Is God’s hope really for the hopeless cases or just for those who haven’t totally gone off the deep end?  I’ve been thinking a lot about Christians and gangs lately because I keep meeting gangsters and families affected by gangs.  Although our mission here is not a “gang ministry” per say, it seems that every family in our community has been impacted in some way by this aspect of life in the city.  Two nights ago I was standing outside at 10pm with a mom who was nervously smoking a cigarette, anxiously waiting for her son (who joined a gang and just bought a gun) to come home.  How many moms know her pain and the years she is losing from worry and lack of sleep?  Years ago we temporarily housed a single mom and her two boys whose apartment was burned up by a local gang for saying the wrong thing.  I’ve met a killer was nearly killed in a driveby and now regrets his past and wants to change his life.  I feel for victims of gang brutality, for all the moms and dads, and for the kids in gangs.  I think most Christians are in agreement that it’s a struggle to break free from gang life.  The endless supply of gangsta movies have taught us that.  But when I hear Christians talk about it, it’s as if they’ve resigned to give movies, news reporters, jaded police gang units, and even gangsters themselves, the final say.  Yes, it’s a complex and many-faceted problem, long in the making.  But people don’t get the final say.  God does!  If God says anything is possible with Him, then anything is possible (Matthew 19:26).  Anyone can be saved from the hell they are living in (and have helped to create for themselves).  The promise is for gangsters, too!  Church, please don’t forget His promise is good for everyone! Please!

Categories: gangs
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A young man in the neighborhood with a shaved head, baggy shorts and bloodshot eyes asked me once again how things have been going since we moved in. 

“You need any help?  How are your kids doing?  Anybody messing with you?  You need us to take care of anybody for you?  If you ever need anything, just let it be heard.  Come over to my place.  I live in this apartment right here.”

This offer has been made to me a few times now.  The first offer was made by his friend Lost, the kid who got shot in April and whom I prayed over until the ambulance arrived.  “Thank you so much for praying for me,” Lost said.  “If there’s anything you need, anything at all, call me.  If somebody messes with you, I know people.  We’ll get him.”   It is both refreshing and unnerving to receive these street-level expressions of hospitality, welcoming me to the hood.  While I am thankful to be making headway with this sub-culture of our community, I am proceeding with caution.  I’m not choosing a side here. 

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