Purpose
Clearly, above all, I am extremely self-absorbed and in those the-world-revolves-around-me type of mental states at this point...but the quickly changed.
Yesterday was the day some of at Exodus Church of Bloomington had organized to serve an Easter meal to the homeless in town at Backstreet Missions; think The Parable of the Great Banquet (Luke 14: 12 - 24). A group of us had been to Backstreet Missions once before, and we learned in that visit that while we came with the intention of ministering to the 'needy', it was us who received teaching from the surprisingly gracious, generous, and light-hearted guests of Backstreet.
This time, while we all expected to receive words of knowledge and spiritual growth, I don't think anything could have prepared me for the bolt of life-lightning with which I would be struck. A small group of us went to the 'local haunts' of the transient community to pass out flyers for the day's event. Even though the homeless may seem invisible to those who wish not to see, there are many people without any possessions in this small college town.
However, maybe it was too early on a cool morning, but for some reason our dream team of Exodus goers and Backstreet guests were having trouble finding people to invite to the meal. We still used this opportunity to discuss 'issues' impacting homelessness, addiction, disability, mental illness, job loss, separation, etc. However, even when talking to homeless people, these concepts can seem fairly intellectual in a clean and safe setting.
We ventured to one of the main Section 8 housing projects in town, known locally as 'the hill'. The hill has a reputation of being the bad area of town, though this is certainly not the case. On the contrary, one are of town that does scare me is the railroad tracks. I suggested we go there anyways, though, since it is a place that I feel is very neglected in terms of homelessness outreach. Right as we approached the tracks, we saw two men that appeared as if they had spent a significant amount of time outside the confines of society. Yet, something in me urged me to jump out of the car with my female co-hort to ask them to come to our Easter dinner.
To be truthful, I don't have an immediate fear response, though in hindsight it was a somewhat haphazard decision. Thankfully, it paid off, but not right away. We offered for the men to join us in our feast, but their defenses went up. If at that point I was hiding the feeling of an us and them divide, they sensed it. One of them, later I learned is nicknamed 'Catfish', shook his head, saying that food was not enough. Feeding the hungry did not solve the problem, he said, and he mentioned bigger issues of fear, pain, and spiritual hunger. His companion was more open and agreed that they would come. I was skeptical, but just that interaction alone shook Dawn and I, as we were told by our friends, we 'came back to the car, holding hands and crying'. This was only the beginning.
Indeed, Catfish and Ace did arrive at the meal. And when Catfish sat down and put the fork of freshly prepared, homemade food to his mouth, tears streaked from ice cold blue eyes through the layers of dirt and grime on his face. He told us we had no idea what this event meant to him and how long it had been since he had eaten. I do not doubt this. By the end of the meal, I was arm-wrestling Ace, a former youth-minister, and we were all having a very real and very non-intellectual discussion of God, the Bible, and the difficult questions of how can a loving God allow people to go without their needs being met.
I asked Catfish why this was his nick-name, thinking that it was because of his unshaven whiskers, but, in fact, it was self-chosen. He said he felt that he was a 'bottom feeder', and this was his place in life. His destiny. He stated, "you know, an apple must fall to the ground, die, and rot in order for a seed to sprout and a new apple tree to grow". He said that he need to remain in his place in society so that others could flourish. While I believe that if we all lived more minimally, the world would benefit greatly, this is not what I had in mind. Just like the very rich, the very poor should be unnecessary in an ideal society. I tried, cried, and prayed with him, all in order to convince him that this was not the case; this was not his purpose. But in all my own thinking recently about how I know what my purpose is and it is to be in Mali documenting Dogon and Bangime, and that is all, I realize my own stubbornness in this area of life.
I have always said after Peace Corps that the 4th, unwritten goal, should be that we help those in need on our own soil. Time and again, just as I learned in Peace Corps, the ones in need are not always the ones who are offering nor the ones who are asking, but the ones who think we have something to give.
