"Left foot, left foot Right foot, right. Feet in the morning Feet at night." Thank you, Dr. Seuss

I am thinking about feet. My feet often demand that I think of them. Short wide feet with high insteps and high arches, my feet often scream for attention. But it’s not my feet that I am thinking about. I am thinking of the feet I washed last night.

I can’t tell you if the feet were in good condition or if these feet hurt. I can’t even tell you if the nails were painted. I know the feet were soft. I knew that I had to treat those feet as though they were beloved. Because those feet were beloved. Because those feet reminded me of other feet.

Blistered. Callused. Feet used for transporting a body everywhere that body needs to go. Feet that do not have clean socks every day. Feet that are covered in shoes that do not necessarily fit properly. Feet that are wet in rain, cold in winter, sweaty in summer. Imagine.

When I go to Sedona AZ, I walk a great deal. I hike to the vortexes, along the red dusty paths that lead to big red rocks. My black sandals are no longer black; my feet no longer tan. Both are covered in a fine red dust that does not brush away easily. This makes me think of what feet must have looked like in Jesus’ time. Dusty. Dirty. Tired. Responsible for carrying the weight of a person’s life upon them.

Feet are important. Between Tuesday and Thursday of this past week, I walked 25,935 steps, an average of 8,645 steps on each day. That was simply to and fro, back and forth, going nowhere but doing many things. (one of many privileges, my iPhone health app)

How many steps did Jesus walk between the beginning of his ministry in Galilee and that cross at Golgotha? Approximately 106 miles if one walks straight from Capernaum to Jerusalem, but he didn’t. He went into Samaria and crossed over into Judea beyond the Jordan and other points between here and there

.

Thinking of Jesus walking makes me think of some of the guys from the pantry I know who walk everywhere. Often they are walking to and fro, between one meal and the next, into one area and crossing over into and beyond another. I have seen their feet. I have given out a pair of socks and bandaids in a too meager attempt to ease the burden of those poor, sore feet. Swollen, red, painful.

I wished I had thought of these feet sooner. I wish I had washed these feet on Maundy Thursday. I wish I had warm water and soft towels, clean socks and more bandaids, lotion and soothing balms.

Raw and uncut

I am weighed down and have to release this bit by bit. I recognize and name my privilege. Privileges are not rights and I know this. This is self serving to a big extent; yet, it also serves the bigger good because I need to unload some of this. Perhaps in the telling of my tale, new light will dawn, in me and or possibly in the reader. This is raw and uncut, unedited. It just is.

Synopsis of the past two weeks

September 12 – 18

Tuesday

Crazy day. Lots of people. Second full week of the month. I used to think that I could predict when the surges would happen but I have been wrong so many times I stopped trying to look at trends. On Tuesday, September 12, we served 133 individuals in one and a half hours. That is not 133 individuals that came in; but it was a great many single households with the rest families ranging from 2 to 10. However, this number “served” means only those who came for their monthly allocation of groceries and does not include, for the most part, those who came simply for the meal being offered. So, in that space of the first hour, approximately 60 people (volunteers, diners, household representatives) were in the space at any given moment. This is not a record but it is close enough to count.

Dennis came in. He was not sober. Jeremiah cut in the food line and Dennis made a comment. Jeremiah responded just as rudely. They did not seem to be able to control themselves so I stepped in between them. Both continued. I did not handle the situation well. I hurt Dennis’ feelings, although he was drunk so I do not take full responsibility for that. He was drunk enough to be at the crying stage. What I wanted to say to him, what I tried to say to him was that he was a member of Trinity and as that was the case, he needed to be hospitable. Jeremiah was wrong but he was a virtual stranger, a guest. 

Both hushed their noises until they got their food but Jeremiah left speaking loudly to the wind about kicking people out and he wouldn’t be back. I told him that was his choice. Dennis took his food and went off and cried in his solitude. I felt like crap but was too damn busy to worry about either. And I was kind of pissed that both of them acted like aggrieved ten year olds. I should not have to monitor, much less control, people. Dammit.

Dennis later left. Jeremiah came back in and started the conversation again that I needed to make a rule that drunks were allowed. I deemed it necessary to let him know that I am not in the business of kicking people out or denying people entrance. He said that he would not return until I did. I said, Ok…again, that is your choice. He said that the world was full of assholes that needed to be put in their place. I told him that I agreed with him totally.

Sigh.

Wednesday

Almost as crazy but not quite so. Only 90 individuals were served groceries. We had the normal crowd for the meal. The day was busy but not as chaotic.

No Dennis. No Jeremiah. But I expected neither. I needed the calmer atmosphere.

Thursday

Always a long day because I pick up from Whole Foods at 9 am and then take it back to Trinity to sort and store. I often have help picking up from Whole Foods and help with sorting and storing also. It is like getting ready for Christmas. One never knows what will be available. Sometimes it is a huge amount (2 small SUV loads) and sometimes not nearly so much. Always, always, it is more than we ever had before. J After noon, volunteers leave and I take the next two hours to catch up on paperwork or simply eat lunch and relax. By 2:30, there is a meal to get ready and Gwen, a volunteer, returns to help get that ready. 

Setting up for pantry takes a bit longer on Thursdays simply because it is a dance to arrange all the goodies. Then pantry begins at 4 and is either steady on or sometimes slow dependent upon the time of the month. This one was steady busy but not too busy. 

Regardless, by 5:30 when the volunteers scatter to other worlds, I am one exhausted puppy. This week, I am physically spent and even though this week was emotionally exhausting, this particular day was simply long.

Still no Dennis. I know he thinks he needs to apologize and won’t be back until he gets his courage.

Friday

Rest. Replenish. Try to Renew. But I couldn’t write. Too much. Too much.

Sunday

While I love having some Sundays off, I do also find a renewal of energy on Sundays. I do little but meet and greet. I talk, listen, shake hands, offer hugs, and laugh a lot. It is normally a good day. This one was no different.

But still no Dennis. But I did hear that he came to church so that is good. I know he is alive.

The week of September 19 – 22

Tuesday

It was a normal run of the mill Tuesday, busy simply because it was the first day of week’s pantry but relatively normal. Every Tuesday pantry begins with me going by Restaurant Depot to purchase the week’s supply of eggs. We give out 4 eggs per person up to a max of one dozen. Right now, eggs are relatively inexpensive. Last year, eggs were as high as $24 per case (a dozen dozen) but now are resting at the stable of price of less than $10 per case. After that stop, I run by 2^nd Presbyterian to pick up fresh produce from Arthur Culbert’s CWE Urban Farm.  http://www.cwefarm.org/our-farmers/ The Farm grows and shares its produce with the Saturday pantry at 2^nd Presbyterian and Trinity Food Pantry. It is a blessing. After pick up, it’s on to Trinity to begin the set up for a new week.

That is a normal week. And this Tuesday was a normal day, thankfully.

Jeremiah came by to eat but was fairly aloof. He said hello but didn’t stick around. 

Meanwhile, people who are homeless continue to find us. The meal part of the ministry is growing.

Many think that homeless people are dirty, drunk/addicted, mentally unstable, or many other things. Some may be. But the men and women that come to Trinity, for the most part, are clean and take a certain pride in being that way. There are several that no one would ever realize are homeless.

Arlie, a pantry meal and Sunday Hot Lunch regular, and his cousin Ron (neither of whom are homeless), were laughing and called me over. Arlie asked Ron, “What do they call this place now?” Ron answered, “Barb’s place.” Both just heehawed. Arlie said that everyone he sees on the street asks, “Hey, you going down to Barb’s Place later?” I laugh. I am flattered. I feel very weird about it. 

I know that I have set into play a few beliefs that have come into a natural being. It is good. It’s all about relationship. It’s all about being a part of the community, the people of God, together, in love. It’s about love.

It’s not about it being MY place. I won’t always be there. But I do hope that the community will always have a place for everyone.

Wednesday

It was relatively slow. Still no Dennis but I am no longer worried because Reta, our parish nurse from Deaconess Faith Nurses saw him earlier at Pilgrim UCC where she ministers each Wednesday morning. I know he will probably show up on Thursday.

Today, we served knockwurst and cabbage with several sides and plenty of desserts. We open the doors at 1:30. By 2:15, all the Knockwurst and sides were gone. There were still desserts but far fewer. The pantry was slow but the meal was not. It was hopping.

The pantry dynamic is shifting, growing. It is good. But sometimes it is so good that it scares me. I don’t know why. It’s just there. I share the love but as I share that, I also feel a certain draining. It is far easier for me to understand why Jesus had to go into the wilderness to get away. Sometimes I feel like I am in a scene from Jesus Christ Superstar, the Temple Lyrics scene:

See my eyes, I can hardly see
See me stand, I can hardly walk
I believe you can make me whole
See my tongue, I can hardly talk

See my skin, I'm a mass of blood
See my legs, I can hardly stand
I believe you can make me well
See my purse, I'm a poor, poor man

Hearing my name repeatedly called, from all directions, people pulling at my clothes, motioning to get my attention, makes me want to cry out, “Ooh there’s too many of you,” too much need, too much pain, far too little I can do. 

I am not in any way comparing myself to Christ. I am simply stating that I understand the draining.

That is my privilege speaking. I have the privilege of walking away, finding a way to recuperate, to rest, to revive myself. When I drive home at night in my cute little car to my beautiful wife and our wonderfully air conditioned home to drink a glass of wine, eat a little food, watch a little TV before retiring upstairs to my comfy bed, I leave all the people. There is a limit and I cannot fool myself into thinking otherwise. My compassion turns away from them to my own privilege. One or two of them may make it to my dreams but for the most part, they return to their hot crumbly house, bedbug infested apartment, cubby, vaco, SRO, space under a stairwell or bridge, or shelter spot. They go back into their world that has far too much oppression and is most often underserved.

Thursday

I’m good to go. The haul from Whole Foods is light but that helps me be thankful. My prayer these days is for God to help me so that I do not become complacent in the abundance. Or arrogant.

But somewhere along the line, as Gwen and I are talking, we go from laughing to crying in a space of seconds. We both realize that we have been practicing Joy but suddenly when faced with the certain reality of the world that our hearts are breaking. So, we cry for a few minutes. Then we resolve to once again practice Joy. But I think we are hiding behind a façade. Somehow it feels as though “shield the joyous” phrase from Compline would fit here.

But it gets us through the time so that when it’s time for pantry, our smiles are from our hearts and in our eyes. We meet and greet.

Dennis comes in, immediately comes to me and says, “Barbi, I am sorry.” It is the apology of an alcoholic and I take it as it comes, heartfelt with full intentions of never acting that way again. But I am also able to tell him my own guilt/frustration at not saying what I meant to say. So I shared with him that he is loved by this parish and that he is a full member. Therefore, he has to think of himself as host rather than simply guest. And he has to sometimes wait. He accepts that, happy that I still love him and I am not angry at him. He has a past that includes a lot of angry family members.

Then a young man comes in. It just so happens that he is a young white guy from Cape Girardeau. I gathered that he had not been homeless long.

We try to adapt the food we give out according to special needs of the patrons. We even have a gluten-free cabinet. We have vegetarians that come to the pantry, too. Just because people are poor does not mean that they will eat just anything.

I asked him if the grocery bag that we gave him was ok or did he need to exchange some of the goods. He looked at me quizzically. I explained that some things might be useless to him – potatoes, cabbage, onions, raw eggs – unless he had a way to cook them. I explained that I had a can opener, pop tops, individual servings of fruit, etc. Plus, he had no idea how heavy all that stuff could be. He finally said maybe he should not take it all. The practical vs the desire to have enough. I told him he should take enough to have food that would last until Tuesday, gave him a list of places he could go to shower and to eat over the next few days, and then Reta (the nurse) hooked him up with Ernest.

Ernest used to be homeless. He had a really bad stroke about 2 ½ years ago that almost killed him. He still has a limp and has to walk with the aid of a cane but oh my goodness how he has improved. He is a funny guy and has his own special issues. However, he sat down to eat and talk with the guy and gave him some serious information about the dos and don’ts of being homeless. And he shared with him the location of the safe place where he used to sleep. None of the guys that come to Trinity like New Life or downtown. They all believe it is safer to be near Forest Park and the Central West End. They say they like it here because there are fewer drug and drug dealer problems.

Anyway, Ernest, God bless him, educated the young man and alleviated a little bit of my concern. Oh, and did I say that Ernest asked him if he could pray with him? Nah, I know I didn’t. But he did. And they did. And it was good.    

Pantry is almost over. Yolanda and her youngest son come in five minutes before closing. I love her. She is so kind, so calm, so aware of her blessings. And her kids are fine children. Two sons and a daughter. The youngest son is about 9 and is adorable. I haven’t met her daughter but she is a teen. The oldest son came in three or four weeks ago to pick up the groceries for his mom because she was working. Today, Yolanda told me that he was shot in the back two weeks ago. He is alive and just got out of the hospital. The bullet went all the way through him, tearing his intestines and came out his stomach. He will have to wear a colostomy bag for the rest of his life. She is thankful he is alive.

It took everything I had to hold it together. Yolanda didn’t cry. I couldn’t either. He was not my son. I do not love him like a mother would. I cannot live that pain she had, the fear she felt when she got the call, the realization that her son had become a part of the statistics that tell the tell-tale story of young black men. She said that the good news was that there was a video and the police were working hard to get the guy who shot him.

As I fought to hold myself together, as she was leaving, she told me that she really appreciated me and Trinity Food Pantry.

I locked the doors.

I am undone.

_________________________________________________________________

Addendum:

I did not mention the volunteers, many of whom take great care of me. They feel my fragility sometimes and offer much support. This is a ministry of many, not simply one person. I may lead but what is a leader if no one follows? We are following what God has called us to do - to share the love. And we do it well. I am thankful for each and everyone of the 30+ volunteers who make up this weekly ministry. I give thanks to God for you all every day. 

Just as I have loved you

A few days ago, a friend was telling me a bit about the Wild Goose Festival. Jim Wallis of Sojourner fame told the group that our sole guide for racial and social justice is our Baptismal Covenant. I replied that our Baptismal Covenant should be our sole guide for every aspect of our lives.

There is one Body and one Spirit;

There is one hope in God’s call to us;

One Lord, one Faith, one Baptism;

One God and Father of all.

Were we to go no further in the Baptismal Covenant, this opening verse and response should tell us all we need to know.

We are a single unit, strands knitted together by God, the Father, God, the Son, and God, the Holy Spirit. We, all of us, are one united through our baptism.

Yet, there is more. We are called into accountability.

Will you be responsible for seeing that the child you present is brought up in the Christian faith and life?

Will you by your prayers and witness help this child to grow into the full stature of Christ?

Each child is brought into this oneness with a vow made by the parents and godparents – I will, with God’s help. This is a very serious promise. We enter into a covenant, with God, with that child, to bring that child up in the Christian faith and life and promise to help that child grow into the full stature of Christ. That is a very big deal. I wonder if we know what we are promising the first time we say it.

Personally, I failed miserably as a god parent. Twenty+ years ago, a young woman asked me to be a godparent to her two children. I barely knew the woman except for the fact that she lived near the parish and had been coming to church for a little while. I said yes. I should not have said yes. I made a vow and broke it in my ignorance. I did not understand the full nature of the promise. At the time, I had no idea as to the “full stature of Christ.” I am sure I continue to lack full knowledge of that phrase but I do know much more now than I did then.

Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?

Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?

Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?

I have always answered dutifully, “I will, with God’s help.” And I mean it, every time. I try to proclaim by example, if not always by word, the Good News of God in Christ; meaning, that I try to love God with all my heart, and soul, and mind, and love my neighbor as God loves me.

I am fairly good about these first two promises, at least, I am when I am at work. I am not always a shining example of God’s love, especially when my next door neighbors are shooting cannon firework off in front of my house on the sidewalk. Nor am I a very good example of God’s love when an unconcerned and seemingly selfish driver does something stupid and careless in front of me on the road. Nor do I do a very good job of loving my neighbor or being an example of that love when I read the ongoing fear-mongering on social media. 

Still, I try. I agree that Thomas Merton’s prayer “But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you” is what pleases God; just the simple fact that, indeed, I do try. Yet, the first of these two do not ask that we “try”; rather, that we “proclaim” and “seek and serve Christ in ALL persons” regardless.

The third one calls us into action, asking will we “strive for justice and peace” – among ALL people. And that further, we “respect the dignity” of EVERY human being.

Again, at work, I do strive diligently to do this. And actually, it is far easier to love people than we might first think. I do try at home too. Sometimes, it is difficult. Like when I come home from work and feel as though every ounce I had to give was given away. There seems to be no more. Yet, I am asked by word, thought, or deed, to do so. I get grouchy and resentful.

But I know in all of this, in all of my lack, in all of my more, I know I am trying. The more I try, the more I practice, the more real it becomes. I am a slow work of love.

I told a guy that I loved him. I saw his face change. It was the first time I had ever said it to him. He has been coming to the pantry and hot lunch for over a year. I remember when he first came, he was dirty, belligerent, smelly, and totally disrespectful. He is still. At first, I reacted to his behavior. If he was nice, so was I. If he wasn’t, I reacted in a negative way. 

I don’t think that tough love works very well.

Over the past few months, I came to the realization that he is often “acting out” just as a rebellious teen might do. He expects people to be irritated with him, to be repelled, to be shocked; therefore, he is irritating, shocking deliberately. He said he played the piano, so I had the piano returned to the parish hall. He doesn’t play. However, there is a certain rhythm to his tunes that lends a certain quality to the music. It sounds like music, only a piece no one has ever before heard. More than anything, it changes him when he plays. I think it calms him. I believe that he knows that it irritates some people but that I allow it. I think he respects that. He always tells me thank you.

When he asked me why I do the things that I do, I told him, “because I love you.” He cocked his head to one side and laughed but then he realized that I was sincere. It mattered.

Does my love cure him of whatever caused him to be homeless? No. Of course not. Does he trust me in all things and will never argue with me again, be belligerent or irritating? No. But it lets him know that he matters.

I take seriously the covenant I have made with God. It is the basis for all things. I realize that now, at this age, after all my life’s yearnings and earnings. I know this now. It feels natural, finally. I don’t always succeed but it lives before me, pulling me onward, teaching me new ways to love God and to love my neighbor as I am loved.

We are one in the Body. We are one in the Spirit. There is one hope in God’s call to us. There is One Lord, one Faith, one Baptism; One God and Father of all.

Striving for life in this oneness is what our Baptismal Covenant is all about. There would be no need to strive for justice, mercy or respect if we heard and lived into the two most important commandment: Love God with all your heart, and all your soul, and all your mind; and love your neighbor as yourself.

Sometimes our only job is to show other people how much they are loved. But first, we have to understand that we are, indeed, loved. Regardless. Steadfastly. Realizing that we are loved, that we are worthy of love, offers us the ability to share that love.

I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.’ John 13:34

We can’t learn to love or fully understand how much we are loved unless we work at being in relationship with one another.

We have to practice love every day. If you don’t know how much you are loved, contact me. I will tell you. I need the practice.

Homelessness is not the only issue here.

Back in Texas, through a friend, we met a woman who ran a shelter for men right out of prison. She had a tough love approach. Her motto was “Give a man a fish and feed him for one day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” Not that she didn’t give the men food, but she was heaven bent on making certain they left her with a knowledge of how to get on in the world without drinking, doing drugs, or committing crimes. I have no idea what the recidivism rate was at her shelter.

I understand the idea that charity can be toxic. I suppose she was the first one that I heard with that idea. But what I have come to learn is that charity is toxic when the charity is all about the giver and little about the receiver. Too many people do works of charity for the glory they perceive they will gather.

Then there are those who seem to think that if people weren’t lazy or drunk or drugged out, they would be able to make it in this old world. It’s that ‘pull yoreself up by yore bootstraps’ ideology. Do it yourself.

Chief Sam Dotson of the St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department appears to be a man of the latter ilk.

From an interview with CBS St. Louis, June 16, 2016, Chief Dotson is quoted:

“The whole idea is to help that population transition back into housing, transition back into jobs,” Dotson says. “And if we make it too easy – give them food, give them clothes, allow them to live on the street – they never go to those service providers.”

“…if we make it too easy”… Hell, son, this ain’t Texas. You don’t have to be so tuff.

This interview came in response to the police, under orders, ticketing people who come to the downtown area to offer food and clothing to people who live in shelters or on the streets. SLMPD has joined the ranks of hundreds of other police departments across the nation who are trying to save their city from the hordes of homeless people and those who see them as “the least of these”.

There are many groups that, all in the name of Jesus, trying to live out the Gospel, come into the downtown area to help people. Chief Dotson seems to think that this is wrong…that these meals and the hand-me-down clothes will encourage the people to forget about living in a place with walls, roof, utilities, and amenities such as indoor plumbing.

I would say that Chief Dotson has no idea what causes homelessness, how difficult life is on the streets, or even what hunger is like. Nor does he seem to know that many homeless people actually have jobs; they simply do not have the cash resources or credit to get into housing.

I think that it is safe to say that if one does not suffer from depression prior to becoming homeless, a brief stay in the open without shelter for the day and into the night could bring on a serious bout of depression. And paranoia. What must it be like to be newly homeless and deal with no shelter, no food, no idea where to go for help? How many times is that anxiety compounded if that person is a woman or a woman with children?

I know what it is like to greet people as they come in out of the heat or cold into a comfortable temperature with a hot meal awaiting them. I see their faces. I shake their hands and always, there are those who want a hug. For a few moments in time, they can relax.

Can we imagine what it is to wear the same clothes for days at a time? Can we feel the chaff begin from wearing the same pair of underwear or the blisters from the same pair (or no pair) of socks? I don’t even want to think about how I would feel if I were unable to take a shower or wash my face each night.

Does anyone know how many steps a homeless person takes each day or how quickly he can wear out a pair of shoes? Consider the fact that most of the shoes worn by people on the street are used to begin with, already set to fit someone else’s foot shape, the wear and tear is accelerated. Think about wearing shoes that are just off a bit, not quite the right size. Foot issues are one of the biggest health problems for people who are homeless.

Does anyone know how long a pair of jeans or a t-shirt will last if these are worn every day all day long?

I have to make myself drink water. It’s silly and certainly a first world problem when I consider that for a homeless person, drinking water can be hard to come by. It may be relatively simple to find a faucet or a fountain, but to have water to carry around to drink when the desire or the need arises can be a challenge. The challenge holds for toilets. Where does one go when one must go?

If I offer food to a person, it gives her the strength to get to the next stop along the way.

If I give a person a new pair of socks or shoes, it offers him a bit of relief so that he can walk for a little longer.

If I have clean clothes, it offers a few moments of dignity. A shower gives hope.

If I offer bottles of water, not only have I given water, but I have also provided a light weight container that can be refilled.

I would like to know of the providers that Dotson mentions – who are these that offer showers? Or clothing? Or socks and shoes? Or housing, for that matter? I know two places that offer showers. One is in the north part of the city; one is about one mile from downtown.

I know that there are several really special programs in the City of St. Louis that offer lifesaving services to many people. Yet, even if one is able to get through the maze that all must go through, housing is not readily available. Of the number of times I have called trying to find help for a woman who needs help, either I can’t get through to a real person or I have been told that there is a waiting list because the shelter is full. If a woman has gathered up the courage to leave an abusive situation and is seeking help, there should be immediate help available. Abusive situations do not respect waiting lists.

Chief Dotson suggested that the Biddle House would soon take the place of the Bridge – a group that has offered many services for several years to those who are homeless. It closes officially at the end of June. Many services have already been terminated. The Biddle House is not scheduled to open until the end of July…and I read that there are issues with it. The North City area is claiming NIMBY and I can’t say that I blame them. They have worked hard and long to reclaim an impoverished neighborhood and suddenly to have people who are aimlessly standing around with nothing but time on their hands and a hunger in their hearts is a message that the neighborhood has been working to erase. Hopefully, those problems will be worked out. Regarding the renovations that must happen prior to residents moving in, last I heard, these have not even begun.

The people who offer food and clothing to those in need are following what they believe they have been told to do: feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked. “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink?  And the answer? When you did it to the least of these, you did it to me. (Matthew 25:37-40)

We have been commanded to love one another, just as Jesus loves us. (John 15:12) When we love one another, we help one another. It is all we can do.

We are reaching a moment of decision in this city. The people who are homeless have not always been so. They are people who made a wrong turn, had one of those life-changing moments, or simply are not well. Not one of them is too very different from any one of the people complaining about “the homeless”. The lack of compassion is the frightening thing. The idea that people could treat those who need help as though they are a throw away part of society is simply sad.  

The idea that someone could believe that people would rather live on the streets, receive food and clothes from strangers than to be able to “transition” into housing and employment is small minded. If it is “too easy” to get food and clothing on the street, the people who have to carry everything they own everywhere they go; the people who must go days without showers; the people who go 24 hours between meals; the people who have to walk miles if they want more than one meal a day; the people who sleep during the day so that they won’t get attacked at night, those people will “never go to those service providers”.

How sad it is that people can justify their actions by convoluted thinking such as this.

Homelessness is not the only issue here.

Hopeville, Saint Louis, MO, USA

During the Great Depression, my grandmother and grandfather were a newly married couple. Their first home together was in a Tent City in northwest Tarrant County Texas in the area of where Eagle Mountain Reservoir would eventually be as the dam was completed and the reservoir began to fill up. My grandfather was one of the lucky ones working for the Civilian Conservation Corps. He had a job and they had a home, albeit a tent. Plus, they had a community.

Our friend, Connie, called Saturday morning and said, “Barbi, you have to come out here and see this. We are in Hopeville, the tent city.” So, Debbie, Tucker and I jumped in the car and went there.

What is community but a diverse group of people pulled together by a common thread. That is Hopeville.

Connie had been told to talk to “Big Mama” before she walked into the community. So, she asked for Big Mama. She was told that Big Mama was in the shower and would be out soon.

Shower? In a tent city?

Well, why not, indeed? When we used to camp a lot, we had one of those black water bags with a shower hose attached. Fill it up, let it sit in the sun for a while and a nice warm shower c ould be had even out in the woods. So, why not in Hopeville? I have no idea what their shower looked like but I do know that “necessity is the mother of invention.”

Picturesque it was not. There were many rickety looking structures, fraying tarps and tall weeds all around the area. But if one looked deeper, there were tents raised on platforms to keep them out of any rainwater runoff. There was a popup camper and a few more tents hidden away in the woods with front porches and areas to sit and enjoy the company of neighbors or the quiet of the evening…at least as quiet as it can be in the city.

There was the communal area where meals are shared if one had a desire to do so. There were port-a-potties set off from the “homes”. There is even a mail box set up on 1^st Street and a USPS vehicle delivered mail while we were there.

The Saturday morning of our visit, a local preacher had come by to share a prayer, a scripture and a blessing before the breakfast. The smell of sausage, onions and hashbrowns cooking filled the air. Eggs had been brought by Connie and her husband. We came empty handed…not knowing what was expected or what was needed.

So, we just listened and looked. And asked a few questions.

Big Mama used to work in Social Services, mostly with people who had mental health issues. She was laid off and ended up losing her home. She is now the “Major” of Hopeville. One guy is the Constable type person, making certain that things don’t get out of hand and that order is kept. One couple had been in Hopeville in the past but had just returned two months ago. He was trained as a chef at Cordon Bleu Culinary School. He started work at the age of 15 as a grill cook. He supervised the cooking for the morning meal.

Away from the main crowd was a young couple. I don’t know their intentions but it seemed obvious that they had a purpose and were about to set off to accomplish that which they had planned. Not that much different than many other young couples on any given Saturday morning.

It occurred to me at the moment of watching them, rather naively, I might add, that just because one does not have a stationary building overhead does not mean that one is “home” less. A home is where one’s heart is, so the saying goes.

As the young woman walked past us after getting her breakfast, she told us thank you…as if we had done something other than just BE in their space. She and her male companion got in their car and left to do whatever it was they had planned.

Although I do know that being homeless can and does create anxiety, stress and fear which can lead to disorders associated with mental illness, I will venture to say that there are many other reasons for homelessness other than mental health.I didn’t meet anyone in Hopeville that had any more evidence of mental illnesses than those of us visiting. There was laughter, good natured ribbing, one grouchy old guy, sassy young people, some aloof, many sort of wary, some singing, some shouting orders… there was even a dog chasing a cat. Everyone seemed to very normal. (whatever the heck that is…) Perhaps ordinary is a better word to use. Everyone seemed ordinary.

There are many opinions about Hopeville and whether or not it should be allowed to remain a viable community. Larry Rice and the New Life Evangelistic Center believe that the tent city is a better alternative than living on the streets. Lord knows, NLEC is full to capacity at any given time. As I have seen, the city seems full of people with no homes looking for some sort of space they can claim as their own. The area surrounding Centenary Methodist Church and St. Patrick’s Center always have people milling about.

I have to say that I agree with the thought that a community that has tent shelter is safer than little or no community living in an alcove of a building or behind a dumpster in the alley. In my three and a half years in the city, homelessness seems far more of a problem now than before. There are definitely more women and children on the streets now than there were three years ago.

Yet, I also realize that a tent city, subsidized or merely allowed to exist, could be seen as creating a new and different problem and that a more permanent solution needs to be created. I do, however, question the motives of some. I was told by a few of the residents that Lumiére Place Casino does not like them living so near for fear it will hurt business.

In January, 2011, the City of St. Louis established rules that allowed the residents of Hopeville to stay if they did not harm themselves or others or any property. The City banned “drugs, criminal activity and drunkenness.” (Aren’t these rules everywhere??) Propane cookers/heaters and safely contained fires could be used for cooking and heating. Now, we were told, there is a new eviction date – December 2011.

Is a Tent City the best place for these people to live? Well, surely no, one might immediately claim. Perhaps the reasoning would include that they do not own the property. Or that it is unsafe. Or that the winters are far too cold to thrive in a tent. Or maybe people are just idyllic and believe everyone should have a home. I can see the merit in all but I especially like that last one. I believe that also.

However, it is disingenuous to say that we contribute to the problem by allowing the people to live in tents in the city. Or that by giving people blankets and coats and food we compound the problem because it keeps them from going into the shelters where they would be better for them. I love it when we so easily determine what is best and better for other people. How kind of us!

We would like to think that everyone has a place to get out of the extreme weather and to be safe. We especially love the thought that if a person is homeless, they choose to be shelter-less – to live outside of the rules required to get inside the shelter. It is justified reasoning – the reason doesn’t have to be real; it only has to justify the actions…or non action.

Is Hopeville a place I would want to live? No, not really. But then, I can guaran-damn-tee that I would rather live in a tent behind the levee wall than to live in an alcove of a building in the middle of the city. I can also see a great deal of personal autonomy living in a community with community made rules rather than in a shelter run by people trying to do good by ensuring that others follow every rule.

Do-gooders are sometimes the bane of a good deed.

Meanwhile, as we have this discussion, there are people who do not qualify for one of the empty beds in the city shelters. Then there are people who do not wish to have one of the empty beds because they feel they are perfectly capable of providing that on their own. Regardless of those who want or don’t want one of the beds or whether those of us who have beds feel they are or are not worthy of said bed, the common statement I heard in Hopeville is the same one I hear from those who walk through the Cathedral…

…they all just want a job. 

Falling Off of the Edge

Homelessness is a problem in any big city in any given economic climate. When times get tough, homelessness gets worse. It’s a fact. Numbers are not needed to prove it; one only has to spend a little time to see it.

Saint Louis is no different.

When we think of homeless people, how many times do drugs and alcohol pop into our minds as the cause of homelessness? I cannot recall the number of times I have heard the statement that some people ‘choose to be homeless.’ It is easy to think that, I suppose. After all, what might the average person do to keep from being homeless? Surely I would never allow that to happen, right?

And then there are those pesky runaways. “Troubled” kids – that just means kids that cause trouble, to their parents, to the schools to the police.

Did you know that the National Network for Youth puts the number of “disconnect, unaccompanied and/or homeless youth in our country” at 2.5 million? That’s a whole lot of mothers’ babies all alone in this world doing whatever they have to do to survive. That’s two million five hundred thousand children and youth whose chances of being productive citizens in the future lessen dramatically every day they are disconnected, unaccompanied and/or homeless.

What if we thought about homelessness differently? What about these “excuses” for homelessness:

An abused woman with children running from a violent partner/spouse…

A recently discharged veteran, disabled, not yet receiving benefits…

A family living too close to the economic edge, falls off due to a crisis such as injury or sickness…

A senior citizen living on a fixed income that is far too fixed and no support system in place…

Children abused and/or neglected by parent/step-parent…

Children sexually abused by family member or family friend.

Uninsured, under-employed, have to choose between medicine and rent…or food and rent…or any number of other things and rent…

Me losing my job and my partner losing her job in the near future, times are tough, we are both in our 50’s…

All these explanations sound a lot more reasonable than someone choosing to be homeless. I have never heard a child answer, “a homeless person” when asked what she or he wants to be when they grow up.

The only thing separating me and “them” is a small puff of wind.

Working upstairs at the Episcopal Cathedral in downtown Saint Louis, I had forgotten the number of people who walk through the first floor hallways on a daily basis to get a drink of water, use the facilities, or just to sit in the Nave seeking a modicum of shelter from the streets. Back on the first floor now, I am only there a couple of weekdays each week now but I am still amazed at the people who come in seeking help.

Many are looking for “the lady in the bookstore.” That lady would be Debbie, my partner. Word on the street is that she will help with incidentals like snack foods, toiletries and sometimes socks and such. We have a small “emergency” closet church where we store pop-top foods, crackers, fruit cups/snacks, toothpaste and brushes, deodorant, etc. Being in the Bookstore on the ground floor of the Cathedral, she is often the first person that sees or is seen by those seeking help.

There was a woman and her little girl that came seeking help not long ago. Their time was up at New Life Evangelical Center, a non-profit church center downtown that provides help for those who are homeless. The woman and her child had been there as long as the rules allowed so they were on the streets. She was trying to get into one of the shelters for women and children but had been told by them that there was no room. She wanted a suitcase, pillows and shoes for her little girl. A call went out for help and three people promptly responded with the requested items.

A couple of weeks ago, as I walked from one office to the next, I saw a young couple standing in the hallway. They had a little boy with them. They were hot and sweaty, tired and looking lost. I asked if I could help them. They said they had been told to come to the church to find “the lady in the bookstore.”

The couple was from Colorado. Out of a job, his grandmother in Saint Louis County had bought them bus tickets to bring them to St. Louis so he could find a job. She told them they could live with her for two weeks. They had been there three weeks and at the end of that day, they had to leave her house. Their little baby was with her for the day. Hoping to find a place to stay for the night, they still had to return to pick up the baby.

At a board meeting the other day, I heard an oft repeated statement:  there are plenty of beds for “the homeless” in Saint Louis. Well, that’s all good and fine if one is comforted by numbers. 200 homeless; 200 beds (small random number to show a point). Comforting, right?

No.

Because the fact is that just because the beds are there doesn’t mean that those who need them are allowed to sleep in them. There are rules and regulations deciding who can and who cannot use the different facilities.

Rules help keep community safe. But it is a fact: the street is not a safe place for women and children.

To stay in many of the shelters, one must have proof of identity. There is also the residency restriction. One must be able to prove they are a legal resident of Saint Louis to stay in a homeless shelter in Saint Louis. If a couple wants to stay together, it won’t be possible in most places. If a father wants to stay with his wife and children, it isn’t possible. If a woman and her children just lost their home but are not actually abused and running scared, it is far more difficult for them to find those elusive beds.

These are just a few of the details of why those beds are not filled at night but the nooks and crannies of the streets are.

This is just the beginning, I think, of things I have to write about this subject. We have a problem and somehow we have to figure out what needs to be done.

While talking to the people who THINK they understand the problem is an important part of understanding, talking to the people who are actually living within the problem, hearing the whys and hows of what brought them to the point and what they believe will help them – that is where we have to get serious. There has to be the recognition that those who are without a “home” to live in are no different than you or me. They are people who found themselves, suddenly or otherwise, without the basic need of shelter. We cannot superimpose our perceived understanding as a solution.

Just as with any alleged problem, the solution is often a state of mind. Even more often, the solution to the problem often involves simply removing the offending sight from the eyes of the offended.

Out of sight; out of mind. That type of solution has to eliminated.