I pressed.
He shook his head and said, "Damn," and more quietly into the phone, said not yet. Asked that I pray that, for now. He'd think about it.
A week later I met with another ganster inmate, Richard, who asked me right off the bat: "You seen Juanito yet? Man, he's hella happy, Chris!" Why? "His court's suddenly looking real good. Said some guy is talking to his attorney who could save his life." I laughed, and told this whole story to Richard, thrilled about what this meant. God is saving, scooping up his children through their enemies, inviting a wave of forgiveness that's freeing many like Juan from spiritual chains of unforgiveness and hard walls of social division.
Two weeks went by. And this last week Juanito showed up in our jail Bible study, out of solitary confinement. He almost pounced on me with a hug, hammering my back in overzealous show of dude affection. In the circle he asked me to play a song, "that's about forgiving your enemies and shit. You know, Chris...?" He was letting me know the step he'd taken without others getting wind of his betrayal of gang allegiance and law.
I'm asking that you pray for Juanito. That you bless the Nortenos, the prosecutors, the judge. So that Juan may live, be free, to praise God in the streets and let his testimony be a light to even more shocked gangsters that there is freedom for the captives.
I've told this story in a church recently, and found myself inviting them to consider ways their career, their church, their denomination, or their family may be dead in the gutter no matter how they try--and to consider that God may be wanting to save them through the person, people, denomination, race or kind of criminal they've judged all their lives. I asked them how desperate they were to see new life--to LIVE--and if it was enough to start renouncing their seemingly-justified judgments, praying for and blessing the rapists, Penetcostals, Republicans, Democrats, tattoed gangsters (as the church members named vulnerably) that God may be wanting to use to save them.
--And I invite you to ask God to show you who He wants you to drop judgments against, and risk blessing them--in solidarity with Juanito, together being saved, healed and freed.
Love,
chris.
I met my friend Juanito in the county jail. Short, fiesty, tattoes all over. His head, too. Big lips, even some freckles. Kicked out of his house by age 9. His street name is "Travieso," or Naughty, Mischevous.
I've grown to love this guy. More than most. I feel God put an irrational, compulsive love in my chest for him two years ago, compelling me to chase after him, find him, call him, love him, prophecy over him long before he was able to receive it. He's receiving now. The love's mutual now.
At age 21, he's a leader of the gang I work with: Florencia chapter of the Sureños (South Siders). He's facing 219 years. That's not a typo. He's accused of a drive-by shooting. That's 60 years for each of three bullets that landed on a human limb. Plus a drive by charge and unlawful possession of a firearm. He's told me if he goes to prison, there's no point living, and he would probably run until a rifle put him down.
Thing is, as much as this guy's done, he didn't commit this crime. On top of that, the gospel has so hunted him down and penetrated his frightened heart that he's considering breaking with the gang and trying to be part of our coffee project to start a new life with his family. That is, IF he gets out of this. So he's faced with THE question--the one that often gets tossed at Jesus: "What must I do to live?" What do you do?
I think people forget that this is the question that launches the "Good Samaritan" parable. The man questioning Jesus seems to be asking for the secret to spiritual success, "eternal life." But when he offers 'love God and love your neighbor' as a test reply, Jesus affirms by saying, "Do this and you will live" (Luke 10:28). When the man presses for clarification on who "the Other" might be whom he must love, Jesus spins the story around on the poor guy, and us as well. We are not the ones walking down the road, wondering if we should pick up the beat-up body (as is often the way its taught) as "Good Samarita" do-gooders. Our situation when we ask what we must do to live is more desperate than we thought, Jesus implies with his story: we're dead on the road, completely screwed, helpless and terrified. What do we do?
"Damn," Juanito said into the telephone, staring straight into my eyes through the visitors' glass (I no longer have a contact room for visits). He was tracking with the story, as he's seen his share of guys "with their domes cracked open" from being beat up and robbed in the street. I modified the story to a more relevant context for him, since he didn't have a Bible with him. "That's kinda like you right now, huh?" I ask. His eyes raise. He rubs his face and nods.
There's another twist to Juanito's story. He has no evidence in his support except for one witness that could turn the entire case in his favor: a Norteño, an enemy, who was shot in the leg during the drive-by. If he came forward and said, "I know who shot me, and it wasn't Juanito," Juanito would be free and would live. But there's a small chance an enemy would come forward and pick up a Sureño. About as likely as a hated, enemy-race Samaritan would pick up an Israelite dying in the street, I thought. Might as well tell the story to Juan.
"So Jesus breaks it down for this guy by telling this little story. The man's bleeding in the street, dead if no one comes to pick him up soon. He'd totally dependent on someone else to help him. Who do you think he's used to being helped by? Or who do you think he is hoping shows up?"
"I dunno, his homies?"
"Yeah, sure. People from his part of town, his gang. So sure enough, he bends his bloody head back and sees a guy coming down the sidewalk from his barrio." That is, a priest, a Jew. His own blood and religion. "But he crosses to the other side, like he doesn't even know him, and keeps walking."
"That's f---in' cold...!" he states with eyebrows raised, visibly affected.
He's never heard these stories in Sunday school, like most inmates I read with, so there's a level of suspense in their retelling that invigorates me, as well, with how relevant Jesus' teaching is on the streets. I go on to retell how this happens a second time with another leader from his own clique (a Levite, insider to Jesus' listener's social grouping).
"But then a Norteno comes down the street..."
"Ahhh, shit, Chris, why does it gotta be a buster [derogatory term for their Norteno enemies]? Well, so what happens? He gets his head kicked in worse? I thought you'd have a good story for me, homes."
He's surprised when he hears that the enemy Samaritan (as I explained it wasn't exactly a Norteno) walking down the street, who Jews couldn't have anything to do with, is the one who picks him up, puts him in his car, takes him to the hospital and offers to pay the bill, not using the bleeding man's insurance (if he had any).
"So that's kinda like your situation now, Juan," I look at him. "You're dead. There's nothing you can do. Someone needs to save your butt." He hangs his head then looks back up at me. "But it's God's style to save us with the very person or people we have the most judgments against. So what did the guy in the road need to do to be saved?"
"Nothing," he thinks. I smile, wondering if there is something. "Well...he let his enemy pick him up. He didn't cuss him out or say he'd rather die or anything."
I asked him if he were desperate enough to LET his enemy--who God's chosen--get close to him. There's a world of spiritual hatred, enmity, division between you and him, I said. "I don't doubt that's what's keeping this guy from coming forward and getting in contact with your attorney. Are you willing enough to renounce your judgments against all Nortenos, renounce your hatred, and bless this enemy, pray for him?" I pressed.
He shook his head and said, "Damn," and more quietly into the phone, said not yet. Asked that I pray that, for now. He'd think about it.
A week later I met with another ganster inmate, Richard, who asked me right off the bat: "You seen Juanito yet? Man, he's hella happy, Chris!" Why? "His court's suddenly looking real good. Said some guy is talking to his attorney who could save his life." I laughed, and told this whole story to Richard, thrilled about what this meant. God is saving, scooping up his children through their enemies, inviting a wave of forgiveness that's freeing many like Juan from spiritual chains of unforgiveness and hard walls of social division.
Two weeks went by. And this last week Juanito showed up in our jail Bible study, out of solitary confinement. He almost pounced on me with a hug, hammering my back in overzealous show of dude affection. In the circle he asked me to play a song, "that's about forgiving your enemies and shit. You know, Chris...?" He was letting me know the step he'd taken without others getting wind of his betrayal of gang allegiance and law.
I'm asking that you pray for Juanito. That you bless the Nortenos, the prosecutors, the judge. So that Juan may live, be free, to praise God in the streets and let his testimony be a light to even more shocked gangsters that there is freedom for the captives.
I've told this story in a church recently, and found myself inviting them to consider ways their career, their church, their denomination, or their family may be dead in the gutter no matter how they try--and to consider that God may be wanting to save them through the person, people, denomination, race or kind of criminal they've judged all their lives. I asked them how desperate they were to see new life--to LIVE--and if it was enough to start renouncing their seemingly-justified judgments, praying for and blessing the rapists, Penetcostals, Republicans, Democrats, tattoed gangsters (as the church members named vulnerably) that God may be wanting to use to save them.
--And I invite you to ask God to show you who He wants you to drop judgments against, and risk blessing them--in solidarity with Juanito, together being saved, healed and freed.
Love,
chris.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
The Presence of God in the Skagit County Jail
I wish you could have been there. During the two hours on Thursday night, we (Bob, Chris and I) sat, studied and prayed with four different groups from different pods. Chris would start by playing guitar and Bob and I would go around and pray quietly for each man, asking Jesus to touch them.
In the two larger groups, I felt a powerful outpouring of the love of God for these men, these outcasts - even feeling like Jesus was there wearing red jail clothing, loving these sinners. Romans 5 says, And hope does not disappoint us for God has poured His love into our hearts by His Holy Spirit. It felt like I was a conduit for this love by the Holy Spirit as God poured His love into their hearts. I know this is generally true but I usually receive it by faith. This time I felt it strongly - the Father's deep, unconditional love really comes home in a place like this.
As I prayed for one young man, I immediately had an image of an older blond woman who was very sad and the strong sense that this was his mother. Being my first time in the jail, I didn't say anything but quietly prayed comfort for his mom. After we sat down I turned to him and asked, "Is your mother okay?" He said, "No, she is really distressed that I am in here," and went on to share some of the details of his charges. So I prayed more for him and his mother.
It is also amazing to see what a culture of openness to the work of the Spirit that Bob and Chris have helped to cultivate. Many are so ready to do the radical work of forgiving their enemies; something I don't see much in many churches. Perhaps the hardest thing for these men is for them to forgive themselves. Not only are there the things that have led to their being in the jail, there is much going on outside that has contributed to their brokenness.
As we prayed with one young Latino man, Chris asked him about his relationship with his father. Both Chris and Bob had an image of a hand with a stick in it - and led this man to forgive his father for physical violence against him. A young Russian who has been running, (Bob got the word, Jonah), from the call of God on his life since he was 16, found himself encouraged to turn and embrace the good news of a Jesus who would seek him out in the jail.
In the two larger groups, I felt a powerful outpouring of the love of God for these men, these outcasts - even feeling like Jesus was there wearing red jail clothing, loving these sinners. Romans 5 says, And hope does not disappoint us for God has poured His love into our hearts by His Holy Spirit. It felt like I was a conduit for this love by the Holy Spirit as God poured His love into their hearts. I know this is generally true but I usually receive it by faith. This time I felt it strongly - the Father's deep, unconditional love really comes home in a place like this.
As I prayed for one young man, I immediately had an image of an older blond woman who was very sad and the strong sense that this was his mother. Being my first time in the jail, I didn't say anything but quietly prayed comfort for his mom. After we sat down I turned to him and asked, "Is your mother okay?" He said, "No, she is really distressed that I am in here," and went on to share some of the details of his charges. So I prayed more for him and his mother.
It is also amazing to see what a culture of openness to the work of the Spirit that Bob and Chris have helped to cultivate. Many are so ready to do the radical work of forgiving their enemies; something I don't see much in many churches. Perhaps the hardest thing for these men is for them to forgive themselves. Not only are there the things that have led to their being in the jail, there is much going on outside that has contributed to their brokenness.
As we prayed with one young Latino man, Chris asked him about his relationship with his father. Both Chris and Bob had an image of a hand with a stick in it - and led this man to forgive his father for physical violence against him. A young Russian who has been running, (Bob got the word, Jonah), from the call of God on his life since he was 16, found himself encouraged to turn and embrace the good news of a Jesus who would seek him out in the jail.
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