Homeless in Seattle

Their lives are INTENSE. They are stressful and full.
They dream of a dwelling. They strive for that goal.
They want independence, a place of their own
a job with insurance, a laptop, a phone.

Like others before them, they do what they can
to take steps toward freedom though few understand.
They've been labeled losers because of their plight
of pitching a tent so to sleep every night.

Without all the comforts we claim we have earned,
they comfort themselves with the lessons they've learned
in prison, in rehab or bankruptcy court,
in some skid row mission or place of that sort.

They're proud they are working and making a wage
convinced they'll emerge from their homelessness stage.
Nomadic by nature? You kidding? Heck no!
Without a Tent City there's no where to go.

The pages of history record those like them
who lost home and family then gained them again
by stumbling forward a day at a time.
A mountain too steep proved a doable climb.

When fleeing from Pharaoh, God's people survived
in shelters of goat skin. Their hopes still deprived.
But camped in the desert, they dreamed of a home.
A land they'd been promised that would be their own.

Those hide-covered wagons aimed toward Or-e-gon
contained homeless women, their children, their men.
These pioneers braved more than rain, wind and drought.
They proved they were worthy without polished clout.

Remember the Dust Bowl and those who moved west?
They traveled in "families" to weather the test.
Discouraged yet hopeful, they camped on the way.
Their faith grew through trials. They learned how to pray.

Those Hoover-ville hobos were hungry each dawn.
Their "world" in their knapsack, they somehow went on.
In league with each other and warmed by a fire,
they swallowed their pride and renewed their desire.

So why all the protests 'bout cities of tents?
The people who dwell there are people. Right? Hence,
they're friends we've not met yet who have much to teach.
They're streetwise and winsome with well-crafted speech.

Let's offer compassion to these unlike us
who don't own a car but rely on a bus.
Let's come to a place where we really can see
that people in tents are still like you and me.

Their lives are IN TENTS. They are stressful but full
just knowing that others can see them as souls.
And we are those others whom God wants to use
to live out the Gospel, to flesh out "Good News."

The author is the current president of the Mercer Island Clergy Association that invited TENT CITY 4 (the controversial homeless encampment) to spend three months in their suburban Seattle community. The poem was written in response to the vocal opposition of neighbors who live in one of the most affluent zipcodes in North America.