A Hood Education

When I was in seminary school, so much of what we were taught about urban ministry came from books. Professors shared theories and theology pertaining to the inner city ministry but none of it was actually hands on. As a result, ministers graduated and received calls to pastor churches in communities that they had never walked in. They could quote Søren Kierkegaard but not Iceberg Slim. They could rattle off the Greek alphabet but found themselves unable to craft a message relevant to some drug dealer grinding on the block. The result? Many of the churches in urban America exist in isolation from the actual communities that surround them.

Yu-Shan Sho, a resident of East Oakland, California has another approach. Each summer, college students from all over the state of California converge upon the city of Oakland to participate in her ministry immersion program, Jesus, Justice and Poverty. It’s not a traditional mission approach where the enlightened come to bring salvation to the locals. Ms. Sho calls it a “mutual conversion” process. Over six weeks, the young people share the journeys of people from every sector of life in Oakland. Its more of a listening and interaction exchange than a monologue. In this model, the young people come to understand that the people whom they encounter have rich histories and a fantastic knowledge of the assets and issues of all things Oakland. They come to sit at their feet.

Yesterday, I was asked to present some ideas to the youth of the Jesus, Justice and Poverty Institute. The group met me in the Mary Morris Conference room located in Allen Temple Baptist Church on International Boulevard in East Oakland. From this sanctum in the hood, I dismantled systemic racism, the roots of income inequality, the prison industrial complex, the theology that ungirds the Black Church and the aftermath of the crack epidemic of the eighties and nineties. We discussed Matthew 25:31-46, where Jesus gives the riveting story of a Judgement Day where human beings are rewarded or punished according to their treatment of the poor and disenfranchised.

At the conclusion of my talk, I pointed at a big white box that sat behind them. The box was filled with t-shirts. The story of the t-shirts is kind of interesting. Last Christmas, my friend Tamara Dever had a t-shirt designed for me as a gift. It was based on the front cover of my upcoming book, “Street Cred: A Hood Minister’s Guide To Urban Ministry.” One day, I was walking through the San Francisco, Tenderloin when a homeless gentleman expressed admiration for the shirt. When I wrote about this on Facebook, one of Tam’s friends said something like, “If you had been a real minister, you’d have given him that shirt.”

It was cold in San Francisco that day and the man already had a shirt. So, no, I wasn’t going to give him my shirt. Tamara, mentioned to the lady that I am not the picture that flashes in many folks’ minds when the hear the word “preacher.” I am not a religious extortionist in alligator shoes. My ministry is mostly to people who are caught up in the matrix of struggle. Upon hearing that, the woman had a big box of t-shirts made and had them sent to me. The logo said: “Got Cred (as in street cred)? Jesus did!!" My website address is also printed on them.

The next phase of my teaching was not going to be done in a conference room within the safety of a church building. We were going to the classroom of the streets. Armed with the t-shirts and some bottled waters, we headed out to the streets of the hood. Not far from the church building is an area where homeless people congregate. They have brought furniture out in front of a row of long abandoned buildings. These folks are a community; a family of sorts largely overcome with substance abuse issues. Heroin is a preferred drug of choice for many.

The young people took the shirts and waters from the bags that concealed them and they offered them to their new friends. Conversations sprang up immediately. The people in the community shared their stories, their hopes and their dreams. And the young people listened.

Two women on a corner shared their story with a 20-year old. They had lived lives that she could not have even imagined possible before she stepped out on that corner. The college student was clearly moved. She knelt down and then wrapped her arm around one of the women who wept profusely, tears splashing down on arms riddled with old needle tracks. Stories of molestation, prison, homicide, addiction and hopelessness tumbled from her lips. The young college student said little. She held her and rocked her and then there was prayer.

The folks on the block were moved by the visit. They told the youth that they needed to become leaders now. The challenged the college students to find ways to help the poor and mistreated. They charged them to make a difference.

There was a debrief session upon the return to the church. Young people who were preparing themselves to work in fields as diverse as civil engineering and veterinary medicine began processing what it would mean to live their lives as allies with the poor and marginalized. Tears flowed from eyes that were still focused on the block that we had just left.

My take away? The future of theology is not in the books. It’s in the streets. Those young people learned more in an hour in the hood than I could teach them in a year in a class room. They saw, they touched and they were converted. It was a beautiful afternoon.

Here, I am standing with Yu-Shuan Sho, Executive Director of Jesus, Justice and Poverty