In an environment that is constantly faced with the parts of humanity that most people choose to ignore: homelessness, mental illness, substance abuse,and intoxication. It can be easy for individuals at the Mission to get overwhelmed with the inequities of this world and ultimately burnout.

There is no greater potential for this to take place than one of our frontline ministries. The “Resource Advocacy Program” (RAP) is where the forgotten and invisible people of our community find care, services, and love. Upon one glimpse of this environment one would think that the staff and personnel needs to be thick-skinned and detached as to not succumb to the trials of the individuals they provide care for. Yet if you were to come to the Mission and get to know the individuals serving in RAP you would see passion, compassion, and a desire to serve the forgotten members of our community. Conversely the RAP staff is cunning and wise: they know when to put applicable boundaries with stern love.

Upon watching the RAP team at work you have to ask the question, “Why are these individuals so alive and happy about life?” They see the worst humanity has to offer on a hourly basis, yet they keep serving and keep loving.

But as you observe the team, you notice a skill that once graced our culture, yet recently has been sacrificed by the “need” for efficiency and progress. The skill is knowing how to celebrate the small stuff.

If a RAP counselor were to wait for an individual that they are working with to find complete sobriety, get off the streets, and reconcile the relationships with their family. That counselor would have very little to look forward too. Consider the average case load of the RAP counselor is rising do to an increase in poverty and homelessness in our region, and you can imagine that one would need to learn what it means to celebrate the small stuff. If a client relapses and falls out of rehab yet they come back to you for help once again you could easily see that your work may not have much of an effect. However, you could look at the situation and celebrate the fact that they indeed came back even though you have to start over with them they still came back.

How many times in life have we been frustrated and defeated when we did not have to be because we chose not to celebrate the small stuff?

Simply put, the said value of a can is only valuable to the one who is no longer hungry, having benefitted from the contents of the can.  One third of all children in El Paso county are eligible for free or reduced lunch programs at their local school; meaning the financial conditions at home are no longer adequate for sustainable nutrition. Perhaps a can has more value than you thought?

Another question to ask is what is the value of a Can?  Not a container of food, rather an “I can.” At the mission we have the opportunity to witness men who understand that they “can” live life free of addiction.  We witness the cascading effect of an individual who understands that they “can” volunteer their time.  Or how many families find a roof over their head because someone realized they “can” find room in their budget for monetary support.

What is the value of a can? To be entirely honest, it is priceless.  How many people “can” be released form their addictions, poverty, or homelessness because one day we realize that we “can” make a difference?  How many people will find hope, healing, and health when you understand that you “can” help?

A little at a time adds up! It has been said that only a spark can generate the largest of forest fires.  Be encouraged to get involved.  I assure you that people “can” receive help today; the only value missing is you!

A Letter From Pastor David

As we begin to enter into the holiday season, I wanted to take some time to write a series of letters discussing the importance of celebrating and the meaning behind the holidays. I think this is important not only in the context of covenant community, (a vital aspect of the church that Pastor Joseph has passionately conveyed to us), but also in light of what is going on in the modern world today. What better time is there than now to gather in community and find reasons to celebrate and grow in friendship?

Next week communities all over the world will begin to celebrate Halloween. This particular holiday has traditionally been difficult for the modern church to reconcile. (Rightly so when considering how people dress up as goblins, ghosts, and other mystical creatures.) Because of this, I felt it appropriate to discuss the history, cultural context, and ultimately what a mature church’s response should be toward Halloween.

Halloween dates back to ancient Ireland where the Celtic peoples celebrated the festival of Samhain (pronounced Sow-In). The Celts celebrated their new year on November 1^st, marking the end of summer and harvest and the beginning of the winter season. We know that ancient cultures were especially religious and lived their lives according to superstition significantly more so than the cultures of today. Traditionally, the Celts believed that on the eve of the new year (Oct 31^st) the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead were blurred. They believed that ghosts of the dead would return to trick people, cause trouble, and damage crops.

The Celts believed that if they dressed up in costumes and left a treat in the form of food in front of their homes, the Ghosts would not be able to recognize them, and consequently would be satisfied from the treat and leave them alone.

By the time the Romans had conquered the majority of Celtic territory in A.D. 43, the festival of Samhain had matured and mixed with other Roman festivals, but the practices remained the same. It wasn’t until the 800’s with the influence of Christianity that these practices were altered. Pope Boniface IV designated November 1^st as All Saints Day, a time to honor the Christian saints and martyrs. It is widely believed that the pope was attempting to replace the Celtic festival of the dead with a related and yet church-sanctioned holiday. The celebration was also called All Hallowmas from the Middle English “Alholowmesse” meaning All Saints Day.  The night before (Samhain) would be called All-hallows Eve and eventually Halloween. The pope instructed people to give food to the poor and needy children rather than leaving it for the spirits. This act of benevolence would eventually turn into the practice of trick or treating.

By the time Halloween came to America it had changed and developed into a secular holiday.  Its central aspect of community, unlike Thanksgiving or Christmas, provided an avenue for public celebration, a fall holiday with the purpose of uniting communities and blessing children.

Unfortunately some people have desired to get back to the ancient roots of the holiday of Samhain, with its occultic activity and mystical involvement. Yes, it is a time when individuals are more sensitive to spirituality, especially its evil aspect. However by no means does that mean that Christians and the Church should not be involved in their communities on Halloween for the purpose of providing godly oversight while not compromising our convictions.

Personally I think the Church at times has been intimidated by the holiday, and as a result responds in fear when faced with the challenges that arise with a time of mystical significance.  There is nothing more detrimental to a society than the Church deciding to be silent and abdicating its spiritual oversight of the community.  This is why, at Boulder Street Church, we have decided to approach Halloween in an entirely different manner.

It is our desire to be a blessing to the community and ultimately provide godly oversight and spiritual protection to the families and households of our city.  On Halloween we will be out in the community with hot Chocolate and cider to provide comfort and safety to the families and children in our community.  This is a great opportunity to be a visible influence of blessing to those around us.

Of course if your family has other Halloween traditions such as going to a churches Harvest Festival be encouraged to do so. Regardless of what we choose to do let us remember to keep in our prayers that God will empower his church and allow his presence and righteousness to fill the city.

I had the incredible opportunity to grow up with parents who were missionaries.  At times our family was faced with spiritual challenges–challenges that stemmed from other religions, such as Hinduism or Buddhism, or simply challenges to our faith when our father was on a dangerous plane ride or visiting another hostile village.  It was during this time that I learned a very simple but profound truth that I will leave you with: Greater is he who is in you than he who is in the world. I think having this understanding can empower us to be a mature Christian community that is able to act in the calling that God calls us to.

“You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world,” (1 John 4:4).

As I climb the mountains so do I fall.

The days can be dry and yet full of energy that is witnessed in an august thunderstorm. It is a time of extremes. Extremes in love extremes in loyalties, what do we become if at the end of the day we are not the one who woke up in the morning. 

The significance of living this day in age will not be known for days to come. However to not significantly live is to intimidate the swift coming of tomorrow. We must endeavor to do all that we must do and in the doing we will undo the futility of compromise in the dread of insignificant living.

It is the doing that one strives to accomplish meaning and purpose. We approach it with such stalwart vigor that we at times forget to penetrate past our own comforts and preconceived notions of what one does when one starts doing. Doing this subsequently means that we have not done at all; rather just operate in the routine of the customs that our life has become.

What I did to Mrs. Adams 

I can remember that night like it just happened.  She was my neighbor.  We called her Mrs. Adams.  She was very nice and always loved children.  Being a lonely widow of a reverend we always heard her repeat the story about the old cherry rocking chair that her husband had built.  On his deathbed he put his hand up to her cheek and promised her that he would always be sitting in that chair.

One day while I was walking down the abbey a kid fell while playing in the ditch along the roadside. I ran up to him and saw that it was Timmy one of the more underprivileged kids in town. His pants tore and he bloodied up his knee. I picked him up and carried him to Mrs. Adams house. She heard his crying and ran outside, she washed him and I sowed up the hole in the pants. Just as I began to walk him home she said, “You can’t leave yet, at least let me make a meal for you.” I don’t think I ever saw anyone so grateful for a real meal as Timmy was that day. She gave him an old pair of the reverend’s pants and said, “These are a little big, but a boy as strong as you will grow into them some day”. She then went to the bookshelf and pulled out her Bible and opened it. Inside was some money that she had saved up. She took two dollars and gave them to Timmy and told him to buy some new pants and food for his family. 

While he was eating Mrs. Adams asked me how I was doing and I told her that I wanted to start writing a weekly paper and tell of the events that happen in this town. I remember saying the remark, “I want everyone to know just how good people are”. She thought it was an excellent idea and said if I ever needed to write a story on how the town church was built I could come to her.  I responded “Mrs. Adams, I think that’s where I will start, thank you”. After Timmy was fed I walked him to the end of the road and sent him on his way. 

That night as I went to sleep to the sound of distant thunder and lightening, something very strange happened.  In my sleep I dreamed of hearing a low rumble of voices. Then, the rumble woke me up.  I could not understand what it was at first.  It grew louder and closer into the sound of a mob.  Suddenly I jumped out of my bed.  By now the yelling had become louder and more distinct.  I frantically threw on my overalls, grabbed my trusty 1685 issue flintlock rifle and ran outside.

Just down the abbey was a mob with angry faces.  In the darkness their features seemed stark and stretched.  They had the look of being afraid of even themselves.  A hypnotic like trance took control of their emotions.  I knew something serious was about to happen.  As they came closer their shouts became clearer and louder.  Stunned in horror my body was frozen to the chants, the torches and their night lit faces.  They were yelling, “Witch!  Witch!  Witch!” over and over.

My heart sank and raced at the same time.  Could it be that I might have to face the most evil of beings in the middle of that night?  I was so scared and felt as if my own life was in danger.  A real living witch might be too much for me.  My knees trembled and my throat dried.  As the muscles in my back tensed up I could feel my thumb reaching for the hammer on my rifle. It crawled over the metal catch and I heard the familiar “click…click” of my gun being set to fire.  My right index finger reached out and ever so carefully seated against the cold trigger. 

As the mob passed by me I felt the security of moving in their direction as if some outside force was controlling my step. The words   “Burn the witch!” slowly began to flow out of my convicted mouth, not only did this fuel my passion but it also terrified me, what was I saying how could I say those words?  As we marched on down to the end of the abbey we took a turn towards Mrs. Adams’ estate.  I was struck with confusion.  My finger swiftly came off the trigger and I stopped.  I said to myself we must have the wrong place. Just then the mob broke out into a steady charge. As they stormed the house I was left behind and started to watch as everything unfolded. They grabbed the old widow and dragged her outside to tie her up.  I watched in stunned disbelief as they started beating her.  They picked up stones and threw them at her. I whispered while surrounded by panic, “She’s just an old lonely woman, how can they be doing this to her?”

A man suddenly shouted, “Hoist her up!”  As they did so, they ripped her clothes off, and doused her in lamp oil.  Then they did the unthinkable; they brought out the old cherry rocking chair.  With an old yoke they smashed it up and piled the broken pieces under her.  With the torches they lit the wood while shouting and crying out chants of victory over the evil witch.  Among the chants I heard cruel and dark exclamations such as, “You are being burned by your own husband, you old witch!”

As the whole world seemed to be coming apart before my own eyes I could not move. I have the power to stop this, I can shoot her and it would be all over but I couldn’t. It was as if I had some curiosity in watching.  It was so vivid and intense I just stood there. None of this was real, how could it be real? I know for a fact that I would not stand for this kind of injustice. I chose not to believe that this was happening. Finally, the shrieks and screams of Mrs. Adams turned to ashes.  A dark rain started to fall and the mob set fire to her large estate. Then reality struck me.  I realized that if this was just a dream, why could I taste the burnt ashes in my nose and mouth?  How could I help but feel the heat of the fire on my face? 

My thoughts were interrupted as the mob cried, “Hurray!”  I watched as they slowly left the estate.  Immobilized, I still felt paralyzed and could not move as if struck by a bolt of lightening.  I fell to the ground and the mud flooded into my gun. Sitting alone and perplexed after what seemed like an eternity I gathered what strength I could and came to my knees.  I could feel the warm tears of terror and regret as they ran down my face side-by-side with the cold, spine-chilling rain.   In the tears and the mud I screamed out “Why?”

The fire gradually burned itself out and the rain slowly stopped.  With great effort I got to my feet and started the walk back towards home.  That night I could not find sleep.

As the dawn broke over the horizon, everyone appeared extremely gloomy.  This I could not understand, for just the night before they were all cheering and full of wild excitement.  As a man passed by I asked him what was the matter.  Choking on his own words he said, “Last night we killed an innocent woman.”

With more confusion I interrupted and said, “I was there.  I heard you with the others cry out that she was a witch.”

“No!” he screamed.  “She was not a witch.  We thought she had put a spell on the little boy she had cared for just the other day. The horrific thought shot into my head (this couldn’t be Timmy the same boy I carried over to her house for bandages and a warm meal.)   After we killed her, the boy told us he lied about her.  He said he felt bad that he had said those things. He only intended to get some sympathy for his family and maybe some food as well.  He confessed that Widow Adams didn’t really put a spell on him.”

It was Timmy. My vision began to spiral out of focus as I stumbled towards an old oak for balance at the side of the road.  Very softly I whispered a little prayer, half to myself and half ashamed to the Almighty, “I’m sorry Mrs. Adams.” Full of shame and regret I fell to my knees and wept. 

I am not one for introductions as a matter of fact I think that if not done right they can be a significant waste of time. However I agree and recognize their importance in society so to comply with manners I shall not disregard the pleasantries.

My name is David Wilson and I am a Christian, nothing more, and nothing less. I either hate the world in what I hope is righteous disgust or I embrace it and desire the felling of full lungs with morning air.

I believe in life and the sacred nature of it, to not is to disregard reality. Tomorrow is coming so we must constantly remember the eternity that lay before us. I carry strong opinions and have deep emotions; depending on the result of my actions it’s either my deepest curse or the most liberating of gifts. One thing I know is that it is fragile.

There is nothing more respectful in the world than a person who falls, learns to continue living and ultimately rises again. Unfortunately it rarely happens. On that note there is nothing more disrespectful in this world than Tea and Sympathy (future entry I am sure).

I believe in the power of the local church and remember her nature: One, Holy, Apostolic, and Universal, my life is devoted to champion her cause. However the thing in this world I am most angry at is the church. It is confounding to me how an innately loving group of people and at the same time the single largest group of people on earth can look at a dying world offer smiles and words of encouragement then go back to the comfort of their own community.

We Christians have learned to hide from grit seek our own coziness and calm just as a person desires to stay in the bliss of a worm bed on a cold morning – Tea and Sympathy.

My personality is one of extremes; I drink copious amounts of coffee (black) and get depressed if away from the mountains for any extended period of time. Respectfully I regard the classic nature of life, I press my coffee instead of brew it, never a tea bag always loose leaf, when I do shave its with a razor and badger brush.

Fall and winter refresh me summer makes me tired and spring I always look forward to but find it empty and short (I live in Colorado; short springs and the flowers don’t bloom till June anyway) I enjoy a smooth pipe and a bold cigar and will always favor microbrews especially if its mine or one of my friends.

Soon I will be married to a woman who is unique and purely beautiful. She has a strong wit tempered by fierce compassion. With her I believe I can take on the world, it is because of her that I am I. She has awakened my soul and nurtured my desires. Truly she has proven her self worthily to live and walk this world.

If she is not around I truly believe I will lose faith in the rising of the sun.

My Name is David Wilson I am a Christian, nothing more, and nothing less.