Was coming to this event just a waste of time? Those were my thoughts last Wednesday, when I participated in the first-ever North County Project Homeless Connect held at Cal State San Marcos. The idea behind that long name was to provide a one-stop event where the homeless could get many services. From housing referrals to haircuts to veterinary care for the homeless with pets, the planners seemed to have thought of everything, and someone had thought of a place for me. My job was to offer pastoral counseling to any who might want it. So there I sat, in a tent covered with a heavy tarp for privacy, a heavily-scented candle doing its best to provide the proper atmosphere, and waited. And waited.
I talk to people who are homeless, or nearly so, all the time. When they come to Trinity, my job is to act as a social worker, figuring out how to connect them with the resources they need, usually by referring them to Interfaith Community Services or providing a little assistance to get them over the next hurdle. But here at Homeless Connect, other people were doing that. In fact, each client had a docent guiding him or her around to be sure that no one got lost in this sea of resources. This time I was a resource, offering that all- important service of Pastoral Care.
Did anyone want it? I waited. I understood why so few were coming to my tent. What the other programs were offering seemed so essential—mental health assessments, food, id’s. Next to that pastoral care seemed sort of irrelevant, even luxurious—once they get all those real problems managed, then they might have time to deal with their relationship with God. But there were a few clients who saw things differently, and now and then one of the docents would lead someone to my tent.
Freed from the social work burden of finding solutions to their problems, I had nothing to do but listen. That may not seem like much to offer. But for the people who spoke to me, that was huge. Stuck on the streets alone, or living with strangers or even in destructive communities of drug addicts, these were people who found themselves very much alone. They had no one in their corner to cheer them on, no one to give a different perspective, or to even ask how things were going. So that’s what I did.
Listening to their stories, I found myself offering supportive scripture images and stories. The scripture made sense—in fact it was what they had come to hear. The story they needed was our story, the reminder that they were not alone, that second (and third and fourth) chances exist, that despite their situations, they were still people of value and strength. I said these things not because I believe in the power of positive thinking or cheerleading, but because they were true. In the midst of these stories, even as filled with addictions, mental illness and bad luck as they were, I could see God’s presence. To fight back from those dark places—how can one do that without strength of will and creativity and abilities of one sort or another? As I heard these stories, those were the gifts I saw, something in each story. So I affirmed the strength that was in them and the gifts that God had given them and maybe gave a bit of advice. Then I sent them back on the streets to continue their battles. Can you see how this is basically what we do on Sundays—bringing our lives into contact with God’s Word and then going back out to fight our own battles?
I didn’t see a huge number of clients that day. The lawyer from Legal Aid saw 25 people in the time I talked to four. But I came away renewed in the awareness that what we in the church have to offer is hardly a luxury. We know that all people are people of value, by virtue of being created by God. We know that the Holy Spirit is present to inspire and empower. We know that Christ has shown us a way that is better than the promises of the world, whether those promises be found in the mindless escape of drug use or commercialism.
The tent I had at CSUSM that day gave a place for that message for those who knew they needed to hear it. The problem is that we don’t always get a tent labeled pastoral care, but we do always have something worth sharing. We have a message the world needs. How do we share what we know?
