Unlocked

Some neat things have been happening with the people of this community. During Summit, Ben spoke to a plethora of people generally unfamiliar with the New Monastic lifestyle. Ungodly amounts of people have been fed during lunches and dinners with simple meals affectionately referred to as Yam Slam, Speedy Gonzales, and the like. Professors and general contributing members of society have gathered around to speak and give on behalf of the work happening on Cockerell Dr. Excitement spreads with each new conversation. New ways of growing together fall out of our mouths every day. Chats with a neighborhood pastor lead to opportunities in which we join with him in digging deeper into the lives of these new friends. Unanticipated connections and acquaintances add to our intrinsic efforts. Doors to buildings once thought abandoned have begun to unlock.

But its not all fun and games. Forgive me for the sober face tonight but a new understanding of brokenness steals at my jovial, self-sufficient ministry face. This morning as I strode bountifully out the house door on my way to Ben's much anticipated lecture, something lacked. The chill of fall air anticipated my emotion and dried my eyes before I had time to whimper at the sight of a drooping bicycle lock. As though saddened by the loss of a long time companion, the lock lay draped lifeless over the frigid link of gray, weathered fence. I think I saw a tear drop as it shivered in the isolating wind. I approached only to comfort the foggy-eyed fastener and ask, "What happened?" only to receive back a mumbled, sniffling whisper lost in the breeze. The night had witnessed it all. Alas, without words I noticed my once secure friend had been abused and broken. The sight shouted louder than words. The best consolation I could muster up sounded like "It'll be okay... shh, shh. It'll be okay," as we shuffled back inside the house.

Though the bicycle had been wooed away by another lover, I understood that this would not be the only time our hearts will be broken on this journey down Cockerell Dr. It is not the lack of its presence I pine for, but instead the forgotten forgiveness that, I lament, cannot now be poured out. I would like to meet this Casanova if only to wish them well together, and perhaps pass along the gift of a hearty lock to keep her safe. Seriously.

I can deal with a lack of bicycle. Its a material possession; who cares. What I found more disconcerting was my feeling of personal violation. My privacy had been infringed upon, and it scared me. Though I must admit my giddiness has transformed into reverence and reality. It revealed to me how our time here will not be all encouraging stories. Sometimes we will be hurt. This occasion exemplifies, even in its frivolity, that we will not always have good met with open hearts. We will pour out only to be taken advantage of. If that's what it takes, let us be exploited as we scourged and spat on the Lord himself.

May they see the love He has in our forgiveness whether we are allowed the opportunity to offer it or not. May the doors to the Kingdom be unlocked that we may eat with thieves and vagabonds, prostitutes and proselytes, poor and prosperous alike.