Awareness V. Action, The Plight of the Homeless Felt By the Rich.
I spent Saturday night and Sunday morning at a simulated homeless event hosted by my church called Squatter Camp(out). It was a one time sleep over for college and young career twenty-somethings to have a taste at feeling homelessness. Participants scrounged together cardboard, bits of PVC, tape and tarpaulins to create hideous temporary shelters piled with blankets and the occasional iPod.
I almost didn’t show up at all. My couch was cozy and I was enjoying my Costco pasta while watching Season 2 of Friends. My friends on the front lawn of our church were enjoying a community pot of canned goods they donated that somebody deceitfully called soup.
Eventually I felt like a waste of space, grabbed a bedroll, and headed for the church, a ten minute drive through traffic lights. When I left I was sweating. By the time I got there a light jacket was required for comfort.
People were gathered around a small fire pit bundled in hoodies and scarves while my friend Caleb Saenz tuned his guitar with his wife for some acoustic worship. Our beloved college minister Kyle Burkholder gave a small homily as the temperature rapidly dropped.
Kyle explained that he had been a part of an impromptu debate on Facebook about the purpose of our event. Kyle and the college ministry were accused of self-serving motives, creating a pointless event to help its participants feel better about their part in social justice. Does sleeping in a box for one night provide a permanent home to the homeless? Does sacrificing comfort and food feed the pour?
Kyle answered that no justice was done. Obviously no one was clothed, fed, or housed because of our campout. The meager amount of registration money wouldn’t change lives once donated. The point was to give the rich –because even post-grads and newly-weds are rich– a taste of what it is like without having plenty.
I didn’t want to hassle with cardboard and roughed it under the stars instead, treating the event more of a showcase for my camping prowess and less of a meditation on the suffering. I used a ground cloth, saddle blanket, sleeping bag and two spare serape blankets for extra warmth and for my dog, Bonnie. She was happy and delighted to see so many people and we were both prepared for the cold having spent many nights camping together in the winter.
The night drew on and one by one people drifted off to their shanty town shelters to try and sleep. The breeze whistled through uneven portholes cut in the cardboard for breathing. There was still several people up and awake when I wrapped up in my bag. I was quite warm but I couldn’t sleep because the dog whined the whole night. When I “woke” up at sunrise (more like succumbed to my deep need to pee) I realized that dew had fallen all over me and my blankets and it was probably very uncomfortable for my dog who was shivering and staring at me intently. I put her in my truck with dry blankets and helped break camp with the other 51 miserable campers. Anticipating church, I shaved using a coffee cup and a truck window, missing several spots and roughing up my face with the cold water.
It sunk in more and more as we got into heated cars and drove to Tommy’s for breakfast tacos, as we went home, showered off the campfire smoke and sticky sleep and shaved with hot water. I crawled up on my couch with a real pillow and felt my neck ache. The experience seemed to apex during our follow up devotional Sunday night.
Kyle explained awareness solves very little if anything. The more people know about the two billion people, or a third of the planet, that live on a dollar a day and die from hunger everyday, the more they don’t actually do anything. It is out of sight out of mind. I’ve seen Hotel Rwanda and have heard about the genocides in Darfur, but I don’t do anything about it. Sleeping in a box doesn’t give a home to the homeless.
Awareness needs to generate action. For the rest of the day I was struck with how thankful I am for a breezeless home where I don’t wake up daily with cold dew (discovering cardboard can be a luxury). Every dollar I spent screamed of my fortuitousness even though I struggle with rent and medical bills sometimes. I had real food at home, not slop in a pot. In the grace that God has given me, salvation included, I learned that every little thing I have is a gift and how I’ve taken it for granted.
I was challenged with this question as I went to sleep in my queen size bed with fluffy comforter: Will I continue to live like I deserve real food, a job, and an insulated apartment, or will I walk and live and act in a way that appreciates what I have been given? Will I give back, or ignore the tragedy?
Awareness highlights what needs to be done but it doesn’t actually DO anything. Action is needed. However small, it is needed.
P.S. When we got home my dog drank a whole bowl of water then curled up on her large dog-bed, pointedly glared at me, and went to sleep. We are on good terms again.
