The thin line between us...
I'm writing this with my blood still a-boil from reading the comments to a post on Scot McKnight's site regarding "the younger generation" and their finances. I threw my hat in the ring, of course, me and my huge amount of debt, including The Student Debt That Will Never Go Away. Most of the responses to the post --which consisted of a video of a young man kvetching about how the economic stimulus has not helped him while his flat panel television plays in the background-- were ugly, and condescending, and blind to their own privilege. One person even had the audacity to brag about how he was out of debt a mere 5 years or so out of college, mentioning as an aside that his and his wife's parents "had helped them out a lot".
I guess this hit me with more force than usual because I was percolating on our morning at New Hope. After church last week, I subjected poor Jon White to a monologue on how close to homelessness my family had come... how we WOULD have been homeless if my Mom's parents (to whom she was not particularly close) hadn't let us live in one of their houses rent-free for most of my childhood and adolescence. My parents, too, were homeless for a period a couple of years ago after they lost their truck, and only had a place to stay because a friend of my Dad's let them stay in a trailer he hadn't managed to rent, again for free. I have relatives on my Dad's side who are and were homeless most of their adult lives due to mental illness and addiction. In all honesty, I have had periods (especially when I first moved to DC) where I, too, wouldn't have been able to pay rent if I hadn't lived off my credit cards.
Life is strange, and the lines that divide us are more flimsy than we allow ourselves to contemplate most days. My access to huge amounts of debt comes because I am part of a system. As long as I progress in the system, I will continue to be allowed to have ever increasing amounts of debt... but if I had dropped the ball early? If I had had less good fortune? If I'd had parents who loved me less or who didn't care for me as well as they did? If I struggled with addiction or debilitating mental illness? I have no assurance that things would be any different than they are for the folks at New Hope. I thank God for my circumstances, but I can't in good conscience entirely assign blame to the homeless folks or merit to myself for how things have worked themselves out.
There were twice the number of people there this morning than there were last week... a handful more of us, maybe, but having Pastor Pat back plus the rainy, cold morning meant that quite a few more homeless folk were motivated to come. I missed some of the characters from last week. Kumar, I hope, wasn't there because he got his job back. Some of the folks from last week were there, too... Ricky buzzed around, making himself useful, joking a little too much and wiping the sweat from his forehead. Renee, with her lone tooth, engaged me in conversation again, and talked about her kids, one of whom she gave up for adoption many years ago. I felt again the strong sense of shamelessness, openness. I talked at length with a fellow named Joe, who told me about how his week went, how he got a little work sweeping up for a guy at a church in town, how the hypothermia program is organized, where he tends to be when the weather's nice, how sometimes he doesn't show up for his sweeping job because he's "been out too late in town". I finally introduced myself to the guy they call Elvis, whom I've seen at the metro and on the CUE bus for years now, but never spoken to. He seems articulate and sane, if a little weird. I wonder what it is that keeps him on the streets.
There was one very memorable incident that I found myself struggling with like I was trying to solve a Rubik's cube. A little boy hugged his even littler sister, and when he let go, she lost her balance and fell, hitting her head on the tiled floor. I heard a gasp from a few folks and thought maybe he'd pushed her. Her Mom picked her up to comfort her and I turned around. But then she started yelling "911!! 911!!" and ran outside, clutching the kid. In one movement, 2/3 of the room emptied, as people ran outside, some also yelling "911!! 911!!" It was surreal. I heard someone saying "She's not breathing!!" and someone else saying "She's cracked her head open!!" and someone else saying "She's dead!!" I sat and waited. There was no way in hell the kid was dead, and I had my guard up enough this week to not trust the panic that had moved so many people so quickly.
I wasn't worried about the kid, really (and as it turned out, she had just gotten the wind knocked out of her and was totally fine... this didn't stop a ton of people calling 911 on the kid's behalf), but I was worried about the source of that panic. I was worried about Renee, who ran from the back up to the front with a terrified look on her face moaning, "Oh my God! Oh my God! She's not breathing! Oh my God!!" I was worried about all the commotion and the wild-eyed looks and the drama. It really took me a while to shake it all off... because up until then, I was just feeling like part of the congregation, separated by circumstances that were mostly invisible in the context of worship. But in that instant, I became painfully aware of how different I am, of the fragility that is perhaps the most substantive difference.
In the context of New Hope, where people are saying "praise Jesus" and talking about The Life Beyond This Life, it just feels like a Pentecostal church. For me, it feels like being around my Grandfather (who, incidentally, also would be homeless if it weren't for my Dad)... it feels very weirdly like home. But that fragility ripped it open for me. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, but I don't struggle with severe mental illess. I have community. I have a job with a state university. I have a masters degree. I'm in the system, and accepted by it. These guys have none of that certainty, and none of the resultant controlled detachment from some circumstances. It was completely in the realm of possibility for them that the little girl had died, because Those Things Happen in their world... I guess they happen in mine, too, but not like that... not so suddenly, so randomly. I have at least the illusion that things are fairly under control.
Illusion or not, and selfish or not, I pray it stays that way.
I guess this hit me with more force than usual because I was percolating on our morning at New Hope. After church last week, I subjected poor Jon White to a monologue on how close to homelessness my family had come... how we WOULD have been homeless if my Mom's parents (to whom she was not particularly close) hadn't let us live in one of their houses rent-free for most of my childhood and adolescence. My parents, too, were homeless for a period a couple of years ago after they lost their truck, and only had a place to stay because a friend of my Dad's let them stay in a trailer he hadn't managed to rent, again for free. I have relatives on my Dad's side who are and were homeless most of their adult lives due to mental illness and addiction. In all honesty, I have had periods (especially when I first moved to DC) where I, too, wouldn't have been able to pay rent if I hadn't lived off my credit cards.
Life is strange, and the lines that divide us are more flimsy than we allow ourselves to contemplate most days. My access to huge amounts of debt comes because I am part of a system. As long as I progress in the system, I will continue to be allowed to have ever increasing amounts of debt... but if I had dropped the ball early? If I had had less good fortune? If I'd had parents who loved me less or who didn't care for me as well as they did? If I struggled with addiction or debilitating mental illness? I have no assurance that things would be any different than they are for the folks at New Hope. I thank God for my circumstances, but I can't in good conscience entirely assign blame to the homeless folks or merit to myself for how things have worked themselves out.
There were twice the number of people there this morning than there were last week... a handful more of us, maybe, but having Pastor Pat back plus the rainy, cold morning meant that quite a few more homeless folk were motivated to come. I missed some of the characters from last week. Kumar, I hope, wasn't there because he got his job back. Some of the folks from last week were there, too... Ricky buzzed around, making himself useful, joking a little too much and wiping the sweat from his forehead. Renee, with her lone tooth, engaged me in conversation again, and talked about her kids, one of whom she gave up for adoption many years ago. I felt again the strong sense of shamelessness, openness. I talked at length with a fellow named Joe, who told me about how his week went, how he got a little work sweeping up for a guy at a church in town, how the hypothermia program is organized, where he tends to be when the weather's nice, how sometimes he doesn't show up for his sweeping job because he's "been out too late in town". I finally introduced myself to the guy they call Elvis, whom I've seen at the metro and on the CUE bus for years now, but never spoken to. He seems articulate and sane, if a little weird. I wonder what it is that keeps him on the streets.
There was one very memorable incident that I found myself struggling with like I was trying to solve a Rubik's cube. A little boy hugged his even littler sister, and when he let go, she lost her balance and fell, hitting her head on the tiled floor. I heard a gasp from a few folks and thought maybe he'd pushed her. Her Mom picked her up to comfort her and I turned around. But then she started yelling "911!! 911!!" and ran outside, clutching the kid. In one movement, 2/3 of the room emptied, as people ran outside, some also yelling "911!! 911!!" It was surreal. I heard someone saying "She's not breathing!!" and someone else saying "She's cracked her head open!!" and someone else saying "She's dead!!" I sat and waited. There was no way in hell the kid was dead, and I had my guard up enough this week to not trust the panic that had moved so many people so quickly.
I wasn't worried about the kid, really (and as it turned out, she had just gotten the wind knocked out of her and was totally fine... this didn't stop a ton of people calling 911 on the kid's behalf), but I was worried about the source of that panic. I was worried about Renee, who ran from the back up to the front with a terrified look on her face moaning, "Oh my God! Oh my God! She's not breathing! Oh my God!!" I was worried about all the commotion and the wild-eyed looks and the drama. It really took me a while to shake it all off... because up until then, I was just feeling like part of the congregation, separated by circumstances that were mostly invisible in the context of worship. But in that instant, I became painfully aware of how different I am, of the fragility that is perhaps the most substantive difference.
In the context of New Hope, where people are saying "praise Jesus" and talking about The Life Beyond This Life, it just feels like a Pentecostal church. For me, it feels like being around my Grandfather (who, incidentally, also would be homeless if it weren't for my Dad)... it feels very weirdly like home. But that fragility ripped it open for me. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, but I don't struggle with severe mental illess. I have community. I have a job with a state university. I have a masters degree. I'm in the system, and accepted by it. These guys have none of that certainty, and none of the resultant controlled detachment from some circumstances. It was completely in the realm of possibility for them that the little girl had died, because Those Things Happen in their world... I guess they happen in mine, too, but not like that... not so suddenly, so randomly. I have at least the illusion that things are fairly under control.
Illusion or not, and selfish or not, I pray it stays that way.
posted by Moff at
3:03 PM
3 Comments:
Wow - really good thoughts, Amy. Thanks for helping me think about this morning.
Amy, I really enjoyed your sharing, I too was struggling with the reaction to the emergency, but wasn't sure how to put it into words...
I agree with Croghan in that I also had the "wow" reaction when I read this. That's a bit of why it took so long to post my own toughts.
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