In case you’re interested, my flight leaves Toronto at 1:30pm on Sunday aboard Air Canada #7976. It’s a direct flight, and hopefully it will be pretty smooth. They are calling for rain/thunderstorms here in Toronto for tomorrow morning and afternoon, and I’m not too big a fan of turbulence…

Many of the dark things that plague the inner-city of Toronto can be found right in our backyards of rural and suburban communities through the state of North Carolina. There are homeless people in the Triangle. There are poor people living in run-down and inadequate housing throughout the state. There are people who have to choose between paying this month’s rent or buying food for their family. There are people living with HIV and dying of AIDS all around us.

One thing that many people think of happening only in the mega-city is human trafficking. Part of CSM’s prayer tour is driving down Yonge Street and pointing out the approximately 25 “massage parlors” on the 2nd floor of many buildings. These shops are anything but a massage parlor. In fact, they are brothels where immigrant women are tricked into the sex trade and are forced into prostitution. Many of the women come from third-world countries and are promised a new and better life in Canada. The people making these promises tell the women that they will have all of their paperwork and immigration documents taken care of. When the women (and men as well) arrive in Canada, somehow their paperwork has “fallen through” and they become illegal residents of the country. The seemingly nice and caring people who promised them a better life in Toronto then show their true colors by giving the women two options: 1) be arrested and then deported back to their home countries where war, famine, and oppression rule, or 2) work in a “massage parlor” for the rest of their lives. Because of their situations back home, most make the forced choice to stay in the city and sell themselves against their wills. Everyone knows that the massage parlors are no such thing, but the authorities rarely do anything about it.

Human trafficking can also involve people being forced into workplace slavery – on farms, in sweatshops, and mega-corporations. Basically, human trafficking is modern-day slavery and it happens on a much larger and frequent scale than you may think. And, the sad thing is that it is occuring in our very own state, in our very own communities.

NC Stop Human Trafficking is a website devoted to advocacy and prevention of human trafficking in the state of North Carolina. I encourage you to check the website out and educate yourself. Because if we – the average citizens – do not care about this hienous industry, then who will? Change starts with you. And, change starts with me.

Another great organization that I support is Amnesty International – a global network of socially concerned peoples who work for basic human rights regardless of race, gender, national origin, sexual orientation, economic status, or religious background. Amnesty operates under the belief that all people are entitled to be treated equally and fairly, and they strive to make that dream a reality. They frequently advocate for, protest on behalf of, and raise financial support for victims of political imprisonment, war crimes, religious persecution, human trafficking, and discrimination on any level.

The last day was one of picture-taking, and Brother John – the Franciscan friar who runs the place and whom I’m secretively BFF with – let me wear his habit! He told me that a person who wears a monk’s habit without actually being a monk always ends up wearing the robe for the rest of his life! I told him that’s impossible since I’m Baptist, but he said there’s always time to convert! Too funny…

As I start to look back on the weeks of June and July and reflect on the coming two weeks ahead, it strikes me how much I’ve changed over the course of the summer. I’ve done so much in Toronto with different ministry sites in and around the city; I’ve met so many people from across North America who came to serve with CSM and who call the streets of Toronto home; I’ve encountered God where I least expect to find God; I’ve come a little further along in my journey of discovering my calling in life; and I’ve gained a new set of life-long friends in the people I’ve shared a home with for the past 2 months.

My city directors have really encouraged me to start thinking about the “re-entry” process that I will most definitely find myself going through once I arrive back in NC. Because of the many different experiences I’ve had while in the inner-city, I am going home a changed person. My views of poverty, welfare, stereotypes, prejudice, and people have changed. My opinion on how ministry should be done has probably changed. The way I see my own life has definitely changed. Even just the experience of living in Canada has changed me – I now see the importance of “going green” as a lifestyle change, I appreciate other cultures and beliefs more intensely, and I see more clearly how the United States is viewed outside of its borders. There’s no getting around the fact that I have changed in the past two months…but the communities that I’m going back to most likely have not changed. And, that’s going to be the most difficult part of adapting to life back home.

Even though Toronto has molded me into a more mature person in my faith and social awareness, it is important for me and for my friends and family to remember that I’m still the same Jason that left seven weeks ago. I haven’t lost my southern accent, I still like pig pickin’s, I can’t wait to drive my truck, and I’m REALLY looking forward to being back at Campbell. I’ve missed home and my school communities so much over the summer, and I’ve been proud to exclaim that I’m a southerner from the states living in Canada!

But, the re-entry is going to be a challenge. Poverty in NC looks a lot different than the poverty and despair that surrounds me here in the downtown core of Toronto. I need to start thinking of practical ways to apply the lessons I’ve learned here in Canada to my communities back in Harrells, Buies Creek, and Raleigh. I need to not forget the stories I’ve heard and the people I’ve served here in Toronto, but I need to be prepared to hear new stories and serve new people back in NC. And, I need to realize that not everyone is going to understand what it was that I did in Canada. While I can certainly try to explain all I want to, I have to accept the fact that many people will never truly understand my ministry this summer. And, that’s okay.

I do however want to thank everyone who has been faithfully reading my blog posts over the past months. It’s been really encouraging and inspiring to know that people back home care about the work I’m doing and the way God is moving in and through me to affect change for the people who need God the most in the city. While you may or may not understand what my actual job was this summer, I’m glad that you’ve been along the ride that God has taken me on personally and spiritually. I can’t wait to see all of you again in August!

But, I’m learning so much more…

Before I came to Toronto, I told myself that I really wanted this summer as a city host to confirm the fact that I am truly called into full-time ministry (I’m starting seminary in the fall to work on a Master of Divinity in Urban and Social Ministry) or confirm the fact that I am not called into full-time ministry. I prayed openly and honestly that God would guide me this summer as I make important decisions that will affect the rest of my adult life. As I got to Toronto, and as I started serving the people of the downtown core, all I saw around me was poverty, despair, brokenness, judgment, prejudice, and unlove. My heart constantly broke for the people that the police, fire department, and emergency personnel ignored because of their circumstance as homeless. I fell to my knees in pain for those who hungered or thirst outside of restaurants where people with money dined on fancy china and eat exquisite meals. As a host, I constantly talked about my groups becoming the light that could cast out the shadows that plagued the city, but personally all I could see was the darkness. I started to think that this experience was showing me that I could not be a minister. What could a minister do? How is a minister supposed to effect real, tangible change for the people whom society ignores? I slowly began to run away from my calling.

I soon realized though – through the groups I hosted, people I talked to at my anchor site, and situations back home and at school – that no matter how hard and fast I tried to run away from God and God’s calling for me, God continued to run faster and chase harder after me. People were put in my path at perfect times in order to inspire and encourage me. Groups came at the perfect time to teach me once again to laugh amidst the tears. Stories were shared at the perfect time to remind me of the importance of prayer, faith, and dancing with God. People advocated on my behalf at the perfect time to show me that God is moving and working in my life to prepare the way for me. Scholarships were given to me at the perfect time to show me that God is providing for me at seminary and beyond. Things began to add up. God was beginning to show me the way – clearly and confidently. The initial prayer that I had (that this summer would show me the true direction of my life) was beginning to be answered.

I have described my faith journey as a boat lost in the fog. The boat is out to sea, but is trying to return to shore. There’s a lighthouse out there guiding vessels back to land, but the fog is obstructing the view of the light. The water is rough at some times and calm at others. The boat floats by day and rocks by night.

I’m the boat. The lighthouse is God. The shore is certainty, calling, faith, dance, prayer, affirmation, love, hope. The ocean is my life, my dreams, my fears, my family, my friends, my paths. The day is all things good – laughter, joy, etc. The night is all things not so good – poverty, hunger, pain, suffering. The fog is my doubt, my concerns, my inhibitions, my rationality, my intellectual curiosity.

At times, the fog is thick and doesn’t allow the light from the lighthouse to be seen at all. The waves crash back and forth against me, and I move closer to shore, further away from shore, closer to shore, back out again, so on and so on. For most of my life, I’ve only caught glimpses of the shoreline, but I’ve never been able to see it clearly nor reach it fully. Now – through the experiences I’m having in Toronto, the people I’m meeting, and the things God is putting into my life – the fog is beginning to lift. I’m starting to see the lighthouse. The shore is still not completely visible, but I’m beginning to be confident in the direction I should go. I’m getting closer. And, that’s exciting.

So, all that’s to say that God is working in powerful ways this summer – in me, in the city, in the groups I host, and in the people I meet. CSM is truly a blessing on my life, and the people who come through CSM are a part of that blessing. All I can say is thank you.

Each CSM city host (me, Jake, Jessica, Jennifer, and Jemica) has their own “anchor site” for the summer, which is a ministry site (soup kitchen, homeless shelter, etc.) that we specificially go to each day of each week for the entire summer. The group assigned to us as a host will work at this site for the entirety of the week, and we are able to form really special bonds with the people at our anchor site because they see us and we serve with them 5 days a week for about 8 weeks. My anchor site is a place in Parkdale (a neighbor on the west end of the city near the intersection of Queen Street and Lansdowne Street) known as St. Francis Table. It is best described as a “restaurant for the homeless”.

St. Francis Table has quickly and powerfully become my favorite place to be and serve at in the entire city. I’ve been working there for 3 weeks now, and I have never gotten tired of the work that we do there from 3pm to 7pm Monday through Thursday and 10am to 1pm on Friday. The staff at St. Francis Table is absolutely amazing, and the mission and ministry of the place truly brings me hope for the world.

Instead of being a free drop-in soup kitchen with an institutionalized atmosphere and little feeling of community, St. Francis Table looks and operates like a real restaurant. In fact, it is a licensed restaurant in the city of Toronto. It’s really small and quaint, and reminds me a lot of a small Italian bistro. Patrons (who are mostly homeless, but some include elderly people, students, struggling musicians, etc.) pay $1 to get a full-course meal with full restaurant service. This includes a wait staff, bussers, and EXCELLENT food. Patrons get to sit with each other at four-person tables, and are welcome to sit as long as they like while the restaurant is open.

Volunteers – such as myself and the groups I take to St. Francis – help prepare and cook the food, set up the restaurant, act as waiters and waitresses, be steamtable operators, make tea and coffee, serve desserts, and chat with those who have come to dine at our cozy little eatery. I absolutely loving being a waiter at St. Francis. A patron will sit at one of my tables, I’ll greet them and bring them a glass of water and silverware, ask them what choice of a meal they would like (there are usually two choices of EXCELLENT food), bring them their meal after it’s been plated on very nice china, make them tea or coffee to order, bring out dessert, and then just shoot the breeze over easy conversation.

What amazes me about St. Francis Table is it’s mission. The restaurant is operated by Capuchin monks (an order of Franciscan monks in the Roman Catholic church), and it serves to not only feed the hungry, but to offer the homeless, downtrodden, and marginalized a sense of dignity and self-worth by requiring a monetary donation ($1) that in turn allows the patrons to expect quality service from the wait staff and cooks. The restaurant is very clear that it is not out to save the world and end hunger. Instead, it openly and unashamedly preaches a social gospel of love, acceptance, and empowerment through its service to the poor of Toronto. Only a small number of people are served at the evening meal (anywhere from 75 to 140 people over an hour and a half), but those people get treated the same as people who have the money to afford nice meals with those they love in fancy restaurants. St. Francis may not be able to feed all those starving in the city, but they at least give dignity and respect to the few that come through their doors.

I think that I’ve been getting too caught up (if that’s even a bad thing) on the negative sides of inner-city life. I see and meet a lot of people who have lived and/or continue to live extremely difficult lives on the street, in shelters, or wherever. I get so frustrated with the systems that keep people in the unfortunate circumstances that they find themselves in, and I don’t understand why people in the government don’t do anything to help. I’ve even started to discern a very stong push towards public policy and legal affairs for those who cannot afford to fight for themselves. The fact remains, though, that I too often see the “bad” parts of life while I’m on the street. I’ve been ignoring the “good” parts.

Blythefield Hills Baptist has reminded me to see both sides of life. I should definitely continue to be angry, shocked, sad, and upset with what my friends on the street have to deal with on a continuing, daily basis. But, I should also continue to laugh with them, tell stories with them, have random dance parties in the middle of soup kitchens, sing random songs while serving food, and tell cannibal jokes while riding through downtown.

Life sometimes isn’t fair for some people. And, that’s unfortunate. We should never give up on them. But, we shouldn’t become so overburdened that we fail to see our own blessedness. God has given more than enough to me, and I should remember to use the gifts and talents that God has given me to serve those in need, and also serve my friends, family, and myself. I should continue to laugh.

However, I now realize that it’s not enough to just hope. We – as people of faith – must act. The gospel has radical social implications, not just spiritual truths. We (you and I) must work towards the fulfillment of Christ’s promise. We cannot sit idly by and let the world pass us by. I think Jesus would be pissed off with us if we did. We can’t be Pharisees following the rule of religion but never applying the ethic of love. I do feel that God has a specific calling and plan for my life, but whatever I end up doing I must do for the betterment of humanity. I must see Christ in all that I do in life. I must live and work as if I were living and working to serve Christ in every person I meet because I am meeting Christ in every person I encounter.

I feel like I was a part of Nancy’s story that night for a specific reason. I think that God was breathing and moving that night. I’ve struggled with deciphering my vocational call for a long time. I’ve considered many careers, and I started to feel that God was calling me to professional ministry during my freshman year of university. I don’t think that God’s calling for my life is changing, but I do think I’m starting to see things I little more clearly. The fog is beginning to lift. Professional ministry may not be what I’m supposed to do. I get too angry with situations like Nancy’s. I want to stand up for Nancy and give a voice to the voiceless. I want to fight for those with no fight left. As I dance with God, I slowly realize how intricate the moves are. Even the smallest steps are important and make all the difference. Nancy was one person on one street in one city on one night. But, her story from that night will forever shape my life.

Nancy will most likely never read this post. But, I want her to know that I’m thinking about her. I’m concerned for her. I want her to be safe, healthy, and comfortable. I don’t want to think about her sleeping on the pavement while her swollen face throbs with pain and her heart may cry out in anguish. But, I am thinking about her on the streets tonight. And, I’ll continue to think about her on the streets. Why? Because I saw something I never want to see again. I saw Christ beaten, broken, and ignored by countless people around him. I saw God’s humanity and willingness to come to the lowest place in order to show us what is wrong with us. It also deeply moved me to almost tears because most likely Nancy is someone’s mother, sister, cousin, or friend. Somewhere out there in the big world we inhabit, Nancy has family. But, they may never know how she is being treated on the streets of Toronto. I couldn’t and wouldn’t want to imagine anyone from my family in that situation. Through Nancy, I realize how truly blessed my family and myself are.

Don’t worry, Nancy. I’m thinking of you.

After the day of volunteering was finished for my group from Michigan, we decided to walk down King Street to Tim Horton’s (a very popular Canadian coffee shop) to get a snack around 11pm. The entire group of 19 people went along with myself, Jessica, and Jemica. On the way we passed a visibly homeless person lying on the street. We assumed they were just sleeping and walked on past. When we left Tim Horton’s about 45 minutes later, the person was in the same position as before. Jessica and Jemica went ahead to check on them, and once I saw that they were getting no response from the person, I stopped the group a few yards from the scene and went to help.

We yelled at the person loudly to try to wake them up, but got no response over a period of about three to five minutes. A guy walked past us and told us that the person had been lying there for over 6 hours. We could tell by the person’s feet (no shoes) and hands that it was a woman, but her face was hidden by the hood of her sweatshirt. We’ve been trained to not shake or touch a person lying on the street, because they may wake up and instinctively punch, so we were hesitant to shake her. Fortunately, another person came along side of us and shook her fairly forcefully for about 30 seconds, but she never woke up or even twitched. We could tell that she was breathing, and the person who shook her said she had a pulse. As my group looked on, Jessica, Jemica, and I started to worry that this woman had overdosed on alcohol or drugs. In the back of my mind I was thinking something worse – perhaps she had been raped and dumped at this corner. We knew that we couldn’t walk away from this scene, so after calling our city director, I called 911.

I half expected 911 to write me off for calling in a homeless woman. But the guy on the other end of the line was very respectful and said that I did the right thing by reporting an emergency. As I was on the phone, a homeless man came up to us and asked what we were doing to his wife. We told him that she was unconscious, but he didn’t believe us. The 911 responder told me to try to move the woman, but her “husband” wouldn’t really cooperate with any of us. The responder told me that we should move away from her in order to protect ourselves from the other man. He reached down to touch her, and she woke up, sat up, and started talking. After about 5 minutes, the fire department, ambulance, and police arrived at the corner of King Street and Church Street where we were located. The firemen came up to us first saying, “Oh, it’s Nancy again. We’ve already been here an hour ago.” Apparently, the emergency personnel had already been called to this scene by other concerned individuals.

Nancy told us that she had been beaten with a brick, and the side of her face was severely swollen. She may have had a broken jaw. Her “husband” (who was harmless to us) had also been beaten up. They told us that natives had done that to them, and that they were in a lot of pain. The firemen left the scene, and the paramedics offered to take Nancy to the hospital, but she declined. The police never got out of their car. After making sure that Nancy and her “husband” were going to be alright, we left the scene as well.

What frustrates me the most is the emergency personnels’ response to Nancy and her “husband”. The paramedics knew that her jaw was broken and that she had an infection. One eye was swollen shut, and she told us the other eye constantly leaked. She said she had a bad bruise on the back of her head, and she had a headache. Her “husband” also had visible bruises on his face and eyes. Yet, the paramedics didn’t leave anything with them. No water, no aspirin, no bandages, nothing. They joked with Nancy about her keeping them from their midnight snacks. They told her and her “husband” to find a “safe spot and sleep there”.

I asked Nancy’s “husband” if he wanted to report the beating to the police. He responded, “Why? What would they do? Do you really think that they would investigate two homeless people being beaten up by other homeless people?” I had hoped that the Toronto Police Department’s slogan “To Serve and Protect” was true. Now, I’m not so sure. Because as I was having this conversation, the paramedics were chit-chatting with the police officers who remained in their cruiser at the corner of the street. The police never got out of their car, never questioned Nancy or her “husband”, never questioned us, and left without doing a thing to help. So, in effect, Nancy’s “husband” was correct. The police weren’t going to do anything. Why should they waste their time on homeless people when people who matter – people with money, houses, families – may or may not be in trouble.

Jessica, Jemica, and I didn’t get back to the church until about 12:45am. I had to write about this experience immediately because the lesson I learned is so valuable. I want everyone to be treated equally, fairly, with dignity and respect. I want the police, firefighters, and paramedics to serve a homeless person the same way they would serve me. I want society to be open to everyone, loving of everyone, and caring for everyone. Tonight I learned that my hope is just that – a hope. It’s not reality. Our society is warped, corrupted, money-centered, and not equal in the least bit. Economic situation and standing can greatly affect your rank in the societal totem pole. Being poor does mean that you are treated differently, even by those whose job it is to protect you.

I’m so disgusted.

I get very little sleep, I’m away from my home-away-from-home for about 15 hours a day, and the internet hasn’t been working lately. But, I promise to blog all about this week on Saturday…