Today is Friday, March 30. I woke up to the sounds of birds
outside my bedroom window in a quiet, suburban neighborhood. This morning I got
my favorite iced coffee drink at the local coffee shop after running errands, followed by a long walk through the park this afternoon. Today I found myself thanking Jesus for
each of these “little” things that used to be my normal.
Most days I go to sleep and wake up to the sound of sirens
outside my bedroom window in Little Village, Chicago. I can’t remember the last
time I took a long walk wherever I wanted and wasn’t bothered by someone. I’m no longer allowed to sit outside on
my front porch and enjoy the beautiful weather after school or on the weekends.
A lot of nights I sit doing my schoolwork to the sounds of another fight
outside my apartment and our gang banger neighbors flashing gang symbols at
passing cars. Yesterday morning we woke up to their new “art production” on the
front door of the abandoned house across the street. “LKK” symbols written in
bright yellow paint symbolizing “Latin King Killers.” Last month I witnessed my
first shooting incident from my kitchen window while trying to make supper.
I can’t remember the last time I felt safe.
There’s hundreds of stereotypes people have of the ghetto.
Gangs, violence, drugs, lack of education, poverty, addictions, cycles,
laziness, a “need for Jesus.” People will look at the city and spout off their
list of reasons why “they could never live there”, and why its all going to
hell. They point their fingers at gang violence and talk about the lack of
“parenting” and “education” as the issues at hand. Maybe if we could
“suburbinize” the ghetto and make it a little more like white, middle class
America some things would be different.
But a few weeks ago I sat with my church family in Little
Village after one of the most violent weeks our neighborhood has experienced in
a long time. Chicago alone had almost 40 shootings, and our neighborhood had 6
people shot in one week. 3 of those were youth with connections to my church.
Just the day before, a 6-year-old girl was playing on her front porch and was
murdered by gang members in the middle of the afternoon. Instead of having a
regular church service, we gathered together to mourn as a church family and
cry out to God for the neighborhood. We stood in a giant circle around the
room, holding hands and praying to the Lord for the streets and gangs of Little
Village. I watched people, both white and Mexican, get up and speak in light of
the violence. People who have invested in this place and these people for
years. One of them stood up and
spoke of their relationship with one of the youth that had been killed that
week.
“You see these gang bangers around here all the time
standing on street corners. Latin kings and 26’rs all over this place. But
Joey, who was one of those guys, I knew him. We hung out all the time, we
laughed together all the time, we were friends. He was like my little brother. When
you look at these guys on your street, we have to remember they are more than
just gang bangers. They have names, and they have stories.”
I would love to make up a blog about a heroic white girl
living in the ghetto who loves her mission field and prays for the gang bangers
every time she passes them on the street. Who sleeps every night in peace
because she believes she is safe in Jesus, and never deals with stereotypes in
her own life. But if you looked really closely at her heart you wouldn’t find
much of that at all.
You’d find someone struggling a lot with bitterness against
her neighbors who have “stolen” her sense of safety, you would find a lot of
fear and anxiety about what is going to happen next, you would see a lot of
sleepless nights, you would find anger that her sense of “freedom” has been
taken by circumstances. You would find her struggling with the same stereotypes
she has been taught to resist. It’s not a very pretty picture at all.
In the midst of my heart struggle this week, I met someone
in the neighborhood working to stop the violence. Through a random conversation
we discovered some of the men he is working closely with just “happen” to be
the same gang bangers living in the house across from me. He told me about his
relationships with the guys and his understanding of their world, as he himself
used to be involved in the same gang and participate in the same activities. He
gave me a small glimpse into their lives.
“Baby lucky, he’s only about 19 and just got out of prison a
few months ago and has been on house arrest. He’s had a rough life. He lost his
uncles and a lot of family members to gang violence here in the ‘hood. He’s got
it real rough.”
The neighbor I had become so bitter against on my street had
a name. He had a story. He wasn’t always a gang banger. He used to be like one
of my little 7 year olds, laughing, playing on the playground at school. But
ghetto life becomes reality for most of our kids in this neighborhood, and its
not long before you start seeing people dying. It’s not long before the gang
bangers are trying to recruit you, just like they did your brothers, and your
daddies, and even your sisters. And you join, because that’s what you do to
“survive” these streets. And no teacher is going to save you, and your mamma
isn’t going to come get you out. You’ll die young here or you’ll go to prison.
Or for many, it’s both.
But for some, they’ll come to find something else in this
place. If you walk these streets covered with gang graffiti and look closely
enough you’ll see it too.
Some days it looks buried and forgotten, but even on the
most violent days, it hasn’t disappeared.
A light has shone into the darkness of Little Village and
the darkness has not overcome it. Scattered among the streets “claimed” by
Latin King’s and 26’rs is the presence of God Himself, being demonstrated
through the lives of His people.
Doctors, teachers, pastors, mentors, neighbors, store
owners, you’ll find them everywhere. People who haven’t given up on their
neighborhood, who aren’t moving out of this forgotten “ghetto”, people who have
committed their lives to this place. People who could stand up and tell story
after story of Jesus claiming souls in this place. Of Him making beautiful
things out of this mess.
People who weep over the lost souls on their streets, who
cry out for healing over their neighborhood, and who wait in eager expectation
for the coming kingdom when all of this will be made right.
People who don’t just call them “gang bangers” or “Latin
kings” or “26rs” but can tell you their names and their stories.
You see, Baby lucky has a real name. Thomas. And Thomas has
a story, a story of how he got to be a gang-banger on 26th and
Springfield.
But his story doesn’t have to end like his uncle’s story or
his daddy’s story or his friends’ story. And there’s been some people telling
Thomas about Jesus.
Education won’t heal Thomas. A daddy won’t heal Thomas.
But Jesus can.
I have been so challenged by the people giving their lives
to see Jesus come in this place. People willing to risk the lives of their kids
and families to stay and invest in this neighborhood.
Jesus has been teaching me that when I hear the sirens, or
the story of another shooting, or when there’s another fight outside my house- to
remember He hasn’t left the ghetto, He hasn’t abandoned this place to the
violence, and some day, He will make every street in Little Village new. Some
day former Latin Kings and 26rs will walk together in peace. His kingdom WILL
come.
And just like it's not too hard for Him to save the Lk's or the Satin's Disciples, or the 26'rs, it's not too hard for him to change my own heart in this last month He has me living in Little Village. And just like He is making these streets new, He has promised to do that for me. For HIS glory.
May we celebrate the gospel today, continuing to pray it transforms every street in our neighborhoods, wherever those might be.
