urban retreat day.

It seemed like a normal day. Only this was a day that I could go out and have fun and not feel guilty because it actually counted for schoolwork. My urban exploration day wasn’t a new experience for me, it didn’t revolutionize the way I experience the city or the way I look for and experience God. It was a normal day of traveling alone.

On my way to the metro station, I walked by part of the municipal areas of Pasadena I hadn’t seen before. I saw a tent set up in an enclosed area with picnic tables, like an enclosed park. On my side of the fence, I saw a pair of boots on the sidewalk, set out like my neighbor sets out his shoes by his front door. I wondered if the boots and tent were connected.

While on the gold line to Union station, I read Matthew 15:21-28, the story of the Canaanite woman. (What are the crumbs? Who is asking for crumbs?) The chorus of Brandon Heath’s “Give Me Your Eyes” kept running through my mind. (There sure are a lot of bright, beautiful colors in all that graffiti.) Naps, scowls and books all around.

As I walked around Union station, I felt like I was in Europe, but the crowds looked different, with more luggage. (What does bringing God’s Kingdom look like here?) I decided that Los Angeles itself is the gateway to America. (Or is LA the gateway to the world?) A woman with a bun perfectly on top of her head.

I left the station, praying as I walked, and realized I was following someone to downtown. I found myself on Broadway, going south. (Do the trees in that courtyard know they’re not in a forest?) I spotted what looked like an Arab, a Mexican, and a Korean all huddled under an umbrella.

I followed the signs to the Central Market, wondering what kind of wares would be found there. As I ducked inside out of the rain, I found myself in another country. I had been here before, I knew it, but I couldn’t quite remember where. (Mexico? Morocco? Italy?) I simultaneously felt at home and like a foreigner in my own country. While eating my terrifically delicious tacos, I noticed that most people around me were by themselves, too. (Where are they from? What is their story?) A man in a blazer and bellbottoms. An African-American woman with white hair and striking green-blue eyes.

I then followed the signs to the Central Library and immediately fell in love with it. This was my sanctuary in the city – the foreign languages section – a refuge from communication, to communication. A man snoring behind me, on top of his pile of books.

All day I noticed the small, mundane, humorous things, just like I usually would. I enjoyed the artwork all around, the tiles, mosaics and murals. (Am I a tourist or am I engaging? How do I engage in this world?)

If Jesus is the answer, what is the question?