What does it mean to be incarnational when we are not the Messiah?

by Jude Tiersma
Jude Tiersma lives and works in a Hispanic immigrant neighborhood in central Los Angeles as part of the Cambria Community, Innerchange.

THE STORY

Father Greg Boyle-G Dog, the “homeboys”1 called him­ has left the barrio (Spanish for “neighborhood”) he called home for the past six years. As a Jesuit, he was required to take a year of spiritual retreat, after which there was talk that he would return. But his superiors in the Jesuit order decided to send him elsewhere.

Father Greg became well-known for his life and work among gang members. His parish in East Los Angeles, Dolores Mission, counted eight gangs within its boundaries. When he arrived, Father Greg began walking the streets, befriending the young men, becoming a father figure who extended grace and unconditional love to them. In time, he earned their trust and their love.

Anyone who met Father Greg knew of his deep com­mitment to and love for the members of the various gangs, like Cuatro Flats and Mob Crew. How much pain it caused him when he had to bury one of them, an ordeal he went through 26 times in his six years there. Many times he grew discouraged and weary, wondering if his presence was mak­ing any impact.

But even in his exhaustion he carried on. He had fully expected to return to the eastside after his sabbatical, a place where he said he wanted to grow old and die. So he too was heartbroken to learn that he would not be returning.

Now the community surrounding Dolores Mission is learning to adjust to life without Father Greg. The programs he helped to start-such as Homeboy Tortillas, a small busi­ness that employs gang youth-continue. But the people miss his presence. Gang warfare increased after he left, and with it the sense of despair that things would only get worse.

Some in the neighborhood believe that the only solu­tion is to have Greg Boyle come back. Some even drafted a petition requesting that the Jesuits reassign him to Dolores Mission. Others, however, believe it is time for residents of the neighborhood to take more ownership of their lives and their community. Father Greg himself has never felt or said that he was indispensable. But no one denies that the author­ity he earned and the love he showered on the young gang members was a source of hope for a life beyond their world of gangs and poverty.

The story isn’t finished yet. Dolores Mission is a parish with much dynamism and life, a community on a journey. What does the future hold for Dolores Mission?

REFLECTING ON THE STORY

This story illustrates the difficulties facing almost all those who choose to enter urban mission incarnationally.

When we speak of incarnational mission, we speak of a theology on the way, of accompaniment (del camino2-on the way), of walking alongside. It is a theology of those who are not from the periphery but, knowing that Christ died “out­side the gate,”3 have chosen to identify with, to walk along­side, those the world has cast aside as unimportant. In the context and writing of urban mission, those not originally from the city who choose to live among the people of the city-usually among the economically poor-often use the idea of incarnation.

Manuel Ortiz, in “Being Disciples: Incarnational Chris­tians in the City,” states, “Our Lord broke through the barri­ers between history and eternity to be with us. He underwent all the physical and emotional experiences of a Jew in first century Judaism” (1992:85). Likewise, when we choose to cross barriers into another class and culture, we choose to undergo the physical and emotional experiences of our neighbors, identifying with them in their struggles and joys.

Is incarnational mission the right idea?

A key element of incarnational mission is this identifi­cation, of being present with people. According to William Pannell, “The challenge to empower the poor begins with presence” (1992:50). Christ modeled a sustained relationship with persons.

John Perkins prefers the term “relocation” for those who choose to move into areas of economic need. Relocation is the starting point of his philosophy of ministry, followed by redistribution (of resources) and reconciliation (1982). Perkins believes that we can develop healthy communities in two ways: either through indigenous leadership develop­ment or through committed Christians and their families living in communities of need. . “The importance of our physi­cal presence in these communities cannot be overstated, whether it means moving to them for the first time, coming back, or just staying put” (1993:1).

Although Perkins doesn’t  believe that relocation is for for everyone, he does believe many more are called than are willing to make this sacrifice. Some try to water down ideal, claiming that relocation is a matter of the heart, not location. Perkins replies, “But I’m glad that Jesus didn’t just relocate his heart. We are all grateful that he came to earth in the flesh” (1993:12).

Perhaps the reverse is also possible: geographically relocating, without the heart of the incarnation, without hav­ing a ministry of presence. What makes a person or ministry  “incarnational”? What does it mean when we as human beings become incarnational, following in the steps of Jesus, God incarnate?

David Bosch, citing the incarnation as the first of six major salvific events, reminds us that Protestant churches have had an underdeveloped theology of the incarnation.  It was liberation theology, he says, that has led the way in viewing the Christian mission in terms of the incarnation, the human Jesus who “wearily trod the dusty roads of Pales­tine where he took compassion on those who were margin­alized” (1991:512-513). Liberation theology has emphasized the incarnation. And since we also find much of the suffer­ing and oppression that provides the context for liberation theologies concentrated in our cities, it is not surprising that we should find the theme of incarnation there as well.

The dangers of the incamational approach

The concept of incarnation is at once significant and potentially dangerous. It is significant because the gospel does not exist in a vacuum but must be incarnated, “fleshed out” anew in each context. We know that when God had a  message, he sent a messenger, his own son.  Likewise, we are privileged and honored to be God’s messengers, God’s ambassadors.

But the concept of incarnation is also dangerous. Although we are called to follow Jesus, we are not the Mes­siah, and Jesus did not call us to be messianic. We have recently seen in Waco, Texas, how dangerous it is for mere mortals to think of themselves as the Messiah. David Koresh is an extreme example, but there are those within city min­istries who set themselves up as the saviors of the city, the rescuers of the homeless, the shelter for refugees. Some of us recognize these dangers within ourselves. Perhaps the chal­lenging urban context even attracts certain personalities that thrive on crisis and saving others.

Another danger accompanies the incarnational ap­proach. As we become neighbors in a neighborhood and begin to share our lives, we discover the joys and treasures of life hidden in neighborhoods forgotten by most of the world. But as we become immersed in life and open our hearts, we discover not only the treasures, but also the tremendous suf­fering, inhumanity, and evil that seem to surround us on all sides. Sometimes we can even become overwhelmed, and the despair around us begins to take over within us.

Awareness of the dangers, however, should not keep us from acknowledging the transformation that begins to take place when someone like Father Greg pours out his life in a barrio of young men desperate for the love and limits of a caring father. Many of the young men will never be the same after experiencing a relationship with a compassionate adult who didn’t give up on them, who loved them uncondition­ally.

READING THE CONTEXT

The Dolores Mission Parish is the poorest parish in Los Angeles. Most of the residents speak Spanish as either their first or second language. Historically, East Los Angeles was the site of the zoot suit riots during World War II. In a ram­page of racism, military men raided the area, beating and killing Mexican American men, and raping the women. Although racism is more subtle now, Latinos are still significantly under-represented in most professions and in city government. As they compare themselves to the dominant culture of the city (in terms of who holds the money and power), many in this parish feel that their skin color and poverty marginalizes them.

James Vigil’s study of East Los Angeles gangs shows that this double marginality is a major factor behind gang involvement (1988). Father Greg often spoke of the anger and despair among the youth. Many have little hope that even a small portion of the American Dream can be theirs

We can say this is true of many neighborhoods in our cities, as the gap between rich and poor continues to grow. We saw in Los Angeles last spring one of the results of what can happen when large numbers of people believe they are marginal to the systems of the city. As one person phrased it after the civil unrest, “L.A. is a boiling pot. The lid blew off for three days, but the pot is still boiling.”4

A person such as Father Greg, who moves into a neigh­borhood in East Los Angeles, can be a bridge between worlds. Father Greg spent many hours advocating for the local youth within the court system, and helped start an alternative to the school system for gang youth. People sometimes criticized him for identifying too much with the homeboys, rather than cooperating with the police.

The city can be vast, complex, and overwhelming. Per­haps this is why many urban workers focus their ministries in one area. For urban workers, a tension can exist between the location of their heart in one particular context, and the need to see the bigger picture into which their pieces fits. Father Greg chose to focus on one subgroup-gang youth-although he understood the systems and structures that con­tributed to the poverty and despair in his barrio.

One result of the seemingly endless need in the city is the high rate of burnout among urban workers. This is espe­cially true of those whose ministry is incarnational, because there are no natural boundaries separating work from the rest of life. While this integration of life and work is part of the appeal of incarnational ministry, it can also take a toll on physical, emotional and spiritual health.

In East Los Angeles and many inner city neighbor­hoods, the overriding theme seems to be a deepening, deadly despair. There are signs of hope, but for many that is not the substance of their lives. Too often this utter hope­lessness and anger explode into violence in the streets. Increasingly, this tide of violence is not limited to our inner cities, but we find it throughout the urban metroplex.

REREADING THE SCRIPTURES

Two Scripture references are often used as the biblical basis for incarnational, relocation ministries: Philippians 2:5- 8 and John 1:14. Jesus, even though he was God, emptied himself and became like us. The Word became flesh and tabernacled among us. A lifetime of reflection can only increase the wonder and mystery of this event.

As I have reflected on what incarnational mission is and is not, I have taken a new look not only at the above­ mentioned Scriptures, but also at the life of Jesus as revealed in the Gospels. Even though we are not the Messiah it seems we attempt things that even Jesus, though he was God, did not attempt. Or we attempt them without the time of wait­ing, preparation, and prayer that Jesus felt he needed.

One helpful insight comes from the story of Jesus at the pool of Bethesda (John 5). Here Jesus heals one of many dis­abled people. One. Only one. Certainly there were many more who needed healing. The Gospels tell us of some people whom Jesus touched and healed, but he left many untouched. The overwhelming needs around him did not drive Jesus. His mission was not to touch and heal every per­son, but to be obedient to his Father. Today we do well to follow in his steps.

A friend of mine was remembering a Hindu festival that he and I attended in Nepal. There were lines of people with every kind of ailment: withered hands, bent backs, massive facial disfiguration and many deformities such as we rarely see in this country. From such a mass of humanity, how would Jesus know whom to touch? How are we to know?

The need is not the call

In addressing this question, Robert Linthicum states that the need is not the call. The city is full of human pain, and we cannot begin by responding to the needs that may pull our heart strings. The things that tug at us may be more of a reflection of our own unresolved needs than the call of God. How do we find that call? According to Linthicum, “As our fellowship with God deepens, the Lord will reveal the call” (1991a:238).

If we allow the desperate need of the city to be our starting point, it will not take long before we are completely overwhelmed. This is perhaps the key to how Mother Teresa has continued so many years in such difficult work. In a tele­vision interview several years ago she was asked, “How did you receive your call to serve the poor?” Without missing a beat she replied, “My call is not to serve the poor. My call is to follow Jesus. I have followed him to the poor. But if he called me to the rich, I would go to the rich.”

Likewise, we see in the Scriptures that his union with the Father was central to the life of Jesus. John 14 speaks beautifully of this intimate relationship. To know Jesus is to know the Father. Jesus is in the Father, and the Father is in him.

John 5:19 develops this relationship further: “I tell you the truth, the Son can do nothing by himself; he can only do what he sees his Father doing, because whatever the Father does the Son also does.” Apart from God, Jesus could do nothing.

The same is true for us as urban workers; we must also participate in what God is doing. We do not bring God’s reign into the city. God is already there. He invites us to join him in his activity. In humility we must realize that we will never have all the answers. We cannot meet all the needs. We are not the answer. The ministry belongs to God, not to us.

If we truly understand this, the tendency to see our­selves as the rescuers of the city, to be messianic, will dimin­ish. A secret of the Christian life is learning to trust God, depending on him. Yet as incamational Christians, one of the greatest dangers we face is that we create dependencies not on God but on ourselves and our programs. We must never forget: there is only one Messiah.

The story of the bleeding woman in Luke 8 also gives us some insights into the ways of Jesus. Like many of us, Jesus was a busy man, on his way to carry out an important task-in this case the healing of the daughter of a leader of the synagogue, a man with power in his society. Desperate and too ashamed to address Jesus, the woman reached out to touch his robe. We know she was immediately healed.

But have we considered why Jesus bothered to stop? After all, he had healed the woman, he had accomplished the task. And he was in a hurry. This woman was but one in the crowd. Perhaps that is the point. Jesus wants to meet this unknown woman. He desires a face-to-face encounter, not an anonymous healing. He knows that the years of shame she had endured were not cured when she touched his robe. Her secret has to come to the light so that her soul could find healing. She needs to meet the Messiah. We hear the com­passion of Jesus as he says to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace” (Luke 8:48). Imagine-a few moments before this woman had been afraid to show her face! Now Jesus affectionately calls her “daughter” and draws her into the family of God.

Protestant Christians have spent many years debating which takes precedence: ministry of word or ministry of deed. But whether Jesus used words, deeds, or both (the mode of mission), his means were always the way of love and compassion, as the story above demonstrates. We can serve many meals in rescue missions (deed) or preach ser­mons to people in parks (word) but both can too easily become merely tasks we must complete. To be incarnational is to follow Jesus in his compassion and love. This involves the being of the person involved in ministry, not just the doing of missional tasks.

In looking at the life of Jesus, Viv Grigg points out that Jesus spent thirty years learning Aramaic and Jewish culture (1984:52). In contrast, our society values instant results. How many years are we willing to devote to “growing up” in the city and learning a new urban culture? Perhaps if all urban missionaries and workers new to the city had a significant time to listen and learn, if they adopted an attitude of open­ness, we would see fewer paternalistic ministries that ulti­mately disempower people.6

Absence is also part of ministry

Perhaps most striking is that even though Jesus spent 30 years growing up in his world, he only spent three years in intentional ministry with his disciples. What would have happened to the disciples if he had stayed? Would Peter have become the rock on whom Jesus could build his church? Would the disciples have gone on to accomplish what they did?

In the fourteenth chapter of John, Jesus speaks of his leaving. He often spoke of his time to depart, and attempted to prepare the disciples for his absence. In this passage, Jesus makes it clear that he must leave so the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Truth, the Comforter, may come. Again in John 16:6-7 he says, “Because I have said these things, you are filled with grief. But I tell you the truth: It is for your good that I am going away. Unless I go away, the Counselor will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you.” Henri Nouwen in A Living Reminder speaks of these verses:

In his absence a new and more intimate presence became possible, a presence which nurtured and sus­tained in the midst of tribulations and which created the desire to see him again. The great mystery of the divine revelation is that God entered into intimacy with us not only by Christ’s coming, but also by his leaving (1977:42).

Nouwen goes on to say that absence, or leaving, needs to be as much a part of our ministry as presence. “We have to learn to leave so that the Spirit can come” (1977:45).

This has tremendous implications for incamational ministries. If we do not know when to be absent and leave room for the Holy Spirit, we may give the message that we are somehow the answer, instead of pointing to Jesus. As Nouwen so well phrases it, we may be in the way, rather than showing the way.

Despite his active life, we often find Jesus drawing aside to spend time with God. In Mark we read that he got up early in the morning to pray. Before the cross, he needed to go to Gethsemane, where angels came and ministered to him. Learning to find silence and solitude amidst the noise of the city wilderness is a challenge indeed. Jesus knew him­self well enough to know he could not live by bread alone (Luke 4). Do our active lives reflect the same reality?

NEW MISSION INSIGHTS

The idea of incarnation, of walking with and dwelling among people, of identifying with their sufferings, is essen­tial for mission in the city. A theology that looks in from the outside, that sees the sin and wants to go in and rescue the city, is inadequate. American Christians still need to learn much about this, especially in this country where we live with a denial of death and pain.

Accompanying others may mean confronting our own suffering and weaknesses. More profoundly, if we cross the barriers into the world of the oppressed, we may have to ask a hard question: Why do large groups of people in our cities carry so much more than their share of shame and suffering? Incarnational mission will most probably mean abandoning our own physical, emotional and spiritual comfort zones.

While incarnation is Jesus’ entry point, the Scriptures do not end there. It seems that there are ministries in our cities that, albeit unintentionally, act on the premise that this is the end of the story, that the main purpose is the walking alongside. While there is a sense of hope that comes with this accompaniment, this knowing that we don’t walk alone, reducing the incarnation to only “being” is less than what God intends.

Hopelessness in our cities is rooted in a sense of despair that nothing will ever change, accompanied by a sense of powerlessness to cause needed changes. Some change may take place through presence alone, but we cannot leave it at that.

God broke into human history through the incarnation not only so that Jesus could walk with us. Rather, it led to the most significant event in salvation-and human-history. The incarnation led to the suffering and death of Jesus on the cross and his triumphant (not triumphalistic) resurrection.

In a sense this seems obvious. But I know from my own life, and from observing others around me, that the city constantly denies and negates the life and power of the resur­rection. We are called to walk alongside, to “dwell among” in our cities, but always with our eyes and hearts on the cross and the resurrection of our Lord. We must be people of compassion who say with Jesus, “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem!” and be willing to weep for our city as Jesus wept over Jerusalem. We must be willing to listen to the stories of pain and brokenness, but as we embrace the pain we must also remember that the cross is no longer in darkness, but we now see it in the light of the resurrection.

The crucial matter of hope

This crucial matter of hope came powerfully to me when the jury announced the verdicts in the Rodney King beating case. Most of us will remember when we first heard the “not guilty” verdicts. Certainly it was a mistake-the evidence seemed so clear. My young Latino friend said it well: “I’m so angry, Jude.” I sensed his despair as he contin­ued talking. “Before the verdict, I had some hope that the system might work for us. Now I know it never will.”

It took nearly 24 hours for the rioting to reach our neighborhood. We were not prepared; we had not antici­pated this. As I spent the next few days absorbing, listening, being there, I was overcome by a despair such as I’ve rarely known. Deadly despair. Paralyzing. And with it the feeling of being completely powerless. It felt like the Saturday before the resurrection. Would hope or beauty spring from the ashes? The media spoke easily of the signs of hope, but they came from the outside. My neighborhood hardly seemed a hopeful place.

Some are asking, “Is there hope for the city?” Maybe we should ask, “Is there hope in the city?” Cheap talk of hope deepens the despair. If hope is the anchor of our souls, then our city was adrift, myself included. I had no energy or desire to take part in a big cleanup. As I wept, grieving over the city, my only comfort was that Jesus had wept over his city, Jerusalem. Was it possible that he was also weeping over our city-over the deep wounds always there, now suddenly exposed? Raw. Open. So many living in shame, without dignity or recognition of full humanity. The looting and rioting and subsequent police raids stripped away more of the humanity.

It seems that so often what we as Americans call hope is more an optimism that comes from our denial of pain, suf­fering, and death. How do we truly embrace the suffering of the cross and still live in the hope of the resurrection? How do we live in resurrection hope without denying the intense pain in our world?

Jack Pantaleo, after writing of Jesus’ sacrifice and death, goes on to say, “Let’s face it. Death had been done before. Anyone can die. Jesus revolutionized creation because he had the nerve it took not to remain dead …. The hardest thing we can do is not to die, but to live, and to live abun­dantly in joy” (1992:8). In many parts of our cities, it is easier to choose death than to choose life. Only in the power of the resurrection can we choose life. Only through the hope of the resurrection can we overcome despair.

The principalities and powers

There are times, however, when the darkness of the principalities and powers seems to overwhelm us. Whatever our theological orientation before we move into the city, it will not take long to become aware of a depth of evil we per­haps have not encountered before.

To some extent we can explain suffering and despair in purely human terms, and speak about them without much embarrassment. But eventually there comes a time of con­frontation with evil, of something so menacing, Horrifying, and bone-chilling that we dare speak of it only under the protection of the cross of Jesus. Although Christians from various theological traditions interpret this evil differently, there is a growing sense among many that there exists a dimension in the city far greater than human sin can explain. How do we withstand the powerful forces (powers) in the city that try to blind us to the life-giving power of the resur­rection?

Some authors have written at length on this subject from various perspectives. Thomas McAlpine gives an overview of various ways we can face the powers. He also mentions other authors who have written on this important subject (1991). In looking at incamational ministries, it is important to note that the very act of intentionally moving into a neighborhood is an act of spiritual warfare. Light dis­pels darkness. Those who desire that their deeds remain in the dark do not want the light. So those who relocate can expect resistance to their presence.

The wise words of C. S. Lewis are a good reminder that we are not to overestimate or underestimate the power of the Evil One (1963). Jesus did not focus on demons or the things of Satan, but he dealt with them when it was neces­sary. He knew where his authority came from. We do not need to live in fear, but we should also not be naive about the powers that may seek to destroy us. We must change our vision of the power of the resurrection over the principalities and powers from an abstract concept to a living reality.

One essential point in dealing with the principalities and powers is to realize how weak we are when we stand alone. To stand firm we must stand together. As we stand together, accompanied by the presence of Jesus Christ, we can reflect on the role of community in our context.

Robert Lupton speaks of this in one of his newsletters. In the early years of his ministry, he spent much time earn­ing the trust of 15 youths from a “low-hope” environment. He mentions all the wonderful things that can happen in such a relationship. In time most of the young men also became followers of Christ, although he was unsuccessful in his efforts to involve them in a church body. As they entered their late teens, things began to unravel as the responsibili­ties of life set in. One by one he watched them drift away. Two were killed, two received life sentences for murder, four are strung out on drugs, two are homeless.

It is good to build programs for urban youth; but it is best to build communities where healthy families are fostered and children are valued …. It is good to intro­duce young people to Christ; but it is best to invite them into the family of faith that will walk with them through the passages of life (1992).

MISSION ACTION

A definition of mission for the city must include not only the transformation of individuals, but also of the city itself. It must include the gathering of people into the church as a faith community, not only into an individual, personal relationship with Christ. Incarnation is not the end of mis­sion, but the mode, or the means. We can do both word and deed ministries without the spirit of the incarnation.

I’ve heard sermons preached in MacArthur Park and seen meals given out at a rescue mission without any rela­tionship or connection from human to human. What are we communicating? When God had a message, he sent a per­son, a person who never treated people as objects of his words or deeds. In the story recorded in the Gospel of John, we see that the woman at the well not only met Jesus and was forgiven, but also became an agent of mission. In our cities, those who have been victimized will gain a new iden­tity when they see that God can use them as agents of trans­formation in their own neighborhoods.

Mission in the city must deal not only with people’s feelings of powerlessness but also with the injustices and evils that contribute to the powerlessness. We must also be cautious not to increase feelings of powerlessness by only “doing for” people. Community organizer Saul Alinsky fol­lowed an iron rule: “Never do for people what they can do for themselves.”

Whether our particular ministry is involved with church planting or community development, this should also be our guideline. To do otherwise is to continue in paternalistic, messianic patterns that ultimately disempower people. Do we know when it is time to be absent, when to leave? Do we know how to be present without dominating?

The concept of incarnational ministry refers to ministry carried out by individuals. But what does it mean for a church to be incarnational in the city? What of a church that is located in the city but has no relationship to the city? Or a church that has relationships that move in one direction, only providing services to the people of their neighborhood?

What kind of church should a church in the city be?

Robert Linthicum addresses this question when he speaks of three responses of the church to its city: the church in, to, or with the city. In the first instance, the church sees itself in the city, but does not identify with the community around it. We can see it as a fortress. The second response is for the church to see itself as a church to the community. Here the church does get involved, but it is the church decid­ing what the community needs and providing services based on those perceived needs. It may see itself as the sav­ior of the community. The third response is the church with the community. We could call this the incarnational approach of the church in the city. “When the church takes this third approach, that church incarnates itself in that community. That church becomes flesh of the people’s flesh and bone of the people’s bone” (199lc:9). The church becomes a listening and learning church as it identifies with the people. The church itself becomes a partner with the community.

We might add one other type of church in the city-the church of the city. Especially among immigrant groups, there are churches of the poor, indigenous to the community, already rooted in that context. In time, these churches may face the same choices. Do they relocate to a “nicer” environ­ment, or do they stay where they were first planted?

RETELLING THE STORY

Crossing the Los Angeles River into East Los Angeles, a group of young people come marching over the bridge, carrying banners. “Stop the violence.” “Justice for All.” “Comite pro Paz en el Barrio.” My heart warms as I see them, for the barrio they are from is none other than Dolores Mission. As I round the comer down Gless Street, the new building for the Dolores Mission Women’s Daycare Cooper­ative greets me. Homeboy Tortillas  has expanded and has a new building.

Leonardo informs me that the base community groups are doing well. Yes, they miss Father Greg.7 But the people of Dolores Mission have been reclaiming their neighborhood for several years, and continue to do so. The involvement of the Group of Mothers stands as an example to other neigh­borhoods in Los Angeles. And to those who wonder if change is possible in our barrios, Dolores Mission shines as a beacon of hope.

 

NOTES

1.  “Homeboy” is the word gang members use when refer­ ring to fellow gang members. In the last few years, it has been used to refer to one’s ”buddy” or close friend, whether or not one is in a gang. 
2. See John MacKay, The Other Spanish Christ (MacMillan, 1993). 
3. “Outside the gate” is a reference to Orlando Costas’ book by that title (Orbis, 1982). 
4. It is worth noting here that during the civil unrest of spring 1992 that left much of Los Angeles in ashes, East Los Angeles was left untouched. 
5. Carmen Renee Berry, in When Helping You Is Hurting Me: Escaping the Messiah Trap (Harper, 1988), deals with this topic in depth from a psychological perspective.
6. Dr. Betty Sue Brewster and her late husband Tom refer to three roles of the incarnational missionary: learner, story­teller, intercessor (class notes, “Incarnation and Mission Among the Urban Poor,” Fuller Theological Seminary). These three roles are a very helpful way to move beyond paternalism in a neighborhood.
7. Father Greg has since returned to Dolores Mission. He is much rested after his sabbatical. When asked recently how he survives in such a difficult environment, he replied that he’s learned a few things over the years. “I’ve learned that I’m not God. I’m not Jesus. I can’t always be there. God uses me, and the rest is up to him.”