KOH2RVA: Day 270

I talked with someone yesterday who wants more.

He didn’t put it that way exactly, but I could tell that—for him—the success of our year-long, every-member mission trip has been less than satisfying. He talked about volunteers reading to second-graders, and people building Habitat houses, and others who visit the homebound. “All good things,” he acknowledged, but he wondered if any of those things were having Kingdom results.

At first I felt a little defensive. I thought about some of those people who have shared their KOH2RVA stories with me, and the joy on their faces as they talked. “Are you saying we should stop doing that?” I asked, “That we should focus only on saving souls?” But he quickly countered, “No, not just that, but that, too.” And that’s when I began to realize that what he wants is the full Kingdom experience.

Because the Kingdom of Heaven is bigger than all the good deeds we could do and all the lost souls we could save. Jesus struggled for the words to describe it. He used to ask regularly, “What is the Kingdom of heaven like, and to what shall I compare it?” He faced the difficulty of explaining a heavenly reality to people who had never had any experience of heaven. And so he said, “It’s like finding a treasure in a field.” “It’s like watching a tiny seed grow into a tree.” “It’s like a lost son coming home.” It’s like that, but it’s not that.

It’s much, much bigger than that.

When I talk about bringing the Kingdom of Heaven to Richmond, Virginia, I always have that bigger reality in mind. So while the Kingdom of Heaven might be like someone reading to second-graders it’s not that. It’s bigger than that. But that’s a sign of the coming Kingdom—a parable if you will.

I think what my conversation partner was saying yesterday is that he wants God’s Kingdom to come and God’s will to be done, on earth as it is in heaven, which is just what I want, and just what Jesus wants, and if we are all feeling a kind of “holy impatience” until it comes that’s probably just what we are supposed to feel. It keeps us thinking, working, hoping, praying, sighing, longing,

For heaven on earth.

KOH2RVA: Day 263

Sometimes the best way to bring the Kingdom of Heaven to Richmond, Virginia, is to get out of town. At least, that was the thinking of a few bold women who started “a little camp for city kids” nearly a hundred years ago.

Last night Beth Reddish Wright told us the story of Camp Alkulana, a year round mission of the Richmond Baptist Association with a targeted summer ministry to inner city children. Here’s what the web site says:

The camp has been in continuous operation since it began in 1915. The kerosene lanterns, which shone from the windows of the first cottage, appeared as bright eyes shining through the forest. Thus, the Indian word, “Alkulana,” meaning “bright eyes” became the official camp name.

Camp Alkulana is located in Millboro Springs, Va, deep in the Alleghenies. The proximity of the camp to the George Washington National Forest provides it with boundless space and endless program resources. Some of the activities offered during the summer are hiking, cave exploring, camping out, cooking out, rock climbing, rappelling, ropes course, swimming, crafts, Bible study and worship.

Though the camp is in Millboro Springs, we consider our ministry in Richmond because we serve the children and youth of Central Virginia. Throughout the year in Alkulana offers ongoing supports in Richmond to its campers through large group gatherings, a mentoring program for older campers, and a targeted leadership program for its junior counselors.

Camp Alkulana’s Mission is to reveal God’s love to low-income and at-risk children and youth of Central Virginia so that they might realize the intrinsic value in themselves and others.

Beth told us the story of a girl named Jo-Jo who was afraid to join the other campers in jumping off a rock into the river. The rock was high, and when she looked down she thought, “Uh-uh. I like my life, and I love to live.” She was scared. But everybody else was jumping and splashing into the water and coming up laughing. Finally her counselor yelled, “Scary things make good memories!” And so she did it; she jumped.

It was so much fun she did it all afternoon. And later? She remembered what her counselor said: “Scary things make good memories.”

Maybe we should say it like this: some kinds of scary things make good memories. Jo-Jo was from Gilpin Court, one of the poorest neighborhoods in Richmond. Drug deals go down in that neighborhood all the time. People sometimes get shot and killed. But for a little while last summer she got away from all that. She went to a place where she could see the beauty of God’s creation all around her, where people were kind to her and shared the love of Christ with her, and where the only scary thing was the idea of jumping off a rock into the river. I can almost picture her asking: “Is this heaven?” and I can almost hear someone answering,

“No, it’s Camp Alkulana.”

Every year at First Baptist we take up a special offering for Camp Alkulana. This year, as we continue our year-long, every-member mission trip to bring the Kingdom of Heaven to Richmond, Virginia, you might think of your offering as a way to do that: as a way of getting kids like Jo-Jo out of the city long enough to experience heaven on earth.

I’m planning to double my offering this year. I hope you will do the same.

KOH2RVA: Day 243

Every day I find a fresh poem in my inbox from the Writer’s Almanac. Some mornings I’m in too much of a hurry to read it (if you can imagine that), but when I’m not I do and I’m glad I had time to read this one (below).

The first time I read it, it seemed like a description of heaven: “The Land of Beginning Again, where all our mistakes and all our heartaches and all of our poor selfish grief could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door and never put on again.” The second time I read it, I thought it could be a description of church, or at least, church at its very best, as that place where heaven comes to earth. The third time I read it I thought that this could be the good news the church takes to the world: that there is a Land of Beginning Again, and Jesus knows the way. And this is how we might bring heaven to earth for those people outside the church; we might share with them this great good news.

I’m going to try to find someone today who needs to hear that there is a way to begin again, someone who needs to drop all her mistakes and heartaches and poor selfish grief like a shabby old coat at the door.

And I’m going to invite her to church this Sunday.

The Land of Beginning Again
by Louisa Fletcher

I wish that there were some wonderful place
In the Land of Beginning Again.
Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches
And all of our poor selfish grief
Could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door
and never put on again.
I wish we could come on it all unaware,
Like the hunter who finds a lost trail;
And I wish that the one whom our blindness had done
The greatest injustice of all
Could be there at the gates
like an old friend that waits
For the comrade he’s gladdest to hail.
We would find all the things we intended to do
But forgot, and remembered too late,
Little praises unspoken, little promises broken,
And all the thousand and one
Little duties neglected that might have perfected
The day for one less fortunate.
It wouldn’t be possible not to be kind
In the Land of Beginning Again,
And the ones we misjudged
and the ones whom we grudged
their moments of victory here,
Would find in the grasp of our loving hand-clasp
More than penitent lips could explain…
So I wish that there were some wonderful place
Called the Land of Beginning Again,
Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches,
And all of our poor selfish grief
Could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door
And never put on again.

“The Land of Beginning Again” by Louisa Fletcher, from The Land of Beginning Again. © Nabu Press, 2011. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

KOH2RVA: Day 227

Time magazine recently published its list of the 100 most influential people in the world, complete with brief essays on each one written by other influential people. For example: New York City mayor Michael Bloomberg wrote about hip hop artist Jay Z; Academy Award winner Jodie Foster wrote about this year’s Best Actress, Jennifer Lawrence; and Mega-Pastor Rick Warren wrote about Wilfredo De Jesús, a “transformative Christian voice.” This is what he said:

Wilfredo De Jesús, better known as Pastor Choco, embodies the true definition of what Christ said the church should be. As the senior pastor of New Life Covenant Ministries, one of the fastest-growing churches in Chicago as well as one of the largest Assemblies of God congregations in the nation, Pastor Choco encourages others to go out into the community not just with words but with his own actions. Under his leadership, New Life is reaching out to the outcasts and forgotten in our society — the homeless, women suffering with addiction and prostitution, and young people in gangs.

But his influence spreads far beyond the Chicago area as vice president of social justice for the nation’s largest Hispanic Christian organization, the National Hispanic Christian Leadership Conference. With Hispanics playing such a large role in the expansion of the evangelical church in the U.S. and their vast influence on the political landscape, Pastor Choco is and will continue to be a strong, ardent voice on the direction of our country.

What got my attention, of course, is that part where Rick Warren, arguably the most influential pastor in America, said that Wilfredo De Jesús, one of the 100 most influential people in the world, “encourages others to go out into the community not just with words but with his own actions. Under his leadership, New Life is reaching out to the outcasts and forgotten in our society—the homeless, women suffering with addiction and prostitution, and young people in gangs.”

I sometimes say, “If you’re trying to bring heaven to earth, just look around for anything that doesn’t look like heaven, and then roll up your sleeves and go to work.” It sounds as if Pastor Choco and his congregation are doing exactly that in Chicago. In their own way, the people of First Baptist Church are doing exactly that in Richmond.

And who knows what kind of influence they may have?

KOH2RVA: Day 226

I went to the Woody’s Funeral Home on Parham Road last night to pay my respects to Ethel Kyle, one of the saints of First Baptist, who wrote the most beautiful letters I’ve ever received, each one presenting itself like an engraved wedding invitation. I could write this whole post about Ethel, but I’m going to save those words for her funeral this afternoon.

This morning, I want to tell you about something else.

At the funeral home last night Richmond Hamilton came over to say hello. “Dickie,” as he is sometimes called, is a perfect gentleman, always nattily dressed, almost courtly in his manners, and often with his lovely wife Lil at his side (you should see the picture of the two of them on their wedding day; that Lil is an absolute stunner!).

When I came to the church nearly five years ago I got the feeling that Dickie and Lil were First Baptist royalty. It was something about the way they carried themselves, or the way people introduced them to me. Maybe it was simply because when you come to Richmond and meet a man whose name is Richmond you assume you’ve met the founding father.

So when Richmond Hamilton came over to say hello last night I stood up a little straighter, and this is what he told me: that he’d finally gotten in touch with that woman (what’s her name?), who put him in touch with somebody (Sandra? Sonya?), who made the arrangements for him to tutor two little girls over at Essex Village. “Anyway,” he said, “I’m on the bus.”

I corrected him, gently. “You’re off the bus, Dickie. You got off the bus and onto the mission field.” “Right, right,” he said. “Whatever. I just wanted you to know.”

And that was it.

But what a thrill for me to think about Richmond Hamilton—Mr. Richmond himself—going over to Essex Village Apartments on the north side of town, a place where 544 children live in mostly single-parent homes…to think about him sitting down with two little girls in the community center over there, helping them with their homework, making sure they get it all done…to think about what a difference that might make in their lives, not only now but in the years to come…well, as I said, what a thrill.

Because Mr. Hamilton could have said, “What’s this crazy idea the new pastor has come up with? Something about getting on a bus and going on a mission trip? Well, I’m not going on any mission trip. I’ve been in this church all my life. I’ve paid my dues, I’ve done my time. Let the younger ones do it.”

But that’s not what he did.

Somewhere in his heart he said, “If the church is going on a year-long, every-member mission trip then I’d better go too. I’d better get on the bus, and then find some place to get off, and see if I can make a difference in somebody’s life.”

You see, if Dickie can do it, then anybody can do it. And here’s what I’m hoping: that as he tutors those two little girls he will begin to feel the joy that comes with that kind of work. That when they start to look forward to his coming, and are reluctant to let him leave, when they hug him around the waist and laugh, “Don’t go Mr. Hamilton!” he will begin to see what this mission trip was all about in the first place—not forcing our members to get off the bus,

But bringing heaven to earth.