I'm New Here (But Not Really)

A lot has happened since my last post.

I've graduated from seminary, completed my Ordination Council (sort of a Baptist extreme sport) and been ordained. I have business cards that say "Reverend" and one of those shirts with the fancy collar. 

And I've begun work at a different church in the town next door. Best job ever.

Which means my role in the Drop-In has wrapped up and it continues without me, but in very capable hands and hearts. Plus a couple of other churches have begun similar events on other days of the week.

My new church doesn't have a Drop-In type ministry, but they have stepped up to support me as I start making friends among folks who live on the margins of our neighbourhood. My new parish has, for the first time ever, an actual tent city: a community of between 25 and 35 people who for various reasons cannot find housing. Parallel to that, we also have a growing crisis with serious opioid addiction, poisonings and overdoses, alongside an increase in the visibility of the more discomfiting forms of mental illness.

The town as a whole has been wrestling with their response to this new normal, doing so with varying degrees of human decency, lament, denial, fear, and antipathy. And, to be honest, the people in churches--being human--occupy some of the same spots on that spectrum.

I've heard people in my congregation describe encounters on the street or in the lobbies of their own apartment buildings that made them deeply uncomfortable, or angry, or afraid. They've been in situations where they dialed 911 because they didn't "feel safe," or didn't know what to do about the guy who was lying there not moving. They've felt overwhelmed by the tension between a desire to help, and a feeling of helplessness. They've wondered aloud why these folks don't just go to rehab or find a job or fill in the forms to apply for the housing that the government spokesmodels tell us is available for the asking (don't even get me started).

Some of the people in my congregation, especially those who live downtown, are face-to-face with the new reality of our town. They've picked up abandoned needles, pipes, and tinfoil from their front lawns, and from the church lot. They're uncertain and just a bit afraid. 

So how are they responding? 

They are (and this is part of the reason I love them) making muffins. Buying fresh fruit. Assembling loaves of sandwiches that they leave in the church fridge for me to pick up and deliver to the Camp. Knitting hats and mitts. Giving me bags of chocolate to share.

As an older and smaller congregation, we're not currently in a position to host a Drop In. So they've adopted my wanderings as their own ministry. Beautifully and powerfully, I would suggest, fulfilling the spirit of Jesus' command in Matthew 5:38-42:

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you..."

In other words, love your enemy. 

Who is my enemy? 

Sometimes, sure, it's the person with violent intent: who sets out to do me actual harm. 

Sometimes it's the person I just don't understand: who without realizing it, causes me to duck into the Post Office where there are other people so I won't feel vulnerable. Who dosses in my lobby, talks to himself, and smells really bad. 

Sometimes it's the person I've never seen but whose impact is felt: who uses my front yard instead of a sharps bin. Who steals the propane tank from my back yard. Whose 'housing' isn't good for my property value.

Sometimes... 'enemy' is in the eye of the beholder, rather than in 'their' actual intent or actions. Sometimes 'enemy' is subjective--how 'they' make me feel.

When Jesus was talking about "an evil person" he was talking about the first definition. People who choose to assault and oppress. In a small town, that doesn't happen much. (I might put in this category the pond scum who sell adulterated drugs to addicts, but that's a topic for another day. And then Jesus would just expect me to show them grace. I'm not there yet.)

But it's a very human trait to categorize people according to how they affect our comfort and peace of mind. In some cases, it's a straight-up "us and them" rooted in xenophobia, while for a vulnerable 92-year-old, it might be a real fear of getting knocked off their feet by someone lost in their own anxiety and looking for a way out, because it could literally be the end of life as they know it.

So I am blown away by the fact that a team of my church brothers and sisters are looking beyond their fear, beyond their longing for the days when this was a nice little town, beyond their subjective discomfort... to see the human beings with whom they share the sidewalks and lobbies. It would be so easy to get on the denial/antipathy bandwagon. Instead, they entrust to me as go-between what I can only describe as their love.

They've accurately identified who the enemy actually is... and is not. And they've taken the simple step they are able to take toward the people whose differentness undermines their own feelings of comfort and safety.

They've chosen the Jesus way. And I'm so very very proud.