Confessions of an Unemployed
Minister - Part Two: Neighbours
Another gift that has come to me through being in transition and from walking everywhere has been getting to
know some of my neighbours. It is a gross irony that one may preach for years
about “loving one’s neighbours”,
while, as a busy, full time minister, one doesn’t even know one’s own
neighbour’s names. This has been my case for my whole career. My neighbours, in
three different cities, have mostly only known me as a blur running out my
door, into my car and off to another meeting. Or, we were the family whose
house filled with hoards of people taking up all the parking on the street two
or three evenings a week. One day, a neighbor asked if it was a bible study
that was happening at our house on Thursday nights. I told her it was, but that
it was only for young people. I invited her to a different evening’s event, but
she said Thursdays were her only free nights. Afterwards, I regretted saying
anything about it being only for young people, and I vowed I’d invite her next
time I saw her. But she moved away not long after that.
When we first moved into the neighbourhood there was a season of
communal intimacy. Before the business of ministry took up more of my life,
there were moments of connection with neighbours. There were crises that
brought everyone out onto our street – an ambulance, a small fire, a tripped
car alarm. These were often moments of sudden familiarity, with people standing
about in their pajamas, with an air of embarrassment, not about the pajamas,
but about not really knowing each other’s names. There was Halloween, when we
shared the intimacy of our children trick-or-treating together, and Christmas
Eve, when (with my large extended family) we sang carols outside on the street.
But these moments seemed like small seasonal punctuations in the long reality
of us ignoring each other’s actual existence.
Now, with most of my ten thousand steps starting and ending on my
home street, I have had more chats with neighbours in two years than I have had
over the last thirty years added together. I have been invited into people’s
homes and gardens. I have helped people with small house repairs or errands. I
have given and received big and small gifts of sharing food and tools and
resources. I have had long meaningful chats about trivial matters as well as
deeply personal things. There is an ease of slipping into transparency and
vulnerability with these people with whom I share this intimate space. The
missing ingredient was time; having the time, taking the time to stop and chat.
One of my favourite neighbours to stop and chat with is Bob. Bob
is an eighty-year-old Greek man. I saw him sitting in his driveway one day as I
was walking past. I walked over to introduce myself. I said, “Hi! I’m James.”
He said, “You are James Bond!” He’s ben my friend ever since. He is often sitting
in his driveway, having a smoke and a drink. He invites me to sit and we chat.
He has so many great stories about his work as a sailor on cargo ships. And he
has so many interesting opinions about politics and religion and history. I
love to listen to him. I’ve met his wife, his children, and his granddaughter.
He’s invited me into his home. He’s given me amazing homegrown vegetables and
homemade wine. One day I tried out some of my biblical Greek language knowledge
on him. He laughed at my horrible pronunciation! He has promised to read
through parts of the Greek New Testament with me to help me learn it better.
What a gift!
