The Beautiful Disappointment. Colin McCartney

      Notes

      ¹ UrbanPromise also operates in Camden, New Jersey, Wilmington, Delaware and Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. To receive more information on UrbanPromise Toronto, please go to

      www.urbanpromise.com.

      ² Rapper 50 Cent, taken from a Toronto Star interview. “A Great Deal for 50 Cent” by Ashante Infantry, July 12, 2003.

      ~ ~ ~

      “For this people’s heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them.”

      – Matthew 13:15 (NIV)

      2. He Who Has Eyes to See

      It is a short distance from my house to the Warden Woods community where Patrick lived. However, on that day the drive seemed like an eternity. Every traffic light, every stop sign and any slow-moving car that got in my way became a lightning rod for my wrath. I was emotionally on edge. I could not get the words out of my head: “‘Blue Boy’ has been shot.” It made no sense. He was not a gangbanger. He was not a criminal. He had no links whatsoever to any criminal activity. Why him? He was soft-spoken, shy and always smiling. He was, in the words of so many people in his community, the one who was going to make it. He had enrolled in college, gave back to his community by working with children, and was an all-around positive light and role model to the children he served at UrbanPromise. And now this? Was this a cruel joke? Was I experiencing a horrible nightmare that would go away once I awoke? No, this was reality. I cursed, wept and prayed the whole way to Warden Woods.

      I pulled up to the community centre and parked my car. All of a sudden, a wave of fear and apprehension came over me. Was it really Patrick? Was it one of our kids? I remained for a minute or two in the safety of my car, anxious about what I would encounter on the streets in Patrick’s Warden Woods neighbourhood. All sorts of apprehensive questions danced in my head. How would I handle my staff, who would be deeply devastated by the news that their friend may be a murder victim? What would I say to the weeping children who idolized Patrick? How could I console his family? In what ways would I be able to offer comfort to the people of his community?

      I was scared. I had no idea what to do. I sent up a quick prayer to God asking for His power, and then I resolved to get out of the car. Opening the door of my black Honda Civic, I weakly gulped some air and swallowed hard. I then slowly made my way up the path into the community centre. When I walked into the building, I was greeted by a spattering of dazed, zombie-like creatures staring into space. The receptionist sitting behind the large desk in the main hallway looked relieved when she saw me walking through the front doors. It was obvious from her fearful and strained expression that she was doing her best to deal with the hurting people all around her. It was even more evident that she felt totally inept in her attempts to provide comfort.

      Her eyes lit up when I entered the room, and I could just hear her thoughts through her expressive, worried eyes: “Finally, the professional is here to take over and make everyone feel better.” To her, I was the person who could deal with this crisis. I was supposed to wave my magic wand and, through my powers, words and presence, make sense of and bring healing to the pain everyone was feeling in this close-knit community. Little did she know that the apparently strong and composed figure she saw standing in front of her was partly an optical illusion. On the outside, I must have looked calm, cool and collected. But on the inside, I was far from it.

      To those I encountered that night, I was a walking mirage, a deceptive oasis brought about by their misplaced hope for something to quench their desperate craving for relief. In truth, I was just another scared presence, standing lost and forlorn, within the maze of lifeless faces that were all around me. The secretary excitedly waved me into a room, saying that my staff members were in there alone and they were waiting for me. I went in and we all hugged, wept and prayed. We still hadn’t heard any news, still didn’t know if our precious friend was alive or dead. There we were, broken people, weakened by the stress of the unknown. Yet, something supernatural was among us.

      There was a strength, the strength of being together, knowing that we were not alone, knowing that together we could get through this. Though no one said it at the time, we knew that we were all experiencing the same thing. We were hurting, but underneath our pain was a current of God’s presence. He was there. And He was suffering with us.

      Nicola called again. It was confirmed that Patrick Dalton Pitters was one of three murder victims killed on the city streets that evening of March 4, 2004. Until then, we were hoping that whoever had been shot had been misidentified and that it wasn’t Patrick. But this was real. Upon hearing the news, some of my staff cried quietly, others stared into space, a few wept out loud, one collapsed on the floor in grief. All of us prayed.

      Apparently, Patrick died while visiting an apartment that was not in his community. He was invited by a friend to play video games at the apartment of a drug dealer. Patrick did not know the owner was a dealer.

      During the evening, while he was playing video games, some men broke into the apartment with guns, looking for the dealer. A fight ensued, but Patrick didn’t get involved. He sat glued to the couch, clutching his game controller, confused and not knowing what was happening in front of him. During the fight, a shotgun fired twice, hitting Patrick in the chest twice as he sat, stunned, on the couch. The gunmen ran and Patrick’s friends quickly took him to the nearest hospital.

      He was dead on arrival.

      We spent the night in the community, as it offered us a strange solace. People came in and out of the community centre seeking comfort they received through fellow sufferers. UrbanPromise staff went throughout the neighbourhood on little walks and spontaneous prayer meetings erupted on the streets in the community.

      People were tuned into the spiritual world like never before and it was common to witness complete strangers hugging each other while huddling together in prayer. From the toughest men to the most vulnerable children, everyone in the community was humbled, broken and open to God. Our God, familiar with suffering, had now come close to that community in Warden Woods. He was definitely present in every nook and cranny. His Spirit was hovering over the streets and moving among the people there. Though we were all experiencing the devastating results of sin, God’s grace was even more present, slowly oozing out His healing comfort. Where sin abounds, grace abounds more (Romans 5:20).

      It is only human to do all we can to avoid suffering. Yet ironically God seems to be most present in our tears. In 2 Corinthians 1:3-5, Paul states:

      “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows.” (NIV, emphasis added)

      God’s comforting goes hand in hand with suffering. You can’t have one without the other. Suffering, though unpleasant at the time, is a reality of life. It is guaranteed—we will all go through it. Suffering is inevitable in a sinful world. We should not be surprised when we go through afflictions. In fact, we should expect it.

      However, there is good news. Linked to suffering is comfort. Comfort of others when we suffer together, and more importantly, that of God’s presence in the midst of our suffering. Jesus is found in the midst of our pain. In His immense grace, He enters our suffering and provides comfort for those who open their hearts to Him. Jesus does not leave us alone, but actually joins us in our tears. The tears we weep become His. The pain we feel becomes His pain. He actually embodies each emotion we feel and carries our hurt even more deeply than we ever feel it. He does this for every person, everywhere, at anytime, throughout the world. Jesus weeps with the mother who loses her child to disease in the Third World. He cries with every father who loses his son to AIDS. He feels the pain in the heart