The city of lonely hearts

The question still remains for us about ministry. Why New York? Obviously we have been called here, as we work through our struggles and emerge scathed yet victorious. The tests of our faith have been significant and continue to come on a nearly daily basis. Yet I cannot seem to shake the very vague and very real sense of mission, a mission to the city as a whole and not only an isolated demographic or people group.

I was on one of those tour boats the other day with my parents. We were cruising slowly along the East River, admiring the golden towers of downtown and the graceful aches of the bridges on a glorious fall afternoon. Behind me, I heard someone comment, "The city of lonely hearts." Such a true statement; a place so massive and opulent that it doesn't need people. The noise of progress, of money, fame, or any of a variety of forces drowns out the voice of the individual. New York appears to be the city of the victorious, the heroes who get tickertape parades down the canyons of Broadway. But in reality New York is the city of the underdogs. It is the city of those who try and fail, who hide in the shadows, who maintain mere existence from the table-scraps of the empire. They are everywhere, and they are not only dressed in rags or pushing shopping carts. They are also wearing business suits and scrurrying out of the Broad Street station. They are dressed in their best for a Friday night gallery opening on 24th Street. They are selling you lottery tickets and a Budweiser tallboy with a warm grin at the corner bodega. They will tell you their story if you give them the slightest moment, and the cramped N train car at rush hour is seething with stories that are never told. So perhaps we have been called just to be the people that will stop and listen.