#4 - Friday, September 8, 2006

I spent the first few days in Kansas City mapping out the region. A missionary couple housed me in "the hood" until I could find an apartment; I drove into the commercial district each late afternoon and parked my car for the evening. KC provides free parking in its upscale district, and the weather was wonderful for exploring the rest on foot.

In the homegrown Westport district, I stop at Broadway Café** for a latte. It's my kind of place: no need for product logos, fashionable cups, or barista flare -- just quality espresso at a quality price. I sit outside the storefront, and choose the only empty steel chair. To my right, a man is smoking clove cigarettes and sketching. To my left, two men engage in heavy debate over the upcoming mayoral election. Just a week before, I was a youth pastor. At the ripe age of 27, I am receiving my first glance at everyday life.

[This is what the world does while I "operate" the church?]

Jarrod approaches me first and sees my Bible. He's wearing an interesting covering and begins sharing his salvation testimony. He speaks boldly about how the church has lifted up its leaders as in the days of the tower of Babel. A tower is a high and visible symbol with little foundation. Jarrod shares that just as Americans placed George Washington on this shaky pedestal, we do with leaders today. I mull over the street-side prophesy for some time.

Kevin calls to me next, a 20-something man asking to borrow my cell phone. I innocently oblige, and he shares his story: out of a job, short on money, phone disconnected, his own child estranged, getting off the bottle. His friend arrives from a long day at work and engages in comical (and colorful) repartee. A few more f-bombs than I'm used to hearing during worship service, but I'm enjoying myself in the new environment. He asks what I do for a living. I tell him I'm an unemployed minister hoping to get a job at this fine café. [F-bombs of disbelief.] We discuss Jesus and His Church for a while, and the man says that he wishes he could have one without the other. I tell him that seems to be the consensus around here.

By this point, there are four guys talking, and another man with a SWEET Richard Dean Anderson mullet parks his DMC-12 in front. [This one couldn't fly.] We walk around admiring his machinery, and he responds like he's used to it. The other guys ask if I'd like to head to their apartment to play dominoes, or "bones" as they dub them. I reply that I'd love to, but didn't know how. These guys had apparently learned in prison, and all of them were at some stage of sobriety, living out their probation together to hold one another accountable. This, in fact, is probably the wisest thing these men have ever done.

We play dominoes until the wee hours of the evening, and I inform them that I need to get going. They exchange hugs and treat me like I've known them for years. These are the scattered, lost, and broken. These are the men I have never known. This is my generation.
 
*************************

**Funny: I remember looking at this website five years ago and being intimidated by their latte art, having never done any at Sufficient.  I wasn't quite alternative enough for Broadway to hire me, but looking back today, my Picasso's training makes their pics look like my average work.  I'm just saying.