Let me check. Uh, yep. I'm still here.
It's been an interesting week. The lineup at Dinner was longer than I've ever seen it. I wish I'd counted heads, but didn't think of it until too late.
Too late, because there are always people who will come and get a plate and leave, taking it back to their digs to eat with family or friends. Which is fine with some and not with others. To some it looks like freedom, to others - ingratitude.
This is one of several little debates we have going.
Another is over "saying grace". We don't and never have. We started that way because we aren't comfortable with the 'soup and a sermon' model that we've seen misused at times and because of the unhealthy religious atmosphere that so many of the people who live at the Motel have lived with.
So for some, not saying grace is a form of grace. For others, it's a missed opportunity to create an atmosphere of gratitude to God for good things.
But it's surprising how deeply felt these things are. For those on each side of the question, it's very important and of great value. So part of the conversation this week was a suggestion that those for whom saying grace is good, find a way to include it in their own way. Get your dinner, sit down (probably with people who know you) and say, "Is it OK if I say grace?" If your table mates roll their eyes and say, "Oh, my God." then don't do it again. If they appreciate it, go from there.
So those who say "no" to saying grace show grace to those who wish to say grace, just as those who wish to say grace have, all along, shown grace to those who say "no" to saying grace.
Bulletins to follow as events warrant.
Last Friday a few of us went on a field trip to Sanctuary, which was great. They've got a very groovy thing going on there. If I lived in the big smoke, I'd be all over it like a... thing that... gets all over something.
Anyway, we spent a few hours with Greg Paul (who has written a couple of wonderful books) talking through some of the issues and questions we deal with.
It's been interesting for us all to think through, in the last week, what our group and Sanctuary have in common and where we differ.
The big difference seems to be one of space. They own their space and we don't and it's amazing what a difference that makes.
Owning space, either legally or morally, creates an outlet for energy and ideas and opportunities. You can plan. You can organize. You can create safety, even briefly, for people who sorely need it and can't find it anywhere else. You can give people the chance to contribute and help and share the work.
We've talked about the fact that, if we just had running water, we could have people wash dishes after the meal. Or even rinse them. We could have a couple of people cook some spaghetti every week or make a big salad. Little things that make space for humanity to happen.
Wishing for running water. I feel like Ma Walton.
I suppose the other side of the coin, the good news, is that it makes us focus on what we do have. Which is each other and God.
Had a really nice drive to the Food Bank the other night with L.L. and G.J.
G.J. is a sweet man who works hard at focusing and keeping on track, which he finds increasingly difficult. (I've got several cereal boxes in my back seat that belong to him. He left them behind when he got out of the car.) He gave me a hand-written copy of a note he'd like to put up in the laundromat and I'm going to type it up and print a few copies for next Wednesday.
L.L. is a gracious, well spoken woman who works at a local coffee shop. She said that she'd come home exhausted that afternoon and laid down to rest just for a few minutes. Next thing she knew it was after 6 and she was late for Dinner. I've heard the same thing from a few people at the Motel. They're so wiped at the end of the day that they just crash.
At the Food Bank, they were both chastised for losing their cards and not knowing their numbers. After a tongue lashing, they were each given their share of supplies to carry home in bright, reflective Hallowe'en loot bags.
It was a snappy cold bright full moon night, with ice all over the place. Which makes everybody walk funny. We reminded each other to be careful and watch our step.
We loaded everything into the car and drove through one of the more historic neighbourhoods in town, full of big brick houses with gingerbread trim and turrets and leaded glass and wraparound porches. We talked about pets and kids and jobs and family and Christmas.
Headed to G.J.'s apartment, past the house with the '30's car in the driveway and then back to the Motel to drop off L.L.
Just a nice way to spend half an hour. With a couple of likeable people, looking at Christmas lights through the windows of a warm car.
So that's what we have.
No church, no lease, no promises. No safe place. So we have to be safe people. And that's the foundation we're building on.
r
It's been an interesting week. The lineup at Dinner was longer than I've ever seen it. I wish I'd counted heads, but didn't think of it until too late.
Too late, because there are always people who will come and get a plate and leave, taking it back to their digs to eat with family or friends. Which is fine with some and not with others. To some it looks like freedom, to others - ingratitude.
This is one of several little debates we have going.
Another is over "saying grace". We don't and never have. We started that way because we aren't comfortable with the 'soup and a sermon' model that we've seen misused at times and because of the unhealthy religious atmosphere that so many of the people who live at the Motel have lived with.
So for some, not saying grace is a form of grace. For others, it's a missed opportunity to create an atmosphere of gratitude to God for good things.
But it's surprising how deeply felt these things are. For those on each side of the question, it's very important and of great value. So part of the conversation this week was a suggestion that those for whom saying grace is good, find a way to include it in their own way. Get your dinner, sit down (probably with people who know you) and say, "Is it OK if I say grace?" If your table mates roll their eyes and say, "Oh, my God." then don't do it again. If they appreciate it, go from there.
So those who say "no" to saying grace show grace to those who wish to say grace, just as those who wish to say grace have, all along, shown grace to those who say "no" to saying grace.
Bulletins to follow as events warrant.
Last Friday a few of us went on a field trip to Sanctuary, which was great. They've got a very groovy thing going on there. If I lived in the big smoke, I'd be all over it like a... thing that... gets all over something.
Anyway, we spent a few hours with Greg Paul (who has written a couple of wonderful books) talking through some of the issues and questions we deal with.
It's been interesting for us all to think through, in the last week, what our group and Sanctuary have in common and where we differ.
The big difference seems to be one of space. They own their space and we don't and it's amazing what a difference that makes.
Owning space, either legally or morally, creates an outlet for energy and ideas and opportunities. You can plan. You can organize. You can create safety, even briefly, for people who sorely need it and can't find it anywhere else. You can give people the chance to contribute and help and share the work.
We've talked about the fact that, if we just had running water, we could have people wash dishes after the meal. Or even rinse them. We could have a couple of people cook some spaghetti every week or make a big salad. Little things that make space for humanity to happen.
Wishing for running water. I feel like Ma Walton.
I suppose the other side of the coin, the good news, is that it makes us focus on what we do have. Which is each other and God.
Had a really nice drive to the Food Bank the other night with L.L. and G.J.
G.J. is a sweet man who works hard at focusing and keeping on track, which he finds increasingly difficult. (I've got several cereal boxes in my back seat that belong to him. He left them behind when he got out of the car.) He gave me a hand-written copy of a note he'd like to put up in the laundromat and I'm going to type it up and print a few copies for next Wednesday.
L.L. is a gracious, well spoken woman who works at a local coffee shop. She said that she'd come home exhausted that afternoon and laid down to rest just for a few minutes. Next thing she knew it was after 6 and she was late for Dinner. I've heard the same thing from a few people at the Motel. They're so wiped at the end of the day that they just crash.
At the Food Bank, they were both chastised for losing their cards and not knowing their numbers. After a tongue lashing, they were each given their share of supplies to carry home in bright, reflective Hallowe'en loot bags.
It was a snappy cold bright full moon night, with ice all over the place. Which makes everybody walk funny. We reminded each other to be careful and watch our step.
We loaded everything into the car and drove through one of the more historic neighbourhoods in town, full of big brick houses with gingerbread trim and turrets and leaded glass and wraparound porches. We talked about pets and kids and jobs and family and Christmas.
Headed to G.J.'s apartment, past the house with the '30's car in the driveway and then back to the Motel to drop off L.L.
Just a nice way to spend half an hour. With a couple of likeable people, looking at Christmas lights through the windows of a warm car.
So that's what we have.
No church, no lease, no promises. No safe place. So we have to be safe people. And that's the foundation we're building on.
r
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