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Hell on Earth

By Sam Riviera
10 Comments

Hell on Earth

Sam Riviera is a frequent and popular contributor to this blog. Many of his posts on loving your neighbors and ministering to the homeless are consistently among the most popular articles on this blog.

Based on his many years of friendship with lots of homeless people in San Diego, Sam Riviera has learned the stories of several of them, and, with their permission, is writing their stories in the form of letters to their dads. These are the letters that they might have written to their dads. Since it has been a while since Sam wrote one of these letters, you will want to go read the explanation about these letters here, and especially read the First Letter to Dad: Killing Me Softely, as the letter below follows on the events from that previous letter.

homeless teenager

Dad,

It’s been over a year now. I’m still alive. Sort of.

You have no idea what it’s been like for me the past year. You can’t even imagine it. This isn’t rural Georgia, the town where you and I were born. This is the United States of America, land of the sick and twisted. I know ‘em. You’ve never made their acquaintance. Pray you never do.

Hell. They talked about it in church. Where I am isn’t a lake of fire, but it might as well be. Hell can’t be much worse than this. Maybe this is really hell and the lake of fire thing with devils and pitchforks was invented by Dante and Hollywood.

I’m not sure why I’m writing you. I guess I want mom to know I’m alive, but will you tell her? I’d tell her myself after you’re dead and buried, but I doubt I’ll be alive by then. Get on your computer and look up the average life expectancy for a homeless teenager who is a drug addict who is regularly raped by dirty old men.

I’ve got a death sentence. You were the judge that handed it down. You convicted me without a trial, with no evidence. Even if what you were told was true, so what? I’m your son. I know you’re more concerned about what people think than you are about your own flesh and blood. I might as well have terminal cancer. At least then I might be able to get treatment. As it is, I have no hope.

Hard to imagine, but Jesus is here with me right in the middle of all this crap. I was hoping he’d rescue me somehow, but it’s not happened. Maybe it’s drug-induced hallucinations, but I don’t hallucinate about anything else. I see him walking the streets, and he sits and talks with me. The other guys say it’s just some guy, but I see something different. I know what I’m seeing. He told me only small children and a few older people see him for who he really is, and most people don’t notice him at all.

I asked him if he hangs out in churches. He laughed. He said he does, but not many notice or recognize him. He said he spends most of his time where he’s wanted and needed. Not like me. I’m not wanted, needed, or loved anywhere. I’m just a user and mostly just used.

Remember those baby birds in the nest by our front door when I was little? We watched the mother bird build the nest, then looked in after she laid the eggs. The babies were about a week old. One day the mother bird disappeared and never came back. The babies were dead by the next morning. Abandoned and soon dead. That’s going to be me. Except I’m more like the baby the mom kicked out of the nest. Something must have been wrong with it. That’s what you thought about me. But nothing was wrong with me. You were wrong. But you still kicked me out and it’s too late for me to survive. I’m cold and sick, starving and afraid, and so lonely lying here in the filth waiting to die.

I’m still a teenager. I didn’t miss my childhood, but I will miss being an adult, all because of you. Can you live with that?

Jason

letter to dad from homeless teenager

God is Redeeming Life Bible & Theology Topics: homeless, Letters to Dad, lgbt, Sam Riviera

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Mama’s Win Duh Box

By Sam Riviera
7 Comments

Mama’s Win Duh Box

Sam Riviera is a frequent and popular contributor to this blog. Many of his posts on loving your neighbors and ministering to the homeless have been among the most popular articles on this blog. Below is another one of his heart-wrenching and insightful posts.

pickup truck

A rusty old pickup truck piled high with an odd assortment of what looked like junk pulled into our gravel driveway one sunny spring afternoon. An older couple dressed like farmers from the back woods crawled out of the cab as I stood there watching.

“We’re your mama’s kin from back in the hills and hollers of West Virginia. Your mama wrote us and told us she’s doin’ poorly, so we come to help out for a spell. You must be her oldest child.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m Sam.”

“Well you can juz call us Annie and Un Kull. Where’s your mama, child?” Annie said. As I would soon learn, Annie did most of the talking and Un Kull didn’t say much.

I showed Annie and Un Kull (I eventually figured out they were saying auntie and uncle, but they pronounced it Annie and Un Kull and believe me, I’m not making fun of them) to mama’s room, a converted garage that my daddy had fixed up for mama when he was alive.

Daddy had died one wet and stormy March night a couple of years earlier. I remember mama and her brother coming home early one evening from the hospital where daddy had lay dying. Usually they came home later, when visiting hours were over. That night they came home right after supper with a hang dog look on their faces.

I was in the cellar working on cleaning up grandma’s box of old wooden butter molds, wooden spoons, and potato mashers. Uncle Bob came down the cellar steps with his hand in his pockets, looking as sad as I’ve ever seen him. I could tell that he didn’t know what to say.

“Your daddy didn’t make it.”

I thought the world ended that night. Even all these years later I can’t help but cry as I write that.

Daddy wasn’t around any more to convert any more garages, to plant his flowers and garden or to help out mama, my little brother and me. So here was Annie and Un Kull, which looked to me like a poor substitute for Daddy. But they were all we had. Or so I thought.

While Annie and Un Kull sat and talked with mama, I returned to the driveway to look over their truck and it’s load of whatever it was they had brought with them.

Someone had cut rectangular holes in the sides of the pickup bed and had wedged two by fours down into the holes. The tops of the two by fours were as high as the top of the cab. Cross pieces of rough one by sixes ran between the two by fours, effectively raising the sides of the bed as high as the top of the cab. Matching wooden swinging gates across the back completed the modification.

Several old upside-down wood chairs, and one upside-down wood rocker were jammed into a pile of burlap bags, boxes and an odd assortment of gardening tools, newspaper-wrapped unknowns and you-name-its that I didn’t recognize.

“Who’s the hillbillies?” My neighbor, Billy, a few years older than me, stood behind me surveying the truck and it’s contents.

“Mama’s relatives from West Virginia.”

“What they doing here?”

“They said they came to help out.”

“How long they staying?”

“Don’t know.”

That was really an insignificant conversation, but I remember it because I remember how embarrassed I was. Billy was too old for me to hang around with and he really never meant much to me but my hillbilly relatives and their rusty, junk-filled old pickup sitting in our driveway somehow terribly embarrassed me when Billy stood there asking me about them.

Later that afternoon Annie and Un Kull unloaded their truck and stashed their things here and there around the house and in the cellar.

“Looks like we brought everything we own,” Annie told me as they unloaded the truck and my brother and I looked on. “Well, almost. All the important things anyway.”

Annie thrust her hand into a burlap bag and produced a cast iron skillet.

“This here skillet’s been seasoned just right. It cooks the best corn pone cakes. You’ll see. Brought some good meal to make ’em with too. Doubt we can find meal as good as that ‘round these parts.”

We had corn pone cakes, spoon bread, and a vast variety of foods we had never heard of before Annie and Un Kull came to stay. Annie cooked, and took care of Mama. Un Kull fixed everything that needed fixing and planted us a huge garden.

One day not long after they arrived Annie pointed out the window box daddy had made for mama. He had built a long shelf outside their bedroom window, about three feet up off the ground, and a long wooden window box for that shelf. When he was alive he planted flowers in the box every spring. Since he had passed, the box had been empty.

window box“I brought a bag of my special sweet pea seeds and I think they’d do good in that there wind duh box right outside your mama’s bedroom where she can look out and see ‘em. They’ll cheer her up while she’s gettin’ better.”

I wasn’t sure mama would get better. She had inflammation of the pancreas, as the doctor called it. He said we’d have to see if she’d get better. Annie and Un Kull said mama just had a case of consumption, whatever that was, and they were sure she’d get better.

Annie asked for my help planting her sweet pea seeds. I helped and did as she instructed. Annie watered the box every couple of days and fussed over those sweet peas.

As the sweet peas grew, mama started getting better. I don’t know if it was the sweet peas, Annie’s corn pone cakes and country cooking, or what, but mama started getting better. Within a few weeks the sweet peas trailed all the way to the ground, and Annie wove the vines together to make a solid thicket of sweet peas outside mama’s window.

Those sweet peas were the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen. I don’t remember a sweeter smell than those sweet peas in the early evening when mama sat in Annie’s rocker out there by the sweet peas.

“I think I could sit here forever smelling those sweet peas,” mama said. “Especially if I’ve got of plate of something Annie cooked. Made with love. That’s what makes her cooking so good.”

Mama continued to get better that summer. Even her sorrow over daddy’s passing seemed to gradually go away.

Me and little brother and Mama thrived that spring, summer, and fall that Annie and Un Kull spent with us. Some evenings Un Kull got out his banjo and we sang. We sang Gospel and some things that I don’t remember. Stuff mama and Annie and Un Kull knew. I do remember that silly song about “Daddy sang base, mama sang tenor, me and little brother joined right in there.” We didn’t have daddy, but we had Annie and Un Kull and mama, and me and little brother joined right in there.

The leaves on the maples were brilliant reds, oranges and yellows the day Annie and Un Kull told us they’d better be leaving soon so they’d be back to the hills and hollers of West Virginia and get their “little shack ready for winter before the snow flew.”

Mama, little brother, and I stood in the drive and cried the day Annie and Un Kull and their old pickup piled high with all their important things, including Annie’s famous skillet, pulled out and headed for West Virginia. Mama was feeling almost normal. Our house was in good repair and our hearts were glad once again. Annie and Un Kull had worked their magic on us.

It wasn’t much more than a couple of years later that I answered the phone late one evening.

“This here’s Mabel Corlett, neighbor to your Aunt and Uncle back here in West Virginia. I just thought you’d want to know your Aunt and Uncle were killed in a bad accident this afternoon.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“They were on a country road back in the hills, on their way to tend to some sick old lady. Some drunk t-boned ‘em and killed ‘em instantly ‘cordin to the sheriff. The funeral’s Friday if any of you can come.”

Mama and I made the trip. We learned from Annie and Un Kull’s friends and neighbors, which seemed to be everyone around those parts, that Annie and Un Kull took care of everyone around there. And here we thought it was just us.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen more people turn out for a funeral than that one. And the supper at the church afterwards was something I’ll never forget. The cooking was amazing, but I thought Annie’s was better.

“Your aunt and uncle never had a nickel, but they loved on everyone in these parts. The preacher could preach his sermons, but your aunt and uncle lived ‘em out. Those folks were Jesus in person to everyone they knew. I don’t think I ever believed before they came along. They jus’ made it real to me. How were you related, anyway?” Mabel asked.

“Oh, we weren’t,” mama said. They adopted me and my husband a long time ago and told us to call them Annie and Un Kull. They were more like family to us than most of our real relatives.”

“How did you meet them?” Mabel asked.

“They sort of appeared out of nowhere one day.”

“I didn’t know that, mama,” I said. “They weren’t really related to us?”

“No, son. It’s a long story. I tell it to you on the drive back home.”

When we got back home, I walked over to the window box outside mama’s bedroom window. It was barren after the winter. But spring had come and it was time to plant. Time to plant sweet peas and time to start planting what Annie and Un Kull had taught us.

I found my bag of sweet pea seeds. Annie had told me “Let ‘em go to seed and save those seeds, child. You’ll be glad you did. You can plant ‘em yourself. Do it like I showed you and you’ll have all the sweet peas you want.”

Little brother, who couldn’t go to the funeral with mama and me in West Virginia because he couldn’t get off work drove in just as I started digging in the flower box.

“What ‘ya doing, big brother?”

“Planting Annie’s sweet pea seeds. We’re going to have us a crop of pink sweet peas. Mama can sit out here in a few weeks in that rocker we got her for Christmas and smell those sweet peas at the end of the day.”

“You sure you can do that?” little brother asked. “No one could make flowers bloom like Annie.”

“Yeah, I think I can. Annie showed me how to make the flowers bloom. I think you know how too.”

Mama had a thicket of pink sweet peas that summer outside her window. Annie had taught us well. Annie and Un Kull had taught us a lot more than how to make the flowers bloom. They had also taught us how to bloom and how to share a sweet smell with others.

Another day, another time, I’ll tell you more about that summer Annie and Un Kull spent with us. I’ll share some of their stories and some of the stories of the flowers we’ve planted since then that have bloomed and have a sweet smell of their own.

God is Redeeming Life Bible & Theology Topics: guest post, Sam Riviera

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How to Discover the Image of God in People

By Sam Riviera
15 Comments

How to Discover the Image of God in People

Everett and his wife lived near my wife and me. Everett loved his rose garden, and spent many hours there, weeding, pruning, fertilizing, spraying insecticide, and cutting fresh blooms to give to friends and neighbors. Everett also attended the same church we attended. We met at Everett’s house every Thursday evening for a summer Bible study.

Everett was elderly and had health problems. One Thursday when we went to his home for Bible study, he mentioned that he was not feeling well. Three days later the pastor announced in church that Everett had passed away on Saturday. A few days later we attended his funeral service at the church.

One of Everett’s sons delivered his eulogy, and included numerous biographical details. Everett had been a very accomplished person with many skills. He had a distinguished career as a decorated officer in the military. He had been an outstanding and well-known engineer. His son revealed detail after detail about Everett that none of us had ever heard.

Everyone in the church was astonished. None of us had known any of those things about Everett, even though he and his wife had attended our church for almost ten years. It seemed that we had never really known Everett. He was one of those people who didn’t brag about himself or his accomplishments and none of us had ever bothered to ask him to tell us about his life.

How was it possible that we knew he loved roses, he drove a blue Buick, he attended the same church we attended, and he and his wife hosted a Bible study at their home, yet we knew almost nothing about him? What else about Everett had we missed?

What Do We Really Know About Other People?

That experience served as a wake-up call for some of us. We realized that our lives were filled with people who were merely acquaintances. We knew a little about them, but never knew their stories. We had never bothered to ask.

seeing image of God in othersIf we had never heard their stories, how could we possibly really know them?

In this age of messages limited to one hundred forty characters, how well do we really know most people? We have huge amounts of information at our fingertips, information that we can access in seconds, but how often do we bother to get to really know other people?

Frequently people tell me “I have no close friends,” or “I have only one or two people that I’m really close to.” As I write this, I am reminded that just yesterday evening a man I have known for many years told me “If anything happens to me, I’m screwed. I have no one.”

How is it possible that our culture is filled with people who have no one or almost no one? Almost everywhere I go I see people walking, driving, sitting in restaurants, riding on public transportation, and involved in almost every conceivable activity while talking on their cellphones or pressing keys on their cellphones and tablets, seemingly very involved with their electronic communications devices. How can they have no one or almost no one in their lives when they appear to be connected almost all the time to other people?

friends on facebook“I have hundreds of friends on Facebook.”

“How many of these people do you know outside Facebook?” I often ask.

“What do you mean?”

“How many of them have you ever met in person?”

The usual response? “A few.” Sometimes, “One or two.”

“How do you know they are who they claim to be? How do you know that the pictures and the things they tell you about themselves on Facebook are true if you’ve never met them in person? Maybe the pictures are of someone else, or pictures of the person from a long time ago. Maybe they make up the stuff they say.”

“Hmmm. Well I don’t really know.”

Many of us don’t really know. We don’t really know many, if any other people very well at all. Nor do we really know very much of anything about many of the people we think we know.

How often have we turned on the evening news to yet another story of someone who committed some atrocious act and heard the reporter interviewing that person’s neighbors and acquaintances and heard “We were shocked.” How could the person who lived next door or across the street have done what they did?

image of God in people

How Do We Discover the Image of God in People?

Many of us believe that we were created in the image of God, but have we been able to discover that image in people? What does it look like and how do we go about discovering it?

I am making the assumption that the image of God in people does not mean that we physically resemble God, but that some of his attributes may be found in us, albeit in a lesser degree. Many of his attributes might be found in us but let us consider three, love, mercy and grace.

In order to determine if people might possess these attributes, first we must get to know them. Mr. Upstanding Citizen in his private life may be something very different from his public persona. The homeless person we see sitting by the side of the road dressed in tattered, dirty clothes might be one of the most loving, merciful and grace-filled people in town.

Really knowing people involves more than recognizing them, being acquainted with them and maybe knowing a few basic facts about them, such as their names, where they live or work, and perhaps a few other bits of surface information. It includes knowing their stories, even if in abbreviated form.

Knowing their stories and getting to really know them includes getting to know where they come from and discovering some of the things that have been their joys in life, as well as the things that have caused them pain. Whom do they love? Who loves them? How do they show love and care and grace both to themselves and to others?

In my experience getting to know people well happens most successfully when we spend time and share space with them, which allows us to interact with them face-to-face, observe who they are and hear their stories.

Is this necessary? Must we really go to so much trouble? Is it not enough to recognize that the Bible says we are created in God’s image? On the other hand, don’t most of us know people who look and act nothing like what we suppose someone created in God’s image should look and act like? Perhaps it is necessary to get to know people well if we are to know if some of his attributes are actually present in them.

In the next two posts in this series we will discuss getting to know other people by spending time and sharing space with them, and getting to know them by hearing and knowing their stories. If you want to get to know other people and see God in them, you don’t want to miss these posts!

God is Redeeming Life Bible & Theology Topics: image of God, loving others, Sam Riviera

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Help! I’m Trapped!

By Sam Riviera
6 Comments

Help! I’m Trapped!

Below is the fourth letter in the series, “Letters To Dad.” They are written by Sam Riviera, and are based on the true stories of people he actually knows in real life.

trapped in sex slavery

Dad,

I’m stupid. I was so wrong. I thought you and your rules were stupid. That’s why I ran away. I thought I had everything all figured out and you were treating me like a baby with your rules. “Come straight home after school. We need to know where you are at all times. Don’t try any drugs even if the kids at school give them to you. That stuff will ruin your life. You can’t go to parties unless we know where you are and the parents are there. No parties with drugs or booze.”

The first few nights I stayed at a friend’s house. Her parents didn’t know I was there. She snuck me into her bedroom through the window and I left the same way the next morning. She said we couldn’t keep doing that.

I was hanging with some kids I didn’t know near a liquor store. This guy a little older than me bought me some snacks, then he took me to a movie. After the movie he asked where he could drop me off. I told him I didn’t care. He asked if I needed a place to stay and said I could stay at his sister’s.

She was real nice to me for a couple of days. Then she told me she couldn’t afford to let me live there forever. She said her friend could help me earn my way.

Her friend says he owns me. He says he owns all of the girls in our house. I don’t know exactly where the house is, but I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere in San Diego. When we leave, he puts us in the back of a van. We can’t see out. He drops us off and then picks us up later in the van and takes us back to the house.

When we get back to the house, he locks up our clothes so we won’t try to run away. Not that we have many clothes anyway. Only our working clothes.

This is going to make you so mad, but he’s got us hooked on this stuff. Honest. I didn’t know what it was. He said it would relax me. Now I really need it and he’s my only way to get it.

trapped in human trafficking

He makes LOTS of money off us, but we don’t get to keep it. He makes thousands every week. That’s how he can afford his car and jewelry. He doesn’t stay here. He probably has a nice house somewhere, not like the dump where he keeps us. He pays a woman who looks like a truck to guard us in case we get any ideas about running off naked.

We get fed, but have nothing. They took our ID, clothes and everything else we had. I was lucky to find the paper to write this. If I’m really lucky I’ll somehow find an envelope and a stamp. Maybe I can get a stamp from one of my customers and mail the letter.

Our guard buys the newspaper every day. If you can forgive me and still want me, put an ad in the lost and found pets section that says “Found. Blue eyed basset hound near the corner of” and list some street corner a couple of blocks north of El Cajon Blvd. about a mile east of the 805. My territory is not far from there. I’ll try to walk to the corner in the ad. If I don’t show between ten and midnight, try again until I show. It might take awhile for me to get a chance to make a run for it.

You won’t recognize me, but I’ll recognize you. Bring some of my clothes.

I heard there’s a drug rehab place near uncle Glenn’s. That would get me out of town. I can’t ever come back here. They might find me. If I can make it through rehab I’ll need to go somewhere else where they can’t find me.

I’ll find a way to pay you back for the rehab and the doctor. I need to be checked out. How could I be so stupid? I am so ashamed.

Lorene

God is Redeeming Life Bible & Theology Topics: human trafficking, Letters to Dad, prostitution, Sam Riviera, slavery

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Stop Eating Meat or You’ll Go to Hell!

By Sam Riviera
49 Comments

Stop Eating Meat or You’ll Go to Hell!

“You shouldn’t eat beef. It is forbidden by the ancient holy books, the Vedas. If you eat beef you will suffer eternal punishment.”

If my Hindu friend told me that, I would think it strange. Why? Because I’m not a Hindu, and don’t follow the teachings and beliefs of Hinduism. Since I am not Hindu, I do not believe that the commands of the Vedas apply to me.

Hindu teachings

The same is true for you. If you are not Hindu, you probably sense no need or desire to follow the teachings of the Hindu Vedas, and would probably be somewhat offended if a Hindu tried to force their beliefs and practices upon you.

But let’s turn this around.

Why do we Christians expect non-Christians to follow the teachings of the Bible?

Why should we expect people who are not Christians to think that Christian beliefs apply to them?

Why would they think that our holy book, the Bible, is anything more than a collection of ancient writings that has little or nothing to do with them?

sandwich board Christian lawsHopefully, you have some friends who are not Christians. If you do, most of those friends probably do not agree with all of the Christian beliefs and practices. Since they’re not Christians, they don’t think the teachings, beliefs, and moral values of Christianity apply to them.

Of course, they probably also see that many of the people who self-identify as Christians do not act as if the teachings of Jesus or the Bible apply to Christians either. As one of our friends said, “It’s something they like to spout off about. They want to tell me how to live my life, but they don’t follow their own rules. They say ‘hate the sin, love the sinner.’ I get it that they’re calling me a sinner. I also get it that they don’t love me. The only ones they’re fooling into believing that they love me is themselves.”

A well-respected businessman in the city in which we live, upon hearing someone in a group of about a dozen people say something that indicated we are Christians, immediately blurted out “You can’t be Christians. They hate us, but you love us.” Everyone else in the group, including an atheist, immediately agreed.

Do Christians Really Care?

I think even most people who are not Christians think that Christians do not love them or care about them. Why is that? Let’s allow some of our friends to speak to that issue:

“Jesus told them to love other people. Instead they judge other people. They think God appointed them to judge me because I don’t live by their rules. Why should I? It’s their rules, not mine.”

“Most church people don’t want to have anything to do with us. The ones who do are doing it to make them feel good about themselves. They don’t really care about us.”

“They all have an agenda. Do they think they get points with God for converting someone?”

“Religion is all about politics. They’re pushing their political agenda.”

“It’s a weird religion. They do stuff their religion says they shouldn’t do. Then they tell me not to do the same stuff because they feel guilty about what they’re doing. That seems to make them feel better about what they’re doing.”

“Everyone needs a crutch. Their religion is their crutch. Religion is not my crutch. I don’t need their religion.”

“They give a few dollars to some group that claims they’re fighting the evils of (fill in the blank with words like homelessness, drinking, drug addiction, prostitution, homosexuality) because they feel guilty, but they’re afraid to come near us. Or they don’t care enough to come near. Do you think we ever see them or their money? That money never makes it to us. Those people (the groups who receive the money) spend it on their own paychecks.”

My wife and I have heard every one of those sentiments and variations of them expressed dozens, sometimes hundreds, of times. Clearly, many people have a low opinion of Christians.

If you’ve read some of the other posts I’ve written in the past, you probably know that we have hundreds of homeless friends. We have hundreds of gay friends. We know hundreds of our neighbors and are friends with many of them. Which of these people have said the things above about Christians? All of them. People from every group: from the drunk lying on the sidewalk, the meth addict, and the prostitute, to the people I rarely mention, the college professor, the doctor, the attorney, the scientist and many others.

Accidentally Doing What Jesus Says

I’m a slow learner. I tried everything religion told me to do. I invited people to church. I headed church committees. I worked part time at a church. I witnessed. I told people what the Bible says. I cooked church dinners for thousands of people. I heard lots of whining. I heard lots of complaining. Few really cared what the Bible said. They did what they pleased, not just the “sinners”, but also the church people. Something was missing.

Almost by accident we started doing what Jesus said. Love God and neighbor. Who would have thought we should do that? Apparently no church we ever attended. It’s right there in the Bible, but we never heard anyone teach it. We never heard a sermon preached about it. We rarely saw anyone doing it. We rarely heard about anyone who really did it. Well, maybe Mother Theresa, but that was like her own personal thing or something.

“I’ve been living on the street for over ten years. I’ve watched all the people and groups who come and go down here. They all have an agenda. Usually it’s trying to get us to sign up for their religion, or they’re doing their annual do-a-good-deed to make them feel better about themselves. I’ve been watching the three of you for years, trying to figure out your agenda. You don’t have one do you? You’re the only people I’ve ever seen who don’t have an agenda.”

“You’re right,” I replied. “We have no agenda. We come because we love people.”

“I knew it!” she replied.

We’ve had many similar conversations. Once our friends know we care, that we love them, the relationship changes, in good ways. We talk about what is really going on in their lives and ours. We learn about each other and from each other. We’re frequently asked questions about why we do what we do, and questions about God and Jesus. Many people don’t care much for “Christians,” but are very curious about Jesus and people who act like Jesus.

love God love others

I’m a slow learner. But I have finally learned that doing what Jesus said, loving others, is the way to live my life. I don’t need to tell people what they’re doing wrong, what my religion has to say about it, or quote Bible verses to them (most of them have already heard those verses many times), try to argue theology with them, avoid them or pretend to like them. (Everyone knows it’s pretending. Okay, my wife has a story about one person who fell for that. When she tells the story in any group, everyone thinks it’s funny.)

We love people and try to show it. If it’s genuine, most people figure it out almost immediately. We try to do what Jesus said. We try to love others with the love of Jesus, which points both us and them to Jesus.

The rest is up to God. Only God can convince them that if a person can love them in spite of anything and everything, then maybe God loves them too. Only God can help them realize “God does love me!”

So how then should we live? Well, it’s as Jesus said: “Love God with all your being” and “love your neighbor as yourself.”

It’s so simple, and yet so difficult for most of us to do.

God is Redeeming Church, Redeeming Life Bible & Theology Topics: 10 Commandments, Christian law, love others, Sam Riviera

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