It started when I went to the homeless shelter in Shelby to volunteer. I have not been to the shelter in a few weeks and the only person expecting me was the night worker. I was met with mixed reactions to my presence Sunday morning.
A few of the men were excited to see me. A few ready to leave for church were confused about why I would come in on Sunday morning instead of Sunday afternoon. Another couple expressed they were no longer planning on going to church, since the shelter would be open. In the past, one of the men told me I enabled the men to not attend church. That morning, I wondered if this enabling was good, bad, or even true.
After a few hours, one of the men came to the office to talk to me. This man is changing because of his homelessness. He is losing hope, he is getting angry, and he is turning somewhat neurotic from living in the shelter instead of a home. He told me he plans to go sleep under the bridge, expecting the streets to be more favorable than the shelter. He said he is thinking about returning to smoking marijuana and drinking, because life is too much.
Somehow the topic of church came up. When he goes to church, he goes because of a few people. I remember he used to attend one church religiously because of a family that was sharing their meals, transportation, family, and home with him. The family was a married couple and their few young children and they shared their lives with the late-20s, homeless man.
He went to church with them, because they went. He did not go to church because he liked church. He summarized for me what he heard from preachers and churches in general: “It’ll get better.” He heard this message continually and was continually sent on his way, with the exception of this one family. One day something happened between that man and the family and I never discerned what, but their connection and their shared lives were severed. He was once again sent on his way. But, it will get better. Right?
I was uncomfortable with the idea of being the man enabling people to avoid church. That is, I was uncomfortable until that last conversation. Instead, I was uncomfortable with the church.
How can anyone ever say something will get better without trying to make it better? Perhaps some things a person cannot impact, but Christ’s followers are called to be Christ’s body. When I pray for God to do something, I often expect God to move through me, to perfect the divine strength in my weakness.
And what was I doing for this man? I was providing shelter for him at a time when most small-city, Southern places are closed. I was saving him from the broken gospel of so many churches. I was an ear, listening. But I still felt so impotent. I still feel so impotent. I never want to work against the church, for we can find power in community and numbers, especially when it comes to problems of poverty and homelessness.
I wonder where the church was that morning. I could have left the shelter and passed a lot of steeples with a lot of cars surrounding it. But I wonder where I would have found the church. The church is not me. One young man can neither be nor know the church. I might not know what the church is or where it is, but I know I have yet to experience its fullness.
I do not know what to expect for this fullness, either. I hope it involves a spectrum of generations. I hope it involves things getting better, because the whole span of the generations are committed to making things better. I hope it involves love and care of the body and love and care of those outside the body. I hope it realizes and balances love of God, love of neighbor, and love of self in a way I cannot even begin to comprehend.
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