The year 2007 was one of great change for First United. This was the year in which a decision was made to close the congregation at First United and to change the leadership model. Both decisions would have significant impacts on the events of the following four years.
The congregation which had existed for 122 years and survived the Depression and Two World Wars had shrunk to what was perceived to be an unsustainable size. It had had an illustrious history with some incredible leadership over the years. By the time of its closing, it was described as a destination church, its membership mostly made up of people from other parts of the city who were committed to the work of First but who did not live in the neighbourhood. It had a half time minister and a small budget. A large portion of its funding and administrative support was drawn from the larger mission, an entity which shared space with it at Gore and Hastings and which was in so many ways the well-known face of the organization called First United Church Mission.
The Mission had an Executive Director and a staff of over a dozen. Its governance structure came from a two line description in The United Church of Canada's Manual. In practice, it had an Oversight Board approved by and accountable to Vancouver-Burrard Presbytery. I sat on the Oversight Board in 2000 and it was a somewhat odd structure with representation at the Board meetings from staff, the congregation and from the Lower Mainland churches but without a voice from the Downtown Eastside. At least the structure seemed odd to me when I arrived. Usually church boards are made up of people who have an on-the-ground experience of a faith community. In 2000 when I sat on the Board, I had very little connection to First. I went to First once a month for a meeting but I lived and worshipped on the North Shore. I didn't know anyone who accessed the services of First United. I only saw them when I came into the building and frankly speaking, they scared me. I didn't know a whole lot about their lives beyond what I had read. I didn't know what opinions they might have about the role of a church in their neighbourhood.
The decision was made to close the congregation and in June 2007 a final service was held to celebrate the legacy of ministry that had been the congregation's contribution to the neighbourhood, and to mourn its ending. The Vancouver Sun focused on the ending saying that First United Church had closed somehow missing the fact that the mission portion of the work was continuing on the corner of Gore and Hastings and that the Presbytery and Oversight Board were in fact working on a visioning exercise and a new model of leadership.
The Oversight Board contracted Michael Clague, former Executive Director of the Carnegie Centre, to conduct a series of workshops in the neighbourhood to pose questions about the work of First United and its role in the future. Residents, activists, religious leaders, and agency staff were gathered together to talk about First United. Out of those conversations came the very clear directive. First United should not become a social agency. It should remain a church.
For those of us who would arrive soon after to provide leadership, (Ric arrived in August 07 and I arrived in January 08) there was no clear indication of what it meant to be a church without a congregation. The Joint Needs Assessment which had been completed by the Oversight Board in partnership with the Presbytery articulated a vision of an intentional Christian community and examples such as the Sojourners community in Washington, DC, Glide Memorial in San Francisco, and the Iona community in Scotland were listed as possible models. In front of us, then, was the exciting task of reimagining church at the corner of Hastings and Gore.
It was clear that the old congregational model had outlived its usefulness in this location. What a new model would look like was unclear. Our sense was that whatever emerged, it had to emerge from the needs of the DTES community. It had to be a response to the needs of this place in this time. We believed that together with our Board we could create a theologically grounded vision of what a new kind of church could look like. We believed that we had been given the mandate to do that work - that given the decline of our denomination it was our responsibility to search for a new way of being a church.
We felt privileged to be working in a place where there was time to do that work. We had a large staff and a relatively secure budget. We had a supportive board who had clearly indicatd a willingness to think "outside the box." And so we searched the literature of the emerging/emergent and missional church movements in Canada, the United States and Britain. We visited Yonge Street Mission, Fred Victor Centre, Toronto Christian Resource Centre and Sanctuary in Toronto. We looked at the other models of faith community in the DTES. We participated in the community ministry discussions in the United Church of Canada. We reflected on the historical marks of the church and what that might mean for lived ministry at First United. And we created a vision that we felt was theologically solid, that was possible given enough time and effort and that was a faithful expansion of the mandate we had been given in our call to ministry in this place.
Wednesday 8 February 2012
Wednesday 18 January 2012
More than Words at Stake
When we made the decision to open First United overnight in response to the request by Mayor Gregor Robertson, we made some decisions that put us at odds with the decision-makers in the province and city and eventually even the decision-makers in the local governing bodies of The United Church of Canada. Having engaged in conversation with people who had been coming inside to sleep on the pews for many years before, we had a sense that there was within the population of people who lived in the Downtown Eastside a group who did not feel comfortable sleeping in the shelters. For some the rules of the shelter were too confining; for some there was never a bed available when needed. Some people, like the woman named Tracy who burned to death after she accidentally set her bedding on fire in the winter of 2008, would not go into shelters because they couldn't take their possessions with them. Some had pets who they depended upon for companionship and whom they could not leave behind no matter how bad the weather. Some were so suspicious of people or damaged by life that they would not give a name or any other information about themselves and therefore weren't suitable for the shelter system's expressed goal of housing everyone.
Those are the people we knew that we wanted to be there for - the ones that no one else seemed to want or knew how to welcome. We had a sense that you had to invest a lot of time with people like this on their terms if you wanted to have relationships and relationships were mainly what we were about as a church.
And so we made some decisions about how we would be different from the shelter system run by BC Housing. In those early months, we could be different because our funding had been cobbled together from a variety of sources including churches in the Lower Mainland. Since we were the first place to be asked to open overnight by HEAT (Homeless Emergency Action Team - a group of advisors pulled together by the Mayor), we felt like we were treading on new ground. We didn't have to fit into any pre-conceived boxes. We could learn from our experience and we could work out the best way forward in consultation with people in the Downtown Eastside.
Never at point did we agree to be a formal shelter. Never. We agreed to open overnight for four months- from December 2008 to the end of March 2009 and we believed that we could do that for about $40,000 in total. The money came from a variety of places but never in a large enough amount from any one source to change our vision.
To make it clear that we were not joining the shelter system, we opted to call what we offered a place of refuge. This seemed in keeping with Advent/Christmas season and the story of Mary and Joseph and the birth of Jesus. Dunbar Heights United Church had created a life-size crèche for us and so having people sleep in our sanctuary seemed a fitting addition to that scene. First United had been sleeping people during the daytime in its sanctuary for over ten years and so the extension of hours to include the night-time just seemed like a logical extension of the commitment to the neighbourhood. And as no one had ever suggested that what First United had offered during the daytime was a shelter, we didn't see why the shelter language needed to apply to an extension to the night.
As a place of refuge, we decided that we would do the following:
1) We would not take anyone's name.
Our goal would be to learn people's names when/if people were willing to share and to be in relationship with them on their terms. If giving a name was a barrier to being indoors, we would not impose that requirement upon anyone. It wasn't our goal to collect data on anyone for anyone else. We were providing a humane response to what was looking to be a horrendous winter.
2) We would not case-manage anyone.
Given that we were an emergency response to be open for only four months and running with a minimum number of staff, case management wasn't even on the radar. All we were concerned about in those early months was keeping people warm, safe and dry. Ric described it at the time as being like an indoor park and that, in many ways, is what it felt like.
3)We would not limit our numbers by locking our doors.
We knew that there were people who could not wait in a line-up for a shelter bed. In 2008, many shelters did not do their intake until 11 p.m. and with somewhere between 25 and 40 beds available, they would often fill up in a hurry. For those who were the most vulnerable in the neighbourhood, waiting in line on the off-chance of getting a bed was virtually impossible. As well, many who came to First United were using or drinking and by the time the late evening came, they were in no shape to find a shelter bed.
We believed that everyone should have the option of being inside and so we decided that our doors would be open all night. People could come and go as they pleased. They could sleep if they wanted. They could sit up and talk. What we would not do was prevent them from coming in. That need to provide a space in the neighbourhood that was open 24/7 was affirmed time and time again. When the Contact Centre near the Carnegie Centre closed, First United became one of the few places open where people could go to get first aid. Women working the street came in to use the washrooms between tricks. When INSITE closed at 4am users came to catch some sleep under the watchful eyes of staff who made sure that they were safe. When the shelters discharged their clients at 6 a.m. people came to First to get some additional sleep or to wait indoors for breakfast.
Much has been made about our refusal in the Fall of 2011 to honour the occupant load set by the Fire Department. We were concerned about this in the summer of 2011 and asked for a meeting with City and Provincial officials to talk about other alternatives to lessen the stress on our building. There was no interest at that time even though it was apparent that winter was going to come. The annual game of "chicken" played between City Hall and the Minister of Housing would have to be played out before anything changed.
Of course for the three winters prior to the Fall of 2011, the occupant load was exceeded with the knowledge of the City and the Province. We had sent them daily records of our 5 am and 2 pm counts. Everyone knew that we were dealing with a housing emergency and while the situation wasn't wonderful, it was better than putting people on the cold streets.
4) We would not bar people
Another issue of contention which we struggled with was the decision not to bar anyone. Unacceptable and inappropriate behavior has been a reality at First long before the refuge opened. For the first year that I worked at First, it was not unusual to have shouting matches in the sanctuary which would on occasion result in a fight. People would be angry about how long someone talked on the free phone or how slowly someone was talking at the reception window. People would be angry during mealtime and food and dishes would be thrown. Violence is not unexpected when you are dealing with people who are scrabbling just to survive in a society that doesn't really care enough to change anything that would make a lasting difference. I would be hard-pressed to respond with as much grace and humour as I have seen expressed by people in the Downtown Eastside if I was in similar circumstances.
In the early days we worked on a barring/banning policy. We had a list of offenses and each offense had a length of time attached to it during which the offender was not allowed to access the building and its services. The policy was in place because we believed that there needed to be consequences for unacceptable behaviour and because we needed to indicate to the community that staff had to be respected. Some people were sent out for a few hours; some were gone for months. I don't remember if anyone was permanently barred although I hazard a guess that they weren't. Our staff were always interested in giving someone a second or third or twentieth chance.
While our policy looked really good on paper, we came to the conclusion that it didn't work. First of all, with an open door policy and over 200 people it was impossible to make sure that a person didn't enter or re-enter the building. Secondly, many people were in such bad shape when they were belligerent, they simply didn't remember that they had been abusive. Those with brain injuries had problems with long term memory. Those with anger issues couldn't always help themselves. Many who were mentally ill didn't know what was going on. Those who could perhaps do things differently had often been banned from other places and this was the last place they were welcome. To ban them was to put them out into the cold. And so we stopped barring/banning people. We might have asked them to takes walk but we didn't ban them. Sometimes we called the police and had people arrested but they always knew that we would be there for them. To our way of thinking, you can't work with a person if you don't know where they are.
5) We would remain a church not a social agency.
This meant that we would operate out of a theology of radical hospitality that would not sacrifice the needs of the one for the well-being of the whole. This meant that we saw everything that we did within the building of First United Church as an integral part of our ministry. We looked to the stories of the lost coin and the lost sheep and we held to the belief that each person, no matter how damaged or how difficult their behaviour could be, was a child of God. We imagined a different way of being a church. We were not interested in being an outreach ministry or a social agency that served the needs of the poor. We were interested in building an inclusive, intentional community at the margins, informed by Christian theology.
To define one's work within these ground rules was to agree to live with a certain amount of chaos and tension. Living into a different paradigm is never easy. Defining our work this way meant confronting the fears that often drive so many interactions with individuals in the Downtown Eastside. It was always our goal to run as safe an operation as humanly possible but we also committed ourselves to working with those who are among the most vulnerable in the neighbourhood and their behaviors sometimes put themselves and others at risk. While it would have been easier to eliminate the difficult people, it would not have been faithful to what we we saw as First United's unique contribution to the neighbourhood - its gift of sacrificial love.
What started as an agreement with the Mayor to provide a place of refuge for four months turned into a three year commitment. The initial estimate of $40,000 to run First United for four months turned into a $243,000 a month commitment by BC Housing. For all of that time, we fought to maintain our original vision to provide a place of refuge within our understanding of what it means to be a church committed to radical hospitality. In the end we couldn't maintain our grasp on the vision in the face of the United Church's fear of liability and pressure from BC Housing, the police department and the city. Some of us had to let go and leave.
Everything has changed with the start of 2012. First United has become a shelter, closing its doors at 11 pm to everyone except those who have already found shelter inside. I don't know what happens to the people who empty out of the bars at 2 a.m. in search of some place to sleep off the activities of the evening; I don't know if the women who work the streets at night go to the emergency women's shelter to use the washroom; I don't know who provides the listening ear or the observant eye or the skilled hands to assess whether someone needs a trip to the hospital in the night. That used to be the role of the brave and passionately committed staff who still work at First United. It isn't any more. And what will remain for the community after BC Housing funding stops at the end of March 2012 is unknown.
The vision born out of workshops with the community and refined through work with the Oversight Board has been abandoned without consultation. A safer, less controversial path has been chosen.
Those are the people we knew that we wanted to be there for - the ones that no one else seemed to want or knew how to welcome. We had a sense that you had to invest a lot of time with people like this on their terms if you wanted to have relationships and relationships were mainly what we were about as a church.
And so we made some decisions about how we would be different from the shelter system run by BC Housing. In those early months, we could be different because our funding had been cobbled together from a variety of sources including churches in the Lower Mainland. Since we were the first place to be asked to open overnight by HEAT (Homeless Emergency Action Team - a group of advisors pulled together by the Mayor), we felt like we were treading on new ground. We didn't have to fit into any pre-conceived boxes. We could learn from our experience and we could work out the best way forward in consultation with people in the Downtown Eastside.
Never at point did we agree to be a formal shelter. Never. We agreed to open overnight for four months- from December 2008 to the end of March 2009 and we believed that we could do that for about $40,000 in total. The money came from a variety of places but never in a large enough amount from any one source to change our vision.
To make it clear that we were not joining the shelter system, we opted to call what we offered a place of refuge. This seemed in keeping with Advent/Christmas season and the story of Mary and Joseph and the birth of Jesus. Dunbar Heights United Church had created a life-size crèche for us and so having people sleep in our sanctuary seemed a fitting addition to that scene. First United had been sleeping people during the daytime in its sanctuary for over ten years and so the extension of hours to include the night-time just seemed like a logical extension of the commitment to the neighbourhood. And as no one had ever suggested that what First United had offered during the daytime was a shelter, we didn't see why the shelter language needed to apply to an extension to the night.
As a place of refuge, we decided that we would do the following:
1) We would not take anyone's name.
Our goal would be to learn people's names when/if people were willing to share and to be in relationship with them on their terms. If giving a name was a barrier to being indoors, we would not impose that requirement upon anyone. It wasn't our goal to collect data on anyone for anyone else. We were providing a humane response to what was looking to be a horrendous winter.
2) We would not case-manage anyone.
Given that we were an emergency response to be open for only four months and running with a minimum number of staff, case management wasn't even on the radar. All we were concerned about in those early months was keeping people warm, safe and dry. Ric described it at the time as being like an indoor park and that, in many ways, is what it felt like.
3)We would not limit our numbers by locking our doors.
We knew that there were people who could not wait in a line-up for a shelter bed. In 2008, many shelters did not do their intake until 11 p.m. and with somewhere between 25 and 40 beds available, they would often fill up in a hurry. For those who were the most vulnerable in the neighbourhood, waiting in line on the off-chance of getting a bed was virtually impossible. As well, many who came to First United were using or drinking and by the time the late evening came, they were in no shape to find a shelter bed.
We believed that everyone should have the option of being inside and so we decided that our doors would be open all night. People could come and go as they pleased. They could sleep if they wanted. They could sit up and talk. What we would not do was prevent them from coming in. That need to provide a space in the neighbourhood that was open 24/7 was affirmed time and time again. When the Contact Centre near the Carnegie Centre closed, First United became one of the few places open where people could go to get first aid. Women working the street came in to use the washrooms between tricks. When INSITE closed at 4am users came to catch some sleep under the watchful eyes of staff who made sure that they were safe. When the shelters discharged their clients at 6 a.m. people came to First to get some additional sleep or to wait indoors for breakfast.
Much has been made about our refusal in the Fall of 2011 to honour the occupant load set by the Fire Department. We were concerned about this in the summer of 2011 and asked for a meeting with City and Provincial officials to talk about other alternatives to lessen the stress on our building. There was no interest at that time even though it was apparent that winter was going to come. The annual game of "chicken" played between City Hall and the Minister of Housing would have to be played out before anything changed.
Of course for the three winters prior to the Fall of 2011, the occupant load was exceeded with the knowledge of the City and the Province. We had sent them daily records of our 5 am and 2 pm counts. Everyone knew that we were dealing with a housing emergency and while the situation wasn't wonderful, it was better than putting people on the cold streets.
4) We would not bar people
Another issue of contention which we struggled with was the decision not to bar anyone. Unacceptable and inappropriate behavior has been a reality at First long before the refuge opened. For the first year that I worked at First, it was not unusual to have shouting matches in the sanctuary which would on occasion result in a fight. People would be angry about how long someone talked on the free phone or how slowly someone was talking at the reception window. People would be angry during mealtime and food and dishes would be thrown. Violence is not unexpected when you are dealing with people who are scrabbling just to survive in a society that doesn't really care enough to change anything that would make a lasting difference. I would be hard-pressed to respond with as much grace and humour as I have seen expressed by people in the Downtown Eastside if I was in similar circumstances.
In the early days we worked on a barring/banning policy. We had a list of offenses and each offense had a length of time attached to it during which the offender was not allowed to access the building and its services. The policy was in place because we believed that there needed to be consequences for unacceptable behaviour and because we needed to indicate to the community that staff had to be respected. Some people were sent out for a few hours; some were gone for months. I don't remember if anyone was permanently barred although I hazard a guess that they weren't. Our staff were always interested in giving someone a second or third or twentieth chance.
While our policy looked really good on paper, we came to the conclusion that it didn't work. First of all, with an open door policy and over 200 people it was impossible to make sure that a person didn't enter or re-enter the building. Secondly, many people were in such bad shape when they were belligerent, they simply didn't remember that they had been abusive. Those with brain injuries had problems with long term memory. Those with anger issues couldn't always help themselves. Many who were mentally ill didn't know what was going on. Those who could perhaps do things differently had often been banned from other places and this was the last place they were welcome. To ban them was to put them out into the cold. And so we stopped barring/banning people. We might have asked them to takes walk but we didn't ban them. Sometimes we called the police and had people arrested but they always knew that we would be there for them. To our way of thinking, you can't work with a person if you don't know where they are.
5) We would remain a church not a social agency.
This meant that we would operate out of a theology of radical hospitality that would not sacrifice the needs of the one for the well-being of the whole. This meant that we saw everything that we did within the building of First United Church as an integral part of our ministry. We looked to the stories of the lost coin and the lost sheep and we held to the belief that each person, no matter how damaged or how difficult their behaviour could be, was a child of God. We imagined a different way of being a church. We were not interested in being an outreach ministry or a social agency that served the needs of the poor. We were interested in building an inclusive, intentional community at the margins, informed by Christian theology.
To define one's work within these ground rules was to agree to live with a certain amount of chaos and tension. Living into a different paradigm is never easy. Defining our work this way meant confronting the fears that often drive so many interactions with individuals in the Downtown Eastside. It was always our goal to run as safe an operation as humanly possible but we also committed ourselves to working with those who are among the most vulnerable in the neighbourhood and their behaviors sometimes put themselves and others at risk. While it would have been easier to eliminate the difficult people, it would not have been faithful to what we we saw as First United's unique contribution to the neighbourhood - its gift of sacrificial love.
What started as an agreement with the Mayor to provide a place of refuge for four months turned into a three year commitment. The initial estimate of $40,000 to run First United for four months turned into a $243,000 a month commitment by BC Housing. For all of that time, we fought to maintain our original vision to provide a place of refuge within our understanding of what it means to be a church committed to radical hospitality. In the end we couldn't maintain our grasp on the vision in the face of the United Church's fear of liability and pressure from BC Housing, the police department and the city. Some of us had to let go and leave.
Everything has changed with the start of 2012. First United has become a shelter, closing its doors at 11 pm to everyone except those who have already found shelter inside. I don't know what happens to the people who empty out of the bars at 2 a.m. in search of some place to sleep off the activities of the evening; I don't know if the women who work the streets at night go to the emergency women's shelter to use the washroom; I don't know who provides the listening ear or the observant eye or the skilled hands to assess whether someone needs a trip to the hospital in the night. That used to be the role of the brave and passionately committed staff who still work at First United. It isn't any more. And what will remain for the community after BC Housing funding stops at the end of March 2012 is unknown.
The vision born out of workshops with the community and refined through work with the Oversight Board has been abandoned without consultation. A safer, less controversial path has been chosen.
Wednesday 11 January 2012
Geographies of Exclusion
When I was a child growing up in hockey-mad rural Ontario, it was a part of our winter ritual to board a bus in the dark of a frosty January morning and spend the day riding to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to spend the weekend watching my younger brother play minor league hockey and to attend a Penguins game. We did not go alone. Two bus loads of people from our village of 1200 made this annual pilgrimage. It was a raucous bus ride, fueled by junk food, excitement and alcohol - a disgusting combination when experienced in the back of a Greyhound bus.
Six weeks later folk from Pittsburgh would made the journey north and we would watch more minor league hockey. We couldn't provide the same kind of access to the Toronto Maple Leafs but we were able to provide an experience of rural life that I think was like traveling to a far off foreign land without having to deal with language challenges.
While the hockey was not particularly memorable, the experience of going to Pittsburgh profoundly shaped me because it was in Pittsburgh that I had my first encounter with poverty and with the fear surrounding those who live in poverty. We stayed year after year with a working class white family whose racism toward African Americans was seen as normal. They drove through the city with a length of metal pipe embedded in a rubber hose under the front seat of their station wagon and they had a German Shepherd who would bark menacingly when certain slurs were uttered.
What I remember most about the people we stayed with was their fear, their fear of certain people, their fear of certain parts of the city. It was as though the people who lived in those parts of the city did not share the same hopes and dreams that they had for their lives. That somehow those people were "other," a subspecies of human that one did one's best to stay as far away from as possible.
David Sibley describes the way cities are divided up by class distinctions as a "landscape of exclusion" in which "power is expressed in the monopolization of space and the relegation of weaker groups in society to less desirable environments." (David Sibley, Geographies of Exclusion: Society and Difference in the West). Steven Bouma-Prediger and Brian Walsh write: "The dominant worldview views the poor as dirty, defiled, contaminated, and thus a threat to the ordered and habitual world of the middle and upper-classes....Within such a geography of exclusion, the poor, like our garbage, must go away - to another place....We should not miss the self-understood morality of such an ideology. Insofar as morality is a matter of making life safe and orderly, anything that will be a threat to safety and a force of disorder must be either eradicated or at least kept at a distance. Within this kind of habitus of exclusion, establishing boundaries that keeps the homeless out of our neighborhoods....is not seen to be a moral failure, but a moral success! Protecting one's family and community from contamination is a virtuous act."
While Bouma-Prediger and Walsh are talking most specifically about NIMBYism in middle class neighborhoods, their comments about " a geography of exclusion" reflect in a broad way the reality of the City of Vancouver and at a more local level the struggles of the Downtown Eastside and First United Church these past four years.
For anyone standing outside the Downtown Eastside and looking in, this neighbourhood is a source of much bewilderment and exasperation. How is it possible to have such a visible pocket of poverty in what is otherwise thought to be a "world-class city"? I say that, of course, sarcastically because I don't think that there is a city anywhere in which there are not grinding levels of poverty present. Perhaps what is most shocking to people is the concentration of poverty in such a small geographic area. Add to that the presence of a major east-west street running through the middle of the neighbourhood and the poverty is hard to ignore.
The visible nature of some Downtown Eastside activities and the media focus on homelessness can give one a distorted picture of this community. I have had conversations with people who have not realized that not everyone in the DTES is homeless or addicted or mentally ill. They have been surprised when I have talked about seniors and families and about people with physical disabilities who are also among the residents of this diverse and talented place. If it is true that people working in the arts make on average less than $20,000 a year then this neighbourhood also has more than its share of musicians, artists, performers and writers.
What all of these people have in common is that they are low-income. They are poor. And all of them are trying to maintain a place/a home to live in a city in which the phrase "affordable housing" begs the question, affordable for whom? Many, especially those who struggle with health issues or addictions are often only an income assistance cheque away from homelessness. Those who live in some of the SRO (single resident occupancy) hotels are often inadequately housed living in conditions that are third-world. A significant number have fallen out of the housing game and no longer have the ability to remain housed without a high level of support, a level of support which is not there for many people. And through it all, the process of gentrification marches forward unchecked changing the neighbourhood at an incredible rate. Gentrification is couched in the language of the market. The language, however, disguises this "geography of exclusion" which would seek to "clean up" the neighbourhood and eliminate those who are poor.
Six weeks later folk from Pittsburgh would made the journey north and we would watch more minor league hockey. We couldn't provide the same kind of access to the Toronto Maple Leafs but we were able to provide an experience of rural life that I think was like traveling to a far off foreign land without having to deal with language challenges.
While the hockey was not particularly memorable, the experience of going to Pittsburgh profoundly shaped me because it was in Pittsburgh that I had my first encounter with poverty and with the fear surrounding those who live in poverty. We stayed year after year with a working class white family whose racism toward African Americans was seen as normal. They drove through the city with a length of metal pipe embedded in a rubber hose under the front seat of their station wagon and they had a German Shepherd who would bark menacingly when certain slurs were uttered.
What I remember most about the people we stayed with was their fear, their fear of certain people, their fear of certain parts of the city. It was as though the people who lived in those parts of the city did not share the same hopes and dreams that they had for their lives. That somehow those people were "other," a subspecies of human that one did one's best to stay as far away from as possible.
David Sibley describes the way cities are divided up by class distinctions as a "landscape of exclusion" in which "power is expressed in the monopolization of space and the relegation of weaker groups in society to less desirable environments." (David Sibley, Geographies of Exclusion: Society and Difference in the West). Steven Bouma-Prediger and Brian Walsh write: "The dominant worldview views the poor as dirty, defiled, contaminated, and thus a threat to the ordered and habitual world of the middle and upper-classes....Within such a geography of exclusion, the poor, like our garbage, must go away - to another place....We should not miss the self-understood morality of such an ideology. Insofar as morality is a matter of making life safe and orderly, anything that will be a threat to safety and a force of disorder must be either eradicated or at least kept at a distance. Within this kind of habitus of exclusion, establishing boundaries that keeps the homeless out of our neighborhoods....is not seen to be a moral failure, but a moral success! Protecting one's family and community from contamination is a virtuous act."
While Bouma-Prediger and Walsh are talking most specifically about NIMBYism in middle class neighborhoods, their comments about " a geography of exclusion" reflect in a broad way the reality of the City of Vancouver and at a more local level the struggles of the Downtown Eastside and First United Church these past four years.
For anyone standing outside the Downtown Eastside and looking in, this neighbourhood is a source of much bewilderment and exasperation. How is it possible to have such a visible pocket of poverty in what is otherwise thought to be a "world-class city"? I say that, of course, sarcastically because I don't think that there is a city anywhere in which there are not grinding levels of poverty present. Perhaps what is most shocking to people is the concentration of poverty in such a small geographic area. Add to that the presence of a major east-west street running through the middle of the neighbourhood and the poverty is hard to ignore.
The visible nature of some Downtown Eastside activities and the media focus on homelessness can give one a distorted picture of this community. I have had conversations with people who have not realized that not everyone in the DTES is homeless or addicted or mentally ill. They have been surprised when I have talked about seniors and families and about people with physical disabilities who are also among the residents of this diverse and talented place. If it is true that people working in the arts make on average less than $20,000 a year then this neighbourhood also has more than its share of musicians, artists, performers and writers.
What all of these people have in common is that they are low-income. They are poor. And all of them are trying to maintain a place/a home to live in a city in which the phrase "affordable housing" begs the question, affordable for whom? Many, especially those who struggle with health issues or addictions are often only an income assistance cheque away from homelessness. Those who live in some of the SRO (single resident occupancy) hotels are often inadequately housed living in conditions that are third-world. A significant number have fallen out of the housing game and no longer have the ability to remain housed without a high level of support, a level of support which is not there for many people. And through it all, the process of gentrification marches forward unchecked changing the neighbourhood at an incredible rate. Gentrification is couched in the language of the market. The language, however, disguises this "geography of exclusion" which would seek to "clean up" the neighbourhood and eliminate those who are poor.
Friday 6 January 2012
There's No Place Like Home
While it is true that Dorothy's words in "The Wizard of Oz" can be said in a number of ways to illustrate the mixed relationship many of us have had in our experiences of home, I think it is also fair to say that, at a deep emotional level, there is something about our desire for a home that cannot be easily dismissed.
Even our choice of the word "homeless" to talk about those who do not have housing seems rooted in something deeper that simply a problem of resources. It is as though we sense that those who are "homeless" have lost something fundamental to what it means to be human. In that word "homeless," we sense an experience of profound loss.
Steven Bouma-Prediger and Brian J Walsh, in their book, "Beyond Homelessness - Christian Faith in a Culture of Displacement," explore this notion of homelessness and offer eight key insights into what it means to be at home.
A home is a place of permanence. "To be 'at home' somewhere is more than simply having a place to stay... Home...signifies a certain degree of spatial permanence, an enduring presence, or residence. In a speed-bound culture, every highly mobile person is a victim of some form of homelessness because there is no time to foster a sense of enduring emplacement."
A home is a dwelling place, an abode, a place where memories and relationships and stories are made. Where a house is made of bricks or wood, or concrete or stone, a home has deep psychological and social significance.
A home is a storied place. "Certain practices turn spaces without stories into narratively formed places...A house becomes a home when it is transformed by memory-shaped meaning into a place of identity, connectedness, order and care." Rituals like the celebrations of holidays and rites of passage make a house a home by linking our personal and communal stories with a particular location.
A home is a place of safety where you can relax and be yourself. It's a safe place where you can be vulnerable and also learn how to trust.
A home is a place of hospitality. "If homes are to resist the temptation to become self-enclosed fortresses -that is, if homes are to have windows and doors that are open -then they must be sites of hospitality...Rosemary Haughton emphasizes that 'hospitality means a letting go of certainty and control...'"
A home is a place of embodied inhabitation where a person feels a sense of rootedness. When we become rooted in a place we are shaped by it. Simone Weil describes the importance of roots this way: "To be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognized need of the human soul...A human being has roots by virtue of his real, active, and natural participation in the life of a community which preserves in living shape certain particular treasures of the past and certain particular expectations for the future."
A home is a place of orientation in which we know where we are and what we are in this world. A home provides a sense of order and direction to our lives.
And finally a home is a place of affiliation and belonging where we experience recognition and acceptance.
One of the most important things we learned from our experiences over the last four years at First United and especially from the experience of agreeing to become a HEAT shelter was this distinction between the words house and home. I don't remember whether we knew it in the very beginning but we knew it soon after. We knew that there were people in the city who, for many different reasons, couldn't handle the formal shelter system. Some of them had behavioral issues which made them a threat to others who were there. Some didn't want to work with a case worker and so would often end up back on the streets because they weren't making "progress". Some lived such chaotic lives that they couldn't bring themselves to line up to get a bed or if they did think about getting a bed, they wanted it after intake closed and there were no longer beds available.
Whatever the reason for their chronic homelessness, we knew from our experience that there were a large number of people in the Downtown Eastside who were sleeping rough at night, if they were sleeping at all. When I started in January 2008 and the church was only open during regular business hours Monday to Friday, I often stepped over people in my effort to get into the door in the morning. They would be sleeping under the overhang in the entrance way of Gore Avenue. When the doors opened, they would come inside in search of food, dry clothing and a place to sleep on the floor or the oak pews in the sanctuary. Whatever issues they had happening in their lives, it seemed like they were larger than simply a lack of housing. Somehow it had to do with being without a home.
When Mayor Robertson called Ric that fateful Sunday night in December 2008 and asked us to become the first HEAT shelter, we made some decisions that week which, in retrospect, set us on the path to the decisions which would culminate in our departure in December 2011. Those decisions had to do with how we would respond to this profound need for home.
Even our choice of the word "homeless" to talk about those who do not have housing seems rooted in something deeper that simply a problem of resources. It is as though we sense that those who are "homeless" have lost something fundamental to what it means to be human. In that word "homeless," we sense an experience of profound loss.
Steven Bouma-Prediger and Brian J Walsh, in their book, "Beyond Homelessness - Christian Faith in a Culture of Displacement," explore this notion of homelessness and offer eight key insights into what it means to be at home.
A home is a place of permanence. "To be 'at home' somewhere is more than simply having a place to stay... Home...signifies a certain degree of spatial permanence, an enduring presence, or residence. In a speed-bound culture, every highly mobile person is a victim of some form of homelessness because there is no time to foster a sense of enduring emplacement."
A home is a dwelling place, an abode, a place where memories and relationships and stories are made. Where a house is made of bricks or wood, or concrete or stone, a home has deep psychological and social significance.
A home is a storied place. "Certain practices turn spaces without stories into narratively formed places...A house becomes a home when it is transformed by memory-shaped meaning into a place of identity, connectedness, order and care." Rituals like the celebrations of holidays and rites of passage make a house a home by linking our personal and communal stories with a particular location.
A home is a place of safety where you can relax and be yourself. It's a safe place where you can be vulnerable and also learn how to trust.
A home is a place of hospitality. "If homes are to resist the temptation to become self-enclosed fortresses -that is, if homes are to have windows and doors that are open -then they must be sites of hospitality...Rosemary Haughton emphasizes that 'hospitality means a letting go of certainty and control...'"
A home is a place of embodied inhabitation where a person feels a sense of rootedness. When we become rooted in a place we are shaped by it. Simone Weil describes the importance of roots this way: "To be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognized need of the human soul...A human being has roots by virtue of his real, active, and natural participation in the life of a community which preserves in living shape certain particular treasures of the past and certain particular expectations for the future."
A home is a place of orientation in which we know where we are and what we are in this world. A home provides a sense of order and direction to our lives.
And finally a home is a place of affiliation and belonging where we experience recognition and acceptance.
One of the most important things we learned from our experiences over the last four years at First United and especially from the experience of agreeing to become a HEAT shelter was this distinction between the words house and home. I don't remember whether we knew it in the very beginning but we knew it soon after. We knew that there were people in the city who, for many different reasons, couldn't handle the formal shelter system. Some of them had behavioral issues which made them a threat to others who were there. Some didn't want to work with a case worker and so would often end up back on the streets because they weren't making "progress". Some lived such chaotic lives that they couldn't bring themselves to line up to get a bed or if they did think about getting a bed, they wanted it after intake closed and there were no longer beds available.
Whatever the reason for their chronic homelessness, we knew from our experience that there were a large number of people in the Downtown Eastside who were sleeping rough at night, if they were sleeping at all. When I started in January 2008 and the church was only open during regular business hours Monday to Friday, I often stepped over people in my effort to get into the door in the morning. They would be sleeping under the overhang in the entrance way of Gore Avenue. When the doors opened, they would come inside in search of food, dry clothing and a place to sleep on the floor or the oak pews in the sanctuary. Whatever issues they had happening in their lives, it seemed like they were larger than simply a lack of housing. Somehow it had to do with being without a home.
When Mayor Robertson called Ric that fateful Sunday night in December 2008 and asked us to become the first HEAT shelter, we made some decisions that week which, in retrospect, set us on the path to the decisions which would culminate in our departure in December 2011. Those decisions had to do with how we would respond to this profound need for home.
Thursday 5 January 2012
Fanning a tiny flame of hope
"Becoming Missional - A Work in Progress"...That was the title of a webinar presentation I did for the EDGE Network of The United Church of Canada late in the fall of 2011. At that time,(was it only a couple of months ago?) I was hopeful that the vision we had begun to implement less than five years ago at the historic First United Church in Vancouver's gritty Downtown Eastside would continue to emerge piece by piece. It had been a tumultuous time for us, full of highs and lows. Through it all, those of us in the senior leadership held fast to the vision that had been set before us by our Board when we were called to this ministry, a vision that had morphed in agile response to the needs of the neighbourhood we were committed to serve and at the same faithful to the overall intention of the vision statements of 2007.
To outsiders looking in, the sheer volume of human misery and need which presents itself to anyone who dares to walk through the doors of Gore Ave and Hastings Street would seem to make a folly of the vision we boldly proclaimed. To those of us who spent our waking hours in the building engaging in conversation with the community, the vision was like a tiny flame that we obsessively fed with stories of hope.
And what was that vision we fought so hard to articulate? It was the vision of an intentional, inclusive community at the margins of society shaped by the lens of Christian faith. A community where all would feel welcomed. A community which would welcome those that no one else wanted to welcome. A community shaped by the gospel call of justice and radical hospitality and where membership was not based on shared religious belief but on shared commitment to be in relationship with each other regardless of religious identity or any other label that might divide us.
That was the vision that drove us these just over four years. We held it in the face of opposition from the bureaucracies of the City and Province. We held it in the face of opposition from some groups in the Downtown Eastside who competed with us for funding dollars. We held it not because we are stubborn and arrogantly believed that we could challenge authority with impunity. We held it because we believed that this is what First United Church is called to be in this neighbourhood.
We held our ground in a number of conflicts especially in 2011. Unfortunately we couldn't hold our ground in the face of opposition from our denomination. The following posts are the story of a four year experiment in creating a Missional church. As an introvert I learn best when I write. I am hopeful that these reflections will also help others who are interested in thinking about the future of faith.
To outsiders looking in, the sheer volume of human misery and need which presents itself to anyone who dares to walk through the doors of Gore Ave and Hastings Street would seem to make a folly of the vision we boldly proclaimed. To those of us who spent our waking hours in the building engaging in conversation with the community, the vision was like a tiny flame that we obsessively fed with stories of hope.
And what was that vision we fought so hard to articulate? It was the vision of an intentional, inclusive community at the margins of society shaped by the lens of Christian faith. A community where all would feel welcomed. A community which would welcome those that no one else wanted to welcome. A community shaped by the gospel call of justice and radical hospitality and where membership was not based on shared religious belief but on shared commitment to be in relationship with each other regardless of religious identity or any other label that might divide us.
That was the vision that drove us these just over four years. We held it in the face of opposition from the bureaucracies of the City and Province. We held it in the face of opposition from some groups in the Downtown Eastside who competed with us for funding dollars. We held it not because we are stubborn and arrogantly believed that we could challenge authority with impunity. We held it because we believed that this is what First United Church is called to be in this neighbourhood.
We held our ground in a number of conflicts especially in 2011. Unfortunately we couldn't hold our ground in the face of opposition from our denomination. The following posts are the story of a four year experiment in creating a Missional church. As an introvert I learn best when I write. I am hopeful that these reflections will also help others who are interested in thinking about the future of faith.
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