It was not without some fear and trepidation that I wrote my last blog. My need for another set of wheels was entirely dependent on others being able to help provide one. This was not the kind of problem that could be fixed alone. I was amazed at the understanding with which my words were received and moved by the number of people who wrote to ask more questions and offer suggestions.
One person read my plea and remembered a conversation they’d had with someone else earlier in the week. This someone was in the process of buying a new car and wanted to gift their old one to someone else. The only problem was, they hadn’t been able to find anyone to give it to. Whoa. You can probably tell where this is going.
On Saturday Dion, Cate and I went to look at the car. By mid to late November it will be given to us. A huge THANK YOU to the givers of this vehicle. Just writing this makes me weepy.
This whole experience has reminded me yet again of our interdependence on one another. The economy of our culture says that we need to get things via our own hand. The world is all about private ownership. The economy of God, or of Kingdom, is all about building access. Instead of simply being “owners” we are “stewards”.
The car will be steward-ed by us. It will be used to ensure that all the things I outlined before will get done at The Dale and at home. I also want the car to be available to others. Whenever possible, this will be a community car. I am so glad I finally took the risk and asked. I am overwhelmed with gratitude.
When I walked into the Monday Drop-In last week I did not have the capacity to manage the barrage of questions and comments that came my way. Just the day before I had received the news of the death of a friend. Couple that with lack of sleep/general busy-ness/mounting concerns and it equalled me: the one coming undone.
My teammate Joanna maneuvered me into the washroom where we prayed. Actually, with her arm slung around me, she prayed. I became a puddle of tears. In order to catch my breath I left the building for a short walk. As soon as I exited the front doors I saw two of my friends: Chaz and Steve. {Sidebar: I don’t often use people’s actual names in my writing. For this post they are, used with permission and because I think they ought to be publicly thanked}. Chaz and Steve admittedly live life very hard and it shows. “How are you doing girl?” said Chaz. “Crappy”, I responded.
Chaz picked up where Joanna left off: he put his arm around me and said he understood. You know how sometimes people say that and you want to shout, “NO, you don’t!”? This was not one of those times. Chaz showed a depth of empathy that I believed. He then dug around his pockets, pulled out a stack of brown paper towel and provided what I needed to dry my tears.
Steve quietly stood by with his head down. It wasn’t until later in the day that he ushered me over for a hug. He said, “Erinn, I couldn’t eye-ball you earlier because I felt your pain. I know what it’s like. I don’t like seeing you cry because I love ya”. Steve has buried nearly every one of his family members. He thinks he has more than the nine lives of a cat because he just keeps surviving things he likely shouldn’t. I am completely honoured that he cares about me the way he does and chose to express it.
Throughout the day I was supported by Joanna, Chaz, Steve and countless others in the Drop-In who gently slowed my spiral down through a word, a hug or even just a knowing look. This is community. What a relief to be a part of it.
I’d like to introduce you all to Daniel Pearce, The Dale’s Summer Student! Daniel is currently studying Film at Humber College. He is a lover of comedy: films, traditional stand-up and definitely Monty Python. Daniel enjoys all kinds of music, especially Punk Rock and Folk and is an avid reader, including poetry. Daniel recently turned 19. He calls Milton, Ontario home.
I am excited that Daniel has agreed to guest blog here during his summer with The Dale. He is quickly becoming a part of the fabric of our community and will have, I’m sure, stories to tell.
Daniel, serenading one of our youngest community members.
A campsite full of energetic kids and mosquitos may not sound like a fun few days to most Torontonians, but The Dale’s three night retreat to Camp Koinonia ended with an entire bus full of folks who didn’t want to go back home. And if you look at all the activities that were crammed into just a few days up at camp, it’s not hard to understand why most people would rather live in their cabin the rest of summer. From campfire stories to canoe escapades, between archery lessons, jam sessions, and enough ping-pong to make it Canada’s national sport, saying Camp Koinonia was a good time would be an understatement.
It is pretty close quarters in the Koinonia lodge, which is a very good thing, because just about everybody had a chance to interact with each other at some point. Every mealtime different people were sitting at different tables, but no matter who was sitting with whom, there was some good conversation going on. We had relatively good weather for our visit, save for a ton of rain on Tuesday. On the plus side, most people spent Tuesday together in the lodge, playing card games and catching up on World Cup soccer. It was so nice to watch people make the best out of a bad situation!
A big part of the entire trip was music, as is usually a big part of the The Dale. There were various instruments brought to the Monday night campfire, such as an acoustic guitar, harmonica, and even a ukulele! Of course, there were also a ton of voices joining in for classic campfire songs. During the day, almost any point of the day, music could be heard from the lodge. Various people tried out playing a few songs on the keyboard and guitar, but the biggest musical highlight was a big group sing-along, with a full songbook and different people playing guitar, keys and percussion!
Of course, the trip wouldn’t have even been possible without the Camp Koinonia staff, which was phenomenal the entire time we were there. Each meal was better than the last, culminating in a birthday cake served right before boarding the bus home! Staff was very friendly to all of us, and a few of them even joined some Parkdale musicians for a jam session, playing hits such as “House of the Rising Sun” and “Sweet Home Alabama”.
When you live in a city like Toronto, constantly rushing through subway platforms full of sharpened elbows and breathing in air that would make a tailpipe cough, it’s a blessing to have a few days of peace and quiet in the great outdoors. Everyone I’ve talked to was grateful for the opportunity to get away from the big city, and we’re all looking forward to another great trip to Koinonia next year!
I’m not always sure how to describe a Monday Drop-In, other to say it is most often a wonderful riot of activity. There is a large crew of people who show up first thing to get the room set up and the food underway. People chop vegetables. The same woman always cooks the meat. Coffee is put on. Souad, our Kitchen Coordinator, describes what the meal is for the day and reminds all of her “munchkins” and “angels” that she loves them. A small group of people gather in the corner opposite to the kitchen to make music: sometimes rather ambient, sometimes a mix of Beatles and Dylan, sometimes an Italian aria. On this day people danced to “This Little Light of Mine”.
Throughout a Monday people drop by to say hello or ask for a token. Some come (including me) to share their challenges and maybe ask for help. Others sit quietly in the same spot every week, drinking tea or coffee. Many people enjoy chatting. While there is more often than not a general sense of calm of Mondays, there are most certainly moments that are anything but, such as heated exchanges that need to be de-escalated. The thing that I love about the drop-in is that it belongs to the community. The lunch happens because of them. Even conflict resolution is shared.
At around 1:00 pm this past Monday 45 young people from around Ontario and Michigan showed up to experience the drop-in. I met them outside and suggested that people enter incrementally in smaller groups, look for a spot to sit and enjoy lunch. As I surveyed the full room I was struck by the beauty of the hospitality of The Dale community. One visiting group member turned to me and said, “you don’t need to serve me, let me do it.” To which I and others responded, “no, enjoy letting us serve you.” At one point I noticed large groups of youth scattered around the room, surrounding individuals telling their stories. Though our visitors could have easily and capably taken on the work of the lunch (getting it ready, serving and cleaning-up) they instead were hosted by us.
At The Dale we are playing with and trying to turn on its head the idea of “charity”. Many of us are accustomed to being on the receiving end of charity: others have what we need and give it to us. The problem is that too often this robs people of the opportunity to give. In other words, too often charity is a one way street. We believe that every person, regardless of their circumstances has something to offer. As humans we need to both give and receive. Monday was an opportunity to model this with 100+ people. For me, it was like charity remixed.
I recently spoke at a regional gathering of a network of people known as StreetLevel. Some people asked if I would share the same words here…
On a sunny day in June, nearly two years ago, I had to pull down the Parkdale Neighbourhood Church (PNC) sign from both the gate and door at 201 Cowan Avenue. For me, this act made things official: PNC no longer had its own building. That was the day we became a church without our own walls. I like to say it was when we “spilled into the streets”.
Fast forward to the present. Parkdale Neighbourhood Church is now known as The Dale Ministries. You might wonder why we would seemingly shift away from “church” by changing our name. As an organization we don’t function as a traditional church institution, for instance, we are not made self-sufficient based on tithing. Our people give, they just give out of very little. We came exceedingly close to ceasing to exist because of this. Playing with the language that had become a barrier to our long-term stability was worth it. At the beginning of our search for a new name, I asked our community members to describe what PNC meant to them. Though there were many descriptors used, the number one word was “safe”. A dale is a valley that cuts through a mountain, the place where one hides when facing a storm. Every day The Dale Ministries, or more often simply The Dale, endeavours to be a safe community for many, including me.
We are a varied group: some of us live rough outside, some in community housing and some in houses of our own. Some of us are struggling with addiction to street drugs or alcohol or television or eating too much food. Some of us have diagnosed mental health challenges that range from depression to schizophrenia. Some of us are refugees. Some of us are seniors. You get the picture. All of us are broken. We choose again and again to journey alongside one another toward deeper wholeness in Christ. We choose to be church. For The Dale this journey continues without a building of our own.
To be honest, I was relieved when the move out of our former space was finally done. The amount of “stuff” that had accumulated was, at least for me, astonishing. As we purged almost all of our belongings and packed just a few, I became thankful for the freedom from things. I also became admittedly overwhelmed, occasionally stressed and rather emotional. During that time I remember reading this: “You gain confidence through knowing that I am with you- that you face nothing alone. Anxiety stems from asking the wrong question: ‘If such and such happens, can I handle it?’ The true question is not whether you can cope with whatever happens, but whether you and I can handle anything that occurs.”
Becoming under-housed was an opportunity for me to discover if I was asking the right question. This was truly scary, for as right as I believe it was to move, it meant entering a time of unknown, of in between, of newness. In response to the question, “what is something that makes you sad?” one of our youngest community members drew a picture of many stick people carrying a large box. She said she felt sad that the people were carrying away her church. It was indeed what was happening in the eyes of that little person.
It was important to honour that sadness. I didn’t want to belittle the magnitude of the change. I joined with others in weeping. I also had to persist in announcing that as a community we could exist outside of a building. Today I am here to say we are still a community and that yes, though “church” is no longer in our name, we very much function as one. We continue to gather; to support; to create; to eat together; to question; to pray; to worship; to dance; to love.
By spilling into the streets we more fully inhabit our neighbourhood. By knocking on the doors of our neighbours we have found space (though it sometimes revolves) to run our programs: in churches, in stores, in community AND health centres- space that we don’t have keys for, but that costs us nothing. We have the opportunity to be shown hospitality at the same time as giving it. How beautiful is that?
Henri Nouwen once said, “Loving the Church often seems close to impossible. Still, we must keep reminding ourselves that all people in the Church – whether powerful or powerless, conservative or progressive, tolerant or fanatic – belong to that long line of witnesses moving through this valley of tears, singing songs of praise and thanksgiving, listening to the voice of their Lord, and eating together from the bread that keeps multiplying as it is shared. When we remember that, we may be able to say, ‘I love the Church, and I am glad to belong to it’…Without a true love for the Church, we cannot live in it in joy and peace. And without a true love for the Church, we cannot call people to it.”
In the context of this little struggling church community I am/we are reminded of God’s presence. God has seen fit to multiply the loaves and the fishes in Parkdale and I mean this literally. On days when there was no money to purchase food for our drop-in we somehow had full plates. I am no longer the only staff- we are the Dale girls: Erinn and Joanna, surrounded by a community that has heard the invitation into full participation. Two years into this wild experiment we still exist! We are HERE. And we’re thriving.
My love for the church, my love for The Dale, is a true love.
I am rather exhausted. Do you ever feel that way? Just tired out in every possible way? There have been a number of things going on that I am right in the middle of, though aren’t necessarily about me (or at least not directly) that are lending to my weariness.
Maybe a decent, though intense example of this occurred recently at the drop-in. On this day there seemed to be something in the air that was lending itself to everyone, including me, being out of sorts. A long-time friend and community member was in a bad way which led to some very poor behaviour choices, including becoming very threatening. We are committed to keeping the drop-in safe AND respectful, so an intervention was required. I want to be clear: this person wasn’t threatening me. In fact, every time I was able to catch his gaze as I stood in front of him, he slowed down and tried to remind me that he has respect for me and “didn’t want to do this”. Though I was able to guide him close to the door, things didn’t end well. One final threat toward someone else, which included a fist, landed inadvertently on me.
I’m okay. Maybe a little shaken in the moment, though fine. I know that what happened had very little to do with me. In fact, it had very little to do with anyone who found themselves on the receiving end of this person’s anger. Knowing this doesn’t make what happened justifiable, it just helps provide a larger context and I do believe that context is important. My friend has some very deep-seated pain that is coming out in a very displaced way. In fact, as we spoke he encouraged me to know this and share it. I suspect we have all been through something similar: acting out towards others as a result of our own struggles, fist or no fist.
Since Monday I have moved steadily from hard situation to hard situation, with very little time in between. I am grateful for the space this little blog creates in my life to slow down, ponder and figure out how to articulate the things I am constantly learning and being taught (sometimes over and over again), particularly in the midst of a lot of challenge.
Our homelessness was born out of necessity and is now one of our greatest gifts. This is the story I need to tell about The Dale.
During the early summer of 2012 The Dale moved out of what had been our home for years. We didn’t have anywhere to go, except we knew we must continue to gather as a community. I recall saying, “if we have to, we’ll host our drop-in in the park” and I meant it.
Since that time we have found new places to gather around the neighbourhood. Relationship and partnership have sustained and strengthened us. Various organizations generously opened their doors, including: St Francis Table, Sketch, Parkdale Community Health Centre, The Jeremiah Community, Epiphany and St Mark Anglican and Bonar Parkdale Presbyterian Church. We got creative and decided to meet in unexpected places such as the back of The Salvation Army Thrift Store. A home also known as Junia House became a meeting place and occasional host to Board meetings and even baking parties. We wander the streets, visit on park benches and frequent a large number of coffee shops. We host a Bible Study in a Coffee Time which has generously waived the maximum loitering limit. We are, in a word, mobile. This mobility means that the neighbourhood knows us in a whole new way and us, it.
With this in mind, it has become clear that the next step for The Dale does not include finding a building large enough to fit everything we do. We are dreaming about maybe a storefront or a small Winnebago. Either way, we will remain committed to being a presence that roams. By being a church without our own walls we have increased our visibility and yes, our viability. The money we save by not having to manage the general upkeep and day-to-day costs of a building is huge. Instead, we can use it to staff and run programming that directly impacts our community. With additional money we can do more of the same.
Are there challenges? Absolutely. I don’t carry keys (other than a few internal ones) to a single building that we use. Our storage is minimal. People need to remember where to find us on any given day. I will be the first to admit that some days my own optimism gets worn down by these limitations. Though I suspect everyone can, to some degree, relate to that feeling. The truth is, these cons pale in comparison to the very real pros of our situation, which include that our friends who know transience see that we have learned about it too; that we are working together with more and more groups; that we know our neighbours better, including residents, store owners and even the police; that we do a lot with very little.
Homelessness is not something I would hope for anyone. I long to see its end. I am grateful that The Dale can stand alongside so many who are under-housed in a different kind of solidarity now because of our own limited experience. In that sense, our homelessness is a gift. I believe too that it has led us to a clarity of vision and mission. We survived a terrible crisis and are stronger now. We are here to thrive.
While sitting in the Tim Horton’s during our outreach time last night I noticed them taking notice of us.
Two young-ish (I’m terrible with age) men were clearly perplexed by The Dale team engaging with so many people who, as they put it, are “homeless”. It was so cold last night that the coffee shop was pretty full. We got to say hello to more than a couple of community friends.
I was waiting close to the door when one of the guys piped up and asked, “what exactly are you doing?”. I introduced myself and talked about what we do at The Dale. Apparently they had seen us the week before giving out what seemed to be money to the same person over and over again, felt concerned and thought about intervening on our behalf. I was pleased to explain the money in question was actually tokens and that we know well the fellow receiving them.
I ended up having a really positive conversation with two people who are no longer strangers.
This is reason number one thousand and ONE that I love being a church without walls. For those of you new to The Dale’s journey, we do not have a building of our own. We instead spend time in buildings around the neighbourhood and outside. These two people would likely have never met us had we not decided to hang out at 9 pm in Tim Horton’s on a blisteringly cold night, nor would they have considered speaking to anyone who they would identify as homeless.
Next week we’ll buy them a coffee and introduce them to a few people.
I was at a conference this past weekend. A spoken word artist got up and summarized the thoughts we had been batting around all morning as a group. One phrase I’ve been rolling around my tongue ever since: I am made whole though I have holes. We are whole even with our holes.
I have many holes. While I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve, the truth is some of those holes are hidden deep, deep down. I’ve come to realize that the more I share my own brokenness, the more people are willing to share their own with me. The stuff we share is painful and sad and sometimes just downright hard. Sound depressing? Maybe, BUT…
By making our holes the starting point, something beautiful happens: we are freed to discover the grace and mercy that can fill our lives. We can celebrate! We are no longer so concerned about hiding the flaws because we realize we are not alone. Being exposed has given me the courage to journey toward deeper wholeness. I’m like a broken jar of clay, except there’s light peeking out.
Today a dear friend and community member came to PNC a complete wreck. She was shaking and seeing things and seriously fearful. She laid all of it out for us to see. I ended up accompanying her to Old City Hall where she had failed to show up as an accused just days before. She was convinced that she would be placed behind bars, but knew she needed to account for her errors. On the car ride over she talked about being alone, misunderstood and living without purpose. She agreed that we should pray together once we parked. After a tearful few minutes we made our way to the office of the Crown.
Once there we made the amazing discovery that they understood her failure to appear and have given her another chance. What sweet, sweet grace. She wept again, though this time with different tears.
On our way home, my friend said, “Huh, I guess I’m not as alone or as dejected as I thought. You know what I want to do? I want to go to a movie, eat popcorn and get a huge pop, I haven’t done that for 20 years. Will you come with me? I want to get better. I want to celebrate”. She knows not everything is fixed, not all of the demons are gone. In that moment though there was a new light pouring out of her.
PNC went caroling last night. During the lead up to the event, we had mixed response from some of our community: many loved the IDEA of caroling, but when asked if they would be there, balked. A few gleefully explained that they had another commitment and couldn’t attend. I gently teased those people, imploring them to at least give it a try.
The night began at The St. Clare Centre, the same room where we meet on Sundays. A group of us baked last week, so that there would be an assortment of goodies to enjoy. We also shared apple cider and pop, popcorn and chips. I had no idea what to expect in terms of numbers. And then guess what happened? The room packed out and we had a wonderful assortment of more than thirty people! A longtime PNC’er remarked, “how are we going to do this with so many people?” What a great problem to have.
We gathered around the open doors of storefronts, sang around the Christmas tree in the Public Library, marched into the Dollarama, took a request in the Coffee Time, performed for the security cameras in the lobby of a Toronto Public Housing building and on and on. Ernesto, a community member, accompanied us on the harmonica (or mouth organ as he kept correcting me). Everyone warmly welcomed us, sometimes obviously perplexed at why we would be offering to sing a carol. Some people pulled out their phones to video us, others clapped, all seemed pleased. The very old tradition of caroling still means something, especially during a season that has become stressful and even sad for so many people. A song is a simple gift.
I found myself thinking about the gifts that the magi brought Jesus so long ago as I witnessed the gift-giving of two of my friends last night. One cuts paper, both as a creative outlet and a serious coping mechanism. I have never seen him without bags of scavenged paper and his scissors. He presented a paper cut-out…snowflakes, trees, angels…to as many people as he could, including every store owner we greeted. One is a Native man of small stature, street-involved and struggling with alcoholism. He delivered our caroling group a box filled with hot chocolates and “pops for the kids”. Yes, I wept.
Caroling has been a tradition at PNC for many years. I can assure you, next year we will be out again. Until then, imagine us singing, “We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!”
ERINN OXFORD 