Side Streets.

I live in a city with a shiny main street. Like many cities of similar size, there has been a sincere effort to “revitalize downtown,” which means committees and resources focused on restoring buildings and attracting businesses. The money and effort has produced results, but now our downtown serves as a vivid example of something else.

I recently walked the length of our main street. As long as I did not look too closely, it felt like a vibrant urban center, but down the side streets and further down the way another city was visible. Pinstriped suits gave way to blue jeans, aftershave to nine in the morning shadow, and highrises to boarded up store fronts. Although I did not feel as safe as when I set off, I tried not to judge the transitions. Instead, I used them to more fully understand the lesson I was being taught . . . about me specifically, and about communities in general.

Like downtown, I have a shiny main street. Much expense and effort has been put into that street through education, clothing, and life experiences. To travel beyond the main street, however, is to find another neighborhood. It’s not as impressive or groomed, nor visited as frequently, but it’s part of the whole. Beyond the main street is a more dangerous part of town, and, if I dare, there’s much to be experienced there, too. I could choose to focus only on Main Street, but that limits the breadth and depth of the city. Just as the people in blue jeans have just as valid a story to tell as the pinstripes, the boarded up store fronts as the high rises, there is much to be learned from going beyond the revitalized. Rather than pick and choose, both neighborhoods belong to the whole.

The same is true of churches and other communities of faith. They, too, have all sorts of streets, but too often members linger only on the main street. Historic buildings and notable members can impress, but there’s much to be gained by looking down the side streets and walking in the tattered neighborhoods as well. Maybe it's an AA meeting in the basement, a grief support group, or a lost visitor wandering the hall, but interesting people can be found, authentic stories heard on the side streets of our communities.

The great surprise for me is that on these side streets, in the un-groomed part of town, God seems to have a more recognizable presence. I do not know why that is. Perhaps there’s just more room, or a greater need. Either way, I am thankful for the lesson and, more importantly, the recognizable presence.

The whole story.

I have just returned from seeing the revival of Godspell, one of my favorite musicals and bearers of the gospel. For those unfamiliar with it, Godspell if a musical based chiefly on the Gospel according to Matthew. It retells the parables of Jesus in a lively and entertaining way and contains many memorable songs. The show takes a theological turn in the second act as it heads to the finale’, and the crucifixion and Easter always bring the show to a full, emotional circle. Tonight, as Judas arrived to betray Jesus, a woman grabbed the hand of her daughter and quickly left the theater. It was not because they had somewhere else to be. It was because she wanted to spare her child from the pain and suffering to come.

I have thought of nothing else since I saw them exit. While I understand the desire to avoid the end of the story, to spare one’s daughter (and one’s self) from the pain and suffering, it is essential to the story. Without the cross, there is no tomb. Without the tomb, there is no Gospel.

The woman who left the show is not unique. Jefferson cut out pieces of the Bible to create one that was more to his liking. Churches selectively edit what they discuss for fear of causing unrest or losing members or decreasing pledges. In the end, the story is incomplete. It may be easier to understand or “swallow,” but it isn’t the Gospel.

I am afraid the woman at tonight’s show reminded me not only how we edit the Christian story but our own also. How many times have I told people some of my story, but not all? How many times have I elaborated on the good parts and skipped the bad? How many times have I danced through the happy songs only to leave when the music changed keys?

Looking back, I can see how incomplete my story is if it doesn’t include everything. While it may be difficult and cause people to leave, it’s only when the good and the bad, the happy and sad, the life and death are included that the Gospel is found.

I can’t explain it. I cannot change it. I just know it’s true, and I hope one day the lady and her daughter know it too.