Social Gospel

A church in Buffalo, New York has found a unique way to bless its local community—open a Subway franchise in its building. In a riff off the popular TV show, Undercover Boss, in which business leaders from large corporations spend several days working alongside lower-level employees, Don Fertman, Subway's Chief Development Officer, goes undercover at several locations across the United States. Most of the episode includes your typical Undercover Boss fare—bumbling executive, dedicated workers, tear-jerker employee recognitions—but Fertman also visited a restaurant in Buffalo, New York located in the same building as True Bethel Baptist Church. The church owns and operates the franchise.

The reason? To provide employment and job training to the surrounding neighborhood. On the episode Senior Pastor Reverend Darius Pridgen explains the origins and aim of the idea:

The reason we actually put it in the church was because there weren't a lot of opportunities in this neighborhood when I got here. We had a high murder rate, and a lot of people not working. So, a lot of people always talk about, "Just give people jobs." Well, that's not the key, if they haven't been trained. So we started collecting an offering. We called it a "franchise offering"—literally called it a "franchise offering." But we've got to do more than build a business. We've got to train people. We try to push people into the next level of life.

The episode concludes with Fertman waiving the franchise fee for the church to open another similarly suited store in a nearby neighborhood. In addition, he encourages a room of Subway executives to consider it as a model for the future.

One day theologian Miroslav Volf was visiting a friend who pastors a church in Sandtown, a desperately poor and dangerous neighborhood in Baltimore. As Volf's friend was explaining the blight of inner city life, the friend pointed out a powerful but largely untapped resource for renewing places like Sandtown—the biblical doctrine of justification by faith.

Volf was shocked because, as a professor of theology at Yale, he knew that many in the church had jettisoned the doctrine of justification by faith. Even people who defended it rarely applied it to social problems like poverty, violence, and hopelessness. As Volf walked with his friend, he thought, How could the dead streets receive life from a [seemingly] dead doctrine?

But after thinking about it, Volf reflected:

Imagine that you have no job, no money, you live cut off from the rest of society in a world ruled by poverty and violence, your skin is the "wrong" color—and you have no hope that any of this will change.

Around you is a society governed by the iron law of achievement. Its gilded goods are flaunted before your eyes on TV screens, and in a thousand ways society tells you every day that you are worthless because you have no achievement. You are a failure, and you know that you will continue to be a failure because there is no way to achieve tomorrow what you have not managed to achieve today. Your dignity is shattered and your soul is enveloped in the darkness of despair. But the gospel tells you that you are not defined by outside forces. It tells you that you count; even more that you are loved unconditionally and infinitely, irrespective of anything you have achieved or failed to achieve.

Imagine now this gospel not simply proclaimed but embodied in a community. Justified by sheer grace, it seeks to "justify" by grace those declared "unjust" by a society's implacable law of achievement. Imagine, furthermore, this community determined to infuse the wider culture, along with its political and economic institutions, with the message that it seeks to embody and proclaim. This is justification by grace, proclaimed and practiced. A dead doctrine? Hardly!

On his way to work one day, Chicago insurance broker Bob Muzikowski saw a derelict ball field full of trash in a gang-infested neighborhood. The kids there could use a real Little League to play in, he thought. He teamed up with a friend to create the Near North Little League. In "pretty wild" early practice sessions, coaches dealt with 250 boys long on enthusiasm but short on fundamentals. Each game began with a prayer. Cursing was strictly forbidden.

"While I had no illusions that I'd change the world, I had no doubt that God wanted me to play baseball with these kids," said Muzikowski, converted not long before. "My faith had taught me that being a Christian means truly believing what Jesus said about loving my neighbor."

The next year, 400 kids joined the league. Today 900 fatherless kids in 100 Little League teams are learning self-respect and community values. Reporters wonder why a wealthy businessman lives among the poor, coaching other people's kids. Muzikowski answers, "Jesus didn't say, 'When you've paid someone to do it unto the least of these.' What he said was, 'when you have done it."

In the early 1990s, gang violence erupted in Boyle Heights, a section of East Los Angeles. Eight gangs were in conflict in the parish around the Dolores Mission Catholic Church. Killings and injuries happened daily. A group of women who met for prayer read together the story of Jesus walking on water …. Then one of the mothers, electrified by the text, began to identify the parallels between the Jesus story and her own ….

That night, seventy women began … a procession from one barrio to another. They brought food, guitars, and love. As they ate chips and salsa and drank Cokes with gang members, [they began to sing traditional songs together]. The gangs were disoriented, baffled; the war zones were silent.

Each night the mothers walked. By nonviolently intruding and intervening, they "broke the rules of war." The old script of retaliation and escalating violence was challenged and changed. It is no accident that the women christened their nighttime journeys "love walks."

As the relationships between the women and the gang members grew, the kids told their stories. Anguish over lack of jobs; anger at police brutality; rage over the hopelessness of poverty. Together they developed a tortilla factory, a bakery, a child-care center, a job-training program, a class on conflict-resolution techniques, a school for further learning, a neighborhood group to monitor and report police misbehavior, and more.

And it began with the challenge "Get out of the boat" and "walk on water."

O Jesus … grant that, even if you are hidden under the unattractive disguise of anger, of crime, or of madness, I may recognize you and say, "Jesus, you who suffer, how sweet it is to serve you."

—Mother Teresa

Like many churches in 2009, Cross Timbers Community Church (Argyle, Texas) has seen an offering slump because of the economic crisis. Though this has forced the church into some painful pruning, Pastor Toby Slough has been more concerned about how the many different people of Cross Timbers are seeing hard times of their own through job loss, pay cuts, and foreclosures. With that in mind, Slough did something a little different when the church took up an offering one Sunday morning in March of 2009. He didn't encourage people to put money in the plate; he encouraged people to take money out of the plate. The church actually took in the largest offering of its nine-year history. People were more than ready to give to those in need—ready to make sure the plate was filled to overflowing as it was passed among those who were suffering.

"In these economic times, we can't be so into church business that we forget what our business is, and that is to help people," Slough told a CNN affiliate in Dallas. In the two months that followed the Sunday morning offering surprise, Cross Timbers has given a half-million dollars to members and non-members who are facing various financial struggles. One Sunday morning they gave $50 bills to 1,300 families and asked them to hand them out to those in need. One of the recipients of Cross Timbers' generosity was Katie Lewis. When interviewed by CNN, a tearful Lewis said, "I've been alone so long. Just to be thought of and to be remembered, to be welcomed—it's amazing."

Two weeks after the [2008 presidential] election, I traveled to India to meet Christian pioneers seeking to overturn India's institutional form of discrimination, the caste system. One scholar said to me, "You Americans are celebrating the election of a black man after only 250 years of slavery. We are still waiting for liberation after 4,000 years of living under caste." The Dalit Freedom Network works on behalf of 160 million Dalits, formerly known as untouchables. Though nominally Hindu, Dalits are not allowed in Hindu temples, and in recent years have increasingly turned to other religions, including Christianity. Just above them are "Other Backward Castes," which comprise more than half of India's population of 600 million. An organization called Truthseekers spearheads efforts on their behalf. Activists coming out of these castes see Hinduism as oppressive, designed to keep them in their place. Any sign of agitation prompts a response, often violent, from fundamentalist Hindus who want to maintain the status quo.

Joseph D'Souza, president of the All India Christian Council, said, "Early missionaries directed their efforts toward the Brahmins, the upper castes, hoping the liberating message of the gospel would trickle down to the oppressed. It didn't happen. Now we are working from the bottom up." As he described the history of Christianity in India, I could not help but think of parallels in my own country. Some evangelicals are wringing their hands over losing access to the corridors of power [in the recent election]. Maybe it's time for us, too, to work from the bottom up.

For almost 10 years, Adam Bruckner, [assistant coach for the Philadelphia Kixx indoor soccer team], has made it his personal mission to help the homeless. Actually, "help" would be an understatement for what he does. Although he earns a modest income, he gives away practically everything. And when he decided that wasn't enough, he whittled his living expenses down to two items: gas for his car and food.

All so he could give still more to those less fortunate.

If you label what Bruckner does extraordinary, he'll look at you as if your head were on sideways. He considers his work his calling.

Bruckner was raised in a typical, middle-class American family. He was a high school jock, and by his own admission, far from a saint. He participated in pranks, drank, and played hard, to the point of earning an athletic scholarship to the University of Wisconsin at Green Bay. After graduation, which he skipped, he went on a road trip to try out for a soccer team in Lafayette, Louisiana. When he didn't make the team, he tried out for teams in Pensacola, Buffalo, New York, Sacramento, and Portland. But it wasn't until he reached Philadelphia that he found a team that needed him.

Though chasing his dream meant taking buses, hitchhiking, staying in cheap hotels, and sleeping on couches in friends' homes, the difficulties weren't lost on Bruckner, who learned many of the hardships of being homeless along the way. So when someone approached him about turning his life over to Christ, something stirred inside him.

After he reached Philadelphia, he opened a Bible and prayed for guidance for his life. That's when it hit him: Walking by faith wasn't about burning bushes and moving mountains. It was about living God's Word and doing things for people less fortunate than yourself. "There was nothing planned about it," Bruckner explains. "It just sort of happened. I've always had a heart for homeless people, and one day I decided to hand out sandwiches to anyone who was hungry. It grew from there. …

"There are a lot of people who believe that the homeless are lazy," Bruckner said. "But a lot of people are unable to help themselves because they might not have the money to get an ID or some other type of document that will help them get a job. I've written a lot of checks to guys so they could get a driver's license and find truck-driving jobs. It's that easy."

So along with his carload of sandwiches and other food, Bruckner brings several checkbooks on his weekly trips to the park. He's painfully aware of scam artists and doesn't hand out checks indiscriminately. Instead, he makes out the checks to the agencies that provide the services the homeless people need but cannot afford.

At first, Bruckner gave away small amounts of money. Fifty dollars here. Seventy-five dollars there. But before long, he'd seriously depleted his bank account. In desperation he called his parents for the first time to ask for money. They covered what he needed.

Today, he's written more than 2,000 checks for a wide variety of purposes, and money issues are almost always looming. Though he continues his attempts to get the city involved, so far he's been unsuccessful. In the meantime, he's started fundraising. The program, called "Philly Restart," collects cash and items that can be sold for at least 10 dollars, donating the proceeds to Bruckner's efforts.

Despite winning several humanitarian awards for his work, Bruckner still considers his project in its infancy. "I've spent more than what I have," he explains, "but I've learned to trust the Lord in everything. He'll never lead us where we can't follow, and he won't give us anything to do that we can't handle. And if we need help from him, all we have to do is ask. I'm living proof of that."

People call him "Shoe Bob," but his real name is Bob Fisher. He owns a small shoe repair shop tucked in a corner of a little strip mall in Wayzata, Minnesota. Average height, average build. Shoe Bob looks like your average, hard-working, churchgoing guy.

But he is not an average guy.

Shoe Bob is a radical servant who has found a way to help the homeless. He helps the homeless by rallying his whole community, and he does it in his sleep.

In 1995 Bob was invited to go winter camping, something a man with a childhood fear of freezing to death had never considered. He kept his fear a secret from even his closest friends, hoping to one day overcome it with God and Minnesota.

"I purchased a pup tent, pitched it in the backyard, and bundled up in the warmest clothes I had," Bob recalls. "My plan was to sleep in the tent for one night without retreating to my house." Bob tried, but sleep eluded him. And each breath he took felt like sucking polar air. He was cold.

So he prayed. …

Bob prayed that he could last the whole night outside so he could tell his friends he gave it his best. But while he was tossing and turning trying to stay warm, God spoke to him. "This is a good idea, sleeping out here," [God] seemed to say. "Why don't you move the tent to the front yard and sleep outside to help the needy in Wayzata?"

Bob thought he heard God wrong. …

[But after doing a little] homework, [he] discovered that despite Wayzata's affluence, there were still needy people in his midst. He made a connection with the Interfaith Outreach & Community Partners, a local nonprofit organization that provides food, financial assistance, and emergency shelter to those in need.

In November 1996, Bob committed to sleeping in his tent on his front lawn, as God had suggested, until he could raise $7,000 to buy Thanksgiving dinners for 100 families. In 14 days, Bob was back in his own bed—he had raised $10,000. When Bob realized the most pressing need facing the needy in and around Wayzata was housing, he resolved to repeat his sleepout each year, dedicating the funds he raised to help meet housing needs of families in his community. …

[Since 1996], Shoe Bob has raised more than $5,500,000 for the Interfaith Outreach ministry.

There's over 2,500 verses in the Bible that deal with the issue of helping the poor, the sick, the hungry. God set it up that we are to address this issue and that he works through us. His Plan B? Well, I don't know what Plan B is. Plan A is the way he set it up.

—Tony Hall, former U.S. ambassador for humanitarian issues, on the global food crisis.

Mike and Marie Meaney of Bellevue, Washington, have a unique ministry in their retirement years.

After completing 40 years in their respective careers as caterer and teacher, they knew God wasn't through with them. Sensing God's direction, Marie, on her 60th birthday, flew to Lusaka, Zambia, Central Africa, to assess needs of teachers and students.

She returned home and began writing a curriculum for children at risk. She developed teacher-training seminars and raised money for African schools.

Mike, a double amputee, found his heart touched by the many disabled people he saw in Africa, where disabled people are often perceived as having little value and are cast off with minimal help from the government.

In response to the need they saw, Mike and Marie developed a non-profit ministry called Africa Village Classrooms. Their work grew to include evangelizing remote villages and the adopting of 50 orphans.

Mike is happy to say, "God took my feet and told me to go!" When he puts his arms around a little handicapped child, words are needless. He is in that moment the personification of Christ's love.

Mike and Marie are currently working in conjunction with a local church in Wamala, Uganda, where two classrooms have been built with a church alongside.

Seventeen AIDS orphans reside there. The school has 65 students. It is beautifully equipped with a Christ-centered curriculum that is heuristic in its approach to learning (learning by discovery, invention, creative thinking, as in "Eureka, I found it!").

Mike now serves on the National Council to the Disabled, a Ugandan government committee chartered with the task of improving the plight and status of disabled people.

Through the generosity of American Christians, wheelchairs, surgeries, and other helps are being provided. A school for the blind has been established in Wamala.

Mike and Marie joyfully watch God raise people up from the dirt to being able to walk or use a wheelchair.

For the future, they are planning a children's village that will include a guest house and dining area for teams who come to assist in ministry. Small homes for orphans will be built with a widow as the "house mama." A farm and vegetable garden, schools, and career development center will help the home become self-sustaining.

At age 67, the Meaney's say they are still having the time of their lives. Has it been difficult?

"Oh yes," they say, "but every difficulty is far outweighed by blessing. We know the source of our strength and resources. It is Acts 1:8. 'But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses …'"

It was an episode of Law & Order that confronted Christian recording artist Natalie Grant with the horrors of child sex trafficking in South Asia. When she turned off the television set, she knew she was being called to do something for the 6 million children who are sold and abused worldwide. Later that evening she discovered two faith-based organizations that rescue children from prostitution: Shared Hope and International Justice Mission. In an article for Today's Christian, Grant tells the story of how this one startling night led to a trip overseas that forever changed her outlook on life and ministry:

Within a matter of months, my husband, Bernie, and I traveled to Mumbai (formerly Bombay), India, with Shared Hope and its founder, former congresswoman Linda Smith. There we were able to see, firsthand, the tragedy of child slavery and what is being done to stop it.

I will never forget what I saw there. I don't want to forget.

There I was in broad daylight, walking down the street in Mumbai, when I spotted a precious little girl looking down on us from an upper-story window. She couldn't have been more than seven. Her piercing, dark eyes stared out at me. Her hand was reaching out from between the bars of a cage, not unlike something people here in the States would keep animals in. My eyes locked on hers, for just a few seconds, and I knew that…there in that cage, that was her life. I knew that every day people walked by on the street below, and they didn't even notice her.

There was an Indian man named Deveraj who runs a rescue ministry walking with us. He said, "That's where they hold the new girls. They only let them out to service clients." It was all I could do not to throw up. I started sobbing, there in the street.

From there, we were able to travel out from the city to a place they call the Village of Hope. When they are able to rescue girls from the brothels in the cities, they take them to this wonderful place—the first real home many of them have ever had. And they feed them, clothe them, give them an education, and teach them about God.

It was amazing to see these little girls, these pre-teen and teenage girls who had experienced the most unimaginable tragedies and abuses in their young lives, safe and happy. Completely restored. Living, breathing pictures of the peace of God…

The week before we left for India, I ruptured my left vocal chord and was told I couldn't speak a word for 30 days. At first, I didn't think I would be able to make the trip. But in my heart, I knew God still wanted me to go. I had no idea my doctor-imposed silence would be a blessing in disguise. So often I speak before I think and verbalize without fully processing everything. Now I wasn't able to speak a word, and as a result I think I felt deeper and was able to truly listen and understand those I met in a much deeper way.

At the Village of Hope, I met these two little girls, both 5 years of age. One had already been used as a prostitute for a year and the other had AIDS. Both were now safe and happy, living with newfound hope. Those sweet girls wanted to pray for me, for my sore throat. And did they ever. I had never been prayed for like that before in my life. In their heartfelt prayers, I felt a faith and spiritual wisdom that was far beyond their age. It was a moment that will stay with me forever.

I had grown up in church all my life, and I always felt I had a pretty good grasp of the power of redemption in our lives, but I had never understood it more clearly than I did that day. In the middle of those smiling girls, their eyes full of life and bright hope, I found a treasure I knew I had to share.

When Bernie and I returned home, I reflected on what I'd seen and experienced in India. I knew I couldn't go back to the status quo. I had never felt more alive, more determined to do something that mattered.

I'd always believed that God had given me a voice to sing and that he had created the opportunities I'd been given to make a career and a living doing what I love. But God used India and those little girls to show me that my work as an artist should be so much bigger than it is. I'm not just here to sing. I'm here to give my life away, to share the knowledge I've been given, to tell others about my experience in India, and to do what I can to support the mission efforts there. I want my music to be more than pleasant songs.

I want to inspire people to be instruments of God's peace and justice in the world. Because when we are open and willing to be used in the lives of others, God can light up even the darkest of places.

By the time of his 22nd arrest—following a dramatic chase through Miami [that involved] many police cars and much shooting—John Sala had reached the end of the line. Guilty of the attempted murder of a policeman, aggravated assault, and grand theft, he was headed to jail for a long time.

But jail, of all places, turned out to be his saving grace…

Sent to a prison in Avon Park, Florida, John eventually met Chaplain Warren B. Wall, who shared the good news of the gospel. John dove right in, accepted Christ, and immersed himself in every opportunity for Christian growth.

Assigned to the tape ministry of the chapel, he listened to Bible teachers while organizing and labeling tapes. The chaplain found someone willing to underwrite a seminary correspondence course for John, who became a passionate, disciplined student of the Bible.

"God was birthing something new in me," he says today. "Before, I wanted to take. Now I wanted to give, love, encourage, and nurture."

John also found his musical voice in prison and performed with the prison choir in local churches, singing solos and giving his testimony.

After serving his time, John walked out of prison in 1983 a freer man than ever before.

"I'm not coming back!" he declared, not knowing that, in time, he would indeed be back … but not as an inmate.

After his release, John went on to form All Things New, a ministry to prison inmates and their families. Years later, after he'd married his wife, Eileen, the ministry developed beyond his wildest imaginings…

John and Eileen changed their ministry title to Little Lambs, Inc., with the mission of loving inmates into the ministry's family and, ultimately, into the family of God…

Through in-depth Bible correspondence courses, visitation, counseling, services, concerts, and classes, the Salas began with approximately 100 students in 1998. Today they have 2,750 students and graduate about 250 per year.

"Little Lambs offers inmates a family connection that helps satisfy the need for belonging and being cared for as a lamb that has gone astray," the Salas say.

John's book, I'm Not Coming Back!, is now in the hands of thousands of prisoners who identify with him. John knows their mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual pain. And, though he may not have seen himself as a shepherd to this unlikely flock, it was God's plan nonetheless. His book has since been translated into Spanish (No Volvere!), as have all the Bible correspondence courses, by an inmate (and professional translator) who came to faith in Christ while in prison. The book has also been translated into Russian…

There's no question that John and Eileen Sala have certainly introduced many men and women—all Little Lambs in training—face-to-face with a Shepherd who loved them all along.

Already on the operating room table and moments from an abortion, Anna Chernocke made a life-changing decision—she backed out.

The U.K.'s Daily Mail carries the story:

Minutes away from having the abortion she thought she wanted, each second felt like a second closer to murder rather than the blessed relief she had imagined. Overwhelmed with guilt and fighting back tears, she was led by two nurses into the operating theater. The doctor, a fatherly-looking man in his 50s, was sitting, waiting for her. He was kind, reassuring.

"Anna," he said. "Are you ready? If so, we will give you a little injection in the back of your hand and transfer you to the table. Is there anything you would like to say?"

"Yes," replied Anna. "I'm really sorry, but I've changed my mind."

But instead of being annoyed with her for wasting their time, the medical team seemed to be overcome with a sudden, unexpected euphoria. The doctor broke out into a huge smile, grabbed her shoulder, and laughed, "Congratulations! Well done; you won't regret it."

The article goes on to share the story of the child's birth. In July 2004, Chernocke gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. In her words:

"The day David was born was overwhelming. It was a very difficult labor, but the moment I saw him I felt instant love.

"Even though I was exhausted and connected to drips, the minute he cried, I would get out of bed and go to him.

"He really is the best thing that ever happened to me, and I still feel guilty that he could have so easily not been here."

Today, Anna's son, David, is a lively toddler with blond hair and blue eyes who eagerly awaits the birth of his younger brother. And just as the doctor promised, Anna has never regretted her decision.

In Portland, Oregon, the homeless gather under the Burnside Bridge. For more than three years, carloads of Christians from Bridgetown Ministries have shown up on Friday nights and ministered to these needy men and women. In addition to providing hot meals, shaves, and haircuts, some of the volunteers wash the homeless people's feet. Tom Krattenmaker, a writer for USA Today, was stunned by the display, calling it "one of the most audacious acts of compassion and humility I have ever witnessed."

This group of society's outcasts had their bare feet immersed in warm water, scrubbed, dried, powdered, and placed in clean socks. One man reported with a smile, "I can't find the words to describe how good that felt."

Krattenmaker commented on the significance of this foot washing: "Washing someone's feet is an act best performed while kneeling. Given the washer's position, and the unpleasant appearance and odor of a homeless person's feet, it's hard to imagine an act more humbling."

In preparation for their outreach, the leader of Bridgetown Ministries offered these words: "When you go out there tonight, I want you to look for Jesus. You might see him in the eyes of a drunk person, a homeless person…we're just out there to love on people."

Christians are in an awkward intermediate stage in Western culture: having once been culturally established, they are not yet clearly disestablished. This helps make liberalism attractive, since it keeps people vaguely related to the church. Through translation, we attempt to show that Christians are really interested in what interests "the best" in our culture.

We translate Christian eschatological hopes into Marxist revolutionary ones, or we translate salvation into self-fulfillment. Our bishops speak out on "important issues," showing society that the church cares about the same things society cares about--and in the same way. We keep people interested in the church even though they no longer worship its God.

Let's--all of us--decide to stop trying to convince the world that Christianity is true because Jesus makes us prettier, happier, thinner, wealthier, bigger, more successful, more popular, healthier, stronger, and more influential than everyone else. Do we acually believe that the world is impressed with our fancy new churches, 12,000 in Sunday School, five services each morning, the "millions" who are watching on television, converted beauty queens and professional athletes, our book sales, or our crusades? The world is laughing at us--mocking us and the Jesus we supposedly are serving.

The church knows it must not violate this world's comfort standards and expect to have attendees. See our fabrics, settle into our cushions, and feel our conditioned air: Even in church we want it easy. Like movie houses, we will pad our seats, glitz our lighting, modulate our reverbs, and say, "Come to Christ and go on our ski retreat ... " Our huge temples of evangelical sucess may only be, as Vance Havner once said, million dollar lauching pads that send up firecrackers.