The Gift of Tears
Abdulkader, Zion’s custodian, is a devout Muslim. Sometimes, like a character in a musical breaks out in song, he breaks out in a sermon. Recently, he said to me:
“The man who is a real man has tears. The man without tears has nothing to offer. Tears are a gift from God. With tears, a man has wisdom and sees things clearly.”
We were talking about Zion’s houseless neighbors. I’d just asked him to clear out the stack of couch cushions, chairs, a wheeled walker, and other things left behind by neighbors who slept for a time next to Zion’s building.
These neighbors were Shawn and Nicole. Maybe you met them; they worshiped at least a couple times. They were working with Chris Dunn, outreach worker with Humility of Mary, to get housing. But first they had to prove one of them had a job. So Shawn was trying to get one. Since he was a veteran, he was also working with job search support service providers.
They were doing everything they needed to do. But this is neither a just nor merciful world. They had nowhere to go. It was cold and wet. And Shawn was struggling with despair and hopelessness.
When I first learned we had campers, I did not know them. I went outside fully intending to ask them to move on. This has been our policy since others disrespected and damaged this place. But after getting to know Shawn and Nicole and sensing they were genuine, tenderhearted people, I could not do it. I said, “You can stay here. But if anyone asks, I didn’t say so.”
You can see my double-mindedness. Its shows the tension I felt, and my cowardice. I find situations like this to be the most stressful part of being your pastor.
What is the right thing to do? Who am I accountable to? Who is Zion accountable to?
Some of us would prefer a zero-tolerance policy. You have told me so. “Call the police, pastor,” you said. “Get rid of that stuff.” And I don’t blame you; Zion does not have the capacity to safely house people long-term on our property.
In this case, I made an exception. I was not willing to call the police on Shawn and Nicole. I did not want to ask Abdulkader to remove their things to the dumpster until I spoke with them.
Being accountable to you and to our neighbors, including houseless ones, can be uncomfortable. But such is the life of a disciple of Jesus, who asked us to “hate mother and father” because of him. That is, we must disappoint the very people we care most about when our gospel-rooted convictions call us to do things they don’t like. We all face this same discomfort sooner or later.
As it turned out, Shawn and Nicole moved on. I hope to housing, but I don’t know. I asked Abdulkader to remove their things, and then he preached to me about the gift of tears.
To love as God loves means vulnerability and tears. God’s love moves us beyond even justified blame and anger and toward forgiving everyone and even reality itself, somehow without losing what Richard Rohr calls “the deep legitimacy of that anger.” It’s not right Shawn and Nicole had to sleep here. And God has no right to love us all so deeply. But God does anyway.
Cue the tears of joy. -PC