People ask me if we’ve “started anything” in Columbus yet, and sometimes I get the sense they might feel let-down by my answer. And then I get news like I got today, and I’m reminded that what we’re doing is exactly the right thing to be doing.

What we’re doing is breathing, listening, remaining open to discernment, and loving everyone in our path. It’s no small thing, but sometimes it seems like it doesn’t count in the way that finding a group under a bridge to share a meal would count. But I’m wrong. It does count. Check it out…

Today’s news was from a friend from our cohort (think “house church”), Scot, whose life was changed by an encounter with a guy holding a “spare change” sign.

…as I came off the ramp and onto Easton Pkwy aiming for the curb lane I saw “him”…ominous black clad figure holding cardboard sign. I reflexively jerked my vehicle toward the outer left turn lane so as to avoid “him”. In a flash I remembered the aforementioned resonations…I whipped it back over for curb service. Thankfully the light was red and I was first in line and there he was 3 feet away.

You can read the rest of the story at the Central Ohio Emergent Cohort blog. I definitely recommend it.

P.S. Someone asked what video we showed. It was from the Urban Entry series from Mile High Ministries. It’s called Anything Helps.

Trusting in the tao (aka the way) to carry us through — sometimes I picture the way as a flowing river — we have uprooted, and replanted ourselves on the urban frontier of Columbus, Ohio.

A new context for radical love

Remember when I said this is not a homeless ministry? I tried to say that it’s about radical relationship, scandalous, risk-taking love, honesty & presence in every moment.

In Eugene, it manifested partly (but not entirely) under a bridge, during meals shared with the folk who live there, under that very bridge, year round. And it spread to hospital rooms, courtrooms, and bars — a beautiful, amazing experience.

It’d be so easy to go across town to the riverbank where I know folks are camped. And I’m tempted. In fact, I’d be lying if I said there weren’t socks and hand-warmers stashed in our car, just in case.

But I don’t want to try to re-create the experience we had in Eugene. I think that deep down, if I go to those places, I’ll be looking for the friends I left behind in Eugene. I miss them so much! Maybe I’m avoiding facing the fact that they aren’t there? But that’s not the main reason we aren’t seeking out the same kind of ministry we had back home.

The main reason is that it’s clear across town, and it’s clear that there’s plenty of room for our radical presence right here in our neighborhood, Pine Hills.

Pine Hills

Pine Hills isn’t known for either pines, or hills. It’s a flat subdivision with old maple and oak trees, and even older houses, a few blocks from where I grew up. In the late 60s and early 70s, families — mostly white, mostly two-parent, mostly moms at home — bought these houses here on the suburban edge of town, and sent their kids off to the neighborhood school.

But cities have changed since then. Where once almost everyone in the neighborhood owned their homes, now lots are rentals. Where manicured lawns and tended gardens once decorated clean sidewalks, now chipped curbs line damaged lawns holding broken-down cars and the occasional empty beer can. Where nuclear families with 2.4 kids once attended each others’ parties, now single parents, multi-generational families, or groups of roommates share a house, keeping mostly to themselves.

But while the neighborhood isn’t as tidy as it was when I was a kid, it’s way more diverse. And while there is struggle visible on the surface of this ‘hood, I’m not sure that’s entirely a bad thing. Appearances are usually deceiving, and I know when I was growing up in the early seventies, there were things going on that were kept hidden. But even if life was more comfortable for some, comfort can be isolating. Difficulty is — or can be — an opportunity for connection.

I admit I don’t mind so much, trading in the shiny, orderly 20th Century world of ticky-tacky boxes for this patched-up ramshackle collection of neighbors.

Neighborhood

In the short time we’ve been here, we’ve met neighbors who are widowed and have lived here for 30 years. We’ve learned of young people who’ve been taken away to jail for drugs, guns, burglary. We’ve met a single mom and her kids while chasing off the two feral dogs who were tearing up a cat in her front yard.

We’ve met the civic association folks and the blockwatch folks (not as much overlap as you’d think). We’ve seen lots of kids, and heard tenuous rumors of Bloods and Crips. (If you see 5-6 kids together, we’re told, call the police and report them as suspicious.)

“A big part of this,” Tracy tells me, “is about not insulating ourselves from our actual world.” It’s about opening our eyes and hearts to what is immediately around us.” These days, I think getting in the car to drive across town for “homeless ministry” wouldn’t do justice to the beautiful task God has given us, to love the people placed right in front of us. To bring everything we’ve got to loving God & to love our neighbors with what’s real inside us.

So here we are. Pine Hills, you won’t know what hit you. :)

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly. (From The Gospel According to Matthew, chapter 11)

This isn’t the message I get from much of the Christian world. But wow! Isn’t it beautiful?

There’s nothing to fear in this message. If you’re paying attention to ideas that are heavy or ill-fitting, if a path fills your heart with loathing or dread, what you’re seeing isn’t God. God is love.

You’re welcome.

:)

Tennessee has family back home, but he can’t return there. He just can’t live they way they want him to. But he’s writing a book about his experiences. He tells us, “I can’t write it if I don’t live it. I live this way, for real! It’s all true!”

He’s standing here with clever camp stove, which stayed in the park for two full days, before the police made him move it.

In addition to being a friend, I’m also his editor, and that’s a real privilege.

To love at all is to be vulnerable.

Love anything, and your heart
will certainly be wrung
and possibly broken.

If you want to make sure of keeping it intact,
you must give your heart
to no one, not even
to an animal.

Wrap it carefully round with hobbies
and little luxuries;

avoid all entanglements;

lock it up safe
in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.
But in that casket
—safe, dark, motionless, airless—
it will change.

It will not be broken;
it will become unbreakable,
impenetrable,
irredeemable.

—C. S. Lewis

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn’t make any sense. ” — Rumi

As soon as we mention God, or Jesus (or, for that matter, Buddha) people want to know what we’re about. They want to know “what we believe.”

“Remember: the buddha-dharma is about seeing, not about believing.” — Steve Hagen, Buddhism Plain and Simple

“Remember: the jesus-dharma is about loving, not about believing.” — The Radical Love Project

If you’re looking for something like the Nicene Creed, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. We don’t subscribe to a list of “beliefs” that we think grant us some special status. We do have some ideas we think stand up to criticism. We like reaching for an understanding of how reality works, but we don’t reach for certainty, and we don’t think anyone else has to agree with us or else.

• The Source.

  We are in awe of divine power, the creator, the source of peace.

• God within.

  We reach for an awareness of God’s presence within us, and we find it in Jesus, the living Christ, who shows us the way.

• Grace.

  We are excited by the light of unconditional love and infinite grace, and we are serious about forgiveness. We’re called to love with a radical, scandalous dedication. In every single moment, we are called to honesty, compassion, and awareness.

God’s world is full of beauty and knowledge and love, and we appreciate those things wherever we find them.

• From Zen, we’ve learned the importance of a quiet mind, and the role of attachment, opposition, and delusion. We’ve learned how it might be possible to follow the advice of Jesus, “Judge not.”
• From Non-Violent Communication, we’ve learned how to love by listening with empathy.
• From Conal Elliott, we’ve learned that heart-connection doesn’t come from managing how we communicate; it’s about finding an empathetic, loving place from which to speak what’s true.
• From James Dennert, we’ve been inspired by the idea that religious and spiritual knowledge need not be tied to belief.
• From Heart of Now, we’ve learned to fully accept where we are in every moment.

We hope this gives you a good idea of where we’re coming from. If you have more curiosity about what we’re doing or thinking, we invite you to talk with us. If you’d like us to understand what’s most important to you, we’re happy to listen.

We’ll happily talk about those things, but we don’t spend much time in debate. We’re more interested in practice.

Also, the rain is here, and that means we move back to the area that’s covered by the overpass, and we have less sunlight. It reminds me of the cold, wet nights when we first started coming.

We got pretty comfortable in the park this summer. Instead of coming to meet new folks, it began to feel like we were coming to hang out with folks we already knew. I am wondering if we got lazy, neglecting to reach out to the folks who stayed away from the center of the action.

Now, each time I go back into the park, it’s without a clear idea of what will happen. Things are shifting, and I can’t predict how. I think that’s kind of a good thing.

I have to say that I can’t believe my good fortune in being able to do this work/love. I don’t know how to describe it — the amazing beauty of the experiences. Sometimes it’s a painful beauty, but it’s always real, alive, filled with grace.

If you’re feeling called to do something like this, I invite you to try it.

* Come to the park with us.
* Carry socks in your car, and offer them to folks.
* Call to talk about how to love more.
* Email us to brainstorm where God is leading you.

Here’s a news video about it.

We’ll be having a memorial service on Labor Day for James David Pelfrey. His family has provided flowers, music & fried chicken in the hopes that he’ll be remembered the way they’d like to remember him. If you’d like to help remember James (David) please come. If you have the ability, please bring something to share. Consider a bucket of fried chicken–enough to feed yourself and at least one other person.

Monday, September 7, 2009

7:00 PM

Washington/Jefferson Park

Jefferson Street picnic table, between 1st & 5th

Come as you are. If you’re able to bring chicken, please bring enough to share with those who aren’t.

(There are KFC locations at W. 11th, River Rd. & Gateway)

So, now I’m remembering James losing sleep over another man’s death. Last may, a homeless man was brutally murdered, and our town is small enough and quiet enough for that to be shocking. For the folk who live outside, it was extra shocking. For James, it was deeply disturbing. That slaying happened in a nearby park, closer to the river. I didn’t know the man who was killed that night, Herbert Bishop. Mr. Bishop wasn’t part of the circle of associations I’d made, but his death brought out fear for everybody who slept outside, without protective walls, doors, and locks.

The gloom of those fears persisted a long time through that cold Spring. Among the many who were upset, I’d say James was the most upset. For one thing, on that night he’d been sleeping close enough to be awakened by the sounds of the fatal blows. That rhythmic pounding had puzzled him. In the morning he figured out what he must have been listening to.

Because he’d been so close to the scene, James was interviewed by police, and he was close to others who were interviewed in that investigation. He tired of that fast. He became suspicious. He was afraid to sleep. He would nap a little during the day when friends could watch over him, then he’d stay awake all night, vigilant over his nighttime companion. As the weeks drew on the accumulated effects of lack of rest and distrustful bickering became worse. These fell, of course, on top of the effects of daily drunkenness.

Eventually, the pervasive fear faded. The heat of summer, arrests of suspects in Bishop’s murder, and changes in who-hangs-out-with-who created a new version of normalcy. James wasn’t so perpetually on edge as he had been. Now there were days where his spirits were high and he joked and played.

All of the sudden, it’s James who lies dead among us. Memories of James force themselves on me, an incongruous collection of reckless and cautious actions. James was afraid that he might die in something like the manner he did actually die. Yet James was also fearless when it came to many things that I tend to fear.

Living closer to James has strengthened my confidence that fear does not help. His fears did not keep him safe. My fears are not keeping me safe. Fear does not let us assure our safety—not individually, not collectively. Fear may be important, but it isn’t important in the way it seems important when we are fearful. Fear is for letting go.

With a new killer “on the loose” around here, there’s plenty of fear stirred up. I’ve my own share of it. This time perhaps that fear will not linger so. Perhaps this time I’ll be better able to remind others that love can cast out fear.