a surrender - 35

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

Soon after I got back, I found out the young woman was now living in the neighborhood. We crossed paths a few times in the weeks that followed. I had started doing grocery shopping for a woman whose activities were limited by bouts of chronic pain, and one day when I dropped off the groceries, the young woman was there. Her name was Heather. She was helping the woman with her house cleaning and laundry. And then I saw her again at one of the weekly community discussions. I don’t remember the topic of conversation, but I remember making an incisive point, boldly—and not very politely—and then Heather, boldly and politely, explained that I didn’t know what I was talking about. That annoyed me, I’m sure. But I only remember being more interested in her.

Heather had also been cleaning the community church every week. Her uncle was the pastor. But then I heard she was looking for some help with that job, and I was still figuring out how I could help out in the community again. So I stopped by her house one day. When she answered the door, she didn’t seem too happy to see me. I started haltingly, and she looked a bit impatient, but I managed to explain that I was offering to do some of the church cleaning. When she realized what I was saying, her expression softened. “Oh,” she replied, with a small smile, “yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

As the weather got colder, I started combining my dog walking with the church cleaning. The border collie loved attacking the noisy vacuum cleaner while I worked, barking madly. It was fun for both of us. That’s what I was doing one day when Heather happened to come in to do her part of the cleaning. For quite a while, we each did our work quietly (except for the loud vacuum and the barking). Then the dog heard something and ran into the kitchen. And Heather came out with him. She was grinning and was apparently done with her work. So I said, “I heard you’re a writer. What kind of writing do you do?” And that question started a very long conversation. She had recently graduated with a degree in creative writing and was working on a novel. Like me, she liked the community and was helping out in various ways, and living in one of the shared households. She was younger than me, but we were closer in age than most of the other community members, the only two young people there at the time. And I had gotten more interested in writing lately. I’d even tried writing some short stories, though they weren’t very good. So we had a lot to talk about. We sat on the floor in the middle of the church for so long, both of us secretly needed to use the restroom badly, but neither of us wanted the moment to end.

Continued...

a surrender - 34

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

The community tried to provide an alternative to the individualism and isolation felt by many people in our society. Community members lived close to one another, sometimes sharing a house. They met together regularly for worship and prayer times and meals. They were committed to consulting one another before making important personal decisions that would affect others in the community. And they also shared all their income. Everything they earned went into a common fund, which paid for the needs of everyone in the community. They owned all their houses and cars as a group. And they gathered together to discuss and make all the major decisions about how community money would be spent. The hope was that people would be able to see themselves not as isolated individuals but as members of a large extended family, who took care of and depended on one another. They seemed to truly love each other, and it felt good to be among them.

I only saw that young woman at church, though. She didn’t seem to live in the neighborhood. 

The fall and winter passed, and I got used to my new routine. I would get up early to help my friend shower and get dressed, then help him with breakfast at a big table with the others in the house. The rest of my day was mostly free, and I read a lot and began writing more. Once a week I would cook supper for the ten people in the household. I helped with the grocery shopping and mowed the lawn. One of my housemates had a border collie, really smart and very well-trained, and I loved to take him for walks to the park or down by the lake shore.

But when the spring arrived, I was ready to start walking again. I planned to go east that year, to join some friends at a conference, but it would take me all summer to walk there and back, about 1600 miles. During that journey I had a chance to walk a few days with another pilgrim like myself, though he had been doing it for many more years. And then I returned to the community, to a very warm welcome. 

Continued...

a surrender - 33

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter five)

 

who are my mother

and my brothers? 

The first time I remember seeing her, she was happy, waving a big colorful flag near the back of the church, with the music loud and everybody singing. She would flick her head as she sang, sending her long brown hair flying like the flag.

I came to this church because I had heard about it from some friends. It was the church of a community of people who had chosen to live together in one neighborhood in this city, to try to share their lives together, based on the teachings of Jesus and the practices of the first Christians. It was a very close community, and I was recognized as a visitor right away. An older couple invited me to lunch after church. And when they found out how I had been living for the last few years, they quickly began looking for somewhere I could stay and help out in the community.

They soon found a place for me. One of the larger houses owned by the community was shared by ten people, mostly single, some older and some younger. One of the men who lived there had muscular dystrophy, and others in the household helped him. So I was invited to move in there. If I would be a caregiver for this man, I could live there without paying anything, meals included. This sounded just right for me. I had been looking for a way to be more helpful to others, especially in the colder months when I couldn’t walk. And the people in this community seemed to care about a lot of the same things that I did. So I stopped walking in the middle of that summer and agreed to stay. 

Continued...

a surrender - 32

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter four, "the anawim")

The following Sunday was fun and memorable also. I came to a small church. And I was the only white person there. Everyone else was African American. The people were very welcoming and the worship was joyful. Then I was invited to join them for a meal after the service. Everyone was invited, but the dinner was at someone’s house, with just one large table in the kitchen. So we took turns. When one person finished eating, someone else took their place at the table, with the cook still cooking and continually refilling the serving bowls. There was lots of lively conversation and everyone seemed to be enjoying their time together. I did too.

Near the end of my walk that summer, I came across these words in one of my favorite books, by Fyodor Dostoevsky: 

Sometimes 
even if he has to do it alone, 
and his conduct 
seems to be crazy, 
a man must set an example, 
and so draw men’s souls 
out of their isolation, 
and spur them to some act 
of brotherly love…

That seemed to me a fitting description of my walks. At times, I felt that I wasn’t offering people anything more than the opportunity to do good. And that seemed like enough, because often God seemed very close to us in those moments. But these words also reminded me how often I had felt alone.

My many meetings with kind, welcoming people had convinced me that there was a love that could draw people together into a real family, no matter where or who they were. And I began to realize I was wanting more of that.

I wouldn’t have to wait long.

 

Continued...

a surrender - 31

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter four, "the anawim")

After I returned to my parents’ house in the fall, I only stayed a short time before starting out again. This time I went further south, where it was warm enough to walk and sleep outside all winter long. I walked until I ran out of road. Then I came back for another short rest and started north again in the early spring.

This time I felt more connected to people than I had before. I passed through some towns I had visited in previous years. And I had met some people through the internet that were interested in my walks and the way God seemed to be supporting me. I could write to these new friends from libraries along my way. Many of my encounters with people on the road were similar to what I had experienced before. But there were also some happy surprises.

One Sunday evening I came to a little charismatic church, with a sign that said there would be a service soon. So I waited. No one showed up for the service, though, and I was getting ready to leave. Just then, several women arrived. They said they had come to dance, and invited me to join them. I’m not much of a dancer, but I enjoyed talking to them and seeing their unusual, physical way of praying together. It was beautiful, and it was also very much together. The dance was synchronized in parts and improvised in parts, a very charismatic form of worshiping God. It was inspiring to see how these women felt about God. Afterwards, many of them asked me questions, and one of the women invited me stay with her and her children that night.

She was a single mom, with two young kids. And another young woman lived with them also. They had met her at a homeless shelter, after a difficult start to her life, and eventually they had asked her to join their family. I was overwhelmed by the courageous kindness of their invitation to me. I realized what a big risk it was, whenever anyone invited me into their home. But this little family didn’t seem scared, just full of life and happy to share it. After some more conversation the next morning, the mother took the kids to school, and I got ready to leave. But then the young woman asked if I would join her morning communion. She brought out some bread and wine. “It’s real wine,” she said, “don’t tell anyone!” We prayed some simple prayers together. Then ate and drank together. She said it was something she liked to do, and I was the first to join her. That made me feel even closer to that family. I really felt a deep love for them, a love that seemed to come from God. As I walked away that morning, it felt like God had brought me to them, saying, “Look, I’ve got someone here I’d like to show you.”

Continued... 

a surrender - 30

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter four, "the anawim")

After a good rest with the Dominicans, I turned back east. There were long empty stretches of road again. More than once I felt pushed to the limit of what I could endure, weak and confused. And often I felt very alone. But there were some very bright moments during those weeks, as well.

In one town, a man rode up beside me on a bicycle and asked why I was walking. He was from India, his speech heavily accented. I told him I was a pilgrim. He immediately invited me to the motel he managed, right down the street. At the motel he asked me more questions. Then he explained, “I am not owner here. But I can give you good room; from God it comes through me to you. I like to help people who bring good into the world. This is you. Okay?” He told me to rest and then come back. Later, he and his wife asked me many questions about my walk, and about this country. They were only living here temporarily. They told me about India, their impressions of the U.S., and described how my walking was closer to Indian religious practices than to what they saw here. There were lots of pilgrims and monks and meditation in India, they said. At supper, his wife served me, the guest, before they ate: curry rice and vegetables, a spicy bean soup, and pickled mangoes. She was very humble, and shied away from my thanks. They were Hindu, I gathered. But the man seemed to have investigated other religions too, to find the truth. He spoke about God’s generosity and love, and I could see it. Their openness and humble kindness exceeded that of most Christians I'd met. They treated me like a brother.

Continued...

a surrender - 29

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter four, "the anawim")

The weeks that followed were physically challenging. As I moved further west, the towns were more spread out, with long stretches where there was nothing but grass and wind. I thought I must make a curious sight out there, a lone pilgrim with nothing around for miles. I never tried to get a ride. But twice during that time I was offered a ride by Spanish-speaking immigrants. They both said they knew what it was like to walk in the heat and the dust for days and days.

Then one Monday morning I found myself waiting outside a church with no food and just fourteen cents in my pocket. It was raining. And ahead of me lay many, many miles with no shelter and no towns. I was reluctant to take another step. I felt so helpless. Where was God?

Then a car arrived at the church. And another soon after. I was surprised, because it was very early, six in the morning. Another car pulled up and swung over near me, to ask why I was there. I said I was on my way to Denver, just waiting for the rain to stop, and briefly described my walk. That seemed to satisfy them, and they joined the others. It seemed like it was a gathering for some kind of youth outing. Then a few minutes later, two men walked over to me.

“Going to Denver, huh? Well, we’re going to Denver.” Then they offered to take me with them.

I couldn’t believe it. They were taking the young people from the church to a big amusement park, just a half mile from where I was headed. I had planned to visit the novitiate where I had started with the Dominicans. My novice master had invited me. And suddenly I was there, carried over two hundred miles before lunch time. So it didn’t matter that I had no food and only fourteen cents.

Continued...

a surrender - 28

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter four, "the anawim")

On rare occasions, however, when someone responded especially badly, I did say something. One night I arrived at a church after dark. There were lights on and cars in the parking lot; some kind of meeting was going on. So I waited. When two men came out, I introduced myself and asked if I could sleep in the covered area beside the church. They sounded doubtful. One of them went to ask the pastor. When he returned, he was shaking his head.

“I know this doesn’t sound very Christian,” he said. “I know it sounds like we’re sending you away….”

“It doesn’t just sound unchristian,” I replied. I couldn’t believe they wouldn’t even let me sleep outside on their sidewalk. “It doesn’t just sound like you're sending me away. You are sending me away.”

He started talking about insurance and the sheriff, and said something vague about vagrancy laws.  

I said I would leave. But I reminded him that Jesus had said, “When you did it to the least of my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.”

That seemed to bother him. “The bible says we should obey the authorities, who were instituted by God,” he shot back. 

“It seems God has put you in quite a quandary, hasn’t he?” was all I said. 

“Yes… he has…” the man replied quietly, as he walked away with his head down.

As I was gathering my few things, a group of people came out of the church, including an older man in a wheelchair, the pastor. “You understand the situation…” he began, when he saw me. He also mentioned insurance, and said he was concerned about what the sheriff would do if he found me sleeping there.

“What the sheriff does is up to the sheriff,” I replied softly. “I’m more interested in what you will do.”

Then another man stepped up boldly. He said he was in charge of church security and was quite willing to take responsibility for sending me away. There are laws against vagrancy, he said. Then added, “I don’t mean to insult you.”

“Jesus was not ashamed to be homeless,” I said, looking right at him, “and neither am I.”

Right then, an older woman stepped up behind the pastor and asked me, “Do you need a place to stay? We can take you to the place down the road….” Apparently she was the pastor’s wife, and she had just figured out what all this was about. She looked at him. “You know, the motel down there….”

The pastor immediately agreed. The man in charge of security went silent, and seemed to fade from the scene. The pastor and his wife drove me to the motel. When she took me inside to pay for the room, I thanked her.

“He really is a good man,” she told me.

“Sometimes our advisors lead us astray,” I replied, with a smile. “I’m just glad for him and for the church that he has you for an advisor.”

Continued...

a surrender - 27

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter four, "the anawim")

I remembered that those were the kinds of people Jesus had been drawn to. The ones on the edges of society. The weak ones. They were the ones that seemed most eager to hear and believe what Jesus was saying. Maybe because he was saying things like, “Blessed are you poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” And, “Blessed are the lowly ones, for they will inherit the earth.” Jesus said he had come “to proclaim good news to the poor.” Later, I learned he was referring to the anawim. It’s a Hebrew word meaning the poor, the weak, the oppressed, who looked to God for help. And those were the ones who heard Jesus’ words gladly. Jesus urged people to depend on God instead of depending on their own strength, and promised that God would help them. That was good news to the anawim. Because they didn’t have any strength, they didn’t have any power in society. To people who had wealth and power, Jesus’ words didn’t sound so good. But for many people who were weak and helpless, letting themselves be lifted and carried by God’s strength, the surrender of faith, was much easier.

Jesus didn’t just help and encourage the anawim, though. He was one of them. He also was poor and weak. Intentionally so, it seemed, since Jesus did not accept the power that could have been his. And in the end, he was left alone, rejected and humiliated. Executed with criminals. The life of the anawim, depending on the power of God, the life of faith, was the life that Jesus chose.  

And so that was the life I wanted to live. I didn’t know exactly how I could do that, but I wanted to try, and I was young and had little to lose. So I was trying this life on the road. I didn’t know how long I could continue, but it seemed like a good start, learning the life of the anawim, the life of faith.

Most of the time, when I was walking, people saw me simply as a homeless person. They would often look at me funny in a library or a store, or shy away, or call the police if they saw me sitting outside. Sometimes the police took me to a homeless shelter. Those were not very pleasant places to stay. If I happened to be approaching a car stopped on the road, I sometimes heard the door being locked. I tried to keep myself as clean as possible and be as polite as possible and ask for little or nothing, but people still made assumptions. It didn’t feel very good to see how I looked in most people’s eyes. But I tried not to say anything critical to people who treated me poorly. I thought it was good for me to feel what it means to be an outsider, a lowly one in society.

Continued...

a surrender - 26

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter four, "the anawim")

I remember a couple days that stood out for me on that journey. I came to a small church in the evening, thinking I might stop there for the night. Then I noticed someone was there. So, as I usually did, I introduced myself and asked if I could sleep outside the church that night. The man I asked turned out to be the janitor. He called the pastor, but it sounded like the pastor wouldn’t allow me to stay on the church property. So the man made another call. Then he turned to me and told me that his wife said I could come to their house. 

Their house was not very big. It was just one large room, with a small kitchen built onto the back. The bathroom was basically a large outhouse beside the house. When we arrived, I thanked his wife, who was preparing supper, and met his adult son, who was visiting them, with a friend. Because of the extra visitors, there were mattresses laid all over the floor of the one room. So we sat on the front porch while we all ate together. I remember them telling me about their many encounters with scorpions, and telling me to watch out for them. Then they invited me to stay for the night. There was no room to sleep inside, however, so I slept on the covered porch, and their dog slept beside me. It rained hard that night. When I woke up the next morning, their little cat was curled up next to my head.

That morning I rode with the man on his way to work, and we talked. I found out he had recently pawned an old air compressor to get money for food. The whole experience stunned me. They were so poor, yet had gladly shared with me the little they had. And there would be more surprises for me that day. In the late afternoon, I was walking through a town and a woman ran out from a bar, waving at me. I stopped and she smiled. “I saw you walking by,” she said, “and I wanted to give you this.” She had a five-dollar bill in her hand. “I’m just an alcoholic,” she continued with a laugh, “but I thought maybe this would help you.” I smiled and thanked her. It seemed like a big help to me, since I had nothing for my supper. But before I found a place to buy food, I came to a church and an evening service was just starting. So I went in. And after the service, there was a potluck supper. There I met many people, but most of them seemed to shy away from me except for two young girls, about six or seven. They asked me many questions about my journeys, where I had been, where I slept, why I was walking. Then they asked if I would come to their house. When they brought their mother into the conversation, though, she didn’t like that idea. So they went to the pastor. The pastor didn’t like their ideas either. But then she did agree when I asked her if I could sleep on a porch outside the church. Laying on that porch in the dark, I thought back over the last two days. I had been helped by a poor family, an alcoholic, and two young children.

Continued...