Sin So Heavy

I walked into Arbor Place Thursday to see Pastor Wayne standing in front of all the teens, preaching. They're all sitting quiet, as they do when Wayne speaks.

Okay, normal day. I sit down on the floor in the tiny, crowded room. Wayne says 'good morning' and continues preachin' it. Kind of funny to me. Hearin' Wayne preach it has come to be a commonplace experience for me by now, the last week of my internship.

I start to sense a heavy vibe. Wayne is speaking passionately. He mentions time spent ministering to the mother and sister of a young man who passed the night before. Earlier that morning I had heard news that a young man had been shot five times and killed in the street right around the corner from where we live. I quickly connect the dot that Wayne personally knew this young man's family. He used to go to The Mix at Arbor Place when he was a teen. He's now 22 and dead.
Wayne's voice is louder than usual, and emotional. He calls out names. And points to a particular teen in the room. He says, "this could be you. Deonte,* this could be you in a few years. And at the rate you're going at, I wouldn't be surprised if it was."
He then mentioned one of our teens in the program who hadn't showed up the last few days. No one knew where he was. The teen's phone doesn't work and he lives a good distance from the center. So, Wayne told us what he had learned that morning. He had learned that the young man was in jail.

My heart snapped.

I was heart-broken because this was so unwonted of Maleek.* He was our most promising teen at Arbor Place. Maleek participated in Bible studies, he volunteered to pray, he worked hard and he never complained. Maleek's also really intelligent and honest. Almost everyday on the walk home, Andrew, David and I would comment on how cool Maleek is.
Wayne continued, "And for some of y'all, I'm fighting for y'alls lives. God has put me here to save you from the hood. Because I know the hood can mess with you. It can mess with your head. Make you feel like you're nothing." And he went on to describe how people will do whatever they can to feel like something. To feel anything. And how he didn't want the young women in the room becoming baby mamas and the young men going to jail or getting killed.
Because that's what happens! For suburban me, I thought this stuff was far-off in the land of Jay-Z and Eminem. Sure, it's real. But really real?

Wayne's words keep ringing in my ears. "I'm trying to save y'alls lives...From the hood... And I lost two of y'all today. TWO of ya! I feel like a failure."

The passion, the hurt I heard in Wayne's voice hit home.

It brought me back to the locker room. Hearing my high school basketball coach yell at the team-though sometimes, it sounded more like a cry. And it hurt us all, because we knew we were letting him down. He poured his all into coaching us. He believed in us. He knew our skills. He knew our potential. But sometimes we didn't. We would hustle really hard on the court and dive on the floor for balls, but there was something lacking. Something internal. Lack of confidence or belief in ourselves. And my coach just didn't understand it. Again and again, I remember him asking the painful question, "What? Are you Afraid of Being Good?"
"NO! Of course not!" My mind would cry.
So what held me back? What's holding these inner city teens back?

I still struggle with understanding what within myself kept me from reaching my full potential on the basketball court. But I don't play basketball much anymore, so I have the privilege of avoiding my problems if I want to.

For young people raised in the hood, they don't have that privilege. And this is no game. This is real life.

I know that if Maleek grew up in my household and in my neighborhood, he wouldn't have these issues. And he certainly would not be in jail.

Where would I be right now if I were born into his circumstances?