Unashamed
I'll be honest and say that I had no idea what to expect this morning, but I was pretty sure that we'd be greeted with cynicism from the folks at New Hope. I mean, all good intentions aside, we would clearly be a group of young, white, upper middle class folks with a proclivity towards reproduction, and it would be very easy to dismiss us as do-gooders, appeasing our consciences during Lent by hangin' with the homeless... and honestly, I wasn't really sure I considered us to be doing anything more than that. I wasn't at CT last Sunday to hear The Spiel about why we were doing this, and I didn't really buy that this was an exercise in self-questioning. I am, it appears, even cynical about the cynics.
As Jon and I pulled up to the place, I was just done kvetching about locating a church for the homeless in Chantilly, minutes from the Fair Lakes mega-shopping-plex and far away from any perceivable form of mass transportation. I had my liberal university administrator hat on, shielding myself from the judgment I expected from the homeless by judging first, ready to point out all the evidences of White Privilege and class discrimination in the way the place was set up and run so that I couldn't be accused of taking advantage of these things myself.
Walking up to the building, I made eye contact with as many people as I could, nodding and saying hello, internally feeling "please don't judge me, please let me be here and worship with you, I'm sorry things are the way they are", but comforted by the ease with which I was greeted. It was just like any other church, folks saying "how are you doing this morning?" and making eye contact with me steadily, unashamed, mildly curious but not judgmental.
Talking in the back before church started, an African-American guy who had been sitting beside Stav got up, grabbed three breakfast burritos that McDonalds had evidently donated, and came over and offered them to us without a word. We all turned him down, but I was angry at myself for doing so... it was like going into the household of someone from another culture and refusing the offer of food. He was offering us hospitality... we had entered a place he considered his own, and he was welcoming us by offering us food. Perhaps he assumed we, too, were homeless, but I think it's more likely that this was beside the point. In an attempt to ease my sense of shame at turning down his offer of hospitality, I introduced myself and thanked him again for his kind offer. His name was Ed, and he spoke to me and met my eye with that same level gaze I'd been met with on the way in. I was in his church. He had nothing to be ashamed of, and no reason to judge me.
The service was simple: a few prerecorded songs that we muttered along to with the assistance of words projected onto a screen with background of soothing nature scenes; responsive scripture readings from Psalms and the Gospels; long, meandering testimonials from folks about how Jesus had saved them from this, that and the other; an offering at the end, slipped in almost without notice as we sang the final song. Most of the testimonials followed a pattern I recognized as being typical of the kind of AA Born Again Believer: I was into the drugs and the porn and down and out but hallelujah Jesus saved me. I don't mind that kind of testimony if it is sincere, and coming from a couple of the folks I did buy it.
One man in particular stood up and was visibly uncomfortable. He wasn't specific about the things he'd messed up in his life, although he did mention not being good in school... even to the point of being told to give up by one of his teachers. He was very eloquent at times, in small bursts, as though he'd managed to finally compose what it was he wanted to say. He started out, in fact, by saying that the parable of the vine and the branches had particular meaning to him because he was a landscaper. I waited for him to develop that thought, but he stopped himself, clearly struggling with his thoughts, with being up front, with some sort of non-specific shame. I believed him, though, in a way I didn't believe the others, and I wanted to clap loudly when he was done... because he was telling the story of the believer living in a brokenness that was still very present to him, and that's the kind of believer I generally am. That's the kind of believer who needs a Savior, you know? and that was his point, too, that he knew he needed the LORD to lean on... that he felt it every day.
I still felt a little awkward about our presence there, though. What were the regular attenders thinking about this little knot of folk with all their children who took up half the church? After church there was a lunch, which Tammy, a wiry, nervous-looking woman of some indefinable age (in her 40s or 50s? it was hard to tell... her life had clearly been tough and her face wore this) welcomed us to eat. Tammy was very familiar to me... she reminded me of relatives of some of my best friends in high school, of women at the truck stop where we'd go to meet and sometimes to eat with my Dad, of women from the Rescue Mission, women who approached the various churches we attended for some sort of assistance. That same nervous energy from smoking and coffee and not enough food and probably the after-effects of drug use and possibly alcoholism... women who struggle tremendously with their inner demons, their need for drama, excitement, love, the toxic draw they feel towards the things that pull them down, the men who beat and use them, the friends that betray them, and whom they betray. But here she was, preparing and offering a meal to strangers... because this was her church, and she had nothing to be ashamed of.
I started talking to folks and was quickly totally enchanted. Every single one of them greeted me with enthusiasm, mild curiosity, welcoming me to their church, needing nothing from me, unthreatened by my presence, and over and over again, unashamed. Ricky, a Filipino man who testified to having issues with anger, and I chatted for a while about how long he'd been in the U.S., his family back in Quezon City, his family here. A woman with one lone tooth greeted me with warmth and we chatted about how long she'd been going to the church, and how she'd found out about it. I sat down next to an exhausted looking woman who said she'd suffered from insomnia for the last 11 years. Her husband described them as "just a coupla hippies" who wander from place to place. I met a man from Punjab named Kumar who lost his job when someone stole his car, and who is hopeful that he will get his job back soon and find another place to live. Kumar's story really broke my heart... I honestly cannot conceive of an Indian being so cut off from his family or from other Indians... it is such a violation of all of my experience of Indian culture... but he saw the expression on my face and said "I'll be ok. I'll get my job back." and smiled and patted my arm.
It was actually kind of hard to leave. The stories were so compelling, and the people were so warm. It was like being at any other church, except that folks really were there just as they were, with almost no pretense of anything else. Over and over I was struck by it, how everyone met my eye, returned my smile, told their story, trusting, welcoming... like they were saying "welcome to Our Church. You, too, are welcome here. We, the poor, loved especially by God, welcome even the rich, with all of their shame at how much they have. We, for our part, are unashamed, and we welcome you to this same freedom."
Not that any of them would have said that. :^)
I'm really looking forward to going back next week, and to meeting Pastor Pat, who had taken the women on retreat this weekend. I'm wondering if the source of this calm centeredness in the community comes from her, from her connection to God, from her strong stability in this ministry. I'm also looking forward to what this unearths in me... there's something here that is important to learn. Just gotta figure out what it is.
As Jon and I pulled up to the place, I was just done kvetching about locating a church for the homeless in Chantilly, minutes from the Fair Lakes mega-shopping-plex and far away from any perceivable form of mass transportation. I had my liberal university administrator hat on, shielding myself from the judgment I expected from the homeless by judging first, ready to point out all the evidences of White Privilege and class discrimination in the way the place was set up and run so that I couldn't be accused of taking advantage of these things myself.
Walking up to the building, I made eye contact with as many people as I could, nodding and saying hello, internally feeling "please don't judge me, please let me be here and worship with you, I'm sorry things are the way they are", but comforted by the ease with which I was greeted. It was just like any other church, folks saying "how are you doing this morning?" and making eye contact with me steadily, unashamed, mildly curious but not judgmental.
Talking in the back before church started, an African-American guy who had been sitting beside Stav got up, grabbed three breakfast burritos that McDonalds had evidently donated, and came over and offered them to us without a word. We all turned him down, but I was angry at myself for doing so... it was like going into the household of someone from another culture and refusing the offer of food. He was offering us hospitality... we had entered a place he considered his own, and he was welcoming us by offering us food. Perhaps he assumed we, too, were homeless, but I think it's more likely that this was beside the point. In an attempt to ease my sense of shame at turning down his offer of hospitality, I introduced myself and thanked him again for his kind offer. His name was Ed, and he spoke to me and met my eye with that same level gaze I'd been met with on the way in. I was in his church. He had nothing to be ashamed of, and no reason to judge me.
The service was simple: a few prerecorded songs that we muttered along to with the assistance of words projected onto a screen with background of soothing nature scenes; responsive scripture readings from Psalms and the Gospels; long, meandering testimonials from folks about how Jesus had saved them from this, that and the other; an offering at the end, slipped in almost without notice as we sang the final song. Most of the testimonials followed a pattern I recognized as being typical of the kind of AA Born Again Believer: I was into the drugs and the porn and down and out but hallelujah Jesus saved me. I don't mind that kind of testimony if it is sincere, and coming from a couple of the folks I did buy it.
One man in particular stood up and was visibly uncomfortable. He wasn't specific about the things he'd messed up in his life, although he did mention not being good in school... even to the point of being told to give up by one of his teachers. He was very eloquent at times, in small bursts, as though he'd managed to finally compose what it was he wanted to say. He started out, in fact, by saying that the parable of the vine and the branches had particular meaning to him because he was a landscaper. I waited for him to develop that thought, but he stopped himself, clearly struggling with his thoughts, with being up front, with some sort of non-specific shame. I believed him, though, in a way I didn't believe the others, and I wanted to clap loudly when he was done... because he was telling the story of the believer living in a brokenness that was still very present to him, and that's the kind of believer I generally am. That's the kind of believer who needs a Savior, you know? and that was his point, too, that he knew he needed the LORD to lean on... that he felt it every day.
I still felt a little awkward about our presence there, though. What were the regular attenders thinking about this little knot of folk with all their children who took up half the church? After church there was a lunch, which Tammy, a wiry, nervous-looking woman of some indefinable age (in her 40s or 50s? it was hard to tell... her life had clearly been tough and her face wore this) welcomed us to eat. Tammy was very familiar to me... she reminded me of relatives of some of my best friends in high school, of women at the truck stop where we'd go to meet and sometimes to eat with my Dad, of women from the Rescue Mission, women who approached the various churches we attended for some sort of assistance. That same nervous energy from smoking and coffee and not enough food and probably the after-effects of drug use and possibly alcoholism... women who struggle tremendously with their inner demons, their need for drama, excitement, love, the toxic draw they feel towards the things that pull them down, the men who beat and use them, the friends that betray them, and whom they betray. But here she was, preparing and offering a meal to strangers... because this was her church, and she had nothing to be ashamed of.
I started talking to folks and was quickly totally enchanted. Every single one of them greeted me with enthusiasm, mild curiosity, welcoming me to their church, needing nothing from me, unthreatened by my presence, and over and over again, unashamed. Ricky, a Filipino man who testified to having issues with anger, and I chatted for a while about how long he'd been in the U.S., his family back in Quezon City, his family here. A woman with one lone tooth greeted me with warmth and we chatted about how long she'd been going to the church, and how she'd found out about it. I sat down next to an exhausted looking woman who said she'd suffered from insomnia for the last 11 years. Her husband described them as "just a coupla hippies" who wander from place to place. I met a man from Punjab named Kumar who lost his job when someone stole his car, and who is hopeful that he will get his job back soon and find another place to live. Kumar's story really broke my heart... I honestly cannot conceive of an Indian being so cut off from his family or from other Indians... it is such a violation of all of my experience of Indian culture... but he saw the expression on my face and said "I'll be ok. I'll get my job back." and smiled and patted my arm.
It was actually kind of hard to leave. The stories were so compelling, and the people were so warm. It was like being at any other church, except that folks really were there just as they were, with almost no pretense of anything else. Over and over I was struck by it, how everyone met my eye, returned my smile, told their story, trusting, welcoming... like they were saying "welcome to Our Church. You, too, are welcome here. We, the poor, loved especially by God, welcome even the rich, with all of their shame at how much they have. We, for our part, are unashamed, and we welcome you to this same freedom."
Not that any of them would have said that. :^)
I'm really looking forward to going back next week, and to meeting Pastor Pat, who had taken the women on retreat this weekend. I'm wondering if the source of this calm centeredness in the community comes from her, from her connection to God, from her strong stability in this ministry. I'm also looking forward to what this unearths in me... there's something here that is important to learn. Just gotta figure out what it is.
posted by Moff at
8:52 PM
1 Comments:
Love these thoughts. The same guy who shared (I think his name was Erik) really struck me - more so than anyone else. This guy was totally onto to something. I really admired his humility.
Post a Comment
<< Home