A Sense of Entitlement

Jer. 32:1-3a, 6-15

Luke 16:19-31

               Today’s parable has hard words for those of us who are the “haves” in our world.  There isn’t a lot of grace for the rich man.  And it isn’t that he was a horrible person.  The rich man in Jesus’ parable is not purposely trying to hurt Lazarus.  The parable does not paint him to be cold-hearted or angry or mean.  He just doesn’t see Lazarus.  He doesn’t see his need, his humanity, his worth - Lazarus doesn’t enter the rich man’s consciousness.  The same is true later in the parable…after they’ve died, the rich man still does not see Lazarus except as someone to be used to help him.  He doesn’t even talk to Lazarus, but instead, he speaks to Abraham.  The rich man asks Abraham to send Lazarus down, still seeing himself as someone who has the privilege and right to talk to Abraham but who would probably never consider talking directly to an underling such as Lazarus.  Lazarus remains invisible to him, someone he might be able to use to help himself and his family, but not someone seen.  His need was not seen, his personhood was not seen.

               Who is it that we don’t see who needs our help?  Who is it whose suffering we increase or contribute to, or fail to ease, without ever knowing it?  Around whom are we the privileged, counting on and expecting rights that others don’t have?  Where does our sense of entitlement over others tend to creep in?  Who is it that is invisible to us?   Of course, because they are invisible to us, it is hard for us to become aware of those we fail to see.  But I invite you to really think for a minute about who fails to enter your consciousness, or who you fail to understand, that has needs, real needs.

               Whoever it is, we have to remember that that person is Jesus.  We have to remember what we are told in Matthew, that whenever we do it to the least of these, we are doing it to Jesus.  He is the one hungry, thirsty, sick and imprisoned.  He is the one we don’t see, don’t feed – again either literally or in other ways, don’t care for when we do things, even unintentionally, that lead to another’s suffering.  Jesus is the invisible one, without the rights or privileges that we take for granted. 

As the commentary, Feasting on the Word puts is, “Perhaps the boundaries and walls we have drawn are not so much between us and others as between us and God. With a mixture of invitation and warning, in the book of Revelation, the angel says to the church in Laodicea, "Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me" (Rev. 3:20).  When someone knocks on our door (figuratively or literally), who is needy or hurting, we need to remember that that person is Jesus.  The person we find it easy to dismiss, or to not see, or to condemn, or to judge – that is Christ.  “That is God's Christ who stands at our wall, knocking. When we answer, we may not find someone who looks like us, but we may very well find someone who looks like our God, if we are paying attention.”

Based on today’s parable, then, what hope is there for most of the privileged?  The Rich man is told, when he begs for help saving his brothers, those still living, who are still not seeing those in need, not seeing how they contribute to their suffering, not seeing how they might help, that “they will not be convinced, even if someone were to rise from the dead.”  Luke was writing this about Jesus to an audience who knew that someone had risen from the dead.  Jesus had risen from the dead.  So, in your experience, are people who believe in the resurrection, convinced, then, that they must care for the poor and suffering?

We do a lot in this church for those who are poor.  We do tend to see certain people – those who come to Winter’s NIghts we see, we feed, we talk to, we care for.  Those children who we tutor or who are in our music camp in Pittsburg, those in the CCIH programs, we see them.  Those who go to the meals through Loaves and Fishes we see, feed, care for and talk to.  So for us, this story encourages us to think a little wider.  Who is it that we don’t see who needs our attention and care?

The unfortunate truth is that Luke’s Jesus does not have a lot of good news for those who are privileged and who do not care for those who are not.  Jesus says, “It is harder for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.”  Jesus says “woe to those who are rich because they have already received their comfort”.  And today Jesus says through this parable, that if we do not cross the gaping chasm between the rich and the poor in this life, we surely will not be able to do it in the next. At least for those who have more than their share on this earth, we are told, there won’t be a way to cross the chasm in the life to come.  The basic bottom line message?  For the Rich man in our story, he still thinks he has the right to ask for help and receive it, to have Lazarus ordered around.  He still cannot see him as an equal child of God.  He can’t do it.  The greater message then is that “Stepping out of one's privilege is perhaps one of the most difficult journeys of transformation.”   But again, while Luke focuses mostly on the privilege given to those who are economically sound and do not help others, I think we do a pretty good job of trying to serve those who have less here in this place.  But we still have privilege and there are still blind spots in that.

As I reflected on this passage this week, I found myself thinking about all of the ways in which we are privileged.  All of the MANY ways in which I am privileged.  Economically, certainly.  That is the primary way that Luke addresses our inequalities as well.  And I want to share with you that I understand how easy it is to move from a place of just using what we need, to thinking that all the luxuries we have are actually needs.  I know this because most of my adult life I have had to live very simply because we simply did not make enough money to live any other way.  For the majority of my adult life, housing costs were more than half of what I brought home each month and the rest of my pay went for food, medical necessities, and the children’s needs.  For most of my adult life, a vacation looked like camping because that was what we could afford.  But now I am married to David and my income for our small family is twice what it has been.  We took a vacation to Scotland this summer, the first expensive vacation that I’ve ever been on, the first vacation I’ve been.  And while much of the time I felt guilt about going, at the same time, I could see how very easy it would be to start seeing these vacations as “necessities”, as “normal parts of life”, as “part of the kids’ education”.  For the first time in my life, we’ve been able to fix things in the house without begging for help: paying someone to come in and replace the shattered living room glass door, for example; and the washer that went out this week, and even the bathtub with it’s hole in the bottom.  And again, how easy it is to start seeing these as necessities and forgetting that these resources we have are for the people of God, all the people of God, so that all might eat, and have a place to sleep, and have health care.  They are not “mine” to use on my own luxuries.

But, putting aside economics, there are other ways, too, in which we are privileged.  One of the more subtle ways we exercise our privilege is by wearing name tags when we are volunteers or helpers.  We separate ourselves from those needing the help, we make a wall through a simple name tag, between “them” and “us”.  I want to share with you a few stories that I hope will not make you uneasy or uncomfortable.  I am sharing these because they are stories which point out to me my own privilege, my own sense of entitlement.  These are lessons I learned doing prison visitations in Ohio.  And I share them in the hopes that they will encourage you to think more about areas of your own privilege which you may not see, may not name, and may not usually reflect on.

First of all, there was a real difference between myself and most of the other people visiting the prison.  There were racial differences – I was one of the few white women visiting one of the few white men in the prison.  There were language differences – I speak an academic or educated American English, while many of those visiting had not finished high school and their language reflected that.  There were clothing differences. While we were required to dress in a very specific way to visit the inmates –  we could not wear sleeveless shirts or shirts that were “low cut”, we could not “reveal” any body parts between neck and just below the knee, and a full set of undergarments were to be worn at all times (don’t exactly know how they checked this, but I had heard of women turned away for not wearing a slip under a dress or skirt, for example).  None the less, there was a difference in dress between myself and most of the other visitors.  I dress rather conservatively.  Many of the other women found ways to get around the “no provocative clothing” rules. Their pants were too tight.  When they bent over, body parts showed which they were quick to hide from the inspecting guards.  Every time I went, someone was turned away and not allowed to see the inmate they’d come to see because of the way they had dressed that day. 

That being said, the power in the prison, the privilege if you will, was with the guards.  And if they liked someone, or, unfortunately as I saw happen regularly, if some cute young thing offered something back to the guards in exchange for being let in, then dress restrictions were over-looked.  I wouldn’t flirt or offer anything to the guards though.  But they enjoyed wielding that power, over everyone. And so on one of my visits to the prison, I was refused entrance for wearing this shirt, which I was told was too low cut.  I was furious.  I was outraged.  But as I left, I realized that a lot of my anger was simply my own sense of entitlement.  Why should I be treated any differently than any of the other visitors?  Because I’m educated?  Because I’m a pastor?  The guards had as much power over me as anyone else, and that reality was hard for me to face. 

There are many other examples I could give you.  I used to believe that prisons provide for the inmates.  As a matter of fact, this week I saw a Facebook post about how much better prisons are than nursing homes.  All I could think was that the idiot who posted that had never actually been to a prison.  There is no medical care in the prisons I visited – except in extreme situations, and even then, the medical care was very minimal.  One of the inmates I spoke to was legally blind, so blind that he could not find the bathroom without his glasses.  However, when his glasses broke, they would not provide a new pair.  That particular inmate had to have an outside family member order a new pair for him with an old prescription and then jump through a series of hoops to get the prison to actually give him the glasses – a process that took well over a month.  Prison is supposed to pay for the food and lodging of the inmates, but at one prison I visited, inmates weren’t given breakfasts on the weekends, for example.  None of their basic toiletries are paid for, jackets for the winter time, underwear, socks, hair cuts, tootpaste, toilet paper, etc., while necessary, were not paid for. 

Talking with families who have incarcerated loved ones taught me that most families must spend about $500 a month for their inmates to simply survive there.  This is not on luxuries, there aren’t luxuries that can be bought inside the prison: the money goes for basic survival.  Things like razors, toothpaste, soap, toilet paper, coats for winter, shoes for winter.  The inmates who didn’t have people to pay for these things?  Well, they stole stuff from other inmates.  They threatened violence if not given what they ask for (and they follow through with it).  I realize that in contrast the rest of us are extremely privileged. 

Another woman who visited told me that she was propositioned by one of the guards and when she did not give the guard what he asked for, the loved one (her husband!) whom she was visiting was beaten to a pulp and almost died.

So where is the good news in all of this?  Where is the good news for those of us who are privileged?  The words of comfort in these stories are spoken to the poor, to those who suffer now, to those without rights and privileges.  They are reassured that their lack of privilege will change, that they will have the rights they may not have now.  That they will have a place at the table.  But where is the good news in this for us, who are privileged NOW?

First, I believe we can learn to see those who are displaced.  We can learn to give to and share with those who have less.  We can learn to see our privilege and we can learn to not abuse it.  It isn’t easy, but what is impossible for humans is possible for God.  In that is good news.  The good news is also that God is a God of grace and mercy.  The rich man in the story appealed to Abraham, and Abraham said “no”.  But we appeal to God.  And as we do, as we ask for God’s love, care and mercy, God will answer us, give us help to grow, understand, see, and love more fully, to not use or abuse our privileges.  God is the God of abundance, grace, love and there is enough for everyone in God’s realm.  We are called to see the invisible, to care for the poor, to offer mercy and compassion.  But we are also given the strength, grace and love to be able to do that, to respond to this call, with God’s help.   Let us pray for the eyes to see and the grace to love even the loveless.  Amen.

Sermon - Fishing for People

Isaiah 9:1-4
1st Cor. 1:10-18
Matt. 4:12-23

Two people were talking about fishing. One said to the other, "I am NEVER going to take my son fishing with me, ever again!"

"That bad, huh?"

"He did everything wrong! He did everything wrong! He talked too much, made the boat rock constantly, tried to stand up in the boat, baited the hook wrong, used the wrong lures and WORST of all he caught more fish than me!"

What do we imagine when we think of the disciples fishing before Jesus called them?  What do you think of when you think of fishing?  When we go fishing, it is to be a relaxing time of sitting, thinking, maybe talking with a couple close friends.  It is usually not too strenuous and it is enjoyable, a “get away”.  But the reality of fishing as a livelihood is very, very different.  Fishing was extremely unpredictable work, and hard, work.  It was also very dangerous as storms could arise, especially in those days before we had satellite weather systems, with very little warning.  If any of you have read Ernest Hemingway’s book, The Old Man and the Sea, you’ve had a glimpse of just how deadly and dangerous fishing really can be.  While this portrays fishing in a different part of the world than in our biblical story, we none the less gain from this story a picture of what a fisherman’s life can really be like.  The story opens with the old man, Santiago, who is a professional fisherman, having gone 84 days without catching a fish.  He lives on the fish that he catches and so to go 84 days, or nearly three months, without having caught anything is very serious and very scary.  It is so scary that the parents of the boy who has been apprenticed to Santiago refuse to let their son work with him any longer, believing him to be bad luck.  The rest of the story involves Santiago’s struggle with a single fish, a marlin.  He struggles day and night with the Marlin for over three days.  Much of his fishing equipment is destroyed in the struggle.  When the fish finally dies, sharks come and eat every useful piece of the marlin, leaving Santiago with nothing but the skeleton, head and tail.  While this is a story, it is also an accurate portrayal of some of the challenges that fishermen face.  And while the struggles of those in the Biblical stories would be different, for one thing, it was a different type of fishing, the fact remains that the lives of fisher-folk are extremely difficult, and extremely dangerous.
It is to people who lived this dangerous, day-to-day subsistence living that Jesus came.  It is to these hardworking, courageous folk that Jesus said, “come with me and I will make you fishers of people.”  They are being asked to leave a very difficult existence.  But what are they being asked to do instead?  Is it easier, do we suppose, to fish for people than to fish for fish?
Matthew begins today’s passage by referring to the lands of Zebulun and Naphtali.  These were cities that had suffered a great deal.  Jesus begins his preaching ministry in a place where the need is greatest, where there is deep pain.  Matthew then continues by quoting the passage we read today from Isaiah.  While he only quotes the beginning of the passage, the part that proclaims the light that comes into the great darkness, the rest of the passage from Isaiah offers an even more clear example of how that light might shine.  It continues, as we read in today’s passage from Isaiah, by reminding the people that Gideon defeated the hordes of Midian and broke their domination over Israel with a very small army.  God had told Gideon to send back most of his troops so that God might show that with a very small group, with a very few faithful people, God was yet powerful enough to defeat great armies and to overcome oppression.   Matthew begins to quote this passage from Isaiah that his readers would have known well, “the people walking in darkness have seen a great light”.  The readers of the time would have known how this passage in Isaiah continues by talking about the day that Midian was defeated by this small group of God’s people.  Oppression had been halted by these few for the Israelities.  By quoting this passage, Matthew is laying out right away that Jesus will succeed, that God’s people will see the light in this time of great darkness, even against all odds, and even with just a very few faithful people.  But he is also assuring them in no uncertain terms that the work will be hard, will be a challenge against all odds, will lead to crucifixion before it leads to resurrection and life.
This is the work of fishing for people into which Jesus invited those who became his disciples.  This is the difficult road to which they have been called.
We, too, are invited to be part of this journey.  To lay aside our focus on the hard work of surviving, and instead enter into the hard work of doing God’s will, defeating oppression, bringing people to a deeper sense of God’s presence and God’s light, fishing for people, or rather, being a light in the darkness of the lives around us, bringing light and hope to all we encounter.
But as we know it can be very difficult to continue to shine that light when the darkness is strong, and when it feels like we are not getting anywhere by shining the light.  I mentioned a couple weeks ago the 12 step wisdom of the saying “act as if”.  This means that even when it is hard to see the good that is coming out of the work we do for God, we have to keep acting as if it is doing good.  We have to keep acting as if we believe even when we don’t have the faith.  Being a light in the darkness takes practice, and it often takes hindsight to see that we have successfully been that light in the darkness. The call to “act as if” encourages us to keep on keeping on, to keep on reaching out to people in love, to keep on embodying the good news, even when we don’t feel like it, even when we don’t see that it is doing any good, even when it feels really hard.
        How this actually manifests in terms of AA is that people who sponsor other people, who act as support folk for other people, have a much higher success rate in any of the 12 step programs than people who feel that they “have to get themselves together first” before they can help others.
        A while back our family went to visit the National Underground Railroad Museum in Cincinnati.   While I was there I was struck with the amazing faithfulness of those people who participated, despite the incredible dangers, in the underground railroad, in the rescuing of people who had been enslaved, despite the fact that they had many around them disagreeing with them, despite the fact that their own lives were threatened by these actions as well.  They took their faith, a faith that calls us to care for the oppressed and to lift up the down trodden, to love those others use and abuse and reject – they took all of that very, very seriously, as we, too are called to do.  At times I’m sure they struggled, wondering what they were risking everything for. There were always more slaves coming to the United States.  It must have felt like there would always be more to help than they could possibly handle, and that the danger was increasingly large for those who chose to be part of helping.  But they chose to be a light in the darkness, even when the darkness was so very intense that it must have seemed light would never again shine.  And they became a part of changing the situation in the United States permanently with regards to slavery.  It took time, but the light did shine; through their work, they were able to fish for people and change the way we look at slavery.
        But we can make a difference on a much smaller scale as well.
        When we lived in Ohio, my kids and I lived about a half mile from church, as we do now, and we walked to church as much as we could. At one point during our time there, my kids began the practice of picking up any garbage they found on their way, so after a while we would walk equipped with bags in which they could put the garbage. While I was very proud of them for taking on this particular endeavor, I have to admit that the cynical part of me did not participate in this event with much enthusiasm. The garbage was dirty, the kids would end up dirty, much of the garbage really reflected the seedier or less appealing parts of human behavior (cigarette butts, beer cans, and sometimes even nastier objects), and I really found myself wondering WHAT was the point of picking up all of that when the next day there would undoubtedly be still more garbage that others expected someone else to clean up for them. But the kids chose to take on this particular activity without any suggestion on my part, and I found myself eventually reflecting on the story of the starfish:
      Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work. One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up. As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean. He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?"
      The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."
      "I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man.
      To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."
      Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"
        At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean.   As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that starfish."
        My kids may not have been saving the world, and yes, there would always be more garbage the next day. But they were making that one place on the walk to church a little more beautiful, a little more pleasant. They were letting the sun shine on a few more blades of grass that were no longer covered by the litter, they were feeling that they could do something to contribute in this world, and they were enjoying doing it! What more could I ask?
       I know in this point of time in our history there is a great deal of darkness.  There is so much anger and hatred and violence especially being aimed at the “least of these” – at the people that society rejects, at the kind of people Jesus especially worked hard to embrace.  Interestingly many are not that different.  Jesus embraced the Samaritans – who were people of a similar religious ancestry but came out in a different place theologically.  Others rejected them as evil, as wrong.  But Jesus embraced them and included them.  Jesus embraced women, who were also rejected, seen as property, objects – belonging to their men.  Jesus embraced the poor and the disabled, healing them and not blaming them for their own problems.  He embraced the Syrophoenicians: again, people from different races, ethnicities, backgrounds. And he calls us to do the same.  To stand with them and to stand for them.
When Eldest was about 2 years old, my little messenger from God one day proclaimed to me, “We are God’s car.”  While that may sound funny, I think it is actually very insightful.  We are God’s car.  We carry around the Spirit of God, we do the work of God, we transport God’s love and light to those around us.
         The work of fishing for people, or bringing light to the people, light into the darkest places of life and of humanity, is not easy.  But when we reach out, when we shine our light, even when it is hard, we are assured that light will come back to us and shine for us as well.

Thoughts on the Homeless Population

Your biggest fear about the homeless is absolutely true.  I hate to be the one to tell you this, to cause more fear and pain for you.  But until we face this reality, there is nothing we can do to move through our fear or figure out a solution to the problem.  So I will tell you the truth that we are so afraid to name, but that is true, beyond a shadow of a doubt:

It is absolutely true that the homeless are no different from you or I.

There it is.  A terrifying reality, but a true one.

Like us, some homeless are educated and others aren’t.  Like us, some homeless struggle with addictions and some do not.  Like us, some homeless struggle with mental illness and some do not.  Like us, some have tempers and some do not.  Like us, some are violent and some are not.  Like us, some homeless work and some do not.  Some have children, some have elderly parents that they worry about.  Some have skills, some don’t.  Some have had hard childhoods and others haven't. And so here is the corollary that is even scarier for most of us:

It is absolutely true that you or I could easily become the homeless person we fear so deeply. 

The one thing that separates us is that we who are not homeless have resources, and usually those include a support network for when times are hard, whereas the homeless don’t.  That is the only difference.  And sometimes even that difference is a slim, fleeting and tenuous one.

For two and a half months this summer, the children and I were homeless. We did not have a home. I became all too aware that the difference, again, was that we had resources which included and continue to include a support system.  Therefore we were lucky and we had a place to sleep each night.  We bopped around from house to house, dragging our bags, not in a grocery cart, but in my car (another resource that I have that many homeless do not, though again, that, too, is not universal). We did not experience what it was to have to sleep on the street.  We did not experience fear of the police, of being moved from whatever shelter we found, of being attacked, or of having our things stolen.  We did not experience hunger or worrying about where we would eat next.  I am not unaware that our experience was completely different from what the normal homeless population experiences.  

But I did learn some things.  I learned how hard it is to feel ungrounded, displaced, and without a place that is "ours" to go home to.  I learned that it is extremely stressful and hard on kids (and adults) to be moved around from place to place, to not be able to relax, to feel that we can't breathe or we might break something that wasn't ours.  I learned how easy it was for things to go missing as we moved from place to place, sometimes expensive or irreplaceable things, and how few things we could actually manage to take with us as we moved around so often.  I learned what things, therefore, were "necessary" and what things were really luxuries.  I learned that each day was an unknown, each day the schedule was unpredictable, each day involved chaos, and stress, and confusion.  I learned that when all you have is each other, you do bond closer together, but it doesn't mean you are always nice to one another.  Stress causes crankiness, it just does.

Without a home address I was unable to register my kids for school. Without a home address I was unable to get a California driver's license.  Without a home address I couldn't even obtain a library card, or a grocery discount card.  Without the California driver's license, other doors were closed to me as well.  I couldn't get anything notarized, I couldn't set up a bank account, I couldn't get local checks.  In each of those cases I not only had to give an address, but had to provide "proof of residency", something I simply could not provide.  There was no address to forward my mail to. There was no place to receive my bills.  Without "free wifi" places like Starbucks, I really would have struggled to do these basic things like paying bills and staying in touch with those who could help us along the way. Without a cell phone I really would have been sunk in terms of how to connect with the resources that would help us to get "un"-homeless.  Without my car...well, there is just nothing we would have been able to do.

Financially, moving across the country, trying to get into housing, dealing with still having a house to sell in Ohio - none of that would have been possible without the financial help of my extended family.  And of that, too, I was all too aware.  I had a job here.  I had it immediately and that, too, is a difference from what our homeless brothers and sisters often experience.  And yet even with that job, I needed help financially.  I learned it is extremely expensive to be homeless, and to move, and to set up in a new place.  If something had happened to my parents during that time?  All of us would have been in serious trouble.

I learned.  I learned what I said above.  The only difference between us and the homeless is that we have a support network with resources including the generosity of others that allowed us to be okay, each and every day.  I learned what I have said before, that to those who have, even more will be given, and that to those who have not, even what they have gets taken away (NOT taken by God, but by our culture which fears and distrusts the "have nots" to such an extent that they are simply not allowed to get what they need).

I was all too aware, as I dragged my children with me everywhere I went of places that had policies that discriminated against the homeless and others who are "without".  If a place made a "no children" policy or a "no loitering" policy then my children and I could not be there.  We had places to go, family to be with, friends to visit.  Still, without a home, there were times when we meandered, when I felt we could not impose on someone and went to find places to be during the day.  We went to parks and libraries.  But I wondered how we would have managed if we had not had places to stay at night.

We want to put the homeless in a separate category.  We want to believe it is their fault they are without, and that if they had planned, or had worked, or had...whatever it is, that they would not be homeless.  We want to believe it is their "karma" that has led them there and that, therefore, we have no responsibility to help them.

But I say to you again what I said before, there is no difference between the homeless and us except for resources.  And if we were to care for one another as we are called to do, there would not be homelessness in the way there is now (there still might be a few who choose not to have a home - that is a different situation and is such a tiny percentage of the population that it is not what I am focusing on here).  If we were to care for one another in the way we are called, then we would not have to fear the homeless because we would not have to fear being "without" ourselves.  We would know that we would be okay because the community would help us get back on our feet.  We would know that our kids would be okay.  But that is not the way things are now.  In our fear, we see them as "separate", as "other" and as "not like us". And so, in our fear, we keep them ever more "separate", "other" and "not like us" even when this is a myth we are buying, selling and promoting.  This myth escalates the problem.

We won't get through this treating people as different or as other.  We won't grow or be safe until we truly get that we are all one and that when you hurt, I hurt too; or until we understand that, as Seal put it so eloquently, "I may not know what you're going through, but time is the difference between me and you." We won't know community and love and peace until we treat all people with the kind of care and compassion we are called to embody.

I am grateful for my limited experience of "homelessness" just for the reminder of how close we really are to being truly homeless and truly without.  May it inspire more compassion within me as I encounter those who "have not" each day. I wish compassion and understanding for you as well.