I watched the cars line up in front of my neighbor friend's house....2 police cars, 3-4 shiny civilian cars with ladies driving them and also watched as they got out and went inside. And when they all filed out. I wasn't sure if I should get involved but the catch in my heart beat meant that they were there to "apprehend" her children. All 6 of them. I wrestled with talking to the lady standing by her car, but wanted them (CFS) to know that "that lady" had a friend that cared to know what was going on. So I went up to her..."Hi, I'm a friend of the woman that lives in the place you just went into, is everything alright?" She looked at me and smiled but said in an incredulous voice, "That place there?" and she pointed to the house. "Yes, I know her and her kids and wondered if everything was ok." She gave me a look of wonder (like who would ever be THAT ladies friend?) and said, "Oh we are looking for her grand-child". Ok, like Marge has 2 grandbabies and one on the way, not living in her house, something doesn't fit here....and what about all the cars?
I let that slide and went home and phoned Marge. She was out driving 5 kids around and didn't know the bustling entourage in front of her house was there. After she came home, she asked me to stick around while her native CFS worker came by, to explain what was going on. As I sat on the step with her 8 year old daughter Natasha and her new kitten Princess, I wondered if I'd be seeing her kids gathered up in the next few days and taken to various homes or hotels. Her house had slowly become a pit, with letting in the wrong crowd of kids hang out there, her landlady doesn't care to do repairs and cockroaches, bed bugs and mice were entrenching themselves in walls, cupboards and the basement. We have helped her many times, but because of the neglect and overwhelming circumstances, CFS had been called to investigate.
Natasha's kitty was becoming anxious to explore and she held on to it tightly. "Do you think they will take us away today?" Natasha asked me. "No, it doesn't look like it will be today", I wondered how I would handle this awful subject. "Well, if they do..." she looked at me with clear, beautiful brown eyes, "what will happen to Princess?" "I don't know, she might wonder around and get lost." I said. Letting the conversation unfold, she said, "Oh, I don't want Princess to get lost". "How about if when you have to leave, you bring her to me and I'll care for her till you get back", I said. She looked at me with a smile, "Ok! I'll pick her up when we get back."
The conversation inside with the CFS worker was ending and the man stepped outside on the porch. As I got up to get out of the way, Natasha shoved Princess into my arms and looked sternly at me. I held the kitty as Marge, the CFS worker and I chatted a bit and he left. No kids in tow, not the day of reckoning that we all thought. I gave Princess back to Natasha and said, "I'll bring you some kitty food. It looks like that's it for the day and I have to make my boys some supper." She bundled the little kitten back in her arms and we looked at each other, like sharing a secret but not a very happy one.
Going home, it took me awhile to detox from that little episode. Praying, thinking, wondering how it will all go for these kids and their mom, trying to keep things together. Her confidence in me was reassuring, that she does have someone in this crazy scene that will take care of what is hers, while she faces the unknown.
I now throw what is mine, into the lap of the One I've trusted and know He is faithful till the end for both Natasha and me.
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Monday, June 16, 2014
Bannock and Wine
"Aw"!! The computer screen indicated a serious game going on, his character blasting away at the others on the screen..."why do we need to go over there? It's only going to be the three of us, nobody is going to come in this rain anyway!" The screen lit up with an explosion, and he was back in the game. My son didn't hear my explanation as the headphones were back in place and his fingers dittoing rapidly on the keyboard. I thought my answer was a good one, even if there is three of us, we have decided to give that time up to pray, study and have communion as a sign of what Jesus has done, is doing and will do, in us and in the neighborhood. **sigh**
My prayer was that Woody's Worship today would be another indication that Jesus refused to give up the neighborhood, as was his lonely lady disciple (aka: me). Steve was out of town, my good buddy wasn't answering his phone, the kids were "occupied" and it was raining. So on went the 'too big' galoshes (really they were huge rubber boots), my rain jacket and debit card to go to Safeway to buy the grape juice for communion and to photo copy the song pages. I felt so martyred for my faith, a little like Stephen in Acts 6 and 7 that I was going to preach about in an hour. I was being harangued and mocked by my son, pelted by rain drops like stones and made to walk a whole block, like Christ heading to the cross.
It didn't even get better at our worship hour. Everyone actually showed up (HA! In your face son!) but in between the preaching and the communion, I forgot the tune of the "great song" I was going to teach and had to read it instead, plus sit in between my 16 and 17 year old because the of the quiet rucus going on with their flip flops. Can you hear another **sigh** of martyrdom?
Is this what it is to bring Jesus into a struggling neighborhood? Why do I have to struggle too? At least let me remember the song tune!! At least inject my child with the wonder of inner-city ministry and smilingly turn to me and say "right on mom! Let's go worship Jesus and declare his Kingdom in this god-forsaken drug den street!!" Just writing that makes me wonder what got into me to even think that it would be easy and others would be patting me on the back with encouragement. I don't think I have a clue what real martyrdom is, let alone spell it. The real guy Stephen, who was stoned, could tell us what it means....and he'd probably say it just takes a heart filled with the wonder of His Spirit, hands that spread wide to the widows and the orphans and a mouth that will not stop talking of his justice and peace, the failure of legalism and glory of seeing Jesus sitting at the right hand of His Father. A surrender to what He wants, when He wants it and love dripping out all over the place.
In this little space of time and neighborhood, I am inspired and humbled by this story. We eat the bannock and drink the wine, because we are broken, needy and crying out for his forgiveness and peace, for his presence and power. Disciples not giving up in seeing the Kingdom come.
My prayer was that Woody's Worship today would be another indication that Jesus refused to give up the neighborhood, as was his lonely lady disciple (aka: me). Steve was out of town, my good buddy wasn't answering his phone, the kids were "occupied" and it was raining. So on went the 'too big' galoshes (really they were huge rubber boots), my rain jacket and debit card to go to Safeway to buy the grape juice for communion and to photo copy the song pages. I felt so martyred for my faith, a little like Stephen in Acts 6 and 7 that I was going to preach about in an hour. I was being harangued and mocked by my son, pelted by rain drops like stones and made to walk a whole block, like Christ heading to the cross.
It didn't even get better at our worship hour. Everyone actually showed up (HA! In your face son!) but in between the preaching and the communion, I forgot the tune of the "great song" I was going to teach and had to read it instead, plus sit in between my 16 and 17 year old because the of the quiet rucus going on with their flip flops. Can you hear another **sigh** of martyrdom?
Is this what it is to bring Jesus into a struggling neighborhood? Why do I have to struggle too? At least let me remember the song tune!! At least inject my child with the wonder of inner-city ministry and smilingly turn to me and say "right on mom! Let's go worship Jesus and declare his Kingdom in this god-forsaken drug den street!!" Just writing that makes me wonder what got into me to even think that it would be easy and others would be patting me on the back with encouragement. I don't think I have a clue what real martyrdom is, let alone spell it. The real guy Stephen, who was stoned, could tell us what it means....and he'd probably say it just takes a heart filled with the wonder of His Spirit, hands that spread wide to the widows and the orphans and a mouth that will not stop talking of his justice and peace, the failure of legalism and glory of seeing Jesus sitting at the right hand of His Father. A surrender to what He wants, when He wants it and love dripping out all over the place.
In this little space of time and neighborhood, I am inspired and humbled by this story. We eat the bannock and drink the wine, because we are broken, needy and crying out for his forgiveness and peace, for his presence and power. Disciples not giving up in seeing the Kingdom come.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Get On the Bus!
I love kids...especially when I finally join them in their age appropriate wave length and we connect. Eyes light up, imagination runs rampant, and we become co-conspirators in a huge game that only we two, or three or four...know. Last night was like this. It was in the middle of Steve's talk of a verse in Isaiah to our potluck group, about 8 neighbors who ate spaghetti together, carried around Marge's baby and chatted about our favorite topics. Well, lately, the 3-4 little ones (ages 3-5) have been hungry for action (and noisy!)...slamming doors, each other and "washing" dishes...and each other. Somehow I got this brain wave to get the 4 kid chairs in a line and play bus. "Get on board!" I said to them, not too loud so Steve's audience could focus on what he was saying. Instantly I had three customers, sitting in the chairs behind me. They looked at me expectantly. "How about McDonald's?" I asked them. Sure, they were game and off we rode. I must have been pretty animated, 2 neighbors watched me with grins and I wondered how I looked bumping around and pressing the "gas pedal" now and then, letting kids off. Hadn't thought of the adult factor!
For nearly half an hour we played, then they wanted to be the bus driver, then they put the baby in his carrying seat in front and laughed as they imagined him driving! I have not had the pleasure of "play" in its purest form, for a long time. I have actually been in a serious, troubled state...angry at filthy rooms and suites, at poverty mindsets, at uncaring society especially in a season of plenty. When good times and feelings roll, where you buy and don't count the cost...whether from duty or love, where vacations are gone on and those who can't vacate, stay and struggle in loneliness and often painful circumstances. I am heavy, I am guilty and limited. I am human...I want a vacation! I don't have all the answers! If I have to change one more bed bug trap, or consider one more tenant we have to evict because of it, I think I'll die! There are too many tensions, limits, agonizing decisions, people that need care. And yet, I think I hear His voice calling through it all. Last night it was a child's voice, "go sit down on the chair, I want to drive you to McDonald's". I had to laugh, McDonald's? When all the world is going to pot (lately literally, the smell is all over the place!), this 3 year old wants to drive me to McDonald's? What a wonder and a delight...I notice the baby is smiling so broadly, I can't help but be caught up in their "in the moment" delight. And she keeps driving, and the baby keeps smiling, and I lay down my cares for the rest of the evening and join in.
I just read a small story called "Sharon's Christmas Prayer" by John Shea, in the book "The Holy Longing" (Ronald Rolheiser). This is what I'm talking about;
For nearly half an hour we played, then they wanted to be the bus driver, then they put the baby in his carrying seat in front and laughed as they imagined him driving! I have not had the pleasure of "play" in its purest form, for a long time. I have actually been in a serious, troubled state...angry at filthy rooms and suites, at poverty mindsets, at uncaring society especially in a season of plenty. When good times and feelings roll, where you buy and don't count the cost...whether from duty or love, where vacations are gone on and those who can't vacate, stay and struggle in loneliness and often painful circumstances. I am heavy, I am guilty and limited. I am human...I want a vacation! I don't have all the answers! If I have to change one more bed bug trap, or consider one more tenant we have to evict because of it, I think I'll die! There are too many tensions, limits, agonizing decisions, people that need care. And yet, I think I hear His voice calling through it all. Last night it was a child's voice, "go sit down on the chair, I want to drive you to McDonald's". I had to laugh, McDonald's? When all the world is going to pot (lately literally, the smell is all over the place!), this 3 year old wants to drive me to McDonald's? What a wonder and a delight...I notice the baby is smiling so broadly, I can't help but be caught up in their "in the moment" delight. And she keeps driving, and the baby keeps smiling, and I lay down my cares for the rest of the evening and join in.
I just read a small story called "Sharon's Christmas Prayer" by John Shea, in the book "The Holy Longing" (Ronald Rolheiser). This is what I'm talking about;
She was five,
sure of the facts,
and recited them
with slow solemnity
convinced every word
was revelation.
She said
they were so poor
they had only peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
to eat
and they went a long way from home
without getting lost. The lady rode
a donkey, the man walked, and the baby
was inside the lady.
They had to stay in a stable
with an ox and an ass (hee, hee)
but the Three Rich Men found them
because a star lited the roof
Shepherds came and you could
pet the sheep but not feed them.
Then the baby was borned.
And do you know who he was?
Her quarter eyes inflated
to silver dollars.
The baby was God.
And she jumped in the air
whirled round, dove into the sofa
and buried her head under the cushion
which is the only proper response
to the Good News of the Incarnation.
Monday, November 25, 2013
West End Ghetto
"Oh, I didn't want to live in the West End ghetto. I'd really like to get a place across Portage....." mused the lady on the other end of the telephone line. I didn't relate to her the rising anger bubbling in my chest, but tried to sound pleasant, "well, we do have quite the community here." Disappointed with this prospective tenant, I hung up the phone a little p.o.'ed. She had agreed to meet with us, as she had wanted a transfer out of her apartment somewhere in Winnipeg to somewhere a little quieter. We have an open suite, but I started having second thoughts. Would I want this type of attitude simmering next door? I thought of Hilda from last week, who is toughing it out at Siloam Mission and would love a chance to have an apartment like ours.
The West End Ghetto. I forget that a lot of people in our city have this view of my (our) neighborhood. I've lived my whole married life here, raised my kids here and cannot say enough about the incredible opportunities for community here. I even recommend people to move into our apartments! We had a tenant/New Life workday the other weekend and 15 people came to scrub baseboards, clean weeds and garbage and generally chat it up for 3 hours. It was a blast. We have tenants like Larry, Diane, Annabella, and Chanda (with 2 young ones in tow) that will pitch in for the benefit of all their block. That's something, that creates community, dignity, 'we care about our place and our neighbors' kind of feel.. If this is a ghetto, I like it, I wish more neighborhoods were like it.
So, if you ever are looking for an apartment in Winnipeg, I'd recommend "The Ruth" here on Maryland, or our other fine block. If you look elsewhere, you may get a nice looking, quiet place, neighbors that leave you alone but mind that you may miss out on community, neighbors that care, a neat church next door and a purpose behind it all.
The West End Ghetto. I forget that a lot of people in our city have this view of my (our) neighborhood. I've lived my whole married life here, raised my kids here and cannot say enough about the incredible opportunities for community here. I even recommend people to move into our apartments! We had a tenant/New Life workday the other weekend and 15 people came to scrub baseboards, clean weeds and garbage and generally chat it up for 3 hours. It was a blast. We have tenants like Larry, Diane, Annabella, and Chanda (with 2 young ones in tow) that will pitch in for the benefit of all their block. That's something, that creates community, dignity, 'we care about our place and our neighbors' kind of feel.. If this is a ghetto, I like it, I wish more neighborhoods were like it.
So, if you ever are looking for an apartment in Winnipeg, I'd recommend "The Ruth" here on Maryland, or our other fine block. If you look elsewhere, you may get a nice looking, quiet place, neighbors that leave you alone but mind that you may miss out on community, neighbors that care, a neat church next door and a purpose behind it all.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Hilda
I needed silence today. I had opened myself to many groups, conversations and senarios since Friday and it is Monday, and I longed to have a half hour of sweet silence, no one around, to think, to just let my brain be unconnected to my heart for awhile. Going to our empty church building on Maryland, I found just that. I lit my "Christ-candle", meditated on the Psalm I've put up on my office wall behind it and chilled.
After a couple of hours, I was packing up my things to leave. Outside on the steps a "bag lady" was coming up to our door. 2 plastic bags and a steel pull cart with things packed in it. She opened the door (darn, I thought it was locked!) and looked in and around till she saw me. Can't kick her out now, I thought....what a bad thought! Out loud I said, "Can I help you?". That began an hour and a half dialogue.
Her name is Hilda. She has long, white hair, clear eyes and a cute smile. She told me she was a tenant of Manitoba Housing for 15 years until she was evicted for being behind on her rent. Apparently, she had paid rent diligently but on the wrong day, for a long time without being notified that it was actually working against her....I wasn't sure what that all meant, but she has lost her apartment, furniture, and perhaps her job and has gone to Siloam mission to stay nights. Her mind works like a lawyers' detailed and specific (on many other inner city issues that we covered), and wants to address this and other injustices, but needs stable housing and to continue her job. I told her to apply to our management company and we'll look into her circumstances and need. For some reason, I believed her (I've heard other stories of bad management) and hope she gets in our buildings. Others may write her off, or question her story....I can't yet, until proven guilty.
I was talking about this with a friend later today, and he laughed...."something doesn't add up here", he said, "I'm not saying she's not telling the truth but there are always two sides to the story. People down here usually have 2 or 3 lives, and show the one they want, to get what they want." I gave him that, we've seen it before, but that first meeting, it's almost like you want to give them a chance, to believe them and help them up, help them out. If she applies, she'll meet 2 other New Lifers and we'll chat and decide together to accept her into our buildings, of course there is a process. I told my friend that. "Yah, you're right." And then I reminded him of a guy he believed in, named him a friend and helped out with rides, groceries, meeting our church people and community. Wayne had an impediment when my friend met him, he couldn't speak well and just barely got across what he needed (food). So they went to Safeway, they went for burgers and was given a ride home using our van. Wayne showed up for church that Sunday, saying he was getting an operation on his tongue to be able to free it up to speak better (alot of pointing and gesturing and sounds). We prayed for him and waited to hear how it went. Well, with a smile on his face the next Sunday, he spoke well, we could understand him! His surgery was Tuesday, he was with a speech therapist till Friday, and wow, a modern day miracle!! He left that day, and we haven't seen him since. It clicked for a number of people...really, to have that type of surgery and therapy in a week? Go figure.
So do we go the distance, or don't we? I feel there is a thrill, a crazy curiosity that happens in the journey with people. It doesn't matter if they say they are Christians or not, disability, welfare, or low income workers, their background....it is an initial, "Oh, yah? Let's hear your story" over a cup of coffee, or standing in a hallway, or outside on a snowy sidewalk. That's how it starts, if they stay long enough, they will hear my story, or one of my friend's. Who knows where it will go, but we're in it for the ride. Jesus, I think, did that too, never shut people out, or analyzed them to death after with his disciples. That's giving them a chance, and giving their humanity some dignity. It's almost like calling them out, will you trust us? Will you one day reveal yourself and not be afraid of being hurt or abused or taken advantage of? Some would rather not and play the system, others hear the call and step forward....prayer, courage, trust. I hope Hilda will be one of those that hear that call.
After a couple of hours, I was packing up my things to leave. Outside on the steps a "bag lady" was coming up to our door. 2 plastic bags and a steel pull cart with things packed in it. She opened the door (darn, I thought it was locked!) and looked in and around till she saw me. Can't kick her out now, I thought....what a bad thought! Out loud I said, "Can I help you?". That began an hour and a half dialogue.
Her name is Hilda. She has long, white hair, clear eyes and a cute smile. She told me she was a tenant of Manitoba Housing for 15 years until she was evicted for being behind on her rent. Apparently, she had paid rent diligently but on the wrong day, for a long time without being notified that it was actually working against her....I wasn't sure what that all meant, but she has lost her apartment, furniture, and perhaps her job and has gone to Siloam mission to stay nights. Her mind works like a lawyers' detailed and specific (on many other inner city issues that we covered), and wants to address this and other injustices, but needs stable housing and to continue her job. I told her to apply to our management company and we'll look into her circumstances and need. For some reason, I believed her (I've heard other stories of bad management) and hope she gets in our buildings. Others may write her off, or question her story....I can't yet, until proven guilty.
I was talking about this with a friend later today, and he laughed...."something doesn't add up here", he said, "I'm not saying she's not telling the truth but there are always two sides to the story. People down here usually have 2 or 3 lives, and show the one they want, to get what they want." I gave him that, we've seen it before, but that first meeting, it's almost like you want to give them a chance, to believe them and help them up, help them out. If she applies, she'll meet 2 other New Lifers and we'll chat and decide together to accept her into our buildings, of course there is a process. I told my friend that. "Yah, you're right." And then I reminded him of a guy he believed in, named him a friend and helped out with rides, groceries, meeting our church people and community. Wayne had an impediment when my friend met him, he couldn't speak well and just barely got across what he needed (food). So they went to Safeway, they went for burgers and was given a ride home using our van. Wayne showed up for church that Sunday, saying he was getting an operation on his tongue to be able to free it up to speak better (alot of pointing and gesturing and sounds). We prayed for him and waited to hear how it went. Well, with a smile on his face the next Sunday, he spoke well, we could understand him! His surgery was Tuesday, he was with a speech therapist till Friday, and wow, a modern day miracle!! He left that day, and we haven't seen him since. It clicked for a number of people...really, to have that type of surgery and therapy in a week? Go figure.
So do we go the distance, or don't we? I feel there is a thrill, a crazy curiosity that happens in the journey with people. It doesn't matter if they say they are Christians or not, disability, welfare, or low income workers, their background....it is an initial, "Oh, yah? Let's hear your story" over a cup of coffee, or standing in a hallway, or outside on a snowy sidewalk. That's how it starts, if they stay long enough, they will hear my story, or one of my friend's. Who knows where it will go, but we're in it for the ride. Jesus, I think, did that too, never shut people out, or analyzed them to death after with his disciples. That's giving them a chance, and giving their humanity some dignity. It's almost like calling them out, will you trust us? Will you one day reveal yourself and not be afraid of being hurt or abused or taken advantage of? Some would rather not and play the system, others hear the call and step forward....prayer, courage, trust. I hope Hilda will be one of those that hear that call.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Yes and No
So I bet you're wondering, "How was the funeral?" as many have asked me already, after Friday.
How is any funeral? I've been to two of them the past 2 months...I could compare and contrast. One, welfare paid for the cremation and we saw an urn up at front, the second welfare paid for a full casket, it looked like a paper box from the dollar store with plastic handles on the sides, only bigger. Of course pictures for both, childhood to adult. But the one had no God-content, no singing, no higher hopes, no promise of a better day...the guy said at the end, "I guess we all aren't perfect!". He was refering to his brother who died of a heart attack, he drank to much and had a poor relationships with everybody. The other, the singing was defeaning! The memories potent and rich! We (the 100 there) laughed and cried, endured the cold wind at the cemetary and enjoyed chatting over great sandwiches and coffee. It was more of a celebration, see how God embodied her and touched others! The other, a bit empty, forlorn and sad.
I'm not saying one person was more important then the other. They both were on disability, had abusive backgrounds, tried to live somewhat happy and productive lives. What happened that one was surrounded by celebration, the other with emptiness and sadness? I'm not saying that one had Jesus and the other didn't, although, the stat's would say there tends to be a more hopeful life when one is Jesus-ward. They were both God's kids, and were invited into His redemptive Kingdom numerous times. One accepted it with joy, the other rejected it, I'm not sure why.
Lately, through my spiritual direction studies and just general musing, I've been wondering about the human heart and it's faith journey. If you'd see your life as a journey on a map, where were the cross-roads or the forks in the road? Why did you make certain decisions? To continue in a relationship or not, to have kids, or accept that job or take that trip? Where has it taken you, are you happy with the outcome? Or shocked and afraid and uncertain? When Christine said "yes" inside to committing to Albert (marriage) and a faith community like New Life, it started her on a road of maturity and spiritual growth like she hadn't known before. And she was thankful. And had support when she needed it. And we came together to celebrate her when she closed her eyes and went home. When Ralph said "no", his path to fill his cup spiralled into alcohol, women, lonliness, mistrust, despair. He was found in his rocking chair, a few days after he died. No one would've looked for him, unless he was due at a family wedding that weekend. He had burnt all his bridges, his anger and attitude drove people away. And yet some came to his funeral, not out of duty or love, but out of respect. He lived in their house, they would not hold his sins against him. I find that deeply moving.
Whatever my neighbors path in life, says Vanier;
"He calls me to give hope, first to the small and the weak, to those who are broken by life and by oppression. He calls me to share my bread with them, to shelter them, to loose the yoke of their sufferings and open them towards liberty and confidence. He calls me to live with them, to make known to them the love of the Father. He alls me to hold out my hand to the self-satisfied, the comfortable. He wants them in the Kingdom. It is not a question of attacking them, but of calling them."
Can we not take our neighbor a little more to heart, to deeper waters in prayer, concern and relationship? Can we be sensitive enough to offer hope in a cross-roads, or a pathway they seem to be in? It might make a difference between the "yes" and the "no". One life-giving, the other painful and life-draining. It matters, they matter.
How is any funeral? I've been to two of them the past 2 months...I could compare and contrast. One, welfare paid for the cremation and we saw an urn up at front, the second welfare paid for a full casket, it looked like a paper box from the dollar store with plastic handles on the sides, only bigger. Of course pictures for both, childhood to adult. But the one had no God-content, no singing, no higher hopes, no promise of a better day...the guy said at the end, "I guess we all aren't perfect!". He was refering to his brother who died of a heart attack, he drank to much and had a poor relationships with everybody. The other, the singing was defeaning! The memories potent and rich! We (the 100 there) laughed and cried, endured the cold wind at the cemetary and enjoyed chatting over great sandwiches and coffee. It was more of a celebration, see how God embodied her and touched others! The other, a bit empty, forlorn and sad.
I'm not saying one person was more important then the other. They both were on disability, had abusive backgrounds, tried to live somewhat happy and productive lives. What happened that one was surrounded by celebration, the other with emptiness and sadness? I'm not saying that one had Jesus and the other didn't, although, the stat's would say there tends to be a more hopeful life when one is Jesus-ward. They were both God's kids, and were invited into His redemptive Kingdom numerous times. One accepted it with joy, the other rejected it, I'm not sure why.
Lately, through my spiritual direction studies and just general musing, I've been wondering about the human heart and it's faith journey. If you'd see your life as a journey on a map, where were the cross-roads or the forks in the road? Why did you make certain decisions? To continue in a relationship or not, to have kids, or accept that job or take that trip? Where has it taken you, are you happy with the outcome? Or shocked and afraid and uncertain? When Christine said "yes" inside to committing to Albert (marriage) and a faith community like New Life, it started her on a road of maturity and spiritual growth like she hadn't known before. And she was thankful. And had support when she needed it. And we came together to celebrate her when she closed her eyes and went home. When Ralph said "no", his path to fill his cup spiralled into alcohol, women, lonliness, mistrust, despair. He was found in his rocking chair, a few days after he died. No one would've looked for him, unless he was due at a family wedding that weekend. He had burnt all his bridges, his anger and attitude drove people away. And yet some came to his funeral, not out of duty or love, but out of respect. He lived in their house, they would not hold his sins against him. I find that deeply moving.
Whatever my neighbors path in life, says Vanier;
"He calls me to give hope, first to the small and the weak, to those who are broken by life and by oppression. He calls me to share my bread with them, to shelter them, to loose the yoke of their sufferings and open them towards liberty and confidence. He calls me to live with them, to make known to them the love of the Father. He alls me to hold out my hand to the self-satisfied, the comfortable. He wants them in the Kingdom. It is not a question of attacking them, but of calling them."
Can we not take our neighbor a little more to heart, to deeper waters in prayer, concern and relationship? Can we be sensitive enough to offer hope in a cross-roads, or a pathway they seem to be in? It might make a difference between the "yes" and the "no". One life-giving, the other painful and life-draining. It matters, they matter.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
She Is Not My Enemy
Mid-week and being stretched thin means that I am lacking on the creative side. My friend's funeral continues to be planned, the moon-walk towards Friday puts a little edge on my nerves. The viewing, internment, the reception planned and organized, down to the color of the flowers. She would love this, if she were coming in on her own funeral, she'd be proud of those ironing their one and only suit, dress or "dress pants" to where that afternoon. She would smile at the pictures displayed, her childhood, her wedding (which I was reminded I was one of the four bridesmaids), coffee houses, holding her master angler fish, relaxing with her husband.
Not surprisingly, there isn't alot of photos after her health started to deteriorate. Hip problems, knees and calves and the loss of her job at McDonald's (where the staff loved and treasured her), because she couldn't stand for hours anymore. She learned to sit, to wait for help, to invite children to sit with her, her movement was slow and labored and finally almost too painful to continue going down the stairs of her apartment to a waiting vehicle or to go to church.
The saving fact of her life was knowing that she was loved, by her husband, her Christian community, by Christ. So many like her are forgotten, told they are unloved, useless, boring or a deteriment to family and society. A God-child, pushed aside because they are not educated in the right college (or any college), live in the right neighborhood, have read the latest books or gone to the block buster hit at Silver City.
After potluck one night, I was walking Cyclone around the block, getting some fresh air, thinking. As I walked through our neighborhood park, someone called out, "Hey! How are you doing?". I looked closer in the dark, and it was our young friend, her two children and boyfriend sitting on the park bench. "Hey! How are you?" She said, "Fine....actually not good, I just spent the last night in jail. I got into a fight, defending myself and stabbed someone." "Oh...what happened to the kids? Who took care of them?" I asked (here I try not to look and act all shocked...wasn't sure if this was the whole story!) "My boyfriend here". And she introduced him to me and told him I was the God-person of the neighborhood. I told her we are all God-people. She said, "then why isn't he listening to me?"
What a question! "Why isn't he listening to me?" I was all ready to give her a quick answer, but I knew it wasn't that easy. How about, "you don't knife people, God may listen to a non-violent person" but I know that isn't true. How about, "Go to church on Sunday, He will tell you through the preacher what to do". Nope, not helpful and not always true. I listened to her, I pray for her (she knows that) and God listens. Since I've decided to be next to her chatting away, Jesus is sitting beside her too, He talks her language, He lives in her neighborhood. He is not her enemy, he will be one day, her Everything.
Vanier says in another part of his section of his writing, "Two Worlds";
"The poor man is a danger to the rich man. The black man (or asian, native) is a danger to the white man enfolded in his pride and sense of superiority. The handicapped and the weak are a danger to the able-bodied. The person in need is a danger to the one who has the goods of this world. So too the rich man is the enemy of the poor man. Yet Jesus said, "Love your enemy". We must cross over to the other world and look at Him and touch Him.
But Jesus
I can't love my enemy
I must defend myself from him
He is a danger to me
his way of life throws mine
into question
So I attack
it's my defence
Or I ignore her
I refuse to listen or go near
Aggression rises
in me
Or I flee
I refuse to meet
the enemy
And yet
"Love your enemy, make peace"
Not surprisingly, there isn't alot of photos after her health started to deteriorate. Hip problems, knees and calves and the loss of her job at McDonald's (where the staff loved and treasured her), because she couldn't stand for hours anymore. She learned to sit, to wait for help, to invite children to sit with her, her movement was slow and labored and finally almost too painful to continue going down the stairs of her apartment to a waiting vehicle or to go to church.
The saving fact of her life was knowing that she was loved, by her husband, her Christian community, by Christ. So many like her are forgotten, told they are unloved, useless, boring or a deteriment to family and society. A God-child, pushed aside because they are not educated in the right college (or any college), live in the right neighborhood, have read the latest books or gone to the block buster hit at Silver City.
After potluck one night, I was walking Cyclone around the block, getting some fresh air, thinking. As I walked through our neighborhood park, someone called out, "Hey! How are you doing?". I looked closer in the dark, and it was our young friend, her two children and boyfriend sitting on the park bench. "Hey! How are you?" She said, "Fine....actually not good, I just spent the last night in jail. I got into a fight, defending myself and stabbed someone." "Oh...what happened to the kids? Who took care of them?" I asked (here I try not to look and act all shocked...wasn't sure if this was the whole story!) "My boyfriend here". And she introduced him to me and told him I was the God-person of the neighborhood. I told her we are all God-people. She said, "then why isn't he listening to me?"
What a question! "Why isn't he listening to me?" I was all ready to give her a quick answer, but I knew it wasn't that easy. How about, "you don't knife people, God may listen to a non-violent person" but I know that isn't true. How about, "Go to church on Sunday, He will tell you through the preacher what to do". Nope, not helpful and not always true. I listened to her, I pray for her (she knows that) and God listens. Since I've decided to be next to her chatting away, Jesus is sitting beside her too, He talks her language, He lives in her neighborhood. He is not her enemy, he will be one day, her Everything.
Vanier says in another part of his section of his writing, "Two Worlds";
"The poor man is a danger to the rich man. The black man (or asian, native) is a danger to the white man enfolded in his pride and sense of superiority. The handicapped and the weak are a danger to the able-bodied. The person in need is a danger to the one who has the goods of this world. So too the rich man is the enemy of the poor man. Yet Jesus said, "Love your enemy". We must cross over to the other world and look at Him and touch Him.
But Jesus
I can't love my enemy
I must defend myself from him
He is a danger to me
his way of life throws mine
into question
So I attack
it's my defence
Or I ignore her
I refuse to listen or go near
Aggression rises
in me
Or I flee
I refuse to meet
the enemy
And yet
"Love your enemy, make peace"
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