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Some years ago I was a member and board member of a small "liberal" mainline (all-affirming, all-welcome, caring for the poor, etc.) church that had a homeless encampment "problem", out in what had been a vegetable garden in a corner of the property, away from the buildings. The camp was was relatively clean as these places go, and there were no needles lying about. They had constructed themselves a shower. There were two to three regulars, with others joining at times. One of them helped keep the grounds clean, and I began calling him our "garden gnome". Some other portions of the campus were not always so clean after being occupied overnight by other individuals with major issues.

I reached age 66 and retired during this time, which gave me time to meet and become friends with the regulars, and to do what I could for them. It was what I understood, biblically, that I should be doing, and I had been working with homeless people on and off since my 40's, as I was able. Here, I also advocated for them, but without much success. I lasted another year at that church, but this seems to have been the beginning of the end.

Three subsequent events stand out in my memory. First, I remember the pastor complaining during a board meeting about the smell of urine coming from the ground outside the fellowship hall. There was no discussion about how to help anyone with that obvious problem.

Next, there was the morning that I arrived for choir practice to find half the choir gathered outside the men's restroom. The door wouldn't open and there was a bicycle nearby, from which they concluded that a homeless man must have barred himself inside. The conversation regarding this "homeless person" was rather unpleasant. Eventually the pastor arrived, pushed the door open, and there was nobody inside. The bicycle belonged to someone farther down the walkway, hanging out by the food closet which was closed that day. I went to my car, had a good cry, and left for home, all before the pastor arrived. I was back the next week, but my illusions about that church were shattered, from the words I had heard spoken by people I thought I knew.

Finally a day came, after they had given notice, that they assembled a crew, destroyed the encampment, and hauled away the remains. Clean at last. I chose not to be there, as did the regulars, but I heard later on from one of the people that had been living there. I count him as a friend, and he calls from time to time and regards me as an occasional mentor. He has been working and housed for most of the time since then.

Having worked with and for the homeless across three decades, I think I understand the activists and "authorities" all too well.

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