With friends like that, who needs strangers?

Yesterday a good friend of mine posted a video to Facebook that sparked lively debate between us. A woman on foot tries to escape the camera. She approaches a car, a Mini Cooper, as if it is hers, then walks away from the car toward a fast food restaurant drive-thru window, where she seeks help from the attendant.  She does not shield her face. A man films her. You do not see him, but his is the most audible presence. Over and over he questions the woman, accuses her. The description of the video reads, “Woman posing as homeless gets exposed.”

People react to panhandling according to their frames. I drive past someone panhandling and am reminded to practice gratitude for what I have. I choose trust and grace, not least because it makes me feel good. Others frame differently.

This post isn’t really about panhandling, though. Or about mine and my friend’s lively debate. It’s about what she said near the end of the thread, “Thanks for not deleting me over this.”

“Really?” I said.

Social media makes it easy to build walls around ourselves. Our opinions, even if well-informed, just echo. Folks who panhandle have no walls; they are figuratively “exposed” to the comment, critique, judgment of everyone who drives past them. No option to block, unfriend, delete the “panhandler." For that reason alone the activity adds value to our individual and collective moral conscience. We surely cheat ourselves when we block, unfriend, delete to avoid respectful, difficult conversations and thinking.

I said, "Really?!!" like it was so hard to believe when I've done it myself.

Blessing BOX

This morning, Blessing BOX's Facebook page featured images of its pantry at different times of day, proof it's being used. Also proof it's being stocked by others not directly connected with the project. I remember how great that proof felt. We all know people are in need but struggle with faith in those same people. Or with faith that anyone cares enough to respond to that need at personal cost of time or money or effort. Yes. I remember.

This morning also, I got a call from someone asking about a mutual friend of ours who's been absent from social media for some time now. I explained her family is selling its home, and the transaction became complicated--that, likely, my friend, being sensitive and stressed, was limiting exposure to the negativity EVERYWHERE on social media. I can't say I blame her. People across the political spectrum can seem so mean.

...one of the reasons why the Blessing BOX post was a blessing to me this morning. At the macro-level, it may be hard to see, but locally, people do have faith in other people. People re-affirm that faith. Next time you need proof, check out what The Van's doing in Central Arkansas. Its mission is "to locate and love our unsheltered, homeless neighbors," and its motto is "No rules. No apologies. Just help." People are wonderful.

Post-______, What Will We Do?

Last night, my home church, Good Shepherd Lutheran, hosted an ecumenical evening of Prayer and Worship in Light of Orlando. The sanctuary was full of people seeking strength, consolation, reconciliation, peace, etc. in the wake of the worst mass shooting in US history, an evil motivated by hatred of the LGBTQ community. Today, I don’t feel strong, consoled, reconciled, or peaceful about what happened. But I do feel grateful and proud that GSLC intentionally provided a space for people to be together, to feel the power and potential of loving community. I also acknowledge it had to be the spirit’s work that GSLC would wrestle with our welcome statement, full-inclusion, and ultimately become Reconciling in Christ BEFORE Orlando so that last night we could be that space. 

We still have work to do. Only a person who attended Sunday night’s vigil at St. Paul’s Episcopal AND St. James’ vigil almost a year ago post-Charleston would be aware of the vast local support for our LGBTQ brothers and sisters over our Black brothers and sisters. Nearly all the people at St. James were members of that church. Only a handful of us were white. I won’t attempt to unpack all that. I will ask the question, post-Orlando, post-Charleston, what will we do now to help...to love our neighbor?