{I made up the word, I guess: roomlessness. But you get the idea. We’re at the last of my Lenten writings on “room(s).” And I have to note that not everyone has one.}

Most of us, and I’d imagine the vast majority of anyone reading this blog, have had a room. When we were kids, when we referred to our room it was a bedroom. We might have shared that room with siblings, or might have enjoyed the privacy and freedom of having our own room. It was not just a place to sleep, but to play in, or sulk in, or to be sent to. “Go to your room!”

I’ve written previously of my rooms in youth and adolescence. So no need to rehearse that again. I feel blessed to have had a space of my own. Not everyone does. Joan is on the Mission Committee at church and they’ve begun a relationship with a middle school a couple of blocks away. It never dawned on us that some of the families that send kids to that neighborhood school live in motels. The needs for them are varied: food, health kits, even haircuts. And how many family members are packed into that motel room?

Some probably feel quite ‘blessed’ to have any room at all. Behind a local McDonalds we saw a tent and inquired about it. “Oh, that guy’s been camped there for several days. Not sure who owns the property, but ‘they’ won’t let him stay much longer.” Winters get cold here, and for one reason or another, a tent is his home. And maybe he feels lucky to have some shelter, any shelter, against the wintry winds. Our daughter’s family has made a visit or two to an encampment in their nearby city to deliver blankets and coats to tent and box dwellers. Someone set fire to the place. What kind of person does that? Someone who’s never “been there.”

Then there are the families that line the sidewalks, having come (or having been forced) into our cities seeking refuge. The news stories follow an arc of sorts. It’s news this week, and next week we’ll forget there’s a problem, unless we happen to drive those streets and witness the desperation ourselves. A couple of weeks later, it’s all on the news again, and we wish someone would do something about it. Our wishes are different. Some want the roomless to just disappear, or “go back to where they came from.” Others visit with food. Some people of faith offer showers, meals, clothing. And you’ve probably heard that in some cities, civil authorities have odered churches to stop ministering to those in need. They create a nuisance. They pose a threat. They block the sidewalk. They scare our children. Too bad about your religious freedom to serve the poor. Oh, Jesus.

Years ago when I was working with our church youth group, our Director of Christian Education arranged for the senior highs to visit a homeless shelter. We took chocolate chip cookies to share as we listened to the stories of the many residents. (Was the place called “The Bunkhouse?”) While a couple of folks there said they’d lived on the streets for many years and had grown not only accustomed to it, but actually preferred it (“I love my freedom!”), many more shared lives difficult to grasp, situations that were tragic. They lived with mistrust, despair, loneliness. But thank you for the cookies!

Within a couple of years, that church joined with several others in an ecumenical ministry to provide warm shelter and a hot meal each night during the winter months. Each church took a week and had volunteer hosts to welcome the bus from downtown at the end of the day, offering cots, restrooms, some light recreation (board games, movies), and supper. (Probably breakfast too.) I was on staff there during one of our weeks, and spent a night in my study, occasionally moving through the building helping other church folk “keep watch over the flock by night.”

Just a few weeks ago, a city near our present home announced a grant that would provide some “tiny houses” for veterans, as well as other apartment units, with the hope that the money might make a dent in the problem of homelessness in the community. We also read of old buildings being converted into “affordable” living units, again hoping to address the lack of housing in city neighborhoods. Good steps.

I have no solutions to offer. Not even advice. Except for those of us so comfortably and safely at home under a roof and with room to spare: we cannot avert our eyes, nor ignore the voices, or assume this roomlessness of which I write will evaporate. People of faith have a mandate from the one who, scriptures say, had nowhere to lay his head. It is certainly implied in the list from Matthew 25: I was hungry…thirsty…a stranger…naked…sick…in prison…[and you cared for me].

In fact, Eugene Peterson, in his paraphrase of Matthew 25 in The Message put it this way.

I was hungry and you fed me, I was thirsty and you gave me a drink, I was homeless and you gave me aroom, I was shivering and you gave me clothes, I was sick and you stopped to visit, I was in prison and you came to me. … Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me–you did it to me.

Jesus

As this series comes to an end, I offer my thanks to those who have made comments on this site, or who have reached out through email or Facebook, sharing their own thoughts about this year’s Lenten theme. I’ve always thought of this blog as my personal reflection space, and except for a handful of “subscribers,” most of what I type here remains somethnig like a private journal. That is, until one of those “tags” winds up in a search bar, maybe years later, and a visitor to the blog finds my thoughts at least “interesting” if not helpful.

So, yes, thank you for reading. Lent 2024 is ending. Tomorrow marks a new beginning, Easter. All things new! Except here. No words tomorrow or for coming days or weeks. Spring is arriving and my mornings will require my complete attention, away from the keyboard.

Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.