The Failures of "Urban" Ministry

The first experience I'm going to share happened back home, when I was a teen in high school. With that said, I invite you to pay close attention to the words I'm going to share. I urge you to learn from my experiences before you go on that next mission trip or volunteer at your local food bank…

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It was another Saturday morning. I think it was right after Adopt-A-Block, a program with the mission to serve impoverished neighborhoods across the greater Los Angeles area. My neighborhood, Ramona Gardens (aka the “Hazard” Projects), is one of the main Adopt-A-Block locations being served. I believe we had just finished handing out food to a variety of families living in the housing projects; my friends and I enjoyed serving by handing out food ourselves. The perks of volunteering were that we could always ensure our families would receive at least one bag of food or necessities. Those days it felt like the Dream Center in Los Angeles really did an impeccable job at being a church like the one we see in the book of Acts. A church that acknowledges that loving one another by serving one another is necessary in God’s family. And it's true; I did experience a lot of joy at the Dream Center, that's where I came to faith. :) That's where I met the mentors that encouraged me to pursue higher education. Those same mentors loved on my sister and I as if we were their children, and my sister and I still see them as our second parents. That's where I started to learn how to love myself. That's where I started to learn that I wasn't at fault for my childhood trauma. That's where I learned that Jesus loves me no matter what I do or do not do. That's where I learned that Jesus loves me no matter what I do or do not have.

That's also where I was first introduced to the whole “White Savior” complex without knowing what it meant…

We went to IHOP right after Adopt-A-Block; one of our mentors was kindly treating us out. She was somebody who spent a lot of time with us inside and outside of the projects. She did a lot to show us she cared. 
Which is why her words came as a shock that day. 
We were sitting at the table and she began to share about her conversation with one of the main directors at the DCLA. She shared that her director was so amazed by her and her commitment to love on all the “project” girls (yup… that's how everyone referred to us) she said, “I mean. I'm surprised about how much time you spend with these girls. It's not like they will ever give you ANYTHING in return…”

…. I'm gonna give you some time 
to let that sink in….

Unfortunately, that's not where the trauma stopped. Our mentor then sat there, almost questioning herself, and said, “I mean it's true. What will you all EVER give me?”

… I cannot explain what it felt like to hear those words. I mean here sat the very person who was pouring into our lives, sharing JESUS with us, and she still had the audacity to insinuate we would never become ANYTHING….

Fucked up shit right…

The worst part was seeing how those words crushed all our spirits at the same time. I mean it's one thing to hear it coming from the news and other people who were irrelevant to our lives, it's another thing when you hear it from Christian people who were supposed to love on you and empower you. To hear those words from people who you see sing every Sunday about God being “the God of this city.” I still can't fully remember what I said that morning; all I remember was the anger I felt inside. Looking back, that was probably one of the first times I experienced righteous anger. I didn't feel anger towards her; I felt anger towards the effect her words had on my friends and I. The betrayal those words brought were heavy and weighed down on my soul. It was like Judas Iscariot giving me an individual kiss. I went off; somewhere in there I mentioned that WE would become someone. We wouldn't just live in the projects for the rest of our life, we wouldn't always be poor.

It's so strange that something that happened when I was 17 years old still lingers with me 6 years later. It hurts that moment is secretly one of my motivations in pursuing higher-Ed. It hurts that I felt I had to prove the church wrong. It hurts that I had to explain why calling us “project girls” is degrading. It hurts that I hardly saw any diversity among leaders in one of the most diverse cities in the world. It hurts that I experienced this in the very place I began my relationship with Jesus.

Betrayal hurts. Being segregated hurts. Being labeled hurts. Breaking those labels hurts. Healing from that entire trauma hurts. Returning to that place hurts. Graduating from UC Davis, without all my old friends, hurts. I will never know the impact those words had on all my friends or even on our old mentor. All I know is that it's a memory I've been revisiting since it happened. It's a memory that eats away at my brain in the late hours of the night… It's a memory I look back on 6 weeks away from my graduation.

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*PS

Don't ask me about my life living in the projects, unless I invite you into that type of conversation. I'm not a walking museum… Also, please save any remarks about how you wouldn't know I was poor (or did know)… our perspectives on who is poor in America are not quite well informed.

To get edumacated, check out:

$2.00 a Day: Living on Almost Nothing in America

By Kathryn J. Edin & H. Luke Shaefer

&

The Bible 
(KJV, ESV, NIV, etc. they all should have the same message about how we should serve others and not expect to be served...) 

~ thanks for listening and receiving. <3