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An Update On Our Family

1/9/2018

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Friends, as many of you know, our family has been on a journey this last season regarding our daughter Liv's health. It was a journey I never thought I would be making, and one we are still on. While we have not shared some things publicly, for the sake of Liv, we wanted to give an update to what has been going on. Because this has obviously affected out lives, and make me quite a bit less present, both at my jobs and in my personal life.  So many of my regular rhythms in work and in life got upended this last season, and I am just beginning to get them back together. So, if I dropped the ball on anything, failed to respond, or seemed a bit off, this is why. Many thanks to all those that have been a support during this season.

Now for the update. My wife Rebecca wrote the following, so I will just share what she wrote:

“A long update on the wonderful world of getting to be Liv's parents - much appreciation for those who invest the time for the lengthy read:

Over the past six months we've been on a journey with Liv's health. She is a wonderful, smart, happy, hearty, healthy kiddo! But something with her vision triggered some concerns and through many many tests over half a year's time, we found out that she has a very rare condition. It's so rare that they have no definitive idea what we should expect. Her vision is impacted and may get worse. And there are a host of other things that might happen. We won't know until and unless they do. In the mean time, they have her on some supplements, they will run a series of annual tests and visit a number of specialists every few months to check in. One concrete thing we do know about her very rare condition is that getting sick is dangerous for her. If she gets a fever, we have to take her to the ER because fevers can go south quickly for kids like Liv. It's best for her to avoid colds. She's by no means a bubble baby, but we do need to be careful. So, if you don't see her around much, that's part of why. She loves putting everything in her mouth and getting really close to people. She's a friendly, huggy, extroverted toddler! And so, especially during cold and flu season, it's best if we give some care and bring her around a little less. Also, if she does get sick, it's important for us to pay close attention. I (Rebecca) am likely to take the day off to monitor her for something as often-dismissed as a bad head cold.

Now, let us be super clear on this one: She is in great health! Aces on all her tests except for vision. We're going to live with the assumption that she will stay in great health...at the same time as we keep up our awareness that there's a chance she may not.

As the parents of a kiddo with a rare condition that might be very mild and could possibly be severe, life sometimes is heavy. There is grieving to do. There is fear to sit with and invite Spirit into. There are doctor appointments and supplements to manage. But! I want you all to know that we have an excellent support system. We have worked hard to pull together spiritual and emotional helps for ourselves so that those we care for can know that we are being cared for as well.
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We share all of this with you as Liv's parents. Not Liv. We share so that you know us and our path a little better. Liv's path isn't ours to share. She has a great story ahead of her and we don't know what it will look like or what parts of it she will want to share. I (Rebecca), as an extrovert, am most happy to have conversations with anyone about how I am experiencing being Liv's mom and about any concrete things that can be done to help her thrive. Luke is more of an introvert and may be best supported with presence over words. Other than that, we will probably not be sharing too much about Liv because she's not at an age where she can give us permission.

Peace,
Rebecca and Luke Sumner”
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Shame Or Humanity:  Choosing A Path In The Midst Of The Opioid Epidemic

8/8/2017

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The opioid epidemic is here, and it seems like it only getting worse. It’s hard to turn on the news without hearing something about heroin, overdose deaths, and the response of various cities to this huge and complex issue. You also hear from people in the communities who are affected by the things that come along with this epidemic:  crime, homelessness, litter, and drug use. In spite of the fact that human beings are dying at huge rates because of opioids, what often makes the local news are these byproducts of addiction. And how communities are dealing with all these things that come with increased addiction.

Everett is one of these cities, and in many ways, it is being hit harder than many of the surrounding areas. According to a recent report, Snohomish Country where Everett resides has had around twice the number of overdose deaths than Washington state as a whole. This increase in drug use has also affected the other two issues that lead to increased homelessness:  mental health and poverty. The last point-in-time count also showed that most of people on the street in Everett (76%) are had their last permanent residence in Snohomish County (and half said it was in Everett), contrary to the myth that people travel to Everett because we are not doing anything about drugs.

So how do we respond to this? From city leaders and business owners, to neighborhoods and individuals, we all have to chose how we respond to this crisis that is affecting our community. Some have taken a more shameful and dehumanizing path. One local business owner in particular has taken it upon himself to broadcast this increase in homelessness and addiction by calling Everett “Tweakerville” and putting up a camera so originally named “tweaker cam” that live streams a part of Everett where people on the street often hang out. In conversations around this person’s decision to shame our neighbors experiencing addiction, I have noticed numerous people say that even if they disagree with this business owner’s methods, at least he got people talking and hopefully that will lead to figuring out solutions. Like somehow people living and dying on our streets was not enough, but a sign and a camera might finally get us talking and figuring stuff out. This makes me sad, because I believe that we as an Everett community do really care about people. We have just forgotten how in the ugly conversation that often surrounds this discussion of poverty and addiction.

But I am also sad because in a way, those people are right. I know that I have had more conversations about homelessness and addiction with people since that sign and camera went up. And I work with folks on the street each week. In some ugly way it has gotten people talking. But as we all know, that is not enough.

I am writing this today from my personal blog, not the Our Common Ground blog. Because even though I run a small organization committed to welcoming folks on the street, I am also a citizen of Everett. I love this place. My wife and I recently purchased a house in Everett, because that is how much we would love to put down some roots here. So I wanted to write this today not at the director of Our Common Ground, but as a neighbor, a citizen, someone who believes that Everett can be a place where all people can find a home and thrive.


We have a choice to make. I have a choice to make. About how we are going to respond to the opioid epidemic. And depending on what choice you make, there are three general paths we can do down.

On the first path, we can be angry and just want to see drugs and those that use them off our street and away from our community. We can put up signs that shame people experiencing addiction and make sure those on the street know they are not welcome, both directly and indirectly. We can push our government and law enforcement to further criminalize drug users in the hope that we can beat the addiction out of them. And even if we are not on the front lines of making these things happen, we can vote and live in a way that lets people on the street know they are not welcome in our city. We can pass laws that make the simple act of sitting down illegal, or try to ban people asking for help. I know this might be a bit of a strong example, but what this path really comes down to is this:  We don’t care how it happens or what happens to those using drugs, we just want it all gone.


The second path we can choose is to just ignore the crisis and insulate ourselves from the pain and trauma and crime in our community. We can build bigger walls around our homes, both literal and metaphorical. We can avoid areas of the city where we might run into people living on the street or asking for money. We can drive more and walk less so we don’t have to see the street level issues happening around us. We might not be as angry as some people about the issues that come with the opioid epidemic. We might even support things like transitional housing and meals for folks living outside. But we don’t want to have to deal with it ourselves, and try our best to ignore the complex issue of addiction in our community. This also might be a bit hyperbolic, but I think it is true. Because I can see some of this path in me. Even though I work with folks on the street and have committed a big chunk of my life to caring about these things, some days I just want to hide in the house and not have to deal with this stuff. Because it is hard.

The third path we can choose is more difficult. It is more winding. It doesn’t have as clear of a trail. But I believe it is the path we must take if we are to be a community in which everyone can live thrive and have a good life. On this path we choose to see the complexity of addiction, homelessness, and mental illness. We chose to avoid binary questions, such as, "Are they choosing to use drugs and be on the street or not,", and see how questions like this do not get at the many different factors that go into someone’s choices in life. On this path we do our best to recognize the trauma and pain that often sits at the core of addiction, and how certain life circumstances can not only hurt our sense of self and bring shame and trauma to our lives, but can also erode our ability to make good choices. This path also does not shy away from the real challenges of a community dealing with addition. To be on this path is to listen to neighbors who are angry at crime and angry at needles being left in alleys and playgrounds. To affirm their feelings of frustration. And to find ways to work together, even if we disagree on certain aspects of how we can best do this. And ultimately, this path requires us to see people living outside and experiencing addiction as human beings, no matter how much they frustrate us and how much we don't understand them.

This path will be hard. And we will lose our way often. But I truly believe that if many people in Everett begin to choose path number three, that our community can be a place where everyone can live, work, play, and flourish.
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Finding Grace in the Midst of Anxiety 

4/5/2017

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It’s a cold January day in Everett, the kind of day where the combination of wind and rain make it both ugly and beautiful in a Northwest kind of way. It’s cold and wet, and you hope that wherever your day leads, it is mostly indoors. In spite of this weather, there are many people in Everett who slept outdoors the night before, and a good number of them are upstairs right now, where the Our Common Ground hospitality space is in full swing. When we opened an hour ago, people streamed in out of the cold and the rain, and were greeted by some hot coffee and some good people. Folks have settled in, and they are reading books, sleeping in the corner, and catching up with friends. As usual it is hard to tell who the Our Common Ground volunteers are, and who is there to get out of the cold, because community has a way of blurring these lines. Yes, there is some tension as well. The challenges and the trauma of living outside can put you on edge, even if you aren’t dealing with other issues such as mental (un)health or addiction, as many of our folks are. But through all of this, we are doing our best to live into our mission of community and hospitality in Everett.

But I am not upstairs.

While our other staff and volunteers are welcoming people to our community, I am in our office, downstairs from our hospitality space, pacing around, trying to just breathe, and holding back a few tears that want to come out. I feel like many parts of my life are crushing in on me, and I am doing my best to keep them in perspective and not freak out. Inside my head are a myriad of worries and fears and thoughts. Some of them seem like things one ought to worry about, and some just seem ridiculous. Sometimes these all come at my brain at once, and my mind is filled with the anxious and depressing thoughts.

I am worried about Our Common Ground, that we will not have the resources to be sustainable and that it is going to fail. I am worried that folks living outside will no longer have this place to go. Then I worry that Our Common Ground is great, but I am the one that will fail, and I never should have been in charge of this thing to begin with. My mind moves to a meeting I had last week that I can’t stop dwelling on, because I think I screwed it up and didn’t say what I needed to say. Now I can’t stop worrying about it. Then I see the mess in the office, and I think that I can’t even keep my space clean. What am I doing trying to lead something like Our Common Ground? And then I get angry. First at myself, for all of these things. Then, because the anger at myself is too much, I get angry at work, at the church, at things around me. I want to say screw it all and find a job that doesn’t have any stress and run away from everything that worries me. Then I feel awful, which can lead me right back to the beginning of this whole thing.

I look at the clock. I have only been in the office five minutes.


This is the reality of living with anxiety. Sometimes you feel great, and sometimes you find yourself in your office, hiding away from what you see as chaos outside. But the reality is, you are really just trying to hide from the chaos in your own mind.

I have had anxiety for years, maybe much of my life. But it is only in the last year that I have spoken openly about anxiety. Only in the last year that I would admit something might be happening inside me beyond my control sometimes. And it is only in the last eight months that I have taken steps - like seeing a counselor weekly and trying to medication - to be healthier. For many years, I knew something was up in my brain. I would get extra angry at little things, and sometimes in those moments I felt almost like a different person. I would feel overwhelmed with work and worry and life - sometimes to the point where I couldn’t bring myself to sit down and do simple and needed tasks for work. And then I would feel lazy. Like I was failing. I worried that the work of being a pastor and walking alongside neighbors living outside was just not something I could do, or, maybe, something I was never really good at.


And my response to all this, prior to this last year, was to put my head down and work harder. Because that is what one is supposed to do when things are hard. Press on. I saw my feelings and emotions as betraying me, getting in the way, making everything harder. So I would shove them down and move on. When I had a bad day and couldn’t get work done, I would work extra hard the next day, beating myself up until I accomplished what I needed to accomplish. My anxiety and anger and depression were things to overcome. And because I couldn’t overcome them, I felt like a failure.

It has taken me awhile to be honest about my anxiety. I felt for so long like it was something I just needed to get over. Something that, with a few more skills and routines, I could overcome. I felt blaming anxiety for any part of me not accomplishing what I wanted to accomplish would be just an excuse for my own limitations. But the more I have been able to be honest about it, the more I have felt like I am on a good path toward wellness and better mental health.

I share all of this not only to be honest about my anxiety, and to shed light on this common issue that so many people deal with every day. I share this as a way of having a small amount of grace on myself. And also as a way of recognizing my privilege in my struggle with anxiety.

You see, my work at Our Common Ground, and the years I spent before that working with neighbors experiencing poverty, addiction, and mental (un)health, have given (I think) me a decently large capacity for grace when it comes to the reality of mental (un)health and the street and how that can affect my friends and neighbors. But I came to realize over the last year that I was unwilling to give myself any grace when it came to my own anxiety. I am learning, slowing, how to do that.

But my unwillingness to give myself grace had another side as well. I could recognize that my friends dealing with mental (un)health on the street were dealing with things out of their control. I could see they needed more that just some encouragement to deal with what was happening inside of their brain. Yet with my own anxiety, I thought I could just deal with it. I could fix it, because I had the skills to do so. As much as it hurts to admit, I think that deep down, I saw myself as more capable of dealing with anxiety than my friends who lived outside. That I, someone who has taught classes and preached in churches about this very thing - that people who live outside are human beings with the same capacity and agency as anyone else - had internalized the idea that as a middle class person who lived inside and had a steady job, I was more capable of dealing with my mental issues than someone living on the street. Now, the reality is, things like housing and good food and supportive family go a long way toward helping people deal with mental (un)health. (In fact, they are vital much of the time, and one huge barrier folks on the street have in dealing with mental health issues is lack of these things.) And I recognize my own privilege in dealing with my anxiety. But I do want to show how easy it is, in our culture, to internalize the myth that poor people are less capable than others. And for me, it took my own mental health issues to realize just how much I had internalized this myth.

As you can see, anxiety can make the work I do quite difficult at times. It requires me to live in the tension of working with people who are struggling with mental health, on top of so many other things like poverty, addiction, did-connect from others, etc., yet also taking care of my own mental health. It requires me to recognize the power and privilege I bring into our space, while also not downplaying my own anxiety because I see it as a smaller issue that what many of my friends deal with. It requires me balancing caring for myself and caring for others. And it requires me to recognize that my drive to do good work in the world is good, but also means taking an honest look at what I can and can’t do sometimes, saying no to things, and giving myself some grace when I mess up.


If you have read this far, I thank you, for walking alongside me as I share this story, a story that will continue to unfold as I journey on. And the truth is, I hate sharing this. I hate letting others into my own junk like this. And I see so many more things I should be talking about - systemic racism, sexism, homophobia, climate change, etc, etc - rather than my straight white dude anxiety. But I truly believe that one element of toxic masculinity in our culture is the inability to talk about these things. To deal with these issues. So I share this small story today in hopes that we can do better. That I can do better. And that maybe some healing can come to our world to more we are honest about these things.

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Holistic Giving, Outsourcing, and the Gospel

12/16/2016

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Last week, a friend posted a story about a pastor he was having a conversation with, who told him he should be more positive online, and, when my friend pushed back about the awful reality of homelessness in their community, the pastor replied, “Well, our church gives to X ministry.” I responded to that post with this:
Whenever I hear a church say, in responses to any question about how they care for the poor, "Well we give to X charity" all I hear is "We outsource our Jesus work so we don't have to do it."
I then shared it on my own wall, even though I should have provided a bit more of the context. However, my friend’s post wasn’t the only reason I shared this. Currently, in Everett, there is a push to give responsibly, by which they mean, give to the large organizations, and not directly to people. Because of trash that happens because of donations. And other things, but I mainly hear about the trash. And, from a brief survey of social media, group emails, and word of mouth, it seems that some churches are on board with this idea. So, when I posted my snarky thoughts, I also had this in mind. (I will have more to say on this at a later time.)

I did realize after I posted it that I could have worded it a bit better (and still retained the snark, which i think is necessary sometimes). Because I can see how it might come across as saying that any church that gives resources to other organizations is outsourcing their Jesus work. So allow to me say a few things about what I posted, because I believe this conversation is important, and this question of how we as the church use all the resources we have is vital to the work of the gospel.

I am the director of Our Common Ground. We are an organization that depends on donations to keep doing the work that we do, and living into our mission to welcome and build relationships and community with folks living outside. I spend time every week sharing about Our Common Ground, letting people know about the work that we do, sharing stories about why what we do is needed, in the church and in our community, and inviting others to join us in keeping our work going. We would not have been able to begin the work that we do without significant funds and resources that are donated. And those who give to us we see not just as donors, but as partners in our work. We each bring something to the table to make this mission happen, which in our case is providing time and space for community and relationship to happen with our neighbors who live outside. This is a beautiful thing.


And this is not only beautiful because it allows Our Common Ground live out its mission in Everett. It is beautiful because it shows us a picture of the Commonwealth of God’s Love and Justice.* Of what the body of Christ looks like in action. One community might be a hand. They are amazing at doing X, but they also need Y to make X happen. Another community might be a hand, and have plenty of Y, but not enough energy to make X happen. The hand and the arm need one another to make that Jesus work happen. This is far from outsourcing Jesus work. This is partnership, collaboration, to bring the Commonwealth of God’s love and Justice to earth. And this is partnership I am proud and thankful to participate in at Our Common Ground.

But giving can also have another side. I have had conversations with churches that have large buildings, lots of money, and resources galore. And when the topic comes up of how we can be a church that welcomes the poor, they tell me that they give the the nearest gospel mission. And I come to realize that even though their building is right in the middle of downtown, it is not a welcoming place for neighbors experiencing homelessness.

And here we can see how giving can have a dark side. Because the reality is, it is far easier to write a check then to show up. It is far easier to give money then be present with people experiencing the trauma of living outside. And because we live in a culture that sees money as a marker of goodness and morality, the giving of money can begin to seem like the most important thing one can do.


Now, don’t hear me saying showing up is easy in this work. I know that inviting neighbors who live outside into your church and your life is hard. And as people of faith, each one of us in on a journey of learning how to better show up, love, and be present with all those around us. And that not all of us are in the same place on this journey. Hear me when I say, I am so thankful that people give to Our Common Ground, even though they are a bit unsure about showing up, because they believe in what we do. I do not want to minimize that it is not as easy for some people to show up, and that not everyone will be able to show up in the same way.

But the reality is, we as the church are called to get out of our comfort zone and show up. To be present with people experiencing trauma. To open our doors - physical and relational - to neighbors experiencing homelessness, addiction, and mental (un)health. To be willing to deal with the mess that comes because of community and relationship. Because as the church, we are called not simply to give, but to be present, to love and welcome those who are poor, hurting, and pushed aside by our society. And it doesn’t matter how much your church gives to other organizations. It does not alleviate the responsibility to be the church. Giving all the money in the world does not let a church off the hook from asking, “How are we, in our context and place, be present those who are poor?” Now, this doesn’t mean all churches can do this in the same way, or on the same scale. Some have large buildings and lots of people, some have no building and a small group of people. What we do will look different. It is THAT we show up and do it that matters.


And that is why I will continue to call us as the Church to show up, to be present, and to give holistically of ourselves and our resources. I will continue to call the church to open its doors to those in need. I will continue to call this Church that I am a part of to give relationally, not just monetarily. I will continue to invite people to join our work and get to know those who live outside. And yes, I will continue to ask for donations to keep Our Common Ground going. Because I believe in what we do. But with every donation will also come an invitation to be present, to take a step in the direction of relationship, and to join us in this work - with us or in your own context - of living out the gospel in our world.

Because I dream of a world in which the commonwealth of God’s love and justice rolls down like a river. And that will take the active imagination and work of the whole Church.
*This is one of my favorite ways of saying The Kingdom of God

(PS: If you want to learn more about Our Common Group, please visit our website!)
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Solving Poverty Without The Poor?

6/29/2016

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Today, journalists, media, and other advocates in San Francisco, Seattle, and beyond are highlighting the reality that thousands of people live outside, and lack safe places to eat, sleep, and exist. I am glad this is happening. I do hope the highlighting of our neighbors who live outside can continue the other 364 days a year, but I am happy that so many are talking about this today.


However, I am struck by the nature of this conversation. We are talking about the complex issue of how we deal with the reality that thousands of people lack housing, jobs, community, and safe places to sleep. Yet I often see few, if any, people who actually live outside participating. And if they are, it is usually in small ways outside of the main work. The people who are actually in the situation we are discussing seem to have little voice in these conversations, or are just not invited at all. And this is not unique to this particular day. The work of engaging homelessness and conversation about how we can solve homelessness, and about what communities can do in regards to homelessness, are often dominated by those who are not experiencing homelessness.

And this is unfortunate. Because we are not dealing with an abstract issue here. We are dealing with people. Human beings. People with agency and wisdom and skills to survive in situations many of us have never had to worry about. To not involve them in the work of ending homelessness is to treat them like objects. Like abstract problems to be solved.


Why is this so common? If our car is broken, we take it to the people that have spent the most time fixing cars. If we need to learn about gardening, we will seek someone who has gardened for years.  If we want to learn to fly fish, we hire a guide who knows the river well and has spent countless hours fishing. Why then, when it comes to engaging the issue of homelessness in our community, do we not even ask those who live outside to have a voice (even a small voice) in conversations about ending homelessness?

I think a huge reason for this is the fact that our culture still sees poverty as a moral failing. That people who end up on the street do not possess the work ethic, the ability to make good choices, or the moral fortitude to succeed in our culture. Even when we acknowledge that there are structural and systemic injustices in our society that contribute to homelessness, we still like to believe that those injustices are not insurmountable barriers, and that a few good choices and some hard work can get you over them.


So given all of this, it is easy for us to assume that, since those who live outside ended up on the street through a combination of bad choices, low work ethic, and questionable morals, that it is up to those of us who possess those qualities to solve the “issue” of homelessness (read: those of us with middle class formal education, who are successful according to our consumerist capitalistic culture, and who possess the power and privilege to be seen as competent).

As well, I think there is another, and more subtle, reason that our culture sees homelessness in this way. Even if we see and acknowledge that there are factors, injustices, and situations outside of someone’s control that lead to them being on the street, we still want to think it had something to do with them and their own choices. Because otherwise, we would have to admit that there are people who end up on the street who worked hard, made good choices, and did the right things. Which would mean we would have to acknowledge that our own success might not be purely the result of our own hard work, good choices, and moral compass. In other words, we might have to acknowledge that part of the reason we are doing good in life is because of our own privilege. Because of things outside of our own control. And this is something we don’t like to admit, because it flies in the face of our belief in the American Dream Myth.

All of this is why it is so important that people who live outside are involved in any conversation, organization, or work relating to homelessness. Whether the work is about building community and relationship, like our work at Our Common Ground is, or about larger issues like housing and jobs, we need the voice, the wisdom, and the skills of those experiencing homelessness at the center of this work. We need to collaborate on how we can best work together toward creating communities where all people can not just survive, but thrive.

Because that is what we all want, at the end of the day. Not to “solve homelessness,” but to work together to imagine and create neighborhoods and communities where all people can live, work, and play in peace. And a good place to being that work is by inviting everyone to the table.
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To learn more about our work in Everett, WA, visit the Our Common Ground website by clicking on the logo
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An Invitation To Dream, Imagine, and Collaborate

11/2/2015

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This last week, the city of Everett passed a law that increased the penalties for “aggressive” panhandling. Around the same time, some signs began popping up, saying to please not "encourage panhandling or enable addiction" by giving people money, but rather give to local organizations instead (with a list of said organizations). As someone who has worked with folks living outside for many years, this made me angry. I know that further criminalizing folks in poverty or dealing with addiction just won’t work. And that stigmatizing them with signs will only further the divide between those in poverty and those not. I could feel an angry blog post being formed in my mind as I reflected on both of these things. 

But when I sat down to write, anger was not what came out. Hope was. Yes, I was still angry and sad about those things, but hope pushed through.
 
So rather than an angry blog post, what I want to do is offer an invitation. And invitation to dream, to collaborate, and the imagine how our community might engage the reality that in our neighborhoods there are people experiencing poverty, addiction, and mental illness.

I invite you to dream of a Everett community where ALL people can live, be safe, and thrive. Where those experiencing poverty can find stability. Where those dealing with mental (un)health can find health. And where those dealing with the illness of addiction can find healing. And where all can find community and connection. Because this is what all of us want. 

I invite you to imagine about how we can work toward that goal. What if people who lived outside and people who lived inside worked together to end poverty? What if we began to see addiction as an illness, rather than a criminal behavior?  What if our collective imagination could think of ways to engaging these things what we haven’t even thought of?

And I invite you to collaborate about how we can begin to do this work. This month, our little church-in-formation is starting a new organization called Our Common Ground. Our mission is be a community of hospitality and collaboration that is open to all, as we journey together with our neighbors experiencing poverty, addiction, and mental illness. We want to do whatever we can to live out the vision above. But we can’t do it alone. We will need help. 

Because this work of helping all in our community thrive is too important to be left to the professionals. Or those with money and power. Or those who have enough time. There is a place for all of us. We need everyone's voice.
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Circles of Care and Companionship: Reflections on Souls In The Hands Of A Tender God

9/25/2015

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Every once in a while, there is a book that you begin to read and end up stopping a few chapters in, not because you are losing interest, but because you realize that the book is going to be important, and you just don’t have the capacity that week to really slow down and read. Souls in the Hands of a Tender God, by Craig Rennebohm, was the most recent book for me that fits into that category.  I first picked it up last year, having heard from so many people that it was a must read, especially for anyone working among folks who are marginalized by poverty, mental illness, or addiction. But I was in a huge life transition, and just didn’t have the time to really READ a book. But I finally did, and was left wondering why I waited so long.

This book was like an old friend, who is far wiser than you, but willing to stop and help you along. I felt both affirmed and challenged as I read. Affirmed in my belief that community and relationship must be central to working alongside neighbors marginalized by poverty, addiction, and mental illness. But challenged by the fact that believing that, and living that out, are two different things. I discovered a deep sadness within me as a read, realizing how often I had put all of the other elements of being a pastor ahead of the simple call to come alongside people. But it was a sadness that was full of hope, as I saw the challenging but beautiful simplicity of what Rennebohm was calling us to:  companionship with other human beings on this journey of life.

Though this book was full of many things that are worthy of reflection, I want to focus on two things in particular, that have had an impact on me even in the short time since I finished the book. One is the beautiful idea of companionship that Rennebohm lays out. And the other is the idea of “circles of care” that we can be a part of creating in our communities.

Companionship is central to what Rennebohm is talking about throughout this book. The simple yet profound act of walking with someone through the challenges of life. As Rennebohm says, “The aim is not to fix things; it is simply to be together, to be present for one another. Companionship is an unfolding and growing relationship, a way of sharing the world together (72).” This is so important to remember. I am one of those pastors that seems to function well when there is something to fix. I often have a very difficult time just slowing down and truly being present. Though being someone who can get things done effectively has it’s place in the church, it can become a hinderance to pastoral care, and this book was a kind yet constant reminder that simply being present is so much more important that how many people I helped today.
 
Rennebohm describes four key elements of companionship: Offering Hospitality, Walking Side By Side, Listening, and Accompaniment. He weaves these together to paint a beautiful picture of mutual care and support. Hospitality, he shows, is about created space with another. It goes beyond simply welcoming people into your physical location, but creating what he calls sacred space, where someone is welcomed without judgment. From that place you can begin to walk side by side. Rennebohm says that, unlike sitting across from someone, side by side is the natural position of journeying together. It models a relationship of equality, where we walk at the same pace, where questions about where we are headed are discussed, not ordered from one of the parties. Which is why listening is so important on this journey. Though hearing is a part of our daily lives, truly listening often happens few and far between. Where we seek not simply to hear another person, but to understand them. Where we can listen to all that is happening in that moment, and not simply the words being spoken. And to listen for hope. Which brings us to accompaniment, where in both physical, spiritual, and metaphorical ways, we commit to journeying with another, being willing to navigate the twists and turns even when it becomes difficult. 

This vision Rennebohm paints is beautiful. It fills me with hope. Yet even as I typed it, I felt myself questioning how much this is possible. I have been there before, in a space where I wanted to practice being a companion. And where I felt like I dropped the ball. Because this way of being present with another human being on a journey is hard. It can drain you mentally, spiritually, and even physically.  Even when we are healthy, being a companion is something that must be done purposefully and slowly over time. And it is also something that must be done in community.

Which brings us to Rennebohm’s concept of “circles of care.” The work of caring, of healing, of companioning should not be left to one person. Rather, each of us can have a role to play in someone’s journey. And as each of us lives into our role, we can become another connection in someone’s circle of care.  For instance, as a pastor, I can have a role if I encounter someone living outside, who is looking for support on their journey. But let’s say they also need housing. I would try to find someone who know’s the housing situation in my area far better than me, and hopefully they could meet with them. And like that, another person is added to the circle of care. 

This image, of companioning with others and creating circles of care, fills me with hope in it’s simplicity, but also with cynicism, as this way of living is so against our Western consumer culture. A culture that has even infiltrated the church, where many of us look for a place that can fulfill MY spiritual needs. Even in myself I can see how much this goes against my tendencies and desires to get things done and be “successful” in the eyes of the world. Yet at then end of the day, the hope is stronger.

As I picture my own neighborhood of Bayside, in North Everett, I can see how even a small group of people living in this way might change our community. I dream of a community that, rather than kicking people experiencing addiction and poverty out of our parks, comes together to better understand the reality of poverty and addiction, in order to make our neighborhood a safe place for all. I dream of a community that sees people living on the street, experiencing mental illness, and struggling with addiction, and sees them as people rather than problems to fix. People who are hurting, and a majority of whom do not choose to live like that. I know this is a big dream. But like the X-Files poster on my office wall says, I want to believe. I want to know that this simple but beautiful idea of coming alongside people who are hurting and creating networks of care in our community can happen. But it will mean working together, not just with people outside my church and faith tradition, but outside my cultural and socieo-economic and friendship groups, for the bettering of my neighborhood and community. 

But I think it is a neighborhood that we all would want to live in. 
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Who Chooses To Be Homeless?

9/17/2015

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"You know, some people just choose to be homeless."

If I had a dollar for every time...

Honestly, I have been told this more times then I can count. Sometimes it is framed as a question by well meaning people, who honestly want to know how many of the folks I have encountered on the street actually choose to be out there. Often, though, people want to remind me that some people just choose to live on the street. And the underlying sentiment in this statement is that some people are less deserving of resources, or even our compassion, because hey, they made a choice.

I read an article saying pretty much this very thing. But it even went a step further, saying not only do some people choose to live outside, but even those who made choices in their past that led to them living on the street have also chosen this lifestyle due to the poor decision making. It makes me even more angry when I realize how prevalent this belief is in our society.  So let me reiterate what the author of that article ridicules as jargon from homeless advocates, but which I believe: Almost no one sits down one day and chooses to be homeless.

Let me clarify, as I am already anticipateing all of the "but..." responses. I do not believe anyone sits down one day and chooses the life of isolation, marginalization, and disconnect that comes with living outside in the US.

Now, I have met people who have tried for years to get a job, and have finally just given up. I have met people experiencing mental illness, who are unable to take the steps to get off of the street, even if they really want that to happen. I have met people who have been so discoouraged by trying to navigate the social services' system that they finally just give up. I have met people who have simply resigned themselves to being on the street, because they cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel. They cannot see how to get from the street to a bed. And I have met people whose home life is so unstable and dangerous that they choose to live outside because if is safer.

And yes, I have met people who have made choices that led to them being on the street. I have even met people who say they are just fine, and have chosen to resign themselves to living outside. But I have yet to meet someone who, given all of the other options they could have had in life, would have chosen to live on the street.  (Now, somewhere out there, they may be someone who defies all of this. The person who is the reason why I say “almost no one” rather than “no one.”) But even if someone chooses to live outside, so what? Why does that mean that they should be treated any less? If feeds into the awful idea that is ingrained into our culture that people must be deserving in order for us to care. 

Even if someone, in their full agency as a human being, when they have other options available, fully knowing the reality of living on the street, does choose to live on the street, they still deserve to be treated like a human being. They still deserve to not be criminalized for living outside. They still deserve to be treated like a neighbor and a citizen.

I leave you with perhaps my most often used quote on social media:
“The Gospel takes away our right forever, to discriminate between the deserving and the undeserving poor.”
― Dorothy Day
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Our Fear Of Those Who Live Outside

8/12/2015

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A few years back when I was living in Portland, I saw an article about a church not far from where I was living that wanted to let a few homeless women and children sleep in their cars on the church property.  The church had seen the reality of how many people in Portland were sleeping on the street or in their cars, and they wanted to do something. Because that is what churches should be about.  And one way they wanted to help was by opening up their parking lot to a few people who were sleeping in their cars. Though not ideal (it wan’t actual housing, after all), it would be a start. They were also going to make sure those who stayed there had access to restrooms and garbage cans. All sounded good and simple.

And then some neighbors got wind of what was going on, and their complaints helped to shut down the project altogether. And one of their primary complaints was one of safety. Yes, you're are hearing that correctly. Because a church was going to let just a few women and children sleep in their cars in the parking lot, neighbors were worried about safety. For themselves. The most poignant and heartbreaking reality of all of this was in a statement by the church after the program was shut down:  "The amount of publicity generated by the situation created a hostile environment where the church could not be confident about the safety of the people in the car.”  Yes, you heard that right. The neighbors, out of a concern for “safety,” were so riled up, that the church was concerned for the safety of the women and children.  

I remember being so angry when I first heard this story. It is a perfect example of NIMBY-ism. The “ let’s help people, but how dare you try to help them in my vicinity” mentality. But the reality is that this way of seeing those in poverty who live on the streets or in their car is not limited to this one neighborhood, but has become a part of our cultural myths about those living on the streets.

I was reading an article this week, and this story of the church in Portland kept coming back up in my mind.  The article was simply titled, “Our fear of the homeless is killing the homeless.”  The main idea of the article was that there is a widespread culture of shaming the homeless in our country. From ridiculing people who live outside for engaging in life-sustaining activities, to building a culture of fear about those who live on the streets being dangerous, this narrative is carried along by the news and other powers that be. The reality is, however, that it is those who live outside who are actually unsafe. Those who live inside are actually the ones who are a threat to those who live outside, and not the other way around.

One of the most striking things cited in the article was that the idea that those who live outside are dangerous to people and property is just a myth. The realty is that, though homeless people are more likely to have a criminal record, there are actually less likely to commit a violent crime.

On the contrary, those who live outside are more likely to be on the receiving end of the violence of our system.  Here are a few of the statistics cited in this article:

  • The mortality rate for those living outside is around 7 times great than it is for the general population
  • Half of the women and children on the street ended up their because of domestic violence
  • At least 2/3 of women on the street have been sexually assaulted (and that is likely a low estimate)
  • Treatment for everything from addiction to HIV/AIDS is much harder to access when you live on the street
  • The average life-expectancy for someone living on the street is between 40 and 50. The average for the general population is 78.

To live outside is to be perpetually unsafe. Those of us who live inside have many layers of safety surrounding us. We have doors to lock. We have neighborhoods who care about safety. We have security systems. We have healthcare, and cars to get us there. We have social networks of people that can help us.  To live outside is to lack most, if not all, of these things. 

Yet our fear of those who live outside contributes to their lack of safety. And part of that fear, I think, comes from the fact that such visible poverty is a reminder of how close poverty can be. To quote the article again:
This is what we really hate about the homeless, what really scares us: They are visible reminders of a society with no safety net. They are a microcosm for everything we are permitted to openly hate and shun and ridicule. The lack of privacy and dignity granted to the homeless worsens the issue; homeless individuals are forced to eat, sleep, and excrete for all the world to see because privacy or protection are for people who can afford them. The missing piece seems to be empathy.

Neighbors and politicians are caught in a bind. They don’t want to see them sleeping or smell their unwashed bodies—it just reinforces the disgust and the fear of all of the things we are disgusted by and afraid of —and yet, when given the chance to give them a place to get help, we reject that, too.
I hope and pray that our society begins to reject this narrative of those who live outside being dangerous. I pray that we can see those who live outside as neighbors in our city. That we can stop being afraid of things that will put us into contact with poor people. 

And as a pastor, I pray that the Church can step into its vocation to be a place of welcome to those pushed to the margins by poverty. That churches can speak up in their communities about the treatment of those who live outside, and practice a radical hospitality for all the world to see.

I pray all of this. And I am hopeful. But I also realize how ingrained this mentality is, and how much work it will take by all of us to change it. But for the sake of my friends who live outside, we must.
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Culture, Media, and Those Living Outside

7/3/2015

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Criminals. Drug Addicts. Lazy. Dirty. Bringing down the neighborhood. Eyesores. 

These are a few of the things you would likely assume about those living outside, if the only information you received about houselessness was from the media. While it’s true that there are journalists and media outlets that portray those living outside in a better light, by and large, since I have been paying closer attention the last few years, this is the kind of coverage I have seen. 

For example, this morning I woke up to this on twitter: 
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The picture shows the reality of poverty, that human beings are living in their RVs, likely moving around week by week so they won’t get harassed. But what does this reporter say? They are in the way for a festival. That they are unsafe and we should be worried.

I was going to rant more about how the media portrays those living outside (and indeed they often do an awful job), but I’m going to hold off on that. Because the thing is, if this was just a media issue, it would be easier to just dismiss. After all, my friends who live outside are by no means the only group that the media regularly shows in a bad light. But I see these perceptions just as much in the broader culture, and the media much more as falling in line with the popular narrative of those living outside, then orchestrating it themselves. Our society wants to believe that to end up on the street means you have some personal failing that brought you there. You were lazy. You were on drugs. You messed up. You are a criminal. We refuse to believe that someone who didn’t make poor life choices could end up on the street. We cling to the American Dream Myth that hard work = success = morality.  We continue to see poverty as a moral failing. And this is much easier to do if we associate poverty and houselessness with tangible acts of social immorality.

Which is why we often don’t notice the media’s portrayal of those living outside. And also why we must. Because, as so many wise people before me have said, the opposite of homeless is not housing, it is community. It is relationship. And the way our society sees those living outside makes is incredibly difficult to find a community where they are welcome, and where they are seen as simply neighbors, rather than shunned. A community where low income housing is met not with fear, but opportunity for our neighbors to succeed.

The way our society sees those living outside continue to build barriers between us and those who live outside. So let us work toward bringing those barriers down.
 
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    I am a hopeful cynic, a pastor in Everett, WA, where I direct Our Common Ground, a community of hospitality and collaboration for neighbors experiencing poverty, addiction, or mental (un)health. I also occasionally write things on here. 

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