The Inner-city

There are wonderful people in our inner-cities amid the crime and poverty. Many are searching for the truth and a way out. The Spirit of the Lord is strong in these units of the Church as they worship in Sacrament and other meetings. It is like passing into another dimension to step across the threshold of a converted store. The wonderful members of the church and the Spirit greet you even more warmly than the mor affluent congregations.

Our missionaries dressed in their white shirts are respected by the gangs who rule these streets. Sometimes the local police will stop the missionaries and ask them if they know where they are. When the reply is positive, they are counseled to be careful. Of course the missionaries are taught to avoid crowds and any sign of crime and civil unrest. However they often observe drug deals and hear gunshots. I was told of one missionary that started a collection of empty dime bags. I now instruct them not to pick up things off the street. On one occasion I know of, a couple of our missionaries got roughed up by one of the local hoodlums trying to get in with a gang. It was reported that the hoodlum received a severe beating for that and told to leave the “Jesus Boys” alone. Once in a while a returned missionary will take his parents to some of the inner-city places where he served. He quickly learns that without the name tag, the white shirt, and tie the feeling there is much different.

One of our missionaries wrote this poem of his work in Camden, New Jersey.

          Broken Glass

By Nicholas Kenneth Reese

Graffitti’d walls and broken glass

Church bells ring for vespers mass

            The contents of a sidewalk’s edge

            Tell the tales of weekends past

With smoked butts and stray malts

And scattered, broken glass.

Half-Smoked Newports, whisky Flasks

Last night’s “40’s” paper bags

            From over pass to Pigeoned parks

            Inner-City streets are packed

With strange finds, and gang signs

And scattered, broken glass.

Rubber bands and latex

Corona bottles on the steps

            A cop displays the Doppler Effect

            Through streets filled up with car wrecks

And Zig-Zags and Dime bags

And scattered, broken glass.

Ghetto birds and narc cops

The constant smell of brewed hops

            The history of a lifetime here

            Is told with tattoo’d teardrops

And bad Jokes and blunt smoke

And scattered, broken glass.

Shattered glass of all kinds

Gives the street a strange shine

            Beneath a sky devoid of stars

            And Jordan’s hang on power lines

And streets lights and cheap fights –

Just scattered, broken glass

Bolted doors and drawn blinds –

Perhaps a home where we can find

            Amidst the pits of poverty

            And anything but welcome signs

A humble heart, a chance to start

From broken, scattered glass.

--Nicholas Kenneth Reese (2011)