Urban youth workers must have faith. “The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it,” Paul wrote in
I extend this word of encouragement to you, as well as to myself. I’ve invested a lot in a young man named Jose, who currently is sliding downhill. There are days I think—and feel—his situation is hopeless.
I told Jose that Harambee would provide him a monthly bus pass if he were in good standing at school. It worked … sort of. The offer kept him in school for two sessions.
Where in the World Is Jose?
Weeks passed without me seeing him. Some friends said they saw him walking on the main boulevard, smoking weed. Another saw him in the projects, gathering fellow gang members for a fight.
I finally caught up with him. He told me a long, chaotic story. I maintained my standard: “If you keep up with school, we’ll keep up with you. However, you have to do a lot of work before next Friday, or they’ll drop you.” He said, “Right on,” and committed to attending faithfully. It lasted for three days.
At night, he slept in a car. I felt a twinge in my heart, a desire to ease his suffering; but he could ease his own suffering. He was booted from home, then a relative’s house, for not following rules.
‘Odd’ Man Out
His home life is tough: many siblings, a father living with another woman in Mexico, a mother keeping things together by the proverbial thread, drugs, shady visitors, staying out too late, known by name by the police.
When I first met Jose, he was a gentle 8-year-old with a unique quality. He had compassion for others, “a pastor’s heart” according to my minister partner, Derek Perkins. We took Jose with us to New York after 9/11. He listened to our Bible stories and sought to serve others. Even as a poor, routinely homeless, always behind-in-school city kid, he followed the dictum of Philippians to “consider others better than himself.”
Now, he’s been in jail; he’s in a gang; he uses drugs; and he’s done all sorts of messy, painful things. He’s still listening; yet, it doesn’t look good. Two warrants for his arrest are standing. He’s behind in school. He’s known by too many rival gangsters.
A Return to Faith
My friend Daniel Arellano reminds me there is hope. At 13, Daniel was an incarcerated juvenile. Then he gave his life to Christ at Victory Temple in San Angelo, Texas. Today, he not only reaches out to troubled youth, but also is an associate pastor at a church in Espanola, New Mexico. He’s married with three children. Then there’s a detail I love: In early 2009, Daniel was at the New Mexico statehouse, attending judicial committee hearings on the Freedom of Choice Act, doing what he could on behalf of unborn children.
During a 15-year period, Daniel went from public liability to public servant. He embodies the type of transformed and productive life that I hope for Jose. I remember the look on Jose’s face, years ago, as we looked at the twisted steel beams at Ground Zero. This is a kid who is going to bless many people when he’s a man, I thought. I still believe that, which is why it’s painful to watch him now, to walk with him as he suffers for his own sins and the sins of others.
“Trust God,” I tell him, with a warm smile. I say it for his benefit, but also for my own.
