The Splash Down

This week, certainly, has been more than eventful.

Life at university has begun once again, and with it a whole world of happenings and persons.

I came to my senses a couple hours ago, after my last class ended. Hey, the week’s over! I don’t mean that I was literally asleep or intoxicated or anything like that, just that in the midst of the rush of things all you can see or think about is that rush. It’s like being in a water-slide. You’re in the tube, flying along, and you forget about everything else for those seconds. You shoot out the end and splash down into the water. And then there’s that moment, which figuratively I feel like I’m at right now, where you come up to the surface. The ride’s over. Welcome back to the in-between world, where you have time to think about other things, put on sun-screen, and perhaps buy some overpriced food.

So, now that I’m here in this in-between, and can think again, perhaps I will share and reflect on how things are going thus far:

1. Dorm life: I’ve moved into the Shalom Community Center, also refered to variously as the Nursing Home (for humor), Cornerstone (for official purposes), or “Shalom Home” (the best one because it rhymes). I’m about 75 to 80 percent unpacked, which means I’ve unpacked everything I need in order to function. Winter clothes and a substantial amount of books remain stuffed under the bed in all of their glorious disorder. So far the building has been, appropriate to its name, peaceful, a good place to retreat to between classes. We have twelve students living here, and two “graduate assistant ministry interns” to look after us and lead us in our goal of being an intentional community that pursues God’s wholeness and peace. This week we met to decide on dorm policy, followed up by some late-night ice cream and cake in the downstairs kitchen. But it’s this next week that we’ll meet again to really get down to business and discuss our dreams and visions for what our life as a community will be this year.

2. Classes: I’m looking forward to the interplay between History of Christianity, Sociology of the Middle East, Conflict Mediation, and American National Politics. Very distinct classes, but I think they will all have things to say to each other and I have the feeling that the combination will be very thought-provoking.

3. School tradition: I had forgotten how great Traditiation is. But yelling the old Carlson chants, the cacophony and waving flags at Mock Rock, and the over-the-top muddiness of the Carlson water-slide, brought that back (Meanwhile, “Shalom Home” has the funny dynamic of being neutral and a newcomer. Feels a little like being Switzerland).

4. Being a sophmore: The influx of about 500-600 newcomers on campus means a new sea of unfamiliar faces. In such a situation, people that I thought of as just acquaintances last year are nevertheless that much more likely to become friends this year. In general, seeds planted last year have sprouted, paths set out upon have led to exciting new territory. The year seems full of the promise of growth, intellectual, spiritual, practical. I think the greatest danger for me will be taking on too much.

To end with, just a couple of more minor points:

1. At this point (pre-Winter), having a bike is allowing for very fast transport around campus, which is a wonderful thing. And certainly more fun than walking.

2.  Aradnha. These people’s melodies have been stuck in my head all week; right now I’m in that honeymoon, listen-every-day phase of discovering an really good band. Seriously, for the sake of your happiness, check these people out.

Timothy and Mary, part 2

Timothy and Mary live under the bicycle underpass five minutes from my house. A little-used bike path that runs alongside Escondido’s drainage canal suddenly dips down under a somewhat-more-used highway, and there in the shade, with the concrete of the canal yawning to one side, the couple has set up camp.

“It cost the city millions of dollars to build this underpass,” Timothy tells me, then laughs, “We were the first ones in.”

I laugh too. Its a quick moment of shared acknowledgment. There’s some sad irony here.

We have been accidentally generous to the broken people on our streets, have acted out an unintended grace. How sad that it was an accident, that it was not meant.

We, the outwardly clean, respectable world of Escondido, like to forget the broken people are around, hiding the night away somewhere ‘out there’, somewhere beyond the automatic lights and locks that mutely proclaim unwelcome at every door.
When sunlight returns, we would prefer and would insist if we could that they remain in those distantly close shadows and not follow the sun out to wait inconveniently with their cardboard signs at impatient intersections.
Perhaps we fear them like we fear the grit that spoils the delicate smoothness of the well-oiled machine. You see, we respectable people have a cardinal rule that keeps everything running on. It’s the very oil that slicks the mechanisms of our word.
The rule is this: “Like proper Victorian children, all problems must be kept hidden and under control.”

Scandalously, these people cannot hide their problems. They have committed the unforgivable crime of blatantly being needy for grace- because the one thing we cannot bear is to be reminded of the human brokenness that in pride we refuse to admit in ourselves, and that in fear we refuse to confront with trust in a God greater than ourselves.

We are not broken. We do not need.
(Smooth oil of pretending, greasing the death of souls…
Repelling against the sincere transparency of water, its cleansing honesty.)

Nonetheless, in direct violation of the unspoken rules Escondido has unwittingly provided a shelter for these people. Again, accidental generosity, unintended grace.

“It’s cool here all day,” Timothy explains, “Never gets above 80 degrees.”

Of course, the city is repentant for such a slip in judgment, and makes stern-faced atonement in the form of 4 AM evictions and laws banning bikes in the park.

But here I will end this self-implicating rant, such as it is, and attempt once again to start from the beginning, such as it is.

As I explained in part one, it had been my plan all summer to step out from my outwardly clean and respectable world into the shadows, to see what Christ might teach me there. As I also explained, my confidence in my own resolve to do so was more than it should of been.

And so it wasn’t until my last week in Escondido that anything happened.
On that morning, my friend Riley and I woke early, having resolved to make the best breakfast sandwiches we could and then head out into the streets to find people to give them to.
We made our way sluggishly to my kitchen, and with our rudimentary cooking skills set to work, hoping that good flavor would be an emergent property of the various elements we had assembled: a hefty loaf of bread, butter, eggs fried in an oiled skillet, salsa, brussel sprouts (for vitamins).

Half an hour later, sandwiches now made and wrapped, we approach the couple in the underpass with a bit of nervousness. The woman in the sleeping bag struggles to sit up, rubs her eyes. We say hello, apologize for waking her up, introduce ourselves, shake hands. Her name is Mary.

I say, “We’ve made sandwiches. Would you like one?”

This is the awkward moment. Here we are, with our desire to in some way be generous and loving to “those in need.” And, of all things, this desire has become incarnate in the form of an egg sandwich.