My indignation strikes again

In case you haven’t heard, Cleveland’s Anthony Sowell has made national and international news.

I first heard about the Imperial Eleven during a poetry reading in their honor down at the Cleveland Art Museum. I think that was winter 2009. The voice of the poetry reading was one of outrage and helpless bewilderment. Many of the poets understood Sowell’s actions to be a personal assault on the community. Still, in the face of destruction, they united to create something beautiful and reverent. I was impressed.

A year later, The Plain Dealer ran a series of stories on each of the murder victims. I remember that I felt torn. On one hand, I was thankful for the details the articles could provide about the victims’ lives.

Many of the women had been neglected by their parents and handed off to be raised in poverty by a grandparent or distant family member. All of them began using drugs as teenagers (some as early as twelve years old). Several of them were chronically pregnant during high school. As they grew older, they struggled to come clean and take care of their children.

But they never did. That is, after all, how they ended up at Sowell’s.

The articles seemed to laud these women — who could not stay clean for the sake of their children — as heroes. It unsettled me.

Let’s be clear: As I read and discussed the articles with other Clevelanders, I wanted to uphold the victims’ dignity and affirm their value as mothers, sisters, daughters, girlfriends, and God’s creations. I grieved that they had been trespassed upon — and in the worst possible way.

But I could not celebrate their lives as the reporters did. Hadn’t the victims had a choice?

Or did they have a choice? I realize you can’t just choose to stop using, and I’ve been told that without resources and support, overcoming addiction is hopeless.

But for some reason, I was hotly indignant. I said things like, “How dare the PD celebrate these women as heroes when all they did was perpetuate the cycle of absent, strung out parenthood!” Based on my track record, I doubt that I could have done any better if put in the same position.

I guess, in my indignation, I had been thinking of the kids at church and the kids at the Mission who live blocks from Imperial Avenue. Who bounce from house to house without any sense of groundedness. Who learn in crowded and underfunded schools. Who are headed for premature parenthood or prison or both unless someone intervenes.

For them, this isn’t just some news story. This is reality.

What I want to say is this: 85% of the world (and I’m making that figure up) will read this article and focus on the killer. They will say things like, “How disgusting” or “Who could do something so monstrous?” They will be relieved that this happened miles away and not in their own neighborhoods.

The other 15% of us will remember the victims’ stories and continue to fight for the kids who are being dealt the same hands in life.

Vocational thoughts.

Thursday night I led a small youth group from a rural church through a series of activities and accompanying discussions about racism, poverty and ministry to urban youth. They offered insights, voiced frustrations, listened to my instructions and (what really impressed me) to each other. The proverbial light bulbs came on. The desire to understand broke out and became contagious. It was cool, you guys. It was cool.

I think that maybe this is work I can devote myself to. I want to steep myself in knowledge about the conditions of our cities and the Church's responsibility to the poor -- and then educate those who are willing to learn. I want to have thoughtful and respectful discussions about our intentions and strategies for ministry. I want to watch the Spirit of God drive Church communities to postures of compassion, humility and effective action.

Let's not get into the Should-we-even-be-sending-30-of-our-brightest-affluent-youth-to-solve-complex-adult-problems? discussion right now. The way I see it, youth leaders (rightly or not) will continue bringing them. And as long as they're here, they might as well be taught.

Until now, I did not think I would get the opportunity to use skills I picked up during undergrad. A defeating and demoralizing student teaching experience convinced me that my philosophy of education was ridiculous and made me question whether I had any skills to offer at all. But now, I am beginning to imagine my strengths and convictions lending themselves beautifully to bridging the chasm between suburban and urban churches.

This is not to boast that my efforts in urban ministry have been effective in the past or that I am suddenly some kind of expert. I admit I am a novice. I struggled to be effective in the past, but learned much as a result of those struggles. One thing I can do, though, is design lessons that leave deep impressions on students. Throughout college, my professors wrote words like "dynamic," "aggressive," "provocative" and "edgy" on my lesson evaluations. "Sometimes too edgy," said Dr. Ager.

This shouldn't surprise you. When I was little, my dad nicknamed me The Instigator because I seemed to find something wickedly pleasurable in getting a rise out of my siblings. And I have been playing Instigator, Devil's Advocate, Exhorter, Soapbox Orator (and other roles) ever since.

"Instigate" -- I love that word. Do you? It means, "someone who deliberately foments trouble." "An inciter, provoker, and firebrand." "To rouse." "To induce, stimulate, encourage, push." "To initiate, start." "To urge, provoke, or incite to some action or course: to instigate the people to revolt."

I realize this definition has some negative connotations, and I don't want you to misunderstand: those who deliberately foment trouble in the Church are deserving of rebuke. (Galatians 5 comes to mind...) But I like the idea of a teacher who rouses, incites and provokes people to action -- in the Hebrews 10:24 sense of the word. "And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds..."

The Triune God instigated the Creation of the Universe and the salvation of souls, even when those souls were unfaithful to Him. Alleluia. Teach me to act in Your righteousness and wisdom as I play the instigator in my family, work place and church community. Amen.

Some thoughts on Cleveland's Scene Magazine

The most recent issue of Cleveland-based Scene Magazine is first disappointing then, upon further thought, upsetting. As if the deliberate name calling wasn't bad enough, Kyle Swenson's unabashedly slanderous article reeks of unprofessionalism.

Defamation aside (because you can only read a word like "pervert" one way), I take issue with the stone Mr Swenson has cast. I hardly think it's fair to run an article decrying a man's "skeevy" behavior only to follow it with an entire page of "guys night out" adverts. I agree that filming a woman showering without obtaining her consent is wrong -- but scratch my head as to what would make paying for the same "service" at a Gentleman's Club any less "perverse." Are they not both driven by the same impulse?

I'm not interested in debating ethical avenues of voyeurism, but I hope my point is clear: The editors and writers at Scene magazine forfeit their right to be a "moral barometer" when they run slander and pornographic ads. As for Ms Krancevic, I mourn what has happened to her and desire to see justice served for the crimes against her. But next time, I would take more care when selecting a couch to sleep on and a magazine to appear in.

I guess I should have known better than to expect great reporting from a magazine who prides themselves on quality blogs like Kid Who Farted on Bus Gets Web Redemption.