I saw Jesus in a small, dank little church in Southwest Detroit. It was very hot and humid, the sweat puring onto our eyes making it hard to see. I have a lot of respect for those that travel to far away places as missionaries. I think it is noble, effective, and rewarding. But there are many who cannot make the trip for whatever reason. We volunteered at a church just 10 minutes from where I sleep at night in Mexican Town. It was a Spanish speaking Latino church sitting on the middle of a run down, boarded up, and burnt down neighborhood. The place smelled like a church basement during a rummage sale, it sounded like a bi-lingual DMV on a Tuesday morning, and it was full of children. We got the privilege of helping this church organize and put on it's Vacation Bible School. The building was given to the pastor and pastors wife, both doctors. It is the kind of church that major institutions are glad are there, but will help from afar, as the Methodist Church does. It is funny because if you stepped into this place, you would swear you were on a mission trip in another country only 10 minutes from your house, like when Dorothy opened the door after the tornado to find Oz. Except the opposite of all the gold and splendor. Instead you leave the gold and splendor to open the door to reality that we try fairly hard to forget exists. I don't know how much we actually helped the kids there, but I know we fell in love with them, and I know we were effected. We did see Jesus. Not in a painting, not a historical or allegorical way, but in a real, practical way. We saw Jesus the way, He was always intended to be seen. We saw Him in the face of those that need love. It really reminds me what a jerk I can be. I think sometimes I am doing well, sitting here writing about what Jesus wants and who He is to me, but doing it from my couch in the burbs, when Jesus is 10 minutes from me, in an abandoned house burnt to the ground. I think too much of the country makes this mistake too. We talk and talk and talk, and a lot of good things come out of our mouths, but how much comes out of our lives. I find myself trying to lie to myself and say I am making my difference and doing my part. But we know when a lie is a lie, we just try to mask the lie, clean it up and make it look more believable. If you do ever make it to Detroit, let me know I will direct you to Jesus. Better yet, mapquest your ghetto by you. Find out some things you can do, and go. Jesus will be there too.