The Multi-Something Church

This past Sunday, we visited a new church plant that has a vision of reaching downtown LA, an area which is notorious for the vast amount of urban poverty it houses on what is known as Skid Row. I've recently taken an interest in learning more about Skid Row after a variety of resources brought my attention to it- particularly, reports on NPR, my sociologist friend Naomi who studies urban poverty, Michael Moore's Sicko, and from reading The Soloist by LA Times columnist Steve Lopez. I was shocked that a city with as much glitz and glamor as LA could be so neglectful in its urban planning as to close mental hospitals and government run social programs, leaving thousands upon thousands of mentally unstable and sick homeless people on the streets. We were curious about what a "multi-ethnic, multi-socioeconomic" church in downtown LA would be like.

The experience left me with a lot of questions about the concept of a "multi-something" church. Especially as a result of going to Ethnos in SD, I love the idea of the multi-ethnic church, though there is of course the need for culture-specific churches also. Something about the thought of worshiping with other believers where you have little in common but your love for Jesus is really exciting to me. I really believe that God's heart is for all people groups, languages, and cultures, and if that's the case, I want to be part of a church that pursues this part of God's heart in a society where being in community with people different than yourself is completely unnatural. And, the call to be multi-socioeconomic is an important one too. Jesus' ministry obviously reached a wide variety of demographics- tax collectors, fishermen, lepers, prostitutes. I have far less experience on this one though.

I suppose the challenge of building diversity socioeconomically is even harder than building a church that is multi-ethnic. There are often some signs of ethnic diversity in neighborhoods of the same income level. But this doesn't change the fact that neighborhoods and physical communities are often built along socioeconomic lines. So how do we expect, say middle to upper class folks to be in spiritual community with people who might be classified as poor- people who don't have homes, cars, live off welfare or nothing at all, and spend their days looking for a decent place to sleep?

I like to think that I'm an open-minded person, that I hold few biases in my mind, and that I care about things social issues and urban poverty. But here's my confession: when I really think about it, this is the most unnatural concept for a middle-class American like myself. Being in spiritual community with others implies vulnerability and brokenness together, living life together, sharing in each other's struggles, loving each other, supporting each other. At least, that's what I want from being in a church community. I picture myself in this kind of setting, trying to understand the struggles of being a homeless person in downtown LA, being in community with them, being friends with them. I think it is safe to say that I have no idea what that's like. And I think I can also say that even though I say that I care, and I think I care, when I really think about it I'm not sure that I really care enough to let it invade my "safe zone." In fact, when I really think about it, I realize that I primarily go to church for selfish reasons- to meet God, yes, but also be fed and cared for and find people that I have things in common with. When I really think about it, I'm willing to care about the poor until it inconveniences me. I guess I want my Sunday mornings to be comfortable and not have to deal with the burden of poverty and homelessness every week. I want to meet people that I get along with, like to hang out in the same kinds of places I do, and have similar interests and goals. I came to this conclusion after a very unsettling feeling in my heart told me that somewhere in my supposedly liberal, compassionate, and open-minded thinking, there is hypocrisy.

Another thing left me with a funny feeling as we left the service. Comments from a few people we talked to casually- questions like, "Do you guys live in the lofts?" and "We need people like you at this church!" What were these comments based off of? There was very little small talk about what we did for a living or what we were doing in LA. Mostly I felt that many assumptions were made about our socioeconomic background based on our ethnicity and appearanace. Did Paul and I scream that we were a well-educated, middle-class Asian-American yuppie couple just by the way we look? Ok, fair enough. I made a half-joking comment to Paul on the way home- "We must look rich today or something." He pointed to a stain on his shirt and the fact that we were both wearing flip-flops and we laughed. But it was true. They made assumptions about us based on a combination of first impressions, whether it be race/ethnicity or the way we dressed, talked and carried ourselves. The assumptions were correct to some extent (although we don't live in the lofts downtown) yet seemed to go against the very spirit of the community. It made me feel that there was already a division in the church between those who obviously have and those who obviously do not. Because in reality, they don't need us at the church. We need the church. We need to be reminded that poverty is not something you can tuck away and not think about on Sunday mornings, or every other day for that matter. If you really do care, then you don't care if it makes you uncomfortable and inconvenienced. If I really believe that God's heart is for all peoples, I should want to see some of that shalom that Tim Keller always talks about on earth, right here, right now.

I wonder if it's really possible to create the kind of community that this church is envisioning. A place where yuppies who live in the new downtown lofts come to worship with people living on the streets. This church has great intentions and my purpose in writing this is not to knock their vision or the execution of that vision. I really believe their vision is a big part of God's heart. I shouldn't be looking for a church where I make friends easily and have a ton of things in common with the other people there. I should be looking for a place that helps me live out Jesus' teachings to their fullest. And while we're not certain that we're going to go to this particular church, I'm thankful that it forced me to think honestly about what goes on in my heart and the natural biases and fears that exist there.

Family Time

It was great to hang out with my parents and brother this weekend. Moving a little bit north means that we are now only about 5 hours from my parents house, and 20 minutes from my brother. Danny got baptized at his church here in LA the day after his 20th birthday! There was a lot to celebrate. And in our family, that means food...



We discovered the awesomeness known as Monterey Park. Here, some of the delectable dishes that landed on our table. Prawns and walnuts, spicy jellyfish with asparagus, and the house special crab, which was seasoned with some sort of salty tasty goodness and fried. YUM.



Danny gets dunked in the pool at the Marriot! His church meets at the hotel and they used the swimming pool as the baptism place. It was pretty funny to see some tourists in the hot tub watching the whole thing. It was beautiful to see a full immersion-style baptism again. I feel like it communicates a lot more about the symbolism of baptism than just the sprinkling on the head. I was so proud of my brother for making this decision on his own.



Us with Danny after his dunking



This is generally my expression whenever I eat really good dim sum. I did a little dance after our meal and sang my "I love LA" song.



All you can eat Korean BBQ for dinner. The LA style is to wrap it with rice paper crepes, kind of like won-ton wrappers. SO good. My brother is a monster at these places and easily polishes off two platters of meat.



My parents sitting on the curb outside our place. A nice quality weekend together.

Just so

Well, it took me about a week, but the last box is unpacked, the floor is mopped, the styrofoam particles are dustbusted, the pictures are up on the walls, the new furniture is assembled, and everything is in its right place.

I love putting things in their correct places and am a constant tidy-upper. So I thought unpacking all our stuff would be tons of fun. It wasn't that fun. We had to get creative in learning how to use a smaller space again. And with Paul working from home (out of our storage closet turned office- it sounds awful, but it's actually really cool), that took away lots of valuable space for other stuff that might have gone there. But we got creative and have used every nook and cranny and now we just can't accumulate anything else because there simply isn't room. And I think I kind of like it that way. Somehow, everything seemed to fit together like a giant jigsaw puzzle. It felt like we were saying this over and over again- It fits just so. That was just so. This was just so. Everything was, and is, just so.

And so I realize that everything in my life has been just so. This experience has led to that realization has led to this action has led to this outcome. This closed door led to this emotional process which led to this rational thinking which led to that particular choice. And so on and so forth. Somehow we also feel that this little neck of the woods we've landed on in LA fits us just so right now and we are really loving it. To fit in and feel your way around in a new place means you take on some of that city's values and culture. And while some things still perplex me about LA (there seem to be about 9 different rush hours), other things seem to be full of excellence (i.e. Vancouver-trained dim sum chefs) and excitement (microbrewery down the street) and I realize how much I love the diversity and color (we're right in between Filipino town and Armenia town) that a big city breathes day in and day out. A part of me feels alive again, the way it did in New York, stimulated by all the people and places so different from myself and contrary to my comfort zone. I feel my perspective change when I see the lady with a cart rummaging through our recycle bin for cans, making me step out of my self-centeredness for a moment. I feel my senses burst with excitement at seeing a gorgeous LA sunset (they are really nice here for some reason- must be the smog), tasting Cantonese-style deep fried crab (we discovered Monterey Park this weekend when my parents were in town), or hearing my neighbor down the street killing it on his drum set. I like hearing the ice cream truck come around at about 4 o'clock every day playing some sort of messed up variation on the Forrest Gump theme. I'm amused that the weather lady on the local news screams cleavage and botox. As arbitrary as they are, these are the kinds of things that make a city what it is and I'm soaking it all in. There was a sermon by Tim Keller that I heard awhile back that convinced me wholeheartedly that Christians should live in the heart of their city, love the city, pray for their city, and be the best civic participants of their city. I'm hoping that no matter where life leads I'll have the chance to do that and never forget how much God's heart breaks for the lady with the cart, the ice cream man, the weather lady, and the neighbor playing the drums. And so it starts here, in a neighborhood called Silver Lake in the heart of Los Angeles.

Pictures to come of this weekend when my parents were in town for my brother's baptism...it was full of, well you guessed it, lots and lots of tasty food.