Freedom in Detroit

I arrived in Detroit two days late to my three day job training to be a “Servant Companion” for the ELCA Youth Gathering. I’ll admit, I felt fear. Fear for finding my place, fear of this new city where my friends from that area said I should not walk the mile between Ford Field and my lodging once it was evening. There was shame for that fear, too—shame because I believed the stereotypes about Detroit, that it was unsafe and unloving.

I am familiar with fear this summer—that knot of unknown grips me often in my days walking the busy streets of a children’s hospital, armed with a badge that reads CHAPLAIN and little else besides my own body and mind. One person can only do so much, I often think, as I am called to walk with patients and families facing jarring injury or long term treatment.

In Detroit, our servant companion mission was to launch 10,000 people in mere hours from downtown to metro service projects for three straight days. On the morning of day 1, the chaos was upon us. Thousands gathered in the heat as buses failed to gather. Hundreds landed on sites not yet prepared with tools or lunches or bathrooms. So many who were motivated to work were held back by this logistics nightmare. Day 1 ended in sunburns, dehydration, exhaustion, and a dark reality—I have to do this for two more days?

How does one go from exhaustion to exhilaration? The answer this week was in worship. Every night, 30,000 gathered to dance and run and clap and boldly sing and be moved by forces that were irresistibly good. Speakers showed us a world where Detroit is our brother and sister, not a town of victims needing rescue.  Songs of freedom and deep waters and Motown beats drew courage out of us to let go of our natural mindsets where we limit ourselves and instead to grab hold of this amazing energy brought by the youth to this city, this radical cheerfulness in the face of all hunger and fatigue and delays. The endless high-five trains and free hugs and selfies carried us to a place of joy and hope and playfulness.

By Day 3, our pep talk had changed. There was no long explanation of technicalities. There were none of the never-ending “what if…” questions about scenarios of failure. One person simply stood up, looked at us, and said, “We’re gonna kick some ass today. Let’s go.”

And go we did. 10,000 marched into a city for the third straight day because their love of neighbor was too big for them to stay silent, to stay still, to not meet the faces behind the neighborhood doors. 10,000 marched into trashed lots and abandoned homes and community parks to create so much shock that neighbors couldn’t help but to come out on their porch and stare at this sea of orange shirts who were dragging tires out of brush and opening up lost sidewalks and removing human-sized thistles. Bishops and adolescents and locals worked alongside one another in a harmony of beauty and sweat and laughter and companionship.

It was an amazing paradox—the more exhausted we were, the more we gave in to the exhilaration of this holy work. What was hopelessness on day 1 became a craving to stay longer by day 3. We were freed by a joy that broke chains of fear and frustration. I was told once that the glory of God is the human being fully alive, and I felt that this week, as we became humans who were so lucky to live such full, complete days.

And so, the next time my trauma pager goes off at 3am, and I have to “rise up” out of bed to face what is unimaginable for any family, I will remember this energy of faith that conquers all fear of my own self-limiting tendency.

After all, one person can only do so much.