Spirituality Column: Easing Into Harder

It is easy to catch a glimpse of an unhoused person and feel disgust, then blame the feeling on them. Probably we remember hearing someone snap, “They should get cleaned up and get a job.”

It’s a little harder to tell that remembered voice, “Be quiet, now,” and move from disgust to grief at the brokenness in the world. It’s harder still to Google search “causes of homelessness” and spend a few minutes pondering the results.

The next step might be a little harder or a lot. It depends upon what God, or the universe, or fate, or karma, or chance puts before you. It’s to say, “OK, I’ll do something.”

We’ll come back to this fork between easy and hard. But since this is a thought experiment, let’s keep it easy for now. It isn’t hard, next time you’re pushing a grocery cart down an aisle, to pick up a couple extra jars of peanut butter or a six-pack of ramen for a local food pantry. Food pantries are glad to receive almost anything, so long as it isn’t out-of-date or open.

It’s a little harder to give your food to a homeless shelter, because the shelter probably has specific needs the pantry doesn’t. You’ll have to look up a number and make a call to ask. But that’s easy enough.

It’s harder to deliver your donation while unhoused people are at the shelter. Harder still to make eye contact with a shelter guest, smile and say, “Hello.”

How hard is this so far? For persons of privilege, not too. But I get that what comes next is hard.

In January of last year, arctic air was poised to pour into the upper Mississippi basin. Below-zero temperatures were expected to last for days, with wind chills that would freeze exposed skin in minutes. Our county’s emergency management director appealed to faith-based and civic organizations to open as emergency warming centers. Leaders of the church I serve agreed we should find out how we might help. We imagined collecting blankets or providing meals. We couldn’t see ourselves opening as a shelter because we have a preschool, and the logistics seemed daunting.

But when we asked the director, “Who’s going to open as a shelter?,” his answer put us in a hard place. “So far,” he said, “yours is the only response I’ve gotten.”

We gulped. We asked ourselves, can we do this? And answered, we have to do this. Some of our solutions to problems weren’t pretty, but we provided warm beds and good meals for nine bitterly cold nights. And last month, with more cold visiting, we did it for 10 nights more.

Until our insurance company told us if we didn’t stop sheltering in our building, they’d immediately cancel all of our insurance. Although the underwriter asked some truly offensive questions, I try to not be overly hard on them. There aren’t easy answers.

Our Episcopal neighbors heard about the warming center closing and gave me a Sunday sermon to talk about the need. The next night, the warming center reopened at Trinity. An- other ministry is serving breakfast and extending the hours of warmth. Now, folk from other congregations are signing up to volunteer for shifts. A spirit of engaged community is growing.

It’s still hard. But I define spirituality as that which makes life lively. Trying what’s hard rather reliably does.

If you were in my community, I’d ask you now if I might ask you a question. I’m sure there are those in your community that could ask it. Can you do something?

You may ease past that tightness in your throat by asking, “What would I be expected to do? How does it work?”

Then it isn’t quite so hard to gulp, “OK.”

The Reverend Doug Job does interim ministry for congregations in transition and keeps good memories and friends made while serving a church in Cape. At present, he lives in Hannibal, Mo. You may tell him what makes what’s hard for you easier at revdarkwater@gmail.com.