Love: Inside Out

I first meet Manny after the summer of my ninth grade year. He was a student at the Philadelphia School of the Bible and had begun to work at our church as the 12th grade boys Sunday school teacher. I was returning form a summer as a counselor in training at Christian camp on Maryland’s eastern shore.

Manny was from New York City, in his early thirties, married with two boys under the age of 5. Though my church’s Sunday school program divided classes by grade level and gender, my friend David and I were assigned to Manny’s 12th grade class.

Several Christian men spoke into my life as I grew up in the church but none had the impact as Manny. I’m sure the time of my life was significant, but in actuality it was Manny.

Manny was not fooled by our teenage B.S. or attempts to pretend to follow the accepted and unspoken Christian standards of the late 60’s. He had been part of an organized crime family form his early teens and way to street-wise for us white suburban posers.

So for the next three years between the hours of 9:30 and 10:45, I sat under Manny’s teaching. Actually I don’t recall a thing he said, but I remember his life and the grace that flowed from him to all he encountered.

After Manny became a follower of Jesus he tried to leave the rackets and the fellows he had run with since he was thirteen. However he had made a pact with the devil – so to speak – and it ended with his house being fire-bombed and him fleeing with his young family to Philadelphia. I never learned but sketchy details of his prior life and as I grew to know him, I became more interested in this man who actually believed the words of Jesus and attempted to live them out.

Leaving New York and is former life with nothing but his family and the clothes on their backs, Manny found an apartment in a third-floor walk up in an inner-city government project. The project in all of its concrete and utilitarian splendor was part of a government program of the 60’s that failed. As was the case in Philadelphia the majority of the unfortunate residents were black, while Manny was Puerto Rican, a mix that had not yet been reconciled by Dr. King’s Dream. This was a difficult place to live. A place I never mentioned visiting to my parents.

During the next three years several things happened in the project. Most significant was a Bible study begun by Manny and his wife. The study grew and took on a life of its own. Today we would describe it as a home-church.

Though he was a student with a family, Manny’s finance situation improved to the point where he could leave the rat and dope infested project. Instead he chose to stay – because of the relationships and the need of the gospel of grace and love offered by his savior Jesus Christ. I remember discussing – actually questioning – Manny about his decision until I saw the love of Jesus in his eyes as he kindly answered me while portraying staying in the ghetto as the most logical and practical place for his family.

The influence many had in my life is difficult if not impossible to measure. A few years after leaving home I reflected back and with the proverbial light bulb flashing realized that I was not the only one. There were thirteen fellows in my actual grade. We had basically grown up together in the church. Even as high school seniors, we rarely missed Sunday school – though I’ll admit that many a morning my eyes were heavy and my head ached for sleep. Even though except for Dave and me the others only had Manny for one year, all thirteen of us entered a Bible college somewhere following graduation.

Manny’s love was not always kind or appreciated – at least by my seventeen year-old assessment. Most Friday evenings I received a phone call around 5:00. After some small talk, Manny would ask if I had any plans for the evening. Of course he already knew I would be going out either with my girlfriend or some of the guys from school. Then he would pray God’s blessing on me, my friends, my girlfriend, our plans and safety. He really knew how to put a speed bump into my plans. It was not until much later that I figured out that Manny probably made two dozen calls on Friday evenings.