This is an excerpt from David Janzen's upcoming book Seven Radical Elders.
I wake up this morning (13 December 2018) with both a heavy and a grateful heart because my compassionate friend, faithful mentor, best advocate, inspired co-worker, unstoppable imaginer of new projects to bless the last and the least, this prophet of God for almost nine decades on earth, Julius Besler, is dying. He is going home soon to rest and rejoice with God, leaving us behind. This is no shock. His stooped body more and more often in recent times would fall asleep in mid-conversation, but then his eyes would open and he’d ask us to sing with him, “Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King.”
Overground Railroad
In the early eighties, Julius Belser, one of three elders at the helm of Reba Place Fellowship, was in anguish of spirit. His imagination was seared by images of thousands of Central American refugees fleeing north from death squads and a brutal civil war of the rich against the poor. But instead of welcoming the refugees, the U.S. was sending them back to their deaths and funding their killers. In a Passion Week drama at Reba Place Church, Julius played the role of Pontius Pilate, who turned Jesus over to be tortured and murdered by those who hated him. Pilate then ceremoniously washed his hands of any guilt. In that moment Julius knew prophetic action was called for.
Julius led the way in imagining a network of folks reminiscent of the Underground Railroad, secreting slaves to freedom in Canada. Since the railroad that Julius dreamed up and organized was mostly legal, he called it the Overground Railroad and invited others to join in its operation.
Thirty-four years ago our family moved to Reba and I became Julius Belser’s assistant, helping him manage this growing network of churches, intentional communities and volunteers forming across the U.S. and Canada. Julius had lined up Spanish-speaking recruits to interview those refugees in shelters and detention camps on the southern U.S. border, where they selected those most in need of protection. We’d bond them out of detention, arranged for rides to temporary hosts, communities who could teach them how to survive in “El Norte” Eventually they would land with sponsors in Canada. For a decade we ran this railroad together. He was the imaginative chairman of the board and I was the director. He was the humble stepladder that I climbed to take over his job even as he held me up so I could do my best.
Affordable Housing
Then when the civil wars in Central America came to an end, we turned our attention to affordable housing needs in Evanston. He was chairman of the board and I was the Executive Director of Reba Place Development Corporation. That’s where I learned that when I knocked on the doors of City Hall, and they learned I worked for Julius Belser, I’d describe the project and they’d ask, “How much money do you need?”
Later, Julius and a few African-American pastors teamed up to organize the Evanston Community Development Association for a similar mission of providing affordable housing in these pastor’s neighborhoods. When they learned I was with Julius, I got immediate credibility and welcome. I remember Bishop W.D.C. Williams grabbing my torso with a linebacker’s hug and bellowing in my ear, “I love you with the love of Jesus, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Then Bishop took me under his wing and coached me on how to use my gifts in service of an organization with mature African-American leadership, moving forward in the wake of my mentor Julius Belser.
I could tell many other stories from our thirty-four years of Monday morning mentor meetings where I mostly talked and Julius listened. Together we hatched schemes that organized many in doing good for the last and the least. Wherever I went, I learned that Julius had already earned the trust that I needed to do my job. Every week Julius would dream up some new community-sized project responding to needs of the poor and oppressed. Then I’d ask, “And who will administer this?” Never dismayed, he would come up with another dream which we’d problem-solve into a viable project. At that point Julius would knock on doors, and because he was Julius, they would open up. Minority leaders would usually get on board first because they were already Julius’s friends.
Passing On What He Received
After three decades of working together in this manner, God provided a coworker, Adrian Willoughby, who now has been meeting with Julius and me every Monday morning in a three-generation mentorship meeting. Two decades ago, Adrian’s family, newly arrived from Belize, was struck by tragedy when the father suddenly died, leaving teenaged Adrian as the oldest man in the family. Julius came on the scene, presided at the father’s funeral, enveloped the family in his care and problem-solving schemes. Soon we hired young Adrian to help out with moves and apartment renovations so that his family could eventually find a long-term home in the House of Peace Coop. (That would be another long Julius-inspired story.) And now, two decades later, this descendant of African slaves, Adrian Willoughby, is director of Reba Place Development Corporation, and I am his assistant, trying to do for Adrian what Julius did for me.
There is no end of Julius stories I could tell, but this essay is long enough. Soon it will be time to build Julius’s coffin in the traditional Belser pattern. We want to honor his body as his spirit passes on “to see the King” from whom he will surely hear, “Well done good and faithful servant.”