We Who Are Homeless

Dan came to our (Zion Lutheran Church's) food give-away and free meal program last year. He taught me the term, "homeless survivor." Amazing how a small change in language can catch your attention and shift your thinking. At once I knew it was a better way to speak of people I have come to know. "Homeless" is a condition, not an identity. "Survivor" lends the dignity of personhood and achievement to those who are in that condition, AND to those who have been in it and survived. It also speaks to the long-term effects of surviving without the shelter of a stable home. Dan was kind enough to share some of his story as a homeless survivor.

Most unforgettable was that Dan looked me in the eye: "It could happen to you." I could feel that with every bit of power he had, he wanted me to understand this.

Dan is a few years older than me, in his sixties, well educated, well spoken, sober, and traumatized. He came for food.

A few years previously, Dan had what would seem to just about anyone a fine life. He had a wife and two grown children. He worked for a large corporation in I.T. and made a six-figure income. They owned a nice house and lived in a small town just outside the Twin Cities.

                                                        

                                                        from Dan's LinkedIn page

He'd had stable employment his whole adult life, most recently over a decade with US Bank. A dispute with H.R. over a proposed change to the terms of his employment led to a three month severance package.

Dan was disappointed but not especially worried. He'd find something else and things would be ok. He pulled his resume together and began a professional job search.

Dan gradually discovered he was not marketable as a professional anymore. He was in his middle fifties. He had a computer programming degree from the 1970's. There was a question mark over his most recent employment.

In time his marriage unraveled. Dan decided his wife should have the house, and in a perhaps overly generous gesture, he used his money to pay off bills and the mortgage. 

Yet he was still confident he could find some kind of job to make ends meet for himself. But he could not. He was too old and too old-school for the employment he was used to, and over-qualified for lesser roles. The odd jobs he took could not cover rent, car and living expenses. He had moved in with a friend. He felt increasingly uneasy about receiving his friend's hospitality. He left to live in his car; still working for small wages, still putting his resume out there.

The car was not a good home. And then it too was gone. It took a while for Dan to realize admit that he, in fact, was homeless.

Dan eventually (years later) found his way into a program through Catholic Charities where he is afforded a small apartment. It's a single room in the same complex as the "Wet House," a shelter that does not require sobriety. He does not like being there. There is no kitchen, just a dorm-room size fridge, hot plate and microwave. 

He wants very much to be self-sufficient again. He tells me he's lost everything: career, family, house, home, health, and...most of all, his dignity. A market rate one bedroom apartment is beyond his reach. He refuses to become a permanent client of public housing. His eyes well up as he speaks.

"It could happen to you."

Dan taught me to look differently, and more closely. To identify, rather than dis-identify. To ask and begin to learn from the several other homeless survivors that grace our food give-away and free meal on Thursdays. To think of the growing "problem" of homelessness among us evidenced by "tents everywhere," not as an "issue," but as human beings. Being homeless is a condition. A condition belonging to all of us. Nearly half all those in MN currently surviving homelessness are children and youth 17 and under. 35% accompanied by an adult, and 16% on their own. Ask a teacher in our poorest schools. 

It really could happen to anyone. To any of us. This, I believe, is where to start. 

Disclaimer: Homeless survivors tend to be extraordinarily private people. The extent to which I share their stories, I am careful to not reveal their identities. In Dan's case I use his real name because he has already told his story publicly in a documentary called "Guttered," filmed by his friend (and mine, through Dan) Jerry Sedgwick. 

I highly recommend watching "Guttered." Available on YouTube.

Nobody Wants Racism Thrust In Their Face

Least of all, those at whom it is directed.
I don't share too many sermons, and I am well aware that many do not want to be sermoned-to. But in this one, I am trying to personally relate, from my own experience, what it feels like to feel racism. It's personal, hopefully not judgmental. The Gospel is only good news if it is for people. Not just for "souls" to the neglect of  bodies. The Gospel, if good news, is for life; physical, practical, this-worldly life. We are in this together. Together.
Sincerely,
The Rev. Dr. GarbageMan
https://youtu.be/7-VqMEcQiio

Neighbors in the Time of Cholera

It is the season of Lent, after all. A time traditionally acknowledging the reality of inevitable social distancing, separation, and death--especially our own. A time of simplifying. A time of retreat. The whole point of which is to find a deeper joy, a source of life that does not depend on the impermanence of toilet paper, or money, or a job, or status, or even food.

I do not trivialize. These are all important. But "life is more than what we will eat and what we will wear. So be anxious for nothing." (Matthew 6). These, I think, are the most ignored words of Jesus in Christian history.

I went on a walk yesterday. It was a fine and pleasant walk. Strange too. No traffic on W. 7th. Families out walking--together!

I came down Michigan Street toward Cooper's SuperValu, I was met by the gorgeous tones of a lone saxophone.

 

I was not in any hurry, so I approached and listened. Filled with appreciation, I opened my wallet and had nothing but a $10 in there, with which I happily parted. He paused and we introduced ourselves from a distance. 

Bob Neighbors told me his main instrument is harmonica, but today he felt like people needed saxophone. "Nothing connects people like music," he said, "especially when we make it together; but also when we just listen." His momma down South where he grew up used to tell him, "Don't hide your gift under a bushel basket." Share it with the world. The world needs your God-given gift. "My gift is not great," he said. "Like I said, I'm a harmonica player. I just play sax well enough not to get tomatoes thrown at me. Furthermore, I'm an introvert. It's my inclination to hold back. But today, at this time, people need connection! So I showed up. Here I am. Putting a vibration out that comes from love. It's a spiritual thing. Music can change the world. I believe that. Every musical vibration is eternal, so we gotta make it our best."

I listened. I felt what he was telling me, and the power of his simple music. I thought about how true it is that music perfectly captures both our connection and our distance from each other. It's vibration. I thought about how whatever vibration we put out into the world, for better or for worse, has infinite repercussions. I am convinced, however, that in the end all is swallowed up in love, and that what we put out in love is eternal life.

Just then, a neighbor I already knew came out of the grocery store. I introduced Jim to Bob, and we chatted a bit. Jim had a problem, though. While in the store, he decided to buy more than fewer groceries so that he would not have to go back for more for a while during the pandemic. He had four heavy bags and about 1/2 mile to walk. He asked for help to carry them, and I was more than glad to do so. We bid goodbye to Bob and set out.

During the walk, Jim Sazevich, an amazing freelance local historian, began to muse on the cholera outbreak of 1854 in St. Paul. You know, like historians do. Inspired obviously by the present Covid-19 outbreak, his mind went to 1854 and a subject close to home for him.

You see, his home, a little brick house on Smith Ave. built in 1854, was never finished by the original builder, one Mr. Adams, who had just moved to St. Paul in that year with his new bride. Young Mr. Adams was a shirt-tail relative of John Quincy Adams, former President of the US. 

The small brick structure was finished in 1854, though not the intended wooden additions. That year cholera invaded St. Paul, and it killed an unrecorded number of people, "but certainly dozens," Jim told me. One life claimed happened to be Minnesota Territory's most famous citizen, Mr. Charles Fillmore; brother of then-President Millard Fillmore. Fillmore's house was in Irvine Park, just next door to Alexander Ramsey's house. It was mere blocks from The Adam's house. And Mrs. Adams was pregnant.

Death must have seemed everywhere in that little settlement. The funeral for Fillmore processed by horse-drawn hearse down Fort Street, now W. 7th St., toward the new Oakland Cemetery, St. Paul's first cemetery. 

But as black crows gathered and cawed in the trees lining the street (I embellish, sorry Jim), the hearse caught a rut in the dirt road. The coffin slid off the back of the hearse-wagon and crashed on the ground, spilling the body of Minnesota's most famous citizen out onto the dirt.

We don't know, but it is hard to imagine the pregnant Mrs. Adams and her husband were not present for this spectacle that occurred only a block or two from their residence. 

Thereafter, the Adams family walked away from their house and St. Paul. They just walked away--70 miles they walked, she pregnant--to Steele County MN, where their son was born: the first white child born in that county. 

And now Jim lives in their house. He has learned their story, and even has a wedding photo of Mr. and Mrs. Adams in his (their) house. He is in touch with their descendants. "We need to preserve the artifacts," Jim tells me with genuine passion. "They are gone, but the artifacts remain, and keep them with us, keep us with them. And they still have much to tell us."

I am moved by the people who put good vibrations out into the world, who follow the calling of Love. This was quite a day. Thank you Bob and Jim, for being great neighbors, and doing good and healing work, during this contemporary "Time of Cholera."

"I Feel Safer on the Street"

It took me a minute to realize that the ringing church bell I was hearing was ours. Strange, because it was not Sunday. It was Thursday and we were in the middle of our weekly Thursday activities at 11 a.m.

I am pastor at Zion Lutheran Church in the urban Midway Neighborhood of St. Paul, MN. Every Thursday our doors are open to any who can use a home made meal, a bag of groceries, a warm place to spend the day, and/or a little safe, welcoming human contact.

There are surprises often enough on Thursdays at Zion. But this was a new one. Someone had made their way into the sanctuary and up to the balcony and, finding the rope for the bell, began ringing it like mad.

I excused myself from a small group discussion, muttering something that rhymes with "What the bell?", I made my way to the sanctuary and asked the silhouette of a man I could see in the dim light to please stop. And he did.

I climbed the stairs to the balcony and found him sitting on a church pew in the dark. He was young, barely more than 20, in a jacket and sweatpants, thick black hair, strong build, and agitated--though not in a threatening way, just incredibly fidgety.

I thanked him for listening to me about the bell. I asked his name:
"Ben."
"Are you ok?"
"No, not really."
"You seem really nervous."
"Yeah, I feel real anxious."
"Are you on any drugs right now?"
"Yes, amphetamines, I need them to feel normal."

At this point I invited him down to my office to talk if he'd like to. He agreed, gathering up his bags. He was unsteady on his feet and his sweatpants kept slipping down.

In my office he couldn't sit still. He paced as we talked. He rearranged some books, turned on the stereo to some music he likes, and then sat at my desk and took notes on my note pad during our talk.

He grew up in Hastings, always suffered anxiety, and was hard on his family. He left home early and has bounced around in shelters and under bridges. Said he wants to get clean and heard Teen Challenge was a good place. I called and spoke to Stephanie, a counselor. She was amazing and spoke with Ben directly. No, he could not come there without a rule 25 chemical dependency evaluation, and their next appointment was next week.

Stephanie told him she had been where he is. She recommended going to St. Joseph's Hospital, as she had done. He could detox in safety, with attendant drug therapy. It was his best option. We thanked Stephanie. Then Ben used my phone to call his sister for advice. She agreed with Stephanie. "St. Jo's is your best option. Please go," she said.

But he could not. I offered to drive him. Appealed to the good advice he just received. "They will put me in the Psych Ward. I can't go there again. It's too confining. I feel safer on the street."

With that, Ben grabbed a doughnut and a coffee, and hit the street.
"Left the building."
Yet he definitely had rung our bell.