Between the Gym and the Sanctuary: Learning to Serve the Homeless Wholeheartedly

“This is a great church,” Jim tells me. “I know a lot of people are really appreciative for what they’re doing here.”

In the two months that I have been attending Sunday morning services with the homeless at Parkview Community Church in Glen Ellyn, Illinois, this appreciation has been an often-heard comment from Jim and other homeless community members served by Manna Ministries.

For Jim, Manna means being able to call Parkview his church family. “It gives a lot of us a place to call a home church,” he says.

While the rest of the larger church body attends the service in the typical, non-denominational sanctuary next door, homeless attendees are given the option of staying in the gym to watch the sermon on a television screen. Lunch is later served in the same room. An early morning Bible study is also offered in a classroom upstairs before the first service.

The gym-turned-sanctuary seemed to be a good idea for encouraging the homeless community to attend a church where they did not have to face the scrutiny of non-homeless members, a situation that might discourage attendance. It gives those served by the ministry a chance to sit back, relax, and avoid judgment for one afternoon. But I had to ask myself: why would we have to separate people from the greater church body in order to keep them from feeling judged for being homeless? I knew the answer from looking at myself. Despite my heartfelt desire to serve the people of Manna, I had come into the ministry with negative assumptions about the lives of the homeless, including assumptions of character, that remained unchallenged until I actually sat down and talked with them. As a part of the church my whole life, I know that the beliefs about homelessness held by other members of the church are likely to be similarly misinformed, leading to a desire to serve while still remaining separate from those being served.

The response of the church to homelessness in the form of ministry would not lead one to conclude that Christians hold negative misconceptions about the homeless. Though no formal statistics exist concerning the number of churches that support homeless ministries or have begun homeless assistance programs, the name of Christianity has commonly been associated with help for the poor in many forms. As an example, Parkview is not the only church seeking to help Manna attendees. Many of the homeless of DuPage County find shelter in different churches and other volunteered facilities every weeknight, facilitated by the PADS organization, or Public Action to Deliver Shelter. According to Manna members, church locations always outnumber secular community buildings when it comes to volunteered facilities.

Though its response to the problem of homelessness might be exemplary, the evangelical church is a part of a society that misunderstands homelessness, a fact more than likely to affect perceptions of the homeless even within ministry. According to a 2007 Fannie Mae General Population and Cities Survey concerning perceptions of homelessness, eight in ten, or 85%, of adults believe that alcohol and drugs are the primary cause of homelessness in the United States (4). In comparison, the statistic for the amount of addictive substance users among the homeless population is 38%, a percentage that includes those who began to drink or do drugs after they became homeless (“Who is Homeless?” par. 13). In another ironic twist, the reasons listed by the wider public for their own possible homelessness come down to medical expenses, job loss, housing prices, or the death or divorce of a spouse (Fannie Mae 6). In other words, if they were to become homeless, it would not be their fault, though they believe that the majority of those who are homeless are in a bad situation primarily because of their own intemperance.

Similar misunderstandings surround the increasing prevalence of homelessness. While 58% of American adults believe that homelessness has increased over the last ten years in the nation as a whole, 49% asserted that the number of those affected by homelessness in their own community has remained static (Fannie Mae 3). In actuality, estimated reports show that homelessness has been increasing exponentially in the majority of U.S. states over the last twenty years (“How Many People” par 13-16). According to similar reports, ignorance concerning homelessness close to home increases with income: “Adults reporting household incomes of $75,000 or more are less likely than their counterparts less affluent to say the that the number of homeless people in their community is increasing (20% vs. 36%)” (Fannie Mae 3). With DuPage County’s long-standing reputation for being one of the richest counties in Illinois, the majority of Parkview members fall into this income bracket and, likely, the same opinions.

Misconceptions such as these have the power to increase the reluctance of church members in interacting on a personal level with people who have become homeless. Assumptions about alcohol and drug use can cause fear that people served by the ministry are either violent or incoherent, only interested in the next bottle or high, not a good conversation. Those from high-income neighborhoods may be unwilling to acknowledge the presence of real and physical needs of individuals and families right on their doorstep, a realization that would challenge one’s beliefs concerning a growing problem in every part of the country. In short, if the Christian church can be included in an opinion survey of the wider culture, then the heart behind homeless ministry might not match up with the hardworking hands, a truth that will eventually have a negative effect on the results that the hands produce.

As has occurred in my own experience, these misconceptions about homelessness seem to be most effectively alleviated by establishing relationships in spite of misunderstandings with those who are homeless. Dr. Michael McDuffee, a professor at Moody Bible Institute and the director of Manna Ministries, has also experienced a change of perception concerning the homeless since beginning to work at Parkview. He is considered to be not just a ministry worker, but also a friend to many Manna members, an acceptance resulting from his hard work and close care to get to know and pray with attendees. “Taking part in Manna is teaching me that every relation I have with every person who is in between in life…should evoke in me the charge to see the person, to see the full person, not a hassle, not an opportunity, not a problem, not an issue, but a complete person,” says McDuffee.

It can be estimated that fewer than five Parkview members, including Dr. McDuffee, interact regularly on a personal level with Manna attendees. If the majority of the church not interacting with Manna members holds such biases against the homeless as the rest of society, why do they actively support homeless ministry within their church? James J. Graham poses a theory containing harsh criticism towards the church in his book, The Enemies of Poor. He asserts that the “distribution of food, clothing, or shelter under religious auspices” can only spring from two sources: (1) the “selfish” motivations of either gathering converts or bettering one’s own position in heaven or (2) simply to ease a guilty conscience without doing anything to disturb the status quo of social problems (139). His third criticism strikes directly at the heart of ministry: “The charitable impulse of the institutional Church is so legalistic, so compartmentalized, that it is easily satisfied by the donations to the poor box or, vicariously, by the full-time endeavors of others. It need not, and does not, permeate the lives of those who call themselves Christians” (139). In Graham’s argument, the church serves the homeless from a motivation of self-benefit and a sense of self-righteousness without an understanding of those they serve, a perspective that allows them to separate themselves from those they serve.

Dr. McDuffee has been a member and volunteer at Parkview Community Church for a number of years and asserts that Graham’s criticisms have no foundation in his congregation. “Parkview, as a community of believers, seekers and outsiders hanging around, has a corporate perception of the homeless. That is both important and rare,” he says. “The people of Parkview see the homeless. They are generous and compassionate. This is to be commended. We should give God thanks for this gift that He has given us as a community, made up of believers and unbelievers alike.” In McDuffee’s opinion, the body of the church that is not homeless does not separate itself, in perspective or in action, from the homeless that attend the church through Manna Ministries. The gym solution represents the inclusiveness of Parkview in their welcoming of the non-believing homeless community to have somewhere to go on a Sunday without feeling obligated to listen to the sermon. The main sanctuary does not exclude the homeless. Rather, many of those served by Manna sit in the front row and even participate in the worship band.

Still, McDuffee admits that the church, as a human institution, always needs to keep an eye on the heart. “Without doubt, a strain running through the perception nurtures a sense of self-affirmation,” he says. “We are doing something good and therefore we can feel good about ourselves. This is human nature.”

McDuffee is confident that this potential for self-righteousness, as long as it is recognized and kept under careful consideration, is not likely to undermine the good purposes of Manna Ministries. The success of any Christian endeavor, he says, depends on the mercy of God individually and corporately in the end, no matter how perfect the motivations of those who serve. The faultiness of the servants, then, does not need to be a condemnation of either the church or its ministries.

For McDuffee and Parkview Community Church, this is the bottom line: knowing they will make mistakes along the way, they continue to press onward in serving the best that they can. Still, for Parkview and the church as a whole, Graham’s criticisms should remain in mind. Those who serve without accurate self-knowledge or knowledge of those they serve run the risk of causing the recipients of their service, instead of being encouraged and humanized, to feel dehumanized by the resulting separation, materially and spiritually, from their “saviors.” Being made to feel as if they are of less worth than those who assist them will not help those who have become homeless. Rather, those who have become homeless will only find their feet again by receiving caring assistance while being treated as equals, in all ways, by those who serve them.

Breaking the deadly cycle of misconception is the necessary first step for a renewed outlook on ministry to the homeless. The fear caused by misconceptions influences those who are not homeless to separate themselves, which does nothing to undermine the misconceptions. Those wishing to serve people who have become homeless must take the first step by approaching the homeless first as humans, then as those disadvantaged by various circumstances. The best vision for breaking this cycle will be, not when Manna comes into the sanctuary, but when the rest of the congregations starts attending church in the gym, showing their efforts to facilitate community and personal relationship. Parkview Community Church is on its way.

Works Cited

Graham, James J. The Enemies of the Poor. New York: Random House, 1970. Print. 132-175.

“How Many People Experience Homelessness?” National Coalition for the Homeless. National

Coalition for the Homeless, July 2009. Web. 20 January 2010. http://www.nationalhomeless.org/factsheets/How_Many.html

McDuffee, Michael. Personal interview. 21 Jan. 2010.

“Survey Highlights.” Homelessness in America: Americans’ Perceptions, Attitudes, and

Knowledge. Fannie Mae General Population and Cities Survey. Gallup, Inc., November 2007. Web. 20 January 2010. http://www.fanniemae.com/media/pdf/GP_Citiesfinal.pdf

“Who is Homeless?” National Coalition for the Homeless. National Coalition for the Homeless,

July 2009. Web. 20 January 2010. http://www.nationalhomeless.org/factsheets/who.html

Meaning in Moment: Gaston La Touche’s Pardon In Brittany

To a freshman college student in a beginners’ art history class, the Art Institute of Chicago seemed to represent an intellectual, artistic, and cultural achievement beyond my small understanding. My conception of real artists and their art included a language that I could not understand, spoken while sporting berets and consistently paint-stained clothing. Something in such conversations would usually be said about feeling, and color, and line, and many other things that were meant to say that the piece communicated something meaningful. That something meaningful was the one thing I couldn’t seem to grasp in class. To me, viewing art as a layperson meant simply appreciating prettiness, the fact that I couldn’t have painted it, and the historical significance, while allowing the meaning to remain the secret of the artist. Visual art, after all, was something that no one really understood anyway.

Comfortable in this understanding, Pardon in Brittany by Gaston La Touche blindsided me completely.

They had hidden it on a half wall flanking the doorway through which I had entered. I had scanned the room already, filling my eyes with the bright, mottled flecks of Monets and other Impressionists. I liked them all; I had seen most on postcards and my grandmother’s art-print purses, and so I was not left breathless, though I was impressed. Overwhelmed by the light of Monet, I turned toward the door to leave and was stunned to a stop by Pardon in Brittany.

Perhaps it was so striking because of its contrast to the inundation of daylight my eyes had just absorbed from the others. In any case, the twilight scene struck me with its somber emotions. Along with its depiction of sunset instead of daylight, it differed from everything else I had yet seen in its purposeful lack of scenery. The foreground consisted entirely of an indistinct mass of people, crowded together, their faces illuminated by the dim light of sunset and the occasional brightness of a candle. Many of the faces looked excited and the indistinct figures appeared to be having conversations, but the color and light were blurred, obscuring the details of their expressions, personalities, and individual identities. Their emotions contrasted with the stoic serenity of a woman on horseback in their midst, holding a child in front of her as she sat silhouetted against the pale pink sky, looking out into the unseen space beyond the crowd. Like a ghost, the figure of a man who looked to be a priest stood beside her horse in a white robe. The darkness of the plain, Puritan-like garb of the crowd contrasted with this lone priest, the dim though still distinct light of the sky above their heads, and the shadowy white mass of the women’s hats.

I felt that until I had seen it, I had not understood art.

It took many more visits to the Institute to explain what change had occurred, exactly. All I knew is that in my trips to the Institute afterwards, I found traces of Pardon in Brittany in every painting to which I was drawn. A touch of light, the turn of a face, a sense of mystery communicated through a contrast of dark and light. The best way to sum it up, perhaps, would be to use a cliché and say that I had encountered a piece of art, that I had really seen art, for the first time when I met the painting and that I was looking for that experience again in other pieces. Pardon in Brittany had drawn me into itself while remaining nothing more than a two-dimensional work of art on a wall, and it had accomplished this without me knowing what it “meant.” Now anything could happen.

More astonishing in my change was my own continuing reaction, or lack of reaction, to the story of the painting. On every visit I would sit with the painting, stare at it, let myself be absorbed into the moment and the light and the never-ending pink sunset. Only on occasion would a question come into my head concerning the story of the work: Who was Gaston La Touche? Why did he paint this? Who is the woman on the horse? Why is the crowd gathered and where are they going? When these questions would appear, they seemed to ruin something about the painting, and so I never sought the answers.

The plaque beside it read only “Gaston La Touche, French, 1854-1913, Pardon in Brittany, 1896, oil on canvas.” The lack of background left me to imagine grand tales about the story of the painting. The crowd could be leaving a hanging that had taken place at sundown, and the woman on the horse with her child was the widow of the man who had been hanged. Or, she was the one being led to her death, holding her child for the last time before being burned at the stake for some unknown heresy. In all these imaginings, however, the painting never once had to become anything more than a painting for me. I did not imagine its story in a longing to know the real truth behind the captured moment. It was flat and soundless and always would be. It gave my imagination a window to look through.

After all, the mystery of the work itself was one of the things about the painting that continued to fascinate me. The only piece by Gaston La Touche in the Institute, it stood alone without the context of the overall style or the more famous works of the artist. In other words, it was free to be itself without comparison or being lumped into a bigger group. The curators moved it constantly, so that during each visit I might find it in a new and unexpected place, surprised by its effects yet again. It was itself, one captured moment, both the same and never the same at second glance.

In my previous understanding of art, all I would have wanted was the story behind the painting, either of the painter’s relationship to the subject or the story surrounding the subject. The only paintings I would examine for long were the pieces with plaques detailing all there was to know about the painter and the work. I felt that the plaques handed me the meaning of the painting otherwise known only by the artist, the secret that could be imparted to the ignorant viewer only through detailed explanation. If it could not give me the meaning, the information on the plaques could at least give me some helpful information about the history of the work or fame of the painter so I would not have to feel like a total failure whenever I could not even appreciate the aesthetics of the piece.

Strangely, and guiltily, I felt I knew the “secret” of Pardon in Brittany without knowing the background or context of its creation. We had a connection, this painting and I. Still, I did not want to assume that my artistically ignorant mind could possibly grasp all that the painting meant without really “knowing” anything about it. So I conducted research.

Gaston La Touche was a rich Frenchman who taught himself to paint from the age of ten and was never formally trained, though he did find a mentor in the prestigious Manet. He was most famous for his paintings that looked most Impressionistic: sunlit scenes of well-dressed men and women, gardens and flowers and fountains, lots of bright color. Well-known in his time, his fame has been absorbed by the work of artists like Monet and few others beyond groups of avid art collectors recognize his name (Brindley).

The painting, though different in its tone than the rest of his work, gets grouped along with his other post-Impressionistic, bright and sunshiny pieces. It is insignificant within his collection of work, as he has become insignificant within a collection of Impressionistic and post-Impressionistic French artists.

A “pardon” in Brittany, Brittany being a region in the northwest of France, is a festival or solemn parade celebrating the life of a saint. Participants pay a visit to the grave of the saint, afterwards attending a mass for said saint. The white hats worn by the women in the painting were in style among the women of Brittany in the time period that the painting was created (“Brittany”).

In other words, my painter is not famous, radical, or otherwise scandalous. My painting is not distinct even among the rest of its own painter’s work. The scene depicted is one of absolute, unexciting normality. No hanging. No burning. No intrigue.

I still love this painting. I love it more because the context does not matter. I love it because it is itself, nothing more and nothing less than a captured moment of beauty. Like the plaque helpfully explains: oil on canvas. In being a simply beautiful painting, it has given me a window into my soul.

At some point in time before I saw Pardon in Brittany I had come to think of life experiences as I had come to think of individual paintings: because I could not know the meaning that only the Artist knew, then the best I could do would be to try to glean as much information as I could about the history, the Artist’s identity, and the broader situation of the moment I had been given. If a certain experience seemed difficult to handle, I would simply try to skip over it quickly, pushing forward to times when I might have a detailed plaque to help guide me in a little understanding. But this view of time, as any wise person could have told me, does not satisfy. Nor is it living. There is no connection, no encounter with moments, whether beautiful or disagreeable, when we only seek to mine information from life.

A wise person could also have told me that I could not expect to only appreciate each moment fully if I knew the detailed drama, the wider story, behind the subject. I had been disregarding my own small experiences of beauty and change as insignificant because they were simply human, simply moments, not grand. Flat, like paintings. I could not see the rest of the story, and so I disregarded its pieces.

Pardon in Brittany showed me that there is a way to be present in moments without complete understanding. While there exists a larger context, a history, and a situation to the painting, these might not be things that are always readily available or even necessary. Rather, the meaning of this painting resides precisely in the fact that it is a painting, a rendering of beauty and feeling, a moment captured with simple oil and canvas. It is itself and it is beautiful and this is what matters most. I would like to say the same of each second, each minute, each hour, each day, each year that is given to me by God: it is itself and it is beautiful and this is what matters most.

The painting does have a larger context, as do our moments and our lives. We have one Artist that crafts all; He is painting the grand picture of history. But sometimes I wonder if we concentrate too much on this bigger story at the expense of missing the beauty of the individual experiences that make up the greater canvas. Even more troubling, I wonder if constant striving for our own definition of understanding might cause us to miss those moments in which we encounter not only life, but also God Himself.

We cannot always know the meaning of individual experiences, but this is not because the Artist is holding out on us or because we are too ignorant to discern it, but because this is not the point. The point is to encounter Meaning, to live in it, to experience the fullness of its beauty as it is. We are meant to be surprised when we turn the corner and see it hanging before our eyes. We should be expecting it to show up in a different place than expected every time we search for it. We should begin to see glimpses of it in other moments, calling us to pay attention. We should feel free to admire the beauty of a vision we can see but not fully grasp, allowing our imaginations to flow freely with all the possibilities it might offer. In short, we should unshackle ourselves from our insecurities, impatience, and pride and simply stand in awe and silence in the presence of a thing of beauty and light.

The last time I saw my painting it was hanging in a room with other work contributed by the same donor. Its side room was only a few steps away from the gallery with all the famous Monets, meaning that very few visitors stopped briefly to look at it as they travelled between that large Monet gallery and another, similarly artist-themed room. They had hung it against a wall painted mauve, effectually bleeding all the dim rosy hue from the sunset above the heads of the crowd and the lone female rider. Still, the mystery was there, and I felt the same thrill of what I can only label as appreciation. Love. Love might be a better word. Or even better: life. It was life.

Works Cited

Brindley, Roy and Selina Baring Maclennan. Gaston La Touche. Web. 3 Feb. 2010.

http://www.gastonlatouche.com/biography.htm

Brittany. Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia. 2 Feb. 2010. Web. 3 Feb. 2010.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brittany

Love Bites

Dracula looms ominously over his next intended victim, his mouth and eyes twisted into a feral, lustful snarl as his long-nailed fingers prepare to grasp his prey. The hands resemble the claws of a carnivorous bird, curled hooks of death. The picture is sinister, terrifying. A picture of evil. A thing of nightmares.

Actor Bela Lugosi captured his role so well in the 1931 film version of Bram Stoker’s Dracula that the movie has been officially recorded as one of the most culturally influential films of the century. Right from the start, the film captivated the imagination of viewers, and not in a rosy-colored way. Some audience members were so terrified that they fainted in their seats. Through the curiosity of subsequent movie-goers who wanted to see if they themselves would faint, Dracula became the first in a long line of very popular horror films to change classifications of movie drama forever.

The fascination with vampires inspired by the film has persisted into the twenty-first century. From books to movies to television shows, the mythology of vampires has come to dominate popular culture. With one significant difference: these new vampires are not horrifying creatures, but teen idols.

Dracula was a horror film. In other words, it was meant to be scary. It was meant to terrify and stun and cause nightmares for those who watched it. It kept them on the ends of their seats, screaming to the intended victims to wake up before the horrible vampire bit them and stole away their life. Now, the audience of young teens (and, in some cases, even older women) screams at the vampire on the screen to bite his love interest so that they can “be together forever.” Disturbing? I should think so.

Vampirism has always been associated with sex. Even in the 1931 film, Dracula was really only interested in biting beautiful women, coming in through their windows at night to suck their blood while they lay in bed. He lived in his castle with three beautiful, young female vampires who were completely devoted to him and, subtly implied, served as his mistresses (thinking Hugh Heffner, anyone?). One would be misinformed to think that vampirism has only recently become sensualized. But the tones of past and current understandings of the connections are much, much different.

In the 1931 film, the beautiful heroine Mina describes a horrible dream that she thinks she has had, a dream that the audience knows was actually Dracula’s first visit to her bedroom to drink some of her blood. She tells her worried fiancé about an ugly face with red eyes that came out of a thick mist and terrifyingly rested its cold lips on her neck. In the morning, she woke up weak. Drained of all life, as she tells it. Let us contrast this to a wildly popular recent book and movie series about vampires. In a scene from the first of these movies, the heroine wakes up to find a boy she knows, a vampire, in her bedroom. She is alarmed at first, but he is just so damn handsome, and eventually we see her relax and decide she feels warm and fuzzy inside when she has him to watch over her. He tells her that he just loves to watch her sleep and so he’s come over uninvited to do just that. She loves it, and so does the audience. Throughout the rest of the books/movies, this same heroine continually begs the vampire to bite her so that she can be just like him.

Now we must not overreact. Pop culture has found strange and twisted ways to represent romantic relationships before. But shouldn’t we be at least slightly worried about this particular turn of events? I look at Bela Lugosi as Dracula, face a hungry snarl and hands like white claws, bringing death, not to mention slavery to all his whims, to the bedroom of an innocent girl. This is, in a sexual interpretation, rape. I do not find this in the least bit romantic. Sexual, yes. Provocative, maybe. But healthy? Not at all. Watching Dracula, one feels afraid because they should. Life-sucking has never been good. Maybe that’s a fact we need to remember.