Messy Church
I like the concept of a messy church. Yes, churches could be messy due to a lack of enthusiasm or plain laziness. But they could also be messy in a good way. They could be messy because they are unscripted spaces where people are accepted and allowed just as who they are. Because the Holy Spirit moves and does things in an order that might feel like chaos to us.
Tonight I arrived at church for youth group. By some luck with the traffic, I got there twenty minutes early on my motorcycle. Just as I was about to open the door, I saw a man sitting on a step next to one of the side entrances. I walked closer to him and greeted. He was immediately aggressive and apologetic simultaneously. “Yeah, yeah I am on my way” he blurted out bluntly. I told him to relax. I saw the thin tinfoil sheets that I come to learn is the packaging most fetanol come in. He also had some kind of tube. I wasn’t exactly sure how this was used but was too afraid to ask.
The man himself looked thin and unhealthy. Unkempt in the worse sense of the word. Of his teeth was not much left. Very thin and frail.I asked him his age upon which he replied that he turns 23 in two days. He was very honest about his usage and bad habits. I tell him that if he comes by in two days, I will buy a cake and we can celebrate his life. He then tells me that he likes cookies and cream flavour. Also that he actually died 21 times ( meaning he received the nexopane antidote no less than 21 times. ). He asks me if I have a coat for him. He tells me I shouldn’t tell the pastor but he sleeps next to church every evening, not knowing he is actually speaking to the pastor. I tell him the pastor is really cool guy and wouldn’t mind at all. He says he is glad to hear that because “ for some reasons when I sleep here, I don’t get nightmares but the most pleasant dreams. Not like I am high but like I am in heaven or something, you know?”. I don’t. He suddenly looks anxious again. “Who are these kids?” he asks. I tell him they are teenagers showing up for youth group. Hurriedly he packs away his drugs. “I don’t even want them to see this. I don’t want to fuck up their lives like I fucked up mine”.
At youth group tonight we were planning to speak of addiction and I thought to myself that I can hardly have found a better introduction than sharing with them Brandon’s story, who I just spoke to. I soon realize I am the amateur when it comes to exposure to addicted people as two thirds have heart wrenching stories of family members in the claws of addiction. One girl tells how her dad kicked her around when he was high and she small. Another boy share how he slept under a bridge because his mom was on acid. Another girl tells how her friends got expelled from school because of drugs. The attention spans are short but we try to squeeze in some values in between all the interruptions. One of the girls has a black sweater on that reads: “Better off dead”. Fortunately she is a walking irony as she is full of life.
Then the African church that use our building show up. Tonight they decided to polish our floors. This I realized when I went to the closet to see if there is a jacket for Brandon and I nearly break my neck slipping on the wet floor. Nobody can look as happy and content as Africans when polishing a floor. On my way back I have to step over a sister breastfeeding her son. Also like only an African woman can. Shameless and fearless.
I mount my motorcycle after placing a jacket with a note for Brandon on the spot he usually sleeps. So many things in just two hours! Messy church. But at least our floors are clean now.
Spetmeber 17th 2019
Gabriel J Snyman