Dear Inner Circle,
Even though the bitter winds make for some frightful evenings, the sun is slowly breaking through during the day. It’s a great opportunity to duck up into our rooftop garden, soak in some healing rays, and grab a handful of lemon myrtle leaves, gently crushing them to inhale their intoxicating fragrance. If you stay still long enough, you might catch a glimpse of the blue banded bees swirling around, attracted by their scent.
There is a young man who regularly spends time up there, and just the other day, he shared a little of his story through the garden. He explained how he has learnt that in order to flourish, each seed needs not only to be planted at the right time and nourished, but also to be in the right place. “When I was planted on the streets, I declined rapidly, but now that I have a place to stay, that’s when I began to grow. It saddens me that when people get planted in concrete, we simply aren’t meant to be there.” His gentle wisdom pierced my heart open a little wider again. How often do we judge people rather than the conditions in which they find themselves?
This Sunday, I will run the City2Surf, and each step of the way I will hold in my heart all the friends we have lost this past year, including someone as close to me as a brother. As a youth, he loved running the City2Surf, but as he got older his heart continued to break and soon his body failed him. One day he shared, “Growing up in my family of serious academics, I always thought, ‘I just don’t belong here; I like sport.’” The distance between him and his family only grew, soon turning into estrangement. It’s hard to grow up in a family where all the things you are good at aren’t really valued. Difference is often internalised as dysfunction.
My friend found love and acceptance here at Wayside, yet he always seemed tinged with a sadness of the family rejection he felt deeply. The occasional visits home would always end in a well-intentioned lecture that fell on his hurt, defeaned ears. All he craved was affection and understanding from them. I was lucky enough to meet his family during his final days, and I saw that their love for him was just as evident as the distance between their lives. Some hearts, no matter how hard we try, just can’t find a home on this side. Even though he wasn’t at all religious, we sang at his funeral: “Swing low, sweet chariot, coming forth to carry me home!”. I will carry his memory as I run 14km from the city to Bondi this weekend, especially when I am tempted to give up (usually just after Heartbreak Hill).
Conditions in our city continue to worry me. I was recently told that a small group of children, some under the age of 10, were found living in Dickensian conditions, behind a dumpster, escaping homes filled with drug use and neglect. While they have all been relatively safely housed for now, should it not concern us that they were there at all? After 60 years, I sadly see no near future where the unconditional and rebellious love of Wayside isn’t required.
One of our regulars reminded me of the hidden nature of joy that lies close to all we see here. As I trudged a little heavy-hearted into the courtyard after hearing this news, I was greeted by a laugh: “What’s up Rev? Pick up your bottom lip, it’s dragging on the ground and messing up my bedroom!” Ahh, you can’t stay downcast too long around here — life always finds a way, and that’s a hope worth clinging on to.
Thank you for being part of our Inner Circle,
Jon
Rev. Jon Owen
CEO & Pastor
Wayside Chapel
