I should really be the most ardent proponent of the "social mix" argument. My work, in essence, is social mix. As I'll discuss below, most people in life prefer to form fairly comfortable friendships with people who are similar to them. But my two DTES communities, Jacob's Well and God's House of Many Faces, both promote the importance of mutually transformative friendships between people from very different groups, which is an integral part of the larger-scale work of reconciliation that we pray will happen between people groups. We believe that the Kingdom of God is incredibly diverse, and that we should start practicing this Kingdom life right now on earth.
For a while now, I've wanted to dedicate a post to gentrification, one of the most important and contentious realities in my neighbourhood today. I've written bits and pieces on it here (satirically) and here (when I moved in), but I've never really delved into it. I think the reason I've resisted writing about gentrification is that I don't feel sure of my convictions - I've felt conflicted about my own analysis and response to it. But I think it's time to tackle this topic...
Mental illness is in the news because of the tragic shootings in Connecticut yesterday. Although I've seen nothing confirming that the gunman suffered from a particular mental illness, and I worry about the stigmatization of all mentally ill people as potentially dangerous to society, I welcome the discussion about how best to care for people with mental illnesses. In this post I want to give some advice for pastors and friends seeking to love and support people who struggle with mental illness. This would obviously be better written by someone who is actually struggling with mental illness, but I'll do my best to pass on what I heard from those in my class...
One of the best things about being a graduate of Regent College is getting to go back and audit classes at half the price. Last May I audited a class called "Darkness is my Only Companion," with a rather bleak title taken from Psalm 88. The class was about mental illness and pastoral care, which definitely falls into the "need-to-know" category for me in my work! In fact, during the two weeks of the class, I had two friends hospitalized for suicidal tendencies brought on by bipolar disorder and depression...
My first thought is that reconciliation can happen on both the macro and micro levels. We will need to figure out how to seek reconciliation as large groups and communities, but some of the most challenging and meaningful work will happen on the grassroots level of individual relationships between First Nations people and Christians. Which means that we need to seek out these relationships with one another, and do the hard and rewarding work of learning to love each other. First Nations Christians may be helpful by acting as bridges between their people and the Church...
As a Christian white person listening to all these survivor stories, I had the overwhelming urge to do something or say something to express my horror and remorse. I was tentatively hoping that this kind of thing might happen during the "Expressions of Reconciliation." This was the time in the weekend when representatives of churches and other organizations gave speeches in front of the whole gathering. Some were apologizing, and some were not. (One thing I learned that weekend is that the word "apologize" is a legal term, and carries the responsibility to make reparations, as opposed to a word like "regret.") Yes, words alone can be cheap, but words can also be very powerful and healing, so I knew it would be important for these representatives to choose their words carefully...
I'd like to share some quotes from the many statements I was privileged to hear last weekend, since (as I wrote about last time) I feel a responsibility to bear witness. The limitation in doing this in written form is that you don't get to hear the emotion behind the statements. The commissioners stressed that the conference was a "tear-friendly" zone, and that's a good thing, because everyone cried - those giving the statements, and those listening - everyone except the man who confessed he could no longer cry, which you'll read about below. During every session, health support workers walked around, handing out kleenexes and collecting them in bags. After the sessions, as you left the room, you were invited to wash your face in a tear-collecting canoe-shaped basin. The pain the survivors carried and brought to the surface during these sharing circles and panels was palpable and immense...
