We have some pretty big news to announce here at The Porch/ 141-NYC. Many of you know this already, but if you don't I'm sure it will come as a bit of a surprise. Our announcement is that we are going to be leaving New York this summer, and we will be moving back to San Diego. There are quite a few reasons for this. Some of them are rather personal, and I'd rather not discuss them in a public forum such as this. But the main reason is pretty simple: family.
Our little family is growing. Kelly and I are expecting our next child in December (yay!), and with that fact comes some big decisions. We have come to the conclusion that it is in our family's best interest if we return to our "roots," so to speak. We need to take the ministry of parenthood with the utmost seriousness, for it is our first and most important ministry. In San Diego we will have the close support and companionship of many friends and family members. Not that we don't have support here in NYC -- but 3,000 miles away is just too far at this point in our lives. We owe it to our kids, plain and simple.
Of course there are other reasons, too. But the primary point I want to make, to all our friends and supporters out there, is that this is not a retreat or a move of desparation. Far from it. We do not consider this venture to be a failure or a bad move. As our dear friend, mentor and fellow pastor Ken Loyd told us when we broke the news - "You guys fought and won." I believe that those words are straight from God himself. Our task in this world is not to be successful by the world's standards. Our task is to be faithful, and if nothing else I can say that we have been faithful in this calling. The Porch has been blessed for its season, and now it is time to move on to another.
Will we continue in our ministry? Of course. It is the air we breathe; we could not be ourselves without it. But I know that there are people in every city that are ignored and shamed. We don't have to stay in NYC to find them. And in San Diego, we will have the logistical support to carry on our ministry without sacrificing our children. Honestly, I can't wait to see what God has planned for us, in the city that we grew up in and know so well. 5 1/2 years ago, we left that city as young and naive dreamers seeking God's heart. Portland and New York have been training grounds for us. I think that we have fought the fight well thus far, and now return to San Diego as different people, capable of far more than we could have ever imagined previously. And to those of you who have supported us financially, know that your contributions will be put to use directly in San Diego. 141-SD will be up and running as soon as we can make it happen.
This is a stressful time for us, so please keep us in your prayers. I am leaving a very stable and well-paying job at Nyack College, and I currently have no job lined up in California. I'll be looking for work primarily in the higher education realm, but I would be open to just about anything at this point, so if you're reading this and have any leads, please let me know. I want to thank everyone who has been following this blog for your support and prayers, and I do hope that you will stay in touch with us as we step off into the next phase of this grand adventure.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
HomePDX and Porchurch press
Here's an article by one of our dear Portland peeps, Pam Hogeweide, about HomePDX. It's a great read, as her articles always are. Of course, it doesn't hurt that The Porch gets a little space in the article too (hey shameless self-promotion can be fun, don't judge me!)
http://www.wineskins.org/filter.asp?SID=2&fi_key=215&co_key=1787
http://www.wineskins.org/filter.asp?SID=2&fi_key=215&co_key=1787
Blessed are the Feet
An article on the spirituality of feet and walking:
http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2009/aprilweb-only/113-51.0.html
Walking, and the feet that accomplish walking, hold a pretty central place in our ministry. We live in a city where walking is a way of life. While we may have plenty of trains and other such vehicles to get us from place to place, we still end up walking a great deal. There are so many places that a train will not take you. Our beloved East Village is one such place -- few neighborhoods in Manhattan are more lacking in basic subway service. Yet this void turns out to be a blessing many times. It forces one to become intimately acquainted with the uniqueness of each block, and to truly become a part of the landscape instead of merely passing through.
Of course, many of our friends are travelers by trade, and so the act of walking becomes even more central to us. On the road and on the streets, feet become the most precious of body parts. You can damage other parts of the body and still get by, but if your feet go, you're done. I learned this myself very quickly in the military, and this fact applies even more so to our friends. Hence the importance of socks and our constant requests for the same.
I have gotten many puzzled looks when I respond to the question, "What do you guys want/need the most?" with the simple reply of: "Socks!" But those who join us understand almost immediately. Socks speak volumes, because socks are often needed more than even food. To have fresh socks shows that you actually understand the reality of the lives of many people. It shows that you understand the sacredness of feet.
So I guess it's no surprise that walking, and feet, play a pretty special role in the Bible as well. After all, wasn't one of Jesus' most signficant acts the washing of his disciples' feet? I'm sure that spoke to them in way much deeper than words, a true communication of love and grace. Hopefully our simple offerings of clean socks can approximate that spirit, in some way.
And of course, if you feel so inclined to send us some fresh socks, please feel free....
http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2009/aprilweb-only/113-51.0.html
Walking, and the feet that accomplish walking, hold a pretty central place in our ministry. We live in a city where walking is a way of life. While we may have plenty of trains and other such vehicles to get us from place to place, we still end up walking a great deal. There are so many places that a train will not take you. Our beloved East Village is one such place -- few neighborhoods in Manhattan are more lacking in basic subway service. Yet this void turns out to be a blessing many times. It forces one to become intimately acquainted with the uniqueness of each block, and to truly become a part of the landscape instead of merely passing through.
Of course, many of our friends are travelers by trade, and so the act of walking becomes even more central to us. On the road and on the streets, feet become the most precious of body parts. You can damage other parts of the body and still get by, but if your feet go, you're done. I learned this myself very quickly in the military, and this fact applies even more so to our friends. Hence the importance of socks and our constant requests for the same.
I have gotten many puzzled looks when I respond to the question, "What do you guys want/need the most?" with the simple reply of: "Socks!" But those who join us understand almost immediately. Socks speak volumes, because socks are often needed more than even food. To have fresh socks shows that you actually understand the reality of the lives of many people. It shows that you understand the sacredness of feet.
So I guess it's no surprise that walking, and feet, play a pretty special role in the Bible as well. After all, wasn't one of Jesus' most signficant acts the washing of his disciples' feet? I'm sure that spoke to them in way much deeper than words, a true communication of love and grace. Hopefully our simple offerings of clean socks can approximate that spirit, in some way.
And of course, if you feel so inclined to send us some fresh socks, please feel free....
Monday, February 16, 2009
Quality
http://www.nypost.com/seven/02152009/news/regionalnews/cop_plan__go_on_offense_155296.htm
I don't expect much from the New York Post, so picking on anything that comes out of the rag is probably a bit unfair. However, the article linked above does report on something that is concerning, to say the least. A report that police are going to go on the "offensive" should raise some eyebrows, and lead to some questions. What are they attacking? What is the threat that we, the innocent, law-abiding public are facing?
Oh, yes. Of course. "Quality-of-life." In other words, the systematic removal of people whose appearance offends our sensibilities of right and wrong. It means the eradication, in the face of economic uncertainty, of any signs that our consumer utopia might be starting to crumble.
Now, I'm not saying that "petty crime" is necessarily ok. What bothers me, however, is that homelessness is basically being placed on the same level as prostitution. Notice the neat little trick in the article? The media does it all the time - talks about crime and homelessness in the same breath, implying that there is an obvious correlation between the two. Do this enough times, and the law-abiding public soon begins to equate homelessness with criminality - see how that works?
And then, you get the police involved, and you get the paranoia of "if there's a homeless person on your block, that's a threat."
At the very least, I am somewhat surprised that the comments section of the article shows more support for the homeless than I would have expected from readers of the Post. Perhaps people are starting to realize that we're all on the same sinking ship, and all responsible for each other. However, that doesn't change the scary tone of the police representatives. We could be in for an interesting summer.
I don't expect much from the New York Post, so picking on anything that comes out of the rag is probably a bit unfair. However, the article linked above does report on something that is concerning, to say the least. A report that police are going to go on the "offensive" should raise some eyebrows, and lead to some questions. What are they attacking? What is the threat that we, the innocent, law-abiding public are facing?
Oh, yes. Of course. "Quality-of-life." In other words, the systematic removal of people whose appearance offends our sensibilities of right and wrong. It means the eradication, in the face of economic uncertainty, of any signs that our consumer utopia might be starting to crumble.
Now, I'm not saying that "petty crime" is necessarily ok. What bothers me, however, is that homelessness is basically being placed on the same level as prostitution. Notice the neat little trick in the article? The media does it all the time - talks about crime and homelessness in the same breath, implying that there is an obvious correlation between the two. Do this enough times, and the law-abiding public soon begins to equate homelessness with criminality - see how that works?
And then, you get the police involved, and you get the paranoia of "if there's a homeless person on your block, that's a threat."
At the very least, I am somewhat surprised that the comments section of the article shows more support for the homeless than I would have expected from readers of the Post. Perhaps people are starting to realize that we're all on the same sinking ship, and all responsible for each other. However, that doesn't change the scary tone of the police representatives. We could be in for an interesting summer.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Redemption and value
No man can by any means redeem his brother, or give to God a ransom for him -- for the redemption of the soul is costly, and he should cease trying forever -- that he should live on eternally, that he should not undergo decay
Do not be afraid when a man becomes rich, when the glory of his house is increased: for when he dies he will carry nothing away; his glory will not descend after him.
Psalm 49
We are surrounded on all sides by people who think that their wealth will insulate them from trouble. Their concept of value is based on the most commonly accepted unconscious norm of our society: that value, in the sense of human beings, can be measured materially. One person is more valuable than another, based on some sort of material criteria or another. This fallacy ignores the essential truth of the nature of persons: that we are created in the image of God, and therefore valuable for this fact and this fact alone.
The criteria that people use to devalue others may seem obvious. It is not always so. It is easy enough to point at shallow, callous examples such as the conceited billionaire who values people based on the size of their bank accounts, and treats those of lesser economic standing as subhuman. This caricature may ring true in some societies, but a far more common and insidious form of criteria exists today. This is the notion that a person's value is based on their economic utility; in other words, their use to the economic system that we hold so dear. A person who can and does contribute their "fair share" to the system is considered valuable, while one who does not is considered less valuable. The examples of caricatures of these types are legion: the welfare queen, the incorrigable bum, the disability loafer.
Social service agencies and ministries that exist to help these people are accused of enabling self-destructive (and non-productive) behavior. A line is drawn between the deserving and the non-deserving. Only those who are crippled by extraordinary circumstances far beyond their control are given a pass. All others are simply faking it. Conspiracy theories abound regarding these others, who certainly must be lying awake at night dreaming of new ways to bilk the system.
What is the view of humanity suggested in this attitude? It is a view that places the redemption of the soul squarely within the hands of the individual. Value is made, not endowed -- it is earned through effort that accords with the norms of a liberal capitalist society. A person is given absolute free will by their creator, and with that freedom comes responsibility. Failure to live up to the responsibility places one outside of the realm of grace. It is the unforgivable sin, to be non-productive in an ever-producing world.
The Bible speaks differently of redemption. Redemption is the conferring of value, particularly to someone or something that did not have any intrinsic value before. The Hebrew image is one of ransom, of a payment given for the life of a slave or prisoner. It suggests release from a status of worthlessness to a status of value. Of course, in the Bible redemption is always an act of God alone. Man cannot "by any means" provide for his own redemption or that of his brother. The image of the goel, or kinsman redeemer, illustrates God's redemptive relationship with his people. Christ comes to his own, and sacrifices of himself to bestow value on his kin who have been sold as slaves. This redemption is "costly" -- more than any person can pay, with any amount of wealth. Those who feel that accumulation of material assests will save them or even give them value are sorely mistaken. All accumulation, all the hard work we put into glorifying our own houses will not last.
Human value is neither intrinsic nor earned. We are not valuable simply because of something of value in our own natures. If this were the case, then God would be obligated to love us, due to our surpassing worth and beauty. Instead, we are valuable because of God's conscious choice and action, and it is an entirely unconstrained action on his part -- not that we loved him, but that he first loved us. The fact that he loved us while we were yet sinners only makes this love more amazing, and makes our value more pure in comparison with non-value. It also makes our redemption very costly.
To put a spin on Luther's old line: "We are not loved because we are valuable; we are valuable because we are loved."
Do not be afraid when a man becomes rich, when the glory of his house is increased: for when he dies he will carry nothing away; his glory will not descend after him.
Psalm 49
We are surrounded on all sides by people who think that their wealth will insulate them from trouble. Their concept of value is based on the most commonly accepted unconscious norm of our society: that value, in the sense of human beings, can be measured materially. One person is more valuable than another, based on some sort of material criteria or another. This fallacy ignores the essential truth of the nature of persons: that we are created in the image of God, and therefore valuable for this fact and this fact alone.
The criteria that people use to devalue others may seem obvious. It is not always so. It is easy enough to point at shallow, callous examples such as the conceited billionaire who values people based on the size of their bank accounts, and treats those of lesser economic standing as subhuman. This caricature may ring true in some societies, but a far more common and insidious form of criteria exists today. This is the notion that a person's value is based on their economic utility; in other words, their use to the economic system that we hold so dear. A person who can and does contribute their "fair share" to the system is considered valuable, while one who does not is considered less valuable. The examples of caricatures of these types are legion: the welfare queen, the incorrigable bum, the disability loafer.
Social service agencies and ministries that exist to help these people are accused of enabling self-destructive (and non-productive) behavior. A line is drawn between the deserving and the non-deserving. Only those who are crippled by extraordinary circumstances far beyond their control are given a pass. All others are simply faking it. Conspiracy theories abound regarding these others, who certainly must be lying awake at night dreaming of new ways to bilk the system.
What is the view of humanity suggested in this attitude? It is a view that places the redemption of the soul squarely within the hands of the individual. Value is made, not endowed -- it is earned through effort that accords with the norms of a liberal capitalist society. A person is given absolute free will by their creator, and with that freedom comes responsibility. Failure to live up to the responsibility places one outside of the realm of grace. It is the unforgivable sin, to be non-productive in an ever-producing world.
The Bible speaks differently of redemption. Redemption is the conferring of value, particularly to someone or something that did not have any intrinsic value before. The Hebrew image is one of ransom, of a payment given for the life of a slave or prisoner. It suggests release from a status of worthlessness to a status of value. Of course, in the Bible redemption is always an act of God alone. Man cannot "by any means" provide for his own redemption or that of his brother. The image of the goel, or kinsman redeemer, illustrates God's redemptive relationship with his people. Christ comes to his own, and sacrifices of himself to bestow value on his kin who have been sold as slaves. This redemption is "costly" -- more than any person can pay, with any amount of wealth. Those who feel that accumulation of material assests will save them or even give them value are sorely mistaken. All accumulation, all the hard work we put into glorifying our own houses will not last.
Human value is neither intrinsic nor earned. We are not valuable simply because of something of value in our own natures. If this were the case, then God would be obligated to love us, due to our surpassing worth and beauty. Instead, we are valuable because of God's conscious choice and action, and it is an entirely unconstrained action on his part -- not that we loved him, but that he first loved us. The fact that he loved us while we were yet sinners only makes this love more amazing, and makes our value more pure in comparison with non-value. It also makes our redemption very costly.
To put a spin on Luther's old line: "We are not loved because we are valuable; we are valuable because we are loved."
Monday, December 8, 2008
Princess
This is another re-post from HomePDX. It's a story that is too good not to share.
Princess
I was wandering, completely lost in reverie about my latest epiphany. Here it is: Did you know that the courthouse I was circumnavigating was the "courthouse" mentioned in the name of Portland's Pioneer Courthouse Square? Mind-boggling. It's only taken me ten years of living here to figure that out. Quick mind. Quick wit. Here's how it went: year one, learning the name of Pioneer Courthouse Square; year one, discovering that the building across the street is a courthouse; year ten, putting it all together! How long would it have taken lesser minds to make that arcane connection? I don't know but thank God I'm here to point these things out.
I rounded the corner of Morrison Street and started up 6th Ave. to the south and half noticed a young woman standing near the far corner. As I approached she eyed me and stuck out her hand, "Hi." ... Heroin. Heavy eyelids, pinned pupils, droopy facial muscles, cold, clammy hands. Her soul was invisible, shrouded in a dense drug fog. She was kind of pretty, in a round-faced sort of way. Late teens, early twenties maybe. Black shiny hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, khakis, tan, not too dirty, a black, long-sleeved, turtleneck sweater (the long sleeves hid the track marks well). Her fingernails had been painted black within the last week or so. It was chipped, but not too bad. Her hands were mostly clean. She had brown-black eyes that were alive and inquisitive and at the same time old and sad.
I responded to the handshake while sizing her up, thinking, "What's the angle here?" The greeting had the feel of one of those kiosks at the mall where the girl says, "Can I ask you a question?" She doesn't really want to hear from you; she just wants to sell you some overpriced, overly perfumed hand cream. "Leave me alone," I think as I politely say, "No Thanks." I was on my guard. Wary.
"What's up?"
"Not much."
"Nice evening, huh?"
"Yeah."
"All I've got is a buck." I gave it to her and with that I walked away.
"Thanks, Ken! God bless you," she shouted sweetly as I rounded the corner on Yamhill.
"Ken." She knew my name. And in a crashing, blinding instant I understood. I had just examined, categorized, sliced, diced, chewed and spit out somebody's Princess. She was or at least should have been somebody's Princess; laughing and twirling and dancing in an over sized Sleeping Beauty dress to the joyous tears and applause of her admirers. Years later, Prince Charming should have scooped her up onto his white horse and galloped to their castle in the clouds where they would live happily ever after. But no, today she got an armful of heroin, and me. And I blew her off. I panicked and ran home, not stopping to talk to anyone along the way.
Back in in my apartment, electrified with my own shame, I tried to look back on what had just happened. Thinking error? Maybe. But more likely a heart error. It's easier for me than I would like to admit to become hardened, know too much of the ins and outs of the street scene here in Portland and look for the sales pitch. I get tired of the pain all around me and inside of me. Today there were no hidden motives on her part. Just a little girl, a Princess, who wanted a few kind words from a man who wouldn't hurt or use her, a man she knew. She wanted me to see her, actually see her, but I was blinded by cynicism and self- protection.
"God, make me gullible again, innocent again. Wash away the layers of grime that have built up on my heart just by being alive and brushing up against so many hurting people for so long. Reopen my eyes to the beauty of the Princesses and Princes of the street"
I've seen "Shauna" several times since. She throws her arms around me now and just holds on…or she's too loaded to recognize me. Either way, she's forgiven and forgotten my coldness on that warm August evening. That's what a Princess does.
Love,
Ken
Princess
I was wandering, completely lost in reverie about my latest epiphany. Here it is: Did you know that the courthouse I was circumnavigating was the "courthouse" mentioned in the name of Portland's Pioneer Courthouse Square? Mind-boggling. It's only taken me ten years of living here to figure that out. Quick mind. Quick wit. Here's how it went: year one, learning the name of Pioneer Courthouse Square; year one, discovering that the building across the street is a courthouse; year ten, putting it all together! How long would it have taken lesser minds to make that arcane connection? I don't know but thank God I'm here to point these things out.
I rounded the corner of Morrison Street and started up 6th Ave. to the south and half noticed a young woman standing near the far corner. As I approached she eyed me and stuck out her hand, "Hi." ... Heroin. Heavy eyelids, pinned pupils, droopy facial muscles, cold, clammy hands. Her soul was invisible, shrouded in a dense drug fog. She was kind of pretty, in a round-faced sort of way. Late teens, early twenties maybe. Black shiny hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, khakis, tan, not too dirty, a black, long-sleeved, turtleneck sweater (the long sleeves hid the track marks well). Her fingernails had been painted black within the last week or so. It was chipped, but not too bad. Her hands were mostly clean. She had brown-black eyes that were alive and inquisitive and at the same time old and sad.
I responded to the handshake while sizing her up, thinking, "What's the angle here?" The greeting had the feel of one of those kiosks at the mall where the girl says, "Can I ask you a question?" She doesn't really want to hear from you; she just wants to sell you some overpriced, overly perfumed hand cream. "Leave me alone," I think as I politely say, "No Thanks." I was on my guard. Wary.
"What's up?"
"Not much."
"Nice evening, huh?"
"Yeah."
"All I've got is a buck." I gave it to her and with that I walked away.
"Thanks, Ken! God bless you," she shouted sweetly as I rounded the corner on Yamhill.
"Ken." She knew my name. And in a crashing, blinding instant I understood. I had just examined, categorized, sliced, diced, chewed and spit out somebody's Princess. She was or at least should have been somebody's Princess; laughing and twirling and dancing in an over sized Sleeping Beauty dress to the joyous tears and applause of her admirers. Years later, Prince Charming should have scooped her up onto his white horse and galloped to their castle in the clouds where they would live happily ever after. But no, today she got an armful of heroin, and me. And I blew her off. I panicked and ran home, not stopping to talk to anyone along the way.
Back in in my apartment, electrified with my own shame, I tried to look back on what had just happened. Thinking error? Maybe. But more likely a heart error. It's easier for me than I would like to admit to become hardened, know too much of the ins and outs of the street scene here in Portland and look for the sales pitch. I get tired of the pain all around me and inside of me. Today there were no hidden motives on her part. Just a little girl, a Princess, who wanted a few kind words from a man who wouldn't hurt or use her, a man she knew. She wanted me to see her, actually see her, but I was blinded by cynicism and self- protection.
"God, make me gullible again, innocent again. Wash away the layers of grime that have built up on my heart just by being alive and brushing up against so many hurting people for so long. Reopen my eyes to the beauty of the Princesses and Princes of the street"
I've seen "Shauna" several times since. She throws her arms around me now and just holds on…or she's too loaded to recognize me. Either way, she's forgiven and forgotten my coldness on that warm August evening. That's what a Princess does.
Love,
Ken
Monday, November 24, 2008
A Speedboat Among Oil Tankers
The following excerpt is from an email I received from our mother/sister/brother (we have an odd sort of family, don't judge us) church, HomePDX. Some details have been deliberately obscured to protect the innocent and gulity.
THE KID
I just got back from helping buy a bus ticket for a young friend who lives outdoors in downtown Portland. When originally asked, I couldn't put a face to the name (Jeremiah, I think). We didn't have any extra money at the time but I said we'd help. I was to meet him at the Greyhound station along with a representative of a HUGE nonprofit.
When I arrived I recognized him immediately. He leaped to his feet and threw his arms around me, words and gratitude spilling out in a torrent, half to me, half in explanation to the now puzzled representative of the non-profit, "You are the best people in downtown. You have the best food and kindest people. You always make us feel welcome. You respect us. I love the Wiffleball! I'll never forget you. One day I'll come here and give back alongside you guys." (Expletives deleted)
What's so amazing about us? Nothing, really. We give our best to our friends, with a smile and kind conversation. (It turns to trash talk, however, during the Wiffleball season. The US Gutter Punk Wiffleball League requires that. Page 88 in the Official USGPWL Manual, I think). WE don't see what we do as anything great. Mostly nothing special. That's why we're legends in downtown Portland.
I found it curious that while the multimillion-dollar operation paid $60, HOME came up with $180. The representative said that's all the non-profit could "allot for this purpose." He's a fantastic guy, and amazingly caring. He would have paid it all out of his own pocket if he had the money.Big organizations have "allotments" and "purposes". I guess they have to. We at HOME have friends, most of whom live outdoors year around. Jeremiah was in a tough spot (a job and pregnant fiancé in Wisconsin with no way to get there). We had two hundred bucks in the bank and a friend with a need.
We're a speedboat among oil tankers.
It's so fun.
This note reminds me of why I love Ken Loyd (the author of the note). His knack for amazing metaphors never ceases to amaze me. "We're a speedboat among oil tankers." As someone who has spent some time aboard large ships and traveled in and out of many ports around the world, the image is particularly rich and visual. I think it perfectly explains that awkward but necessary relationship all of us have to social service organizations.
I'm not here to disparage social services or the people who work for them. The safety net that they provide keeps many people alive, and for that I am thankful. But I also can see that the social service system itself is dangerously self-perpetuating. If social services do their job too well, then they wouldn't have anyone left to help. And any organization that is designed to act against its own self-interest will likely run into problems in the long run. It is here that the "gap" is created that the church must step in to fill. We can go beyond the big organizations, because we can focus on relationship in the way they can't. Our size is our advantage -- it's like guerilla warfare. We can get in and out quickly, and stay mobile.
Of course, I am glad that there are trustworthy non-profs that I can refer my friends to when they need help. I am not a substance abuse counselor, a job counselor, or a doctor. But I can be a friend. In my experience, it seems that we and the social services tend to envy each other: we want some of their resources, and they want some of our freedom. In the end, I think that both are necessary. But I'm happy that I get to be one of the ones on the speedboat.
THE KID
I just got back from helping buy a bus ticket for a young friend who lives outdoors in downtown Portland. When originally asked, I couldn't put a face to the name (Jeremiah, I think). We didn't have any extra money at the time but I said we'd help. I was to meet him at the Greyhound station along with a representative of a HUGE nonprofit.
When I arrived I recognized him immediately. He leaped to his feet and threw his arms around me, words and gratitude spilling out in a torrent, half to me, half in explanation to the now puzzled representative of the non-profit, "You are the best people in downtown. You have the best food and kindest people. You always make us feel welcome. You respect us. I love the Wiffleball! I'll never forget you. One day I'll come here and give back alongside you guys." (Expletives deleted)
What's so amazing about us? Nothing, really. We give our best to our friends, with a smile and kind conversation. (It turns to trash talk, however, during the Wiffleball season. The US Gutter Punk Wiffleball League requires that. Page 88 in the Official USGPWL Manual, I think). WE don't see what we do as anything great. Mostly nothing special. That's why we're legends in downtown Portland.
I found it curious that while the multimillion-dollar operation paid $60, HOME came up with $180. The representative said that's all the non-profit could "allot for this purpose." He's a fantastic guy, and amazingly caring. He would have paid it all out of his own pocket if he had the money.Big organizations have "allotments" and "purposes". I guess they have to. We at HOME have friends, most of whom live outdoors year around. Jeremiah was in a tough spot (a job and pregnant fiancé in Wisconsin with no way to get there). We had two hundred bucks in the bank and a friend with a need.
We're a speedboat among oil tankers.
It's so fun.
This note reminds me of why I love Ken Loyd (the author of the note). His knack for amazing metaphors never ceases to amaze me. "We're a speedboat among oil tankers." As someone who has spent some time aboard large ships and traveled in and out of many ports around the world, the image is particularly rich and visual. I think it perfectly explains that awkward but necessary relationship all of us have to social service organizations.
I'm not here to disparage social services or the people who work for them. The safety net that they provide keeps many people alive, and for that I am thankful. But I also can see that the social service system itself is dangerously self-perpetuating. If social services do their job too well, then they wouldn't have anyone left to help. And any organization that is designed to act against its own self-interest will likely run into problems in the long run. It is here that the "gap" is created that the church must step in to fill. We can go beyond the big organizations, because we can focus on relationship in the way they can't. Our size is our advantage -- it's like guerilla warfare. We can get in and out quickly, and stay mobile.
Of course, I am glad that there are trustworthy non-profs that I can refer my friends to when they need help. I am not a substance abuse counselor, a job counselor, or a doctor. But I can be a friend. In my experience, it seems that we and the social services tend to envy each other: we want some of their resources, and they want some of our freedom. In the end, I think that both are necessary. But I'm happy that I get to be one of the ones on the speedboat.
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