(e)mergent Voyageurs

One of the things about Harry that I loved was his guts. However, it earned him as many enemies as friends. Sometimes he even made his friends cringe, as we wondered if his passion got the better of his judgment. That being said, I am not sure he could have done the vast good he did if he did take some risks (and occassionally go too far).

The following article is an example of him pushing the boundaries in our city. However, he does not go too far, in my opinion. I think we have a lot to learn from this rabble-rousing preacher.

City Planners – “Lead us not into temptation…” - February 29, 2004 – Winnipeg Sun
by Harry Lehotsky

Can anyone tell me what “city planners” do?

I know the U of M trains them and the City hires them. But what do they really do?

It sounds like a lot of responsibility. The name implies that they make plans to protect and develop the health and prosperity of a city.

I’m not even sure how they get their training.

Surgeons have to study the body as a system before they’re allowed to operate on any single part. And if they mess up, the results are readily apparent.

What about city planners? When the business strip in a neighbourhood struggles, is there an inquest to ask planners why it happened?

Maybe they should try the computer game called “SimCity.” It lets people build and plan a city. I’m sure the computer would scream “TILT!” if they tried to load a community with pawn shops, massage parlours, bars, private men’s clubs and other hangouts.

Certain business uses don’t get unconditional licensing and zoning approval precisely because they can be operated in such a manner that it really hurts communities.

Too many planners, politicians and others assume their bylaws adequately protect communities and that zoning and licensing revenue is good for the City.

But what about the neighbourhood? The “experts” ignore the cumulative effect of clustering these “conditional” or “non-conforming” businesses.

There are certain businesses which entrench and profit from some of the most serious social problems in our neighbourhood. They hinder our ability to diversify the business base of our community.

Do you think Tim Hortons or grocers would be excited about locating between a pawn shop and a massage parlour?

Can anyone tell me how pawn shops, massage parlours and private clubs further the revitalization of communities? Or are there neighbourhoods where we don’t care about such things?

Let’s be honest about what’s going on.

Most massage parlours are not engaged in massage therapy. There’s a big difference between a lusty “stroke and poke,” and a therapeutic massage of the rest of the body.

Yet the City of Winnipeg zones and licenses some parlours which are acknowledged fronts for prostitution. MTS sells them advertising. They beat around the proverbial bush. They play stupid or comment, “At least they’re not working on the street.”

The City essentially ignores the exploited working women and keeps their hands off the exploiting men. Worse than that, they hide behind outdated bylaws which have long stopped protecting the public.

For two years they’ve told me the new improved rules are coming “any day now.” Yet they’re always ready to pick up their annual $2,000 license fee from operators.

Move down a few storefronts and you come to a private club.

Does a concentration of “Private Club – MEMEBERS ONLY” pass a message of a business district that’s “open for business.” Does it further a friendly sense of community? Do leering, lascivious guys coming out for a smoke break improve the status of women in our community?

Maybe I’m wrong. I’ve heard a few of the local clubs make a regular practice of signing some of the local prostitutes in as their guests in the club. I’m sure it’s just for a friendly game of dominoes.

Many of the clubs are simply places where men segregate by ethnicity for a little gambling, chatting and boozing. Who can fault the old guys for having a little manly fellowship?

So why have wives called me, complaining of gambling losses and other problems in the clubs? They don’t call the City to complain. Why would they? It’s the City which licenses the establishment and turns a blind eye to the goings on inside.

Walk a little further and you see the cluttered windows and garish signs of some local pawn shops.

Pawnbrokers will tell you they’re the lenders of last resort. Bankers to the poor folk who aren’t helped by big banks. So they loan folks $100 one month, only to demand a return of $125 to $135 the next month – compounding the same fees monthly. Examining those fees, some might argue that pawnbrokers are more into helping themselves than helping the poor.

But perhaps I should be thankful. One pawnshop down the street was quite willing to sell us back goods that were stolen from one of our work sites.

The experts spend years turning their heads and playing like they don’t know what’s going on. Then later, they scratch their heads, philosophizing about the demise and deterioration of the inner city.

Lately, I think I’ve found a new application for the Lord’s Prayer.

I’ve discovered that my prayer to my Heavenly Father is echoed in my pleas to the City Fathers:

“Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us…”

Emerging Church, Missional

Hey, isn’t that Harry with some hookers? – August 1, 2004 – Winnipeg Sun
by Harry Lehotsky

What would you have thought if you walked into a hotel last week and noticed a preacher hanging around with some women you knew to be prostitutes?

That could spark a juicy rumour!

I remembered the comment of Mark Twain that “a lie gets halfway ’round the world before the truth puts on its boots.”

For a brief moment, I felt a bit self-conscious and vulnerable as I noticed a few people looking at our group.

The truth is I was quite pleased and proud to be there with these women.

Several days earlier, I received an invitation to a graduation luncheon at the hotel. It was for a program called TERF — short for “Transition, Education and Resources for Females.” The program aims to provide a safe, supportive learning environment for women who have been involved in prostitution.

Grads were allowed to invite a guest to the event, and one of the grads called to invite me. I told her I’d be honoured to attend.

She could have invited others, but she invited me. I took it as a sign of trust combined with an awareness that I would appreciate the significance of her accomplishment.

I met her about two years ago. Had I not known her, I would never have guessed that she was “well-known to police” as a sex trade worker. She attended a function at our church, as gracious and respectful as anyone else in the room. Her care for others, interest in learning, and love for a good book and a good laugh were immediately evident to those around her.

It was another great reminder that people are more than what they do.

Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t changed my mind about the harm or hazards of prostitution.

But some people assume that my opposition to the activity of prostitution translates into antagonism toward the women themselves.

Fortunately, my folks taught me that it was possible to “hate the sin without hating the sinner.” I know because they had to practise what they preached with me, their own son.

The changes in my life were, in large measure, due to their integrity in communicating both unflinching moral standards and unfailing parental love. I knew how they felt about my behaviour. But there was always hope for change, because I knew how they felt about me.

Maintaining that balance is essential to sustaining any real change in our neighbourhood.

It became even clearer as the afternoon progressed.

I arrived at the hotel and sat at the table with several of the participants and instructors from the TERF program. We shared a great buffet lunch and had some good conversation around the table.

Our conversation was about everyday stuff. We chatted about music, movies, friendships, learning, next steps, dreams, and frustrations.

There was pride in the women’s eyes and genuine joy in the table fellowship. It was evident that these emotions were heightened by their contrast to a long familiarity with shame and sadness.

The lunch was followed by a series of speeches and presentations.

Not one of the speeches made reference to the fact that the women had worked as prostitutes. Every speech referenced the perseverance, personality and passions of the women.

This graduation was focused on looking forward, not living backwards. The focus was not on past bad choices, but a celebration of current good choices.

As I sat there, I reflected sadly on something bad that’s been happening to these women in our neighbourhood.

People are rightfully upset about the criminal activity and immoral behaviour of prostitutes (and johns) when they’re working the streets. I’m a firm believer that the vigilance of residents and scrutiny of police is actually a help to the women as well as the community.

But what about when they’re not working? What about when they’re actually waiting for a bus, going for groceries, or going to a park or a store with a friend?

Many of these women receive dirty looks even when they’re not doing anything dirty. Some have been called names, mocked and ridiculed even when they’re doing the same things as everyone else in our neighbourhood.

Some people have stopped distinguishing between their attitude toward the behaviour and the attitude toward the people.

I wished I could have brought some of those folks to that luncheon at the hotel. Perhaps the best antidote to the shame on our streets is the pride and respect shared in that room last week.

I figure there’s little hope for change if we don’t offer some hope for a change.

Emerging Church, Missional

A Community Responds To The Yellow Police Tape - September 14, 2003 – Winnipeg Sun
by Harry Lehotsky

Did you ever say, “I told you so,” but get no satisfaction from saying so?

Last Saturday, I was putting up some signs for a yard sale at our house. As I posted a few signs at Sargent and Maryland, I noticed that there were no cars coming down Maryland.

Looking north, I noticed flashing lights and police cruisers blocking traffic. As I got closer, I noticed the yellow police tape around several pools of blood on the street and boulevard. The tape extended across the street and around a small dumpy house on Maryland.

That particular shack was known to area residents as one of several trouble properties in the neighbourhood. Despite the blood, police tape and traffic disruption, the incident never made it into the newspapers – primarily because there was another more serious incident in which someone died of their stab wounds.

It wasn’t the first time we’ve seen the yellow police tape in our neighbourhood. And it unfortunately won’t be the last.

Reporters arrive and usually seem to find – and quote – at least one person who says, “I’ve had enough. This is the last straw. I’m moving as soon as I can find another place.” Months later, many of those same people are still at the same address in the same neighbourhood. It seems they weigh the costs of moving, the problems in other neighbourhoods, and realize that most of the bad stuff in any area happens to people involved in bad stuff. So they often decide to stay.

Back at the scene of the crime, what I find intriguing is the range of responses among observers. At almost every scene of violence, there are small clusters of people hypothesizing about the incident. The “word on the street” ranges from crazy rumours about causes of the conflict to wild speculation about the nature and severity of injuries.

Some people near the scene of the crime are amazingly callous. Some take opportunity to vent a pent-up racism, commenting, “See how those people live. They’re all like that!”

I remember talking to a callous old guy at the scene of a murder at a crack house several years ago. He commented, “That guy had it coming. That’s one less to keep the neighbours awake at night. One down, only 1,499 trouble-makers to go.” I’m not sure how he tallied the troublemakers for elimination. I agreed that the guy was a trouble-maker, but I was uncomfortable with this observer’s contempt for life – even the life of a thug.

At an equal but opposite extreme, are those for whom even straightforward drug violence becomes a very complex affair. It affords an opportunity to point blame at politicians, big business, media, and almost everyone other than the perpetrator himself. These are the class warfare conspiracy theorists. Their lazy logic usually subjugates personal responsibility to the controlling influence of poverty. It’s a philosophy perpetuated by poverty pimps and middle-class guilt, but I don’t buy it.

Most poor folk aren’t killing each other at boozecans, drug houses and crack dens. They are as respectful and diligent with their lives as most folks in wealthier suburban or rural communities. They sleep at night and make sure their kids go to school in the morning. You can’t blame all crime and trouble on poverty. You can’t even assume it will only happen in the inner-city!

It’s more about chemistry than geography or economics. You can’t pickle your brains and expect to act rationally. Crack and crime go together – no matter where you find one, you’ll find the other as well.

The trouble in our neighbourhood usually comes to troubled people who multiply their troubles with drunken parties, drugs and violence.

Other than developing a higher-than-normal tolerance to noise and sirens, most people in our community live quiet lives in nondescript homes, with never a hint of trouble with cops or neighbours.

Back at the crime scene, I’ve found that most people in our neighbourhood approach the yellow police tape with some grace for even the guiltiest of “victims.”

No matter how bad the victim was – you realize that everyone at that house is someone’s son or daughter, mom or dad, partner or friend. Every death leaves a void. Every injury has an impact on people who did nothing to deserve their particular grief.

It would be more pitiful if it weren’t so predictable, but we have pity nonetheless. We wish people would change before it’s too late. Not just so we can sleep better, but so they can live longer. That’s our hope for the neighbourhood.

Emerging Church, Missional

Vulnerability dressed in Bart boxers - Jan. 20, 2002 – Winnipeg Sun
by Harry Lehotsky

We call it a “sharing time.”

The people in attendance talk about their hopes, fears, disappointments. This Sunday people talked about their job searches, wanting to do well on exams, waiting for results of medical tests, and gratitude for improving family relationships. Another person shared regarding the death of a friend, concerned about how life would change in the next while.

It has become an important and regular way in which we share a part of each other’s lives. When things are going well for us, we are humbled by the needs and courage of people who are struggling. When it’s our turn to struggle, we are encouraged by those whose lives are finally taking a turn for the better.

I remember the time one guy asked us to pray that he wouldn’t hit his boss again, because he was sure he would probably lose his job the next time it happened. One woman shared that her week went well. While she still got drunk a few times, she had stopped hooking and stopped using needles. Things were looking up. A businessman shared concern about the potential loss of his business. Several folk have sent updates for the group from the confines of prison cells or hospital beds. We have alternately laughed and cried with parents who openly shared some of the joys and frustrations of raising their children.

For years, this sharing has transcended the boundaries that normally separate people. Different cultural groups, white collar, blue collar and no-collar folk all find they have more in common than they first realized.

But last week we experienced something new.

As we came to the end of the sharing time, Maureen (not her real name) – a first-time attendee – said she had something to say. She stood in front of the group and started by telling us about getting ripped off last week. She then talked about her loneliness and frustration with life.

Then, as if to illustrate something she had mumbled, she grabbed the top of her sweat pants and pulled them down around her ankles.

I wondered how it came to this. Here she was, a fifty-something year old woman, becoming increasingly incoherent, standing in front of the congregation in Bart Simpson shorts. I wondered if her bizarre behavior was caused more by mental health or substance abuse issues.

But right then it didn’t matter. We tried to find a way to get her to pull up her sweats and regain any possible dignity to be salvaged from the incident. One of the women helped her to the washroom where they talked for awhile. A few minutes later she left.

At the best of times, Maureen lives a life of extreme vulnerability. Her bizarre behavior during the sharing time in our church exposed more than her shorts. I started to wonder what would have happened if she had done this in a back lane, in a bar or at a late night drinking party.

What struck me about the incident was the reaction of other people here. No looks of condemnation. No one laughed at her, not even the kids. Nobody yelled at her. A little embarrassment – but more for her than for themselves.

This is a gracious group, and I reflected out loud how we all have had times where our behavior made us more vulnerable than we needed to be. Thank God for people who don’t abuse or mock our every vulnerability.

We got a glimpse of a person who needs help but doesn’t even know how to ask for it. There are lots of people like that. Drunks sleeping on benches. Hookers on corners. Kids outside till the wee hours of the morning.

It’s easy to speculate about the causes of their vulnerability, but we are defined more by our responses than our speculation.

We’ll talk more with Maureen as we see her in the neighbourhood.

I know one of the things we’ll talk about is learning to express her needs in ways that don’t make her even more vulnerable. We’ll joke about Bart Simpson to get past that stuff, but talk seriously about being more the person she hopes to become.

Emerging Church, Missional

One of the greatest things Harry did for me was to introduce me to the people of our neighbourhood. One of those people, Mona, has become a friend and a hero to both Kim & I. As a full-time staff member of New Life Ministries, she was more than simply Harry’s co-worker- she was a dear friend. We first got to know her as the caretaker of the apartment building we moved into (owned by the church), then through working alongside her in ministry and service. I have nothing but humbled respect for her.

We Could All Learn Something From Mona - November 25, 2001 – Winnipeg Sun

Hazel said it with a straight face – and seemed surprised when we all busted up laughing.

“If Mona hadn’t helped when my cat had her baby, I would have had a cow.”

Last week Hazel came to the door of the church and asked for Mona. When I told her Mona wasn’t here, the look of disappointment was evident. I asked if there was anything I could do to help, and she replied, “Not really.” It wasn’t until later that Mona took me to Hazel’s apartment to see her new “baby.”

I’ve come to understand that there are times when I’m not the best helper. At first, that was a blow to the ego of a person that wanted to be everybody’s favorite helper. After all, I have training – with degrees, ordination and a large library to prove it. I’ve worked hard and have certificates and awards to show for it.

But in my neighbourhood, I’ve discovered there’s more to helping than degrees and certificates.

Virginia and I first met Mona in the neighbourhood about eighteen years ago. We hosted a discussion group in our home. When she finally gathered the courage to visit, she explained that she wouldn’t read the books the group was reading. She said she couldn’t really read. The last grade she attended was grade seven, and the highest grade level she completed was fifth grade. But that’s just the beginning…

Statistics militate against people like Mona. Poor education. Victimized by physical and sexual abuse. Married young. Carried, birthed and nurtured her husband’s five children. Stayed at home. Never got a license to drive, or learn, or live a life of her own. Soon after the birth of her 5th child, her husband drifted. She fought for him, but lost, and he left her with the kids. She applied for welfare. Worked to navigate the maze of poverty workers, bureaucrats and experts. She and her kids wrestled with the medical and dental issues. She struggled to understand bills and banks and schools.

She told us how awkward she felt in stores, at banks, in schools and government offices. “I know how people look at me. I can tell by their expressions when they figure they’re better than me.” You don’t have to be able to pronounce “condescension” to be able to feel it hit you in the face.

But Mona fought back. Explanations didn’t become excuses. Statistics be damned. She decided to be a good mom anyway. Nobody could take that from her. Single parent doing double duty. She started volunteering. Some said she lacked polished social graces, but everyone acknowledged her gracious and generous deeds. When she did a job, she took it personally. Her tasks became her turf, to defend as well as cultivate.

She started volunteering at New Life. She cared for kids and cleaned the building. She then got a part-time position as crossing guard and lunch program worker at a local elementary school. Volunteering on renovation projects turned into a full-time position as relational caretaker in our church-run shelter program. Besides taking care of the buildings, she gives care to the residents.

She’s finished welfare with a work ethic that’s second to none. Her kids are finishing school and getting jobs. Life isn’t perfect, but they’ve got a mom they’ll never forget, an example of which they’ll never be ashamed.

She still doesn’t have a resume, certificates or degrees, but last week she recommended a book to a friend. She started reading another. Three weeks ago she started driving a used van with her new drivers license. One of her first trips was to drive a friend to the hospital. Maybe someday she’ll be able to buy her own home. [Mona has since moved into a beautiful neighbourhood home through her churches ministry Lazarus Housing. Well deserved!]

There are still days she wonders. If people with resumes and RRSP’s are somehow better than her. If she’ll ever be good enough never to be looked down on.

Twenty years ago I left seminary with a Masters degree. I graduated from the ivory tower to post-graduate learning in the streets and backlanes of Winnipeg. My education hasn’t stopped. I have new teachers, instructing and inspiring me by the way they live in our neighbourhood.

More people should learn from folks like Mona.

Emerging Church, Missional

Exorcising bad houses with brick, mortar & hope – May 18, 2003

Recently, a young couple purchased a house we renovated in the West End. During one of our phone conversations, Jamie wanted to know more about the history of their newly renovated home. I told them I would do some checking.

Shortly after moving to Winnipeg, I remembered that house as a “bad” house. It was a haven for gangsters, roaches and other miscellaneous pests and rodents. It was just another over-crowded, scummy rooming house. I remembered neighbourhood people crossing the street to avoid the house. I remembered late night noise, mid-day chaos, police cruisers, ambulances and fire vehicles. There was a general and perpetual dark cloud over that house.

Checking into it further, I discovered dozens of police incidents at that address over the years. From assaults to weapons offenses, narcotics and liquor offenses, missing persons, wanted persons, to sexual assaults. I wondered how he’d react to the information he requested.

Some people get a little freaked out if they live in or near a place where bad things have happened. The activities and memories associated with some houses are so bad that kids in the neighbourhood will warn me when they see me around the house. “Hey mister, that house is haunted, be careful.” I usually tell them, “Don’t worry about it. Our Spirit is stronger than any spirits hanging around this house. We specialize in this kind of stuff. We’re kind of like ghost-busters.”

Some of the kids, particularly those who have seen the movie, do a bit of a double-take. A few have actually asked, “So how do you do the ghost-busting?”

I explain that we usually start by clearing out the old stuff and fixing the house. In many ways, by the time we’re done with a house, it’s not physically the same house anymore.

The first thing we usually do is gut the building. Tiny rooms are reconfigured to bright open spaces. We reframe the old bedrooms and all the walls are insulated. All the mechanical systems are changed – heating, plumbing and electrical. The windows, roof, doors, floors, cabinets, appliances and fixtures are usually all brand new. Newly dry-walled arches, new wood trim and fresh paint brighten the whole house.

We look for people who take pride in their work, and we frequently visit the buildings to pray for the workers and the building itself.

But after the building is gutted and completely renewed, it’s still just an empty building. For that house to become a home, it needs people who live there with the same pride and hope we showed in the renovation process.

Two neighbourhood drug dealers recently walked past one of the buildings we’re renovating. One asked, “So when can we start renting in here?” Figuring he must have a sense of humour, I responded, “Why would we rent to you? We’re working to actually clean up the building.” He smirked in response. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I think even those guys actually have a little respect for the hard work we do on the buildings.

While I get mad at those guys, I wish they’d be open to a little ghost-busting in their personal lives. The joy of renovating bad buildings pales in comparison to seeing a bad guy change his ways. But we’ll take our opportunities as they arise.

The other day I got a call from Habitat for Humanity, asking if I would pray at the groundbreaking of their newest infill projects in our neighbourhood.

It was a large gathering – neighbours, media, politicians, donors of labour and materials as well as several of the families who will eventually live in the homes. We celebrated the donations and cooperation between governments, corporations, churches and individuals. We prayed for the workers, the buildings and the future homeowners.

Looking at their faces, I sensed their excitement. They were doing more than building a new house. They seemed aware that they’re writing a new chapter in the history of that little chunk of Winnipeg.

I thought back to the young couple that purchased one of our renovated homes. As requested, I recounted the police statistics and anecdotal reflections on the bad history of their address. Jamie’s response was “Wow, that’s pretty cool.” His attitude reflects that of many others who are living in – and moving into – our neighbourhood.

We don’t have the power to erase or re-write past history. Old news accounts and public perception of our neighbourhood linger on. But it’s exciting to participate in closing the book on the demons of the past.

In our own small ways – with bricks and mortar and one person at a time – we have the privilege of changing the course of history in the West End.

Emerging Church, Missional

Tomorrow morning, my wife & I will join hundreds of others to mourn the loss and celebrate the life of Harry Lehotsky, friend, pastor and urban hero. Over the last few days since he died, I have been considering all the ways Harry has impacted my life and ministry. While I couldn’t recall in this post all that he has done for us, one aspect that has been most significant is his community/neighbourhood centre model for church ministry.

When I asked him how he would best define his approach to being a church in our West End area, he cited Dr. John M. Perkins’ book “Restoring At-Risk Communities: Doing It Together and Doing It Right”, specifically focusing on the three R’s of community renewal- Relocation, Redistribution and Reconciliation. Relocation calls people to live their lives in the communities they seek to impact (what the New Monasticism calls “Relocation to the abandoned places of Empire”). Redistribution is about the intentional investment of our lives, resources, skills, etc. into the community (including how and where you spend your money, where you work, etc.). Reconciliation is about loving your neighbours as Christ does, overcoming the barriers that divide us (race, religion, economics, etc.). While the model isn’t flawless, it has deeply shaped the way we live and serve.

Perhaps what I have most seen as a result is how deeply urban planning (or lack thereof) has impacted our ecclesiology, yet how often we fail to recognize it. Take, for example, the emergence of mega-stores, such as Walmart, allowing consumers to get all their shopping needs met in a single location. We think very little about commuting to these locations for the convenience and savings. In the same way, when we choose a church, we approach it with the same perspective- willing to travel outside of our neighbourhoods to connect with churches were we establish our a new network (or networks) of relationships.

While this could be challenged on these merits (and I believe it often should be), we need to look at how this ecclesiology impacts our communities. Winnipeg’s West End is a prime example. While it is known throughout Canada as an example of inner city problems, many experts of urban renewal see within it seeds of great potential, in large part due to its layout as a city within a city. Clear residential streets flank strips of small businesses, schools, hospitals and community centres. Sadly, our participation in the socio-economic shift (as seen in the Walmart trend) is contributing the demise of this potential as urban housing is abandon for the suburbs, businesses are boarded up, torn down or, at best, languishing, and where churches shut down, leaving the inner city behind.

I truly believe that the role of the church in the community formation and urban renewal is critical (one of the redemptive elements of the parish model), in fact, I believe it to be a sacred responsibility. Imagine communities within communities, where we live our lives, invest our resources and build our relationships. How much more authority will the Gospel hold to neighbours who see how much we care for them, their children, their neighbourhood? How much more accountable will we be to “practice what we preach” when our churches are within the very personal spheres in which our lives are rooted?

Further, what if our missional commitment would be to patronize, invest it and even create businesses in the community? In addition to being a source of income, it could provide jobs and create a third space for building relationships. This example of redistribution and relocation is daring and demanding, but an entirely achievable project, especially when done with the support of a truly missional church community working together.

Another example is the powerful impact of and the desperate need for public spaces, such as parks, community centres, drop in centres, public markets, etc. The development and creation of these areas, aligned strategically with a broader community/urban renewal, is so critical to our missional vocation as the Church. Urban specialist are increasingly seeing how significant these spaces are to the well being of communities. If your urban renewal centres around streets and traffic lights, you will see renewal in how much traffic moves and perhaps how efficiently it flows. However, by investing in those space most intimately connected to people and shared community, the renewal you will see will be reflected in revitalized neighbourhoods in so many respects. Further, no matter how important our government systems are, urban specialists also see community volunteerism to be THE critical element for making this shift. Who better than the church to lead that charge?

I have seen inner ciy communities across Canada, the US and throughout the world, and one thing remains true of all examples- there is a tragic lack of vital Christian community living within these neighbourhoods. This MUST change. I am not saying that life in rural communities or the suburbs is evil and must be abandon- by no means! However, without question and without apology, I believe that there are far too many Christians who are ignoring their responsibility to these communities. This will only be reconciled through people choosing to sacraficially embrace the three R’s- relocating, redistrubuing and reconciling on every level- and not just individuals and families, but entire local church communities! Imagine the possibilities!

I have only brushed the surface here, but these are some of the seeds planted by Harry, my friend and my hero. Harry is the best kind of hero was so real, so flawed, so frustratingly human. His example does not allow us to excuse ourselves from similar commitment and sacrafice, because he was a person just like you and me. The difference is found, not in his character, but in his obedience. I can only hope my own obedience can have a fraction of the impact that Harry’s has.

So, what do you say? Where do we go from here?

Emerging Church, Missional, Harry Lehotsky, Urban Renewal

As many of you know, our friend, neighbour and urban hero, Pastor Harry Lehotsky of New Life Ministries, has been battling cancer since earlier this year. This morning at 12:30am, Harry died peacefully. We are grieved at the loss of our friend, but celebrate his life, legacy and faith. Please pray for Virginia, Matthew, Brandon and Jared as they go through the challenges of the coming days, weeks and beyond. Also remember the many friends and family whose lives have been touched by Harry. Kim & I grieve the loss of our friend, to whom we owe so much.

For any of you who have read my book (“Looking Forward: Facing The Future Of Christian Leadership”), you will be familiar with Pastor Harry Lehotsky, who tells some of his story in the Introduction. Harry is one of my heroes- an unapologetic inner city, New York city Baptist minister living and serving our Winnipeg neighbourhood for several years. He played a significant role in Kim & I deciding to plant out ministry where we did, including providing our first apartment as a married couple (which served as our YWAM office) and selling us our amazing mission house at price that was attainable to us.

In addition to being a pastor and urban activist/adocate, he is also a weekly columnist for the Winnipeg Sun. In the April 30th post of his “Inner City Diaries”, he bemoaned the terrible lack of funcationality of the Manitoba Health Care System, as he had been suffering from some serious pain. Tests were possibly going to be delayed until November. As a result of his column and pushing, he managed to get in earlier. And thank God he did.

I just learned that Harry has been diagnosed with an advance stage of pancreatic cancer. I have not heard the prognosis, but am familiar enough with this disease to know that it is one of the highest risk cancers. I ask that everyone take some time to pray for Harry and his family during the coming challenges they will inevitably face. Pray for healing and restoration.