Jason Evans 27 May 2009 Articles, General 1,448 views 4 Comments Print This Post  Email This Post

I am at a loss.

I paced back and forth in front of shops on the corner of University and 30th last night. Tears on the edges of my eyes. I have had too many conversations like this over the last month or two. In the receiver of my cell phone, I hear the sober and trembling voice of a dear friend. He is unsure where his family will come up with the money to pay their bills in the next few weeks. He has applied to near a hundred jobs. One interview came out of that.

ONE interview.

ONE.

I was as frightened as he is just a few months ago. Fundraising wasn’t working out. Except for one, the organizations we tried to work with just didn’t have enough foresight to make it work with us. Our faith community and family were making amazing sacrifices to help us get by. Now we’re doing okay–I have a little time left working with that one organization, along with the new job my wife has. It does something to you though. Even when you’re not some machismo, patriarchal dude, it still feels like your identity, your ego, your self-worth is crumpled into a ball and thrown into a waste basket… just as you imagine your resume has been countless times.

But then, there is a moment when you feel even worse. When you remember how many people have it worse off than you. In that moment when it feels like someone backhands your soul, you see in your mind’s eye starving kids in Africa, or some sweatshop in Asia or just the homeless people in your own city.

Three of those homeless people I have come to know by name over the last four years. By his sheer will and tenacity, I think one of them is going to make it out of the pit of displacement. I have no idea what is going to happen to the other two. It kills me inside. Temporarily, they both have housing. But what happens this summer? Or, God forbid, next winter? Yeah, I know, “It’s San Diego!?” Go for it then. You sleep outside in December here.

Our little community has tried. Lord knows, we’ve tried. We’ve gathered up goods and money. We’ve offered temporary places to sleep, showers and conversation. We’ve asked other churches to help out. That didn’t get very far. Only one church has really stepped up to help where we couldn’t financially. None of us have a lot, so we’ve just done our best to try and help them hang on to their dignity, their humanity. But it just doesn’t seem like enough for the displaced.

As I pace on the phone, I realize how hard it is for people like my friend on the phone–educated, articulate… young… white… male–to find jobs. Simultaneously, I know that for the mentally disabled and aging friends of mine that know which alleys are safe to sleep in have a better chance of seeing pigs fly than land a burger flipping job in this market.

I am at a loss.

Displaced. This word is stuck in my head. It is as though the number of people I know whom I can apply the word to multiplies. There are, as I have said, those displaced from housing and income. This says nothing of the many spiritually displaced; those whose faith no longer seems to find a home in Christian institutions. But I am also thinking of those that have been displaced from their homeland because of generations of economic hardship. They build for themselves a life here in San Diego, only to again be displaced: sent back to place that has now become completely foreign to them. This last week in particular, I spent countless hours on the phone with more than one family that is separated from each other. In an economic crisis such as this, it only adds insult to injury for this to happen. Mothers separated from children. Husbands separated from wives. Then I receive another call… and some emails about this. One of the three minors deported did not have family on the other side of the San Ysidro border crossing–where they all were deported at.

I am at a loss.

I wish I had the money to fix these problems. Although, maybe that is part of the problem: we still think money is the answer. Unfortunately, money does play into this; I wish I could find enough money to rent a house for my displaced friends and begin another community house with those most need of housing. But a homeless friend of mine recently reminded me that it isn’t about the resources primarily. It’s about relationships and humanity. Relationships, community are a big part of what makes us human; what make us feel human. Without that things fall a part.

Maybe in this moment this is one of our great lessons, that the economics of love can go a great distance. Rather than avoid the burdensome conversation of those hard hit within our midst, we invite those needs to be shared and all of us sacrifice in order that all may have enough. In doing so, we might learn to find happiness with less. Rather than avoid the homeless because we can’t put a roof over their head, we share a cup of coffee and just listen. In doing so, we might find that there are things we can help with. Rather than blame economic hardship on and dehumanize those different than us, we walk next to those individuals to ensure that their human dignity remains intact no matter where they end up. In doing so, we might gain a new imagination for what it means to be citizens of another kingdom.

If instead we depend upon the system, the powers to pull us out of these hardships, I presume we will all be at a loss.

Photo Credit:
RAFAEL ENRIQUEZ
Foreign Debt /IMF (International Monetary Fund)
1983 OSPAAAL