The guy who lives on our sidewalk -- a Christmas message

Last Christmas, the homeless guy who lives on the sidewalk outside our church building decorated the courtyard tree with soda bottles. Ten to 20 of those ornament-looking Coke bottles were artfully placed on the branches of a fur tree outside the office door. Each bulb-like drink container had the first name of a person on it. Most of us knew that homeless people slept in the courtyard, protected under the veranda of solid rock. What we didn’t know before was that one of them had a special interest in Christmas decorations. We never found out who all those names represented. I imagined them to be people who he had loved and lost, maybe people from his former life before living on the streets, or our sidewalk.

In a way it seems cold to “let” homeless people sleep outside the church building. Why don’t we let them sleep inside? Why don’t we help them? Why don’t we get them shelter and services? Those questions are valid and they are certainly ours to answer. Why don’t we?

It was hard to catch up with the homeless guy who decorated the tree with pop bottles because he was always careful to be gone at dawn; he didn’t want to be seen. There’s a vulnerability to being homeless that we can’t understand – the rule of law is different for that population. Being seen means being hurt, assaulted, jailed, robbed, or killed. Just like the characters in Cormac McCarthy’s book, “The Road.”  If you don’t have a home base, you lay yourself bare to all the ugliest aspects of human nature because you are no longer seen. As we all know, human beings can get pretty hideous when no one is looking.

Last Christmas, Bob and other church staff sought to figure out who exactly the tree elf was. Turns out it was a man named David. We don’t know his story. We don’t know how he ended up living on our sidewalk. Or why he doesn’t stay at the brand new homeless shelter a few blocks away. But he has been showing himself more lately, especially around the tasks of decorating for Christmas.

A couple months ago he came inside on a Wednesday night, when the church serves a delicious full course meal on a weekly basis for whoever shows up. Did he want to join us for the meal? No, he didn’t. He wasn’t much for crowds. But he did accept a to-go package of hot food. After hearing about him for about a year, that was the first time I actually saw him. Since then, he has helped set up the large wooden crèche outside and the tall trees inside. He must be strong because those things are heavy. Recently, he has also started to come inside and eat on Wednesday nights. We’ve officially met.

This morning after services, a bunch of people stuck around to install the “floating stars” art show for Christmas Eve and Christmas. There was a glorious hum of community all about the job of hanging 300 stars on wires that were strung back and forth atop the pews in the sanctuary. It required an industrial sized scaffold to be wheeled up and down the center aisle, and people without vertigo to stand atop that lift to hook the stars onto the wires. I was there taking pictures and I saw David standing in the back watching. By now, I’m thinking that he seems to magically appear whenever there’s some kind of Christmas decorating going on. Not knowing if he remembered me, I introduced myself again.

“Are you going to help?” I asked him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s a lot of people”

I continued with my amateur photography project, trying to get as many angles as I could. I hoped to capture the height of the stars and the depth of the togetherness. It didn’t take long before I noticed David in the middle of the action, he was up front attaching strings to stars, preparing them for placement in the heavens. He’s in my video below, but you won’t be able to pick him out because he blends in. He blends in because in this congregation we are unified by peace and love. 

In this church we don’t tell people they’re going to hell if they’re gay. (And we don't harass them if they are transgender.)

In this church we don’t make pronouncements that violence is a result of ungodliness. (And we don't sell cheap semi-automatic weapons.)

In this church we don’t believe that anyone is illegal. (And we don't ask for identification.)

In this church we don’t say you have to dress up or dress down. (You don't have to look good but you can if you want. Nor do you have to appear just humble enough to look pious. Come as you are.)

In this congregation we will sing and pray and dance and cook and share with anyone who will join us. And if they can’t join us, we will go to them – to the homeless shelters and hospitals and nursing homes and HIV/AIDs clinics and prisons and substance abuse recovery centers and refugee camps. And if we can’t go to them, we will send money to entities who can. And if they sleep on our sidewalks, we will let them. And if they walk into our office and ask for food, gas, bus tokens, diapers, or money to pay their utility bill, we will give it to them (after some checking around, etc, etc.) And if I have teenagers who are mysterious, they will mentor them. And if I am lonely, they will provide me friends. If I'm sad, they will play magnificent music and display splendid art. You get the idea.  

By now the stars are probably hung, all ready for the thousand or so people who will come for Christmas Eve services tomorrow night. I’m hoping David will come inside this year. If not, he will when he’s ready.

Ready or not, you’re all invited too.