Sunday September 20th 2009

Mr. Scott Cooper – Director of Public Policy

Partnership To End Poverty

521 SW 6^th Street – Suite 101

P.O. Box 147

Redmond, Oregon 97756

Scott:

I would like to share with you the dismay I felt in terms of John Costa’s unfortunate editorial on page F-1 of the Bend Bulletin today (Sunday September 20^th 2009) entitled “Who’s Really Harming The Homeless?”

We typically don’t have any problem counting money. Yet, when the equation involves people, that’s when the math gets murky. Unfortunately, we have developed a tendency to forget/argue how to count people accurately when it comes to socio-political issues…particularly one’s like homelessness, where the persons being counted do not have an Editorial page platform to expound from.  It really boils down to counterfeit counting or, counting only the folks that somebody defines as worth counting, the ones that truly matter, or disparaging the number of those (particularly the needy) identified as counted. The figures we throw around depend upon the position we are attempting to support (Costa’s carefully crafted defense of his newspaper came off just that way — defending his count). This is what I refer to as arbitrary arithmetic or arbithmetic: the rules for counting change depending upon the reason underlying your count. Whether people count or not is dependent upon some pre-defined subjective definition that somebody makes up and translates into a quantifiable form.

We have arrived at a critical juncture in our region that demands that we revisit the madness of our arbithmetic, as characterized by the following author: “The first step is to measure whatever can be easily counted. This is OK as far as it goes. The second step is to disregard that which can’t be easily measured or to give it an arbitrary quantitative value. This is artificial and misleading. The third step is to presume that which can’t be measured easily really isn’t important. This is blindness. The fourth step is to say that which can’t be easily measured really doesn’t exist. This is suicide.”[i]

Counting can be considered, cold, cruel and calculated. When we immerse ourselves in this routine activity, we can become desensitized to the essential compassion and character required of one who embraces a citizen’s responsibility for ridding our region of the scourge of homelessness. As one author points out, “At the end of the twentieth century, many millions of refugees and displaced persons are victims of “compassion fatigue.”[ii] We human beings have a history replete with centuries of evidence documenting our tiring about the care of the less fortunate. Yes, we continue to suffer from this insidious malady today.

Total assets minus total liabilities equals net worth.  Is diminishing human beings to arguments over counting them vs. addressing the fundamental deficiencies that feed the burgeoning divide between the haves and the poor, the needy, the marginalized, the displaced and the homeless something that detracts from the net worth of this region? Is it possible that, “In the process of being against something worth being against, one often becomes for something not worth being for.”[iii] When the outsiders view of central Oregon appears to be at an all-time low, is it time to examine whether or not Mr. Costa’s editorial is evidence of the possibility that The Bulletin has succumbed  to becoming for something not worth being for? I hope not. I think that is taking things too far.

My wife came home exhausted and heartbroken after volunteering (with hundreds of others) serving the thousands of the less fortunate at the Deschutes County Fairgrounds on Saturday September 19^th. I wish Mr. Costa could have been here when my wife returned. He would have garnered a vastly deeper appreciation of what truly counts in central Oregon. He could have experienced a woman with a broken heart. Broken hearts are difficult to count.

Mr. Costa’s editorial broke my heart. He could have chosen a vastly more constructive expenditure of his energy and his platform. I forgive him. I’ve made the same mistake myself.

Then again, who’s counting?

NOTES

[ii] ^{Power, Samantha & Allison, Graham Realizing Human Rights – Moving From Inspiration to Impact, (c) 2000 by Samantha Power and Graham Allison, St. Martin’s Press, New York, NY. p. 30.}

[iii] Campolo, Tony and McLaren, Brian Adventures in Missing the Point – How the Culture Controlled Church Neutered the Gospel, Emergent YS Books – Zondervan Publishers, Inc. Grand Rapids, MI., Copyright © 2003 by Youth Specialties p. 242.

Can you hear it?
Don’t get near it.
The voices of the needy
Will fade away.

Just ignore it.
You deplore it.
The cries of the poor
Disturb your day.

Can’t avoid it.
Who destroyed it?
“They’ll always be among us.”
Is what they say.

I can’t live this way anymore.
Crumbling under this love You outpour.
Can’t seem to face the One I adore.
Anymore.

Living the life of a pretender,
Teach me to surrender.
You’re nibbling at my heart
It’s the place you start…and never stop.

I can’t live this way anymore.
Tumbling like a wave washed ashore.
Can’t face the One who restores.
Anymore.

I just want to learn how to soar.
Allow me to hear Your thunder.
Transplant Your desires and wonders.
Forgiven of yesterday’s blunders…we move on.

I can live this way everyday.
Transformed by the One I’ve ignored.
Embraced by the One I adore.
Forevermore.

When we first met this guy named Jim, he looked kind of weird
He’d just come from work, held a Bible, was tattooed and had a beard

My heart began to melt that evening, as he began to share
The rats that crawled across his bed in the dark, were his only care
Sleeping on a cot each night, where he worked car repair

He bundled up his hands each night, to keep them from the frigid cold
Wrapped himself in several sleeping bags, stained with smells of oil and gas and mold

He had lost his Harley and his job working for some thugs
He ended up on the street, alone, penniless and hungry, not one friend with hugs

As the evening continued on and I listened to this dude
I was overwhelmed by his authentic sense of gratitude

Although he was actually homeless, he was kind and truly thrilled
A new relationship with Jesus was his only source to be fulfilled

I began to hear a voice, in my heart and not my head
“Provide him with a place to sleep, a roof over his head.”

I wish you could have seen his eyes, the look upon his face
Through the door to our house he came, filled with gratitude and grace

Late every Friday afternoon, just as it was getting dark
You’d hear the rumble of his truck, out front is where he’d park

He would prance into the kitchen, bags overflowing underneath each arm
It was payday for our friend, like harvest day on the farm

Bread, bologna, mustard and salami with cheddar cheese and chips to boot
Singing as he made sandwiches, like a child on Christmas morning, marveling at his loot

With a huge box of brown bag lunches, for the homeless he’d prepare
Personally delivering each one, in Seattle’s skid road square

He would visit his mom all weekend, his love for her so real
He’d always make it back it time, to join us for our Sunday evening family meal

Kind, tender and all loving, from this he’d never swerve
An unconditional love for everyone, passionately he would serve

I’ll never forget the day he came to me, his heart was truly throbbin
“Bill, I believe I’m in love with her.” A dear sweet girl named Robin.

It was really great to see them, carefree as two doves
The way they floated in the room, as two that Jesus loves

I’ll never forget the wedding, a little nervous and some strife
As they gazed into each other’s eyes, christened as man and wife

Today they have two incredible children, a big house on a Bellevue bluff
Filled with joys and toys, but that’s not the important stuff

Today is big Jim’s birthday, it’s not like all the rest
All the credit for his transformation, by God’s grace he will attest

It’s not that it’s his birthday that prompted me to write this note to you today
It was that voice again, inside of me; “Tell Jim you’re grateful I sent him your way.”

We have come to understand, now matter how weird, beat up or wrecked
God’s gifts come in all kinds of wrappers; the best one’s you don’t expect.

Today we’re under the illusion, that His children have to be “our kind”
The miracle of Jim, we share to change your mind.

Jim sent us a note just yesterday, grateful that in him we did invest
But Jim had it all backwards, Christ used Jim to reveal to us His best.

The next time you meet a person, strange looking, homeless, tattoos and a beard
Christ loves this person the same as you, no matter what you think looks weird

We desperately search for the blessings of God, throughout the human race
The next time you come up empty handed, look at the closest strangers face

Your head may begin to chatter, “get away from her or him!”
Before you act on this reaction, remember it could be your Just Jim.

It’s from the heart we write to you, our friend Jim is just his name
God used you to transform our lives. We’ll never be the same

When you look upon the cross, whether you’re happy, rundown or with sneezes
Do what Jim’s life has taught us to do, focus on Just Jesus.