“…and if I take the deal they’re offering, I’ll only go to prison for five years,” said, Sophie (not her real name). She was sitting next to me, on an all too small couch, in a room of about 25 people; some on the floor, some on folding chairs. All of us were listening intently to the words blubbered through Sophie’s tears.

“My lawyer said if I go to trial that I could get sentenced to between 10 and 15 years…[sniff, wipe]. I mean, if I were innocent I would be standing up yelling about it on the stand, but ya know…[sniff, wipe]. So if I take the deal, I have to turn myself in Thursday…[sniff]”

Sophie is about to become a bona fide criminal; incarcerated for five years because she dealt drugs and got caught. Funny thing is, the people she spoke to last night weren’t shocked by her revelation. No one castigated her, no one lectured her, told her this was what she deserved, or tisk, tisked. This 23 year old, mother of one, wife of none, recently employed waitress, has already spent some time in jail, and by her own admission, done drugs. If you picture her, or someone like her, in your mind, you could easily guess Church wasn’t remotely a support option on Sophie’s radar for dealing with her problems. She, and her “type,” do not easily fit in church. But last night as she shared in that cramped room (which is sometimes used as the Senior Pastor’s Office) she was not only at home but she was welcomed.

Recently Sophie found, and has for the last three months regularly met with, a group of people that love her and support her, despite her problems. How Sophie came to be sitting in that Wednesday Night “Church Group” is a great story for another time, but there she sat. (I use the term “church group” loosely because these are probably not the characters you’d imagine when you picture a Sunday Morning Bible Class!) Does the group know how messed up she is? Absolutely. But we know how messed up we are too. This odd collection of people all know – through experience - how unbelievably difficult it is to be broken and helpless. We also know that while it is unbelievably difficult to be broken and helpless, it is unbearable to be broken and helpless and all alone. So, to solve the “alone” problem we’ve found a place where we can share our lives, hurts, pains, and troubles, with other broken and helpless people. That is why, surrounding Sophie last night in the small healing space of a cramped room, sat other drug addicts and alcoholics, as well as: the severely depressed, the over-eaters, the under-eaters, the OCD folks, sex addicts, some suffering from oppressive grief, and numerous other things. I am privileged to call them my friends.

Maybe you’ve endured one of those infrequent moments when there is a perception/ frame-shift. You know, one of those times where you feel like you aren’t you and that you are somehow outside the experience looking in at the scene – like a detached observer. If you’ve not had the pleasure, it’s really cool, but very weird and no, it wasn’t chemically induced! I had one of those Salvador Dali moments last night. Time sort of shifted and reality distorted. The scene that came into view looked like this: on Sophie’s left was a former preacher (alcoholic) and on her right a SWAT team Sheriff (whose marriage a few months ago looked like the Parthenon - nothing but crumbled stones). Bubba (that’s what we’ll call the huge Sheriff) and I each had an arm around this weeping, 23 year old (did I mention the couch was small?). As Sophie cried and explained that she was going to prison for drugs, just some of what was happening within those four walls sank in. On one side of her sat a man who is sworn to uphold the law, comforting a girl who had broken the law. On the other side of her sat a man whose job is affiliated with a strict moralism and he was intentionally commiserating with the “immoral.” It was the essence of extremely diverse lives being experienced and lived together.

Now, you have to wonder if this odd coalition is held together by their problems? Well, sort of. Does that mean this group gathers together every Wednesday Night just to wallow in despair and hurt? Not even close. The real bond of that Wednesday Night group isn’t problems per se, it is the solution. The group that gathers in that small room claims, in a loud voice, that God has the power to transform lives. They not only say that God can change people, but there are flesh and blood testimonies in that room. There are men and women who sit in that group every week whose presence, and current circumstances, serve as evidence that God is more than a concept but that He actually lives and moves with His children. There are lives being touched by the power of Christ and irrevocably altered. Hearts healed, marriages mended, addictions conquered, and all because God does for us what we can not do for ourselves. The Wednesday Night group calls itself Overcomers. Within the Overcomers group there is a foundational belief that any hurt, pain, issue, problem can be “overcome” through the power of Christ.

Many hurting people, people like Sophie, feel that they cannot walk through the doors of a church and spew their problems. (“Good thing too! Who wants to be on the receiving end of all that?” he said sarcastically.) Some feel negative toward the Church for justifiable reasons, some because of a perception. The first fear church because they have been legitimately abused by a religious institution in their past. They carry a spiritual scar which flares up every time anything religious is mentioned. So, they suffer alone. On the perception side, there are some who feel they would never be welcomed in church – even if they would be – because, “No one there could identify with my particular brokenness.” They too suffer alone with no hope for a new tomorrow.

So, last night, I sat with some admittedly messed up and broken people who don’t do “church” well, but really groove on God and His Son, and heard a young women express her pain and fear before them all. “I’m going to go to jail for five years for dealing drugs.” What do you say? Nothing you really can say. There are no appropriate words, and so we prayed. All those “sickees” bowed their heads and lifted another desperate human being up before the Father in prayer.

God never promised to deliver us from trouble – especially trouble we create for ourselves. What God has promised is that He will be with us through those difficult times and that is why we meet. That Overcomers Group is an exact representation of God’s presence in this world. More than once Sophie said, “Good freaken thing tonight was Wednesday Night, so I could come and be with ya’ll.” She needed to know that she wasn’t alone. She needed to feel that no matter how far off the map she’d wandered, there were still directions home. Sophie needed to experience grace last night, and she did in the arms of some very twisted people. That conglomeration of broken – yet powerfully changed people – is one of the best expressions of hope that God offers this world today. (And isn’t that what church should be?)

Helping others never quite looks like the movie in my head. (Many of you have a perpetual film running - don't deny it. It's o.k. Sometimes the feature is coming attractions - the future; sometimes it is it more like Turner's Classics and the reel is of the past.) No matter what is playing up stairs at the theater of the mind, helping never ends up playing out like I saw it on my imaginary screen...which is to say it never goes like I want it to. I suppose that is why it is called "help" and not "control." I don't know about you, but when I help someone, I want them to accept my help in a way that makes them totally commandable. I want the helpee to be so beholden to me - the helper - that they behave exactly, and here I mean EX-ACT-LY as I desire. [Here he rubs his hands together in a crazy scientist fashion and mumbles, "Yes, it is all coming together...ha, ha, ha, haaaa."]

This falacious ideal is part of my twisted thinking. My Ego runs amuck, my pride steps up and runs right along side Ego, and any humility, I may at one time have possessed - runs and hides, when I help. I wish I could say that the help I offered was altruistic, but within that 3 lbs of gray matter, encased in bone, atop my shoulders, "help" always comes with strings. When I think of help, I'm like a puppeter, a modern day Macavillian puppet master. I mistakenly think my help grants me, imbues me, ordains me, down right requires me to exercise power to determine another's actions.

If I help my daughter with her science fair project, she dang well better use the material the way I say. Her presentation needs to look like the picture I have in my head. "Why not?" I ask reflectively, I mean, I helped.

If I spend half a Saturday picking up an out-of-gas friend, putting fuel in her tank, and making sure she's up and running, she dang well better not ever spend her gas money on a carton of Marlboro Lights again! Why not? Because, I said so, and I helped.

If I take a drunk to rehab, help them move out of their apartment, and meet with them occasionally to talk about their alcoholism....well, they dang well better live like I say. Why? Because, I helped them.

If you've ever helped anyone, you know people don't act like you "know" they should. The hard lesson I'm learning is that help isn't control, and help doesn't - almost NEVER - gives power. Help is help and the Lord knows, I need some. More times than I can count, help has been offered to me and I've accepted it (Receiving - trouble with it? That's a whole different issue.)

Help. The theologically astute Elvis sang a great line about it. "If you've got a problem, I don't care what it is. If you need a hand, I can assure you this. I can help, I've got two strong arms, I can help. It would sure do me good to do you good, Let me help." Helping others not only lends a hand to one in need, but helping another helps me. "It would do me good, to do you good." Helping, with no strings attatched, constantly reminds me that only one is in charge and that one is God. The help I offer is only a small part of something much grander that God is doing in, and with, all of humanity. The help is not mine, no matter how good I look in my head. Any help I provide makes my gracious God look great. Not just on the eternal film strip constantly playing in Heaven, but it make Him look spactacular right here on Earth.