Missional in Suburbia

This is an article written by Nate Ledbetter at “Awaken Neighbor“. Original article can be found here.

The neighborhood is where we find a full life grounded in what God intends for our lives. Neighborhoods are about people, about relationship, and about community.

I think I won the gold medal. It was a bright August day, and I had just completed the ultimate up-and-under-flip off the laundry pole. A crowd of three cheered in sheer awe of my skills. I knelt down to receive my medal, and then I stood tall. I threw back my shoulders. I had just won the gold medal for the first and only known Neighborhood Olympics on Palmer Street. I think the only
reason I took the gold at age nine, if my memory serves me right, could have
been because I coerced a vote from my friends on the block. I’m unsure of the
details.

What I do remember is how much I loved training for basketball season in the
driveway, as onlookers stood pumping their gas across the street at the Shell
station. I loved knowing many of our neighbors up and down our block. I loved
those community moments when neighbors helped each other by shoveling snow or
mowing the grass, going the extra mile to bless someone else. I loved the
neighborhood parade in July, and the ice sculpture contest in the cold winter
months. And I enjoyed the high school kids who came from all over metro Detroit
to cruise up and down our suburban streets, showing off the latest low-riding,
stereo-thumping systems known to mankind—or so it seemed. There was never a
dull moment. Looking back, there were many neighbors who isolated themselves on
our block, and there are aspects of life on Palmer that could have been much
different, I’m sure. And yet I enjoy those favorite moments that I still
cherish all these years later. Every neighborhood is meant to be a wholesome
place where children grow up and seniors can thrive with their families, and
yet I share a deep concern that many of us are now disconnected from our
neighborhoods. We’re often unfamiliar with how our lives overlap and relate to
each other. Like a t-shirt I recently spotted showing the entire Michigan
mitten (hand) reading, “We’re all Detroit.”

What is the anatomy of a neighborhood? What makes up the body of a community? Many
traits of a neighborhood are like a skeleton, outlining the physical framework
of a given community. Streetlights carve a path of direction for walkers at
dusk and dawn, facilitating a sense of solidarity, as our streets and homes are
marked with warmth and togetherness. Light opens the darkness. And yet the
voice of Jane Jacobs calls forth in wisdom, inviting us to a collective
responsibility saying, “But unless eyes are there, and unless in the brains
behind those eyes is the almost unconscious reassurance of general street
support in upholding civilization, lights can do no good (1).”

Or I wonder about the spirituality of sidewalks. I recently met “Chef Sonya” along
the streetscape where her infamous storefront sits, The Sweet Auburn Bread
Company. She invited me inside and served me a sweet potato muffin, as we began
to share our stories and dreams together. Sidewalks can serve as a catalyst for
community life, a path directed to the heart. Urban planners and developers are
keen on broad sidewalks if they are planning with community in mind. Sidewalks,
especially wide walkways and short crosswalks, the kind that allow for multiple
neighbors to pass each other simultaneously, are simply wonderful. Jacobs
states, “Streets and their sidewalks, the main public places of a city, are its
most vital organs (2).” And the psychology of our neighborhood self-talk is
enhanced when we choose open windows over barricades, open-slatted over privacy
fences, while opening our shades as a sign that our lives are open to those
around us.

The anatomy of a neighborhood seems to include homes, of course – old historic
homes, apartments, and everything in-between. Homes where hospitality is
extended, when neighbors open their door as a living refuge. Homes where we can
be fully ourselves. Homes where the people of Community Life Church in South
Atlanta are raising up “lighthouses” on multiple streets, hosting house
gatherings as neighbors come together to share life. Whether spread out or
laced with thick density—homes, row houses, and cul-de-sacs outline the
skeleton, the anatomy of a neighborhood.

Over the years, I’ve seen first-hand how the tip of a Guatemalan volcano, the
African shoreline of a forest in Cameroon, or the South China Sea naturally
serves as God-given landscaping. And in many neighborhoods here and abroad, in
areas where pockets of poverty run deep, the resilience of neighbors take hold
of the beauty sprouting up in abandoned lots neglected by slumlords, pristine
rose bushes planted by caring neighbors, and grand old trees that stand tall
with pride. Even when a community is environmentally excluded and left to carry
all of the “not-in-my-backyard” (NIMBY) traits such as prisons, tow yards,
recycle plants, toxic waste plants and land fills, a neighborhood still stands
with beauty. Beauty is only partially interpreted among the elite and powerful,
while the fullness of beauty is most beautiful in the trenches, in the places
where mainstream society is not looking. Does God quietly unveil the most
cherished attributes of our neighborhoods to those who are seeking, suffering, and
enduring?

Neighborhoods are often made up of playgrounds and parks, winding paths, schools, churches, mosques and synagogues, businesses and gardens. When designed well, the
walkability of a neighborhood will naturally lead toward connecting people,
facilitating opportunity for life-on-life interactions in ways that seem
effortless—where people naturally jump, play, eat and run. Maybe gathering
places are the delight of a neighborhood.

Neighborhoods are everywhere, and we must learn to see our ‘hood with new eyes. I spoke at a university church a while back. We began dreaming together about seeing their
campus as a transitional neighborhood. Dorms become homes. Campus buildings
become blocks. Students are actually neighbors, eventually transitioning to another
neighborhood in just a few short years. Rather than preparing for the future,
let’s learn together how to love our neighbors now, seeing our neighborhoods
with a fuller vision.

And when neighborhoods catch a vision for beloved community, a dream displaying
God’s heart from the beginning, geography becomes a shared playground
demonstrating that we can raise our children together, laugh together, and
learn from one another. Diverse, multi-ethnic, and ever-changing are all
characteristics of the anatomy of U.S. neighborhoods in this era: city,
suburban, and rural areas are increasingly sharing common traits that are
transferable to many of our communities.

Healthy neighborhood veins show clear signs of spiritual vitality, economic strength
through local investment, a good pulse rate in our schools, environmental
stewardship, solid city services, including access to reliable transportation,
and shared leadership among neighbors. At the core, it seems that the anatomy
of a neighborhood is much more than a skeleton outlining physical traits. Any
neighborhood can display beautiful gathering spaces, well built homes, and
freshly manicured lawns. After all, some of our country’s most troubled
neighborhoods are among the wealthy, where abuse, neglect, broken families, and
loneliness plague those wrapped in the chains of materialism and spiritual
poverty. We all need healing grace.

Simply put, we need to get to the “heart” of what makes up our neighborhoods here and
abroad. We must reach down into the soul, taking a step back from the fullness
of our busy lives to explore the trueness of a neighborhood. The neighborhood
is where we lay down to sleep, attend a weekly service, send our children to
school, or go to work. The neighborhood is where we find a full life grounded
in what God intends for our lives. Neighborhoods are about people, about
relationships, and about community.

The heartbeat of our communal anatomy is found in our neighborhood narratives. The
Scriptures speak of the older teaching the younger, like Adopt-A-Grandparent of
FCS Urban Ministries, “Celebrating Wise Women.” We have so much to learn from
our elders who have gone ahead of us. I think of our dear friend, Miss Mary,
who has lived in our neighborhood for nearly sixty years. She exudes a grace and
love for God like few I’ve ever known. She’s connected. She knows her story,
and how our neighborhood narrative overlaps with the larger story of God’s
movement. She understands that history and story informs the now and not yet.
There are many “Miss Marys” of our world, and we must learn to listen first
about what’s happened before we assume what’s happening. Remember what assuming
does?

It seems God is calling us to re-discover the essence of how neighborhoods are
foundational to life. Viewing life through a neighborhood lens could alter the
way we see and live for years to come. Here Jane Jacobs invites us into a
fuller picture, “We must first of all drop any ideal of neighborhoods as
self-contained or introverted units (3).” As we understand how our neighborhoods
are connected, we find that we need each other just as God intended from the
beginning. What would happen if we sought to know every aspect of our
neighborhood narratives? What if we explored our neighborhoods like a cherished
jewel, viewing the story of our communities from multiple angles? How would
this change our understanding of life, of family and “church?” I often wrestle
with questions that seem to lead to more questions. And so I’m writing as a
fellow learner, longing to hear God’s voice, imagining a living church movement
focused on the roots of her origins.

Jesus walked the urban streets, reclined and dined in homes, listening to the stories
of those who were hurting. And I’m hungry to learn from those who have gone
ahead of us, practically demonstrating a long-term love that honors the dignity
and culture of people, empowering the poor through give-and-take friendships
over demeaning handouts, sharing the good news of God’s restoration of all
things broken. I pray God awakens you and I for the one life we’ve been given.
I pray that the anatomy of the living church, the body of Christ, will
re-discover the anatomy of her parish.

God takes geography seriously.

By Nate Ledbetter

Source:
The Death and Life of Great American Cities by Jane Jacobs

1.
P.42 – The uses of sidewalks: safety

2. P. 29 – The uses of sidewalks: safety

3. P. 114 – The uses of city neighborhoods