Let me start by saying, I hate trains.
I took a train from Petersburg, Va. to Camden, N.J. in late June and a trip that was meant to be six hours quickly turned into 12. The tracks were flooded and the weather made it nearly impossible for us to contact the control station, which of course is located in Florida and could easily give us a green light for full speed somewhere between Maryland and Washington, D.C, but finally I arrived at my destination: Camden, N.J., where I had the pleasure of being an UrbanPromise Ministries Intern.
For seven weeks I was able to tell the Gospel to children in pre-kindergarten through fifth grade as well as participate in fellowship with other interns and staff from around the world.
I left Petersburg about two hours after I was originally supposed to and arrived in Philadelphia about five hours after I had planned -- finally pulling into Philly and getting off the train only to sit for another 45 minutes waiting for the station attendants to unload the luggage car. As it turns out, the luggage car had caught fire upon our arrival and the wait was due to the process of putting it out.
My field director, Lisa, came to pick me up and we left the train station with my luggage -- which was at this point freshly coated with a white powder-like residue left by the fire extinguisher -- only to step out into torrential rain. I am talking light-weight "hurricane-ing," and we had to run to a car about 30 feet away before we were able to pull out and drive at no more than 20 miles per hour because of limited visibility (and because Lisa's car had stalled three times that day) from Philly to Camden.
This adventure began my seven-week stay in Camden and as we arrived, my boss informed me that I and nine other volunteer interns would be staying in an apartment above a church in the "red-light district." South Camden is characterized by a sewage plant, maximum security prison, tire-recycling center, steady flow of semi-trucks and a prostitute on almost every corner.
Lisa dropped me off only to drive into about two and a half feet of water 10 minutes later. Her car got stuck and she had to walk home, leaving her only means of transportation in the middle of the street, only to be stolen when the water went down. Luckily the church we were staying at allowed her to use one of their vans.
This was my voyage to Camden, but my journey started much earlier -- about five months, to be exact. A 40-something-year-old man named Bruce Main came to the University and spoke at an Impact meeting. Impact is a Christian organization made up of mostly African-American students at the University. Main told us stories about Camden youth, and about a private school that had recently been founded in the city called UrbanPromise Academy. He told us they needed interns for their summer camp, and shared with us probably the best definition of faith that I have ever heard.
"Faith is putting ourselves in situations where if God doesn't show up we are in trouble," he said.
Main went on to talk about "called people" -- those who have purposes in their lives and who answer when called to fulfill them. He talked about being willing to move, even when you do not think you are ready because the outcome might be even better than you expected -- essentially stepping into an abyss and trusting God for the rest. I am sure at this point in my life that his message was for me; I was being "called," however ill-prepared. I gave Main my information, I applied, and five months later I stepped into the abyss of pouring rain in rank South Camden, and into my unpaid internship.
When people asked me what I was doing I would tell them it was Bible camp because I knew it had to do with Jesus. When they asked why I was going I had no answer. The next question was whether I had gotten a bullet-proof vest yet. Camden is the most dangerous city in the U.S.overall, according to the Morgan Quitno Group, which ranks cities and states in a number of categories. I was going to Camden to stay for seven weeks, and I had to try to raise $800 to cover my cost of living. I would not be getting paid. I would be working with kids somewhere between the ages of five and 13 between 9 a.m. and 10 p.m. That was all I knew, and I was content with that.
It turned out I was teaching Bible. While it was not technically a Bible camp, the Bible was the focus of one of the primary classes. It was offered along with recreation, art and hodgepodge -- a mixture of all three subjects -- on rotation for two hours a day. UrbanPromise has six camps strategically located throughout Camden -- three dedicated to kindergarten through fourth and three for fifth through eighth. However, our students ranged from pre-kindergarten through fifth grade. Fifty hyper kids and 90-degree-plus weather -- who could ask for better?
I taught Bible every day for two hours, and it was absolutely awesome. More than 10 kids were in each class for 30 minutes watching "Prince of Egypt," learning about Jesus and Moses and the Armor of God (not necessarily in that order). I was teaching elementary school kids about salvation and having them enjoy it and want to come back. We had swim days and fellowship, Bible Buddies, a form of discipleship in which we taught the students about Jesus by the way we live our lives. Basketball and kickball tournaments, carnivals and camp competitions made up our weeks. What could be greater than entertaining children for four to seven hours a day? These were kids with fully grown personalities and no social conscience to tell them that it might be inappropriate to grab your recreation teacher's arm fat, or it might be wrong to put the soccer ball in the toilet.
At one point we actually had one of our students preaching to us. Picture a seven-year-old boy standing on a chair, hands waving in the air. He had memorized the first few scriptures of the Bible and kept repeating them over and over, each time more charismatic than the last.
"In the Beginning, God created the Heavens and the earth," he said. "Hallelujah, Thank you, Jesus."
He would even speak in his own version of tongues, no doubt mimicking preachers he had seen in the past, and would begin to shout and yell.
Despite my hectic and apprehensive arrival I now see Camden as a place I would love to call home. The students and their families welcomed me, and I was able to see that while parts of Camden are like what is seen in the news, most of the city is a wonderful place to be. I went to Camden and I saw the future of the city.
It is amazing that the "most dangerous city in America" looks just like any other city I have visited (except with the addition of prostitutes). It is amazing that the "most dangerous city in America" is less than 20 minutes from Moorestown, New Jersey, which was rankedby Money Magazine in 2005 as the "best city to live in in America."
However, what I found most amazing is that so many people find it easier to look abroad to offer aid, but close to home is more difficult to fathom. When I say "I am going to Camden, N.J. for the summer" the response I get should not be, "But it's the most dangerous city in America, why would you go there? Don't go there."
Of the 30 volunteer interns this summer at UrbanPromise, at most 13 of them were American. If you think about it, these people coming from places like England, Scotland, Ireland, Canada, Malawi and Kenya are coming to America to help us in the areas in which we are lacking. These were great people and I would not trade this summer for the world.
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