| There are times when I am embarrassed to be a human being. Some of those times are when I attend neighborhood meetings in which a Tent City or a SHAHARE shelter are asking to set up residency.
Like a zoo, the residents of the proposed Tent City or shelter are put on display in front of a suspicious, quite often angry crowd. They read from a script in an attempt to educate, and then sit through the ordeal of questions from neighbors who make it abundantly clear that “the homeless” are not wanted here.
The fear heightens with accusations of how the neighborhood will become unsafe for children, property values will decline, crime will increase, and folks will be afraid to go out for walks. Resentment often rears its ugly head with notions that the homeless are moochers, lazy, drunkards, drug addicts, and a blight on society.
And then, for me the most painfully of all, comes the whine of the liberals who expose themselves as hypocrites complete with their “not in my backyard” attitude, and “this problem shouldn’t impact my life” narcissism. The neighbors, good folk actually,
good and decent neighbors, become in those moments less than themselves. They spiral frenzied into a mob more than willing to turn other persons into objects of worthlessness. It is then that I experience great shame.
Thankfully, there are one or two voices of compassion and courage, usually a woman’s voice, quite often the voice of an elder, who will speak up and speak out about what it means to be a human being. The voice is often one that emerges from hard won experience. The voice will stand up and call to remembrance the struggles of the past, lifting up memories of how neighbors used to help neighbors. Or maybe a quick historical reminder about how almost all of us have roots other than in this place. Sometimes the voice might speak a universal truth that reminds us that from the perspective of an astronaut, we are all neighbors. At some point, a voice will ask the simple neighborly question, “How might we help you?” It’s the same voice that knocks on your door when you yourself move into a neighborhood. Maybe the voice carries a pie, or an invitation to a block party, or the simple decency of saying, hello and welcome. It is the voice that invites you to belong. It is the voice that brings us back to our true selves.
These people are heroes. These voices swell me up with pride and a fuller understanding
of why our Creator might actually, truly care for us, and adopt us as beloved. These voices strengthen my backbone, put a spring in my step, and, gratefully, help me find my own voice even when I am afraid that I am the only one. For these heroes, on this day, I give thanks. |
