Monday of Holy Week: A Good Samaritan

The Church Planting Journey Part 6... and how there's ALWAYS more to the story.

My church planting story ends on Easter - always. From Palm Sunday through Saturday I’ll be putting out a post a day, and invite you to follow along our journey of hope and Resurrection.

One afternoon, I walk into the kitchen to find Goose and Janie reviewing the security camera tape. We review the footage so rarely that none of us can ever remember how to do it. This leads to a solid half hour of frustratedly pushing rewind, forward and play locating (or not) the twenty pivotal seconds that will tell us who has been up to no good. The first time we had to review the tape was when someone threw a brick through our back door. The second was when a homeless man named Ya-ya stole nine Abbey t-shirts in one go. If our church t-shirts are worth that much on the black market, I want them back.

Today, the baristas had noticed that a handful of greeting cards that had been sitting in front of the cash register had suddenly disappeared. An hour later, Goose texts me a video image of a small man in a yellow poncho grabbing a handful of cards and shoving them in his bag.

Who is it? I text back.

David.

I could tell from the picture it was David, I just didn’t want it to be David. When I first met David, I couldn’t stand him. Every time I went into the restroom after him, the floor would be covered in water. A lot of water. Like he’d poured out a glass of water on the floor of my church restroom. I waited for days for my chance to pounce, and, finally, I caught him trying to sneak out the front door after spending an unjustifiable amount of time in the restroom.

“David! Come back here!”

“Oh, hey Ms. Katie.”

“David, what were you doing in the bathroom? There’s water all over the floor.”

“There is?”

“Yes! A puddle of water! What were you doing in there?”

“Oh me? I was washing my shoes.”

“Washing your shoes?”

“Yeah, haven’t you ever heard of anybody washing their shoes?” I haven’t ever heard of anybody washing their shoes, especially not in a coffee shop bathroom. But David does walk around a lot of the day - maybe his shoes get dirtier than most.

“No more washing your shoes in our restroom. If they’re dirty, I’ll give you a pitcher of soap and water and you do it outside.”

“Okay, Ms. Katie.”

Then, two days ago, Tonya had stormed in, all in a flurry. “That man,” she pointed at someone behind me. “That man saved my life last night.” I looked around. The only “man” I saw was David.

“David? David saved your life last night?”

“Mmmhmmm. I’m tell’in ya, that man over thare is a saaaint. Idda died if it wasn't fer him.”

“Wow, what happened last night Tonya?”

“I did something I shouldnna done. I did too mucha something. I was passed out on the sidewalk down there,” she points, “near the Dollar General. I wouldda frozen to death if it weren’t for that man. A hundred people musta passed by me. One of ‘em even tried to give me CPR but then they gave up and walked away.” I do a quick geographic calculation and figure she must have been lying outside one of the local breweries. A hundred people very well may have passed by Tonya, but I can’t imagine any of them would try to give her CPR then leave her for dead without calling 911.

“Then,” she continues, “that man” (I wonder if she knows his name?) “found me and took me inside to his house. He made sure I got warm.”

You’d better believe that I preached about David, the Good Samaritan, at church that Sunday.

Then, not two days later, he’s stolen my notecards.

Gustavo and I text back and forth about it.

Goose: What do you want to do?

Me: G, I’m not kicking David out. I’m not calling the police. Not before I can sit and talk with him. And he was a Good Samaritan to Tonya not two days ago.

Goose: Yeah, she’s cooled on that a little. Saying today that he’s an asshole.

One of our volunteers goes after me about it. “You’re gonna have to kick out that David character. He’s just dishonest. I like him, but turns out he’s a bad apple.”

Opinions shift fast. I’m in a foul mood the whole rest of the day. Because I’m the priest, people want me to determine who’s wrong, who’s right, who's guilty, who’s good, who’s bad. I’m supposed to make proper judgments about who deserves help, coffee, friendship and trust and who doesn't.

My therapist insists that two, seemingly contradictory things can both be true. David can be a thief and a hero, a villain and a good samaritan, at the same time.

Often, our new volunteers don’t realize this yet. They want to categorize people as truthful or dishonest, as needy or opportunistic, as peaceful or violent, as wounded or healed, as good or bad. I understand this impulse - it helps them know how generous or how cautious they should be. But unfortunately, people just aren’t that clear cut. We’re all such a cluster of odd logic, unmanaged emotion, twisted motivations and divine purpose.

I confront David about the cards.

“Oh, those?” he said. “I thought they were free. I’ll bring them back.”

“I mean… do you need them, David? Were you gonna send your grandkid a birthday card or something? If so, why don’t you just keep one or two.”

“Nah, I don’t need ‘em. I just like free stuff. I’ll bring ‘em back.” And he did.

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An aside about Tonya…

One Thursday morning, I was sitting in the back of The Abbey with Reverend Mike, who had journeyed all the way from Texas to help negotiate a truce (a.k.a. a common, shared vision for ministry) between us and the Upper Church Management.

Since our last few conversations, Upper Church Management had come to embrace the story that The Abbey was not living into its original mission of attracting young adults, that it had little chance of ever becoming financially self-sustaining and that the whole thing was likely to become, for them, a burdensome financial and legal liability.

As Mike and I sat there, planning for the next day, which included how to help the Bishop understand our mission better and advocate for more funding - in stormed Tonya. Tonya stormed everywhere she went. In fact, Tonya WAS the storm. She was beautifully uncouth - hair, voice, hands and heart all over the place, all the time. When I first met her she was living in a residential recovery center for women, but after storming out one day over something I interpreted as relatively trivial, she’d taken to staying wherever she could - with men, in long term hotels, and often in the park.

“Here,” she said roughly, “take these,” shoving a pair of shoes at me. They were brand new, sparkly black Bobs - the ones where every purchase also donates to an animal shelter.

“Whoa, what, for me? These are awesome!” “Why are you giving these to me?”

“They’re too small for me. They’ll look good on you. Have ‘em.” Tonya hurled the shoes into my lap. And with that she stormed back out the front entrance. I looked down. The Bobs were a size 7, a perfect fit.

“Katie, did I just see that?” Mike asked. “Did a homeless woman really just give you a pair of shoes?” Indeed, she had.

Stuff like that happened all the time at The Abbey. Our coffee shop holds space for stuff like that to happen, and while it was a surprise, I assure you it was one of the better surprises from Tonya.