Jonny & June

Experiencing the Spirit of Peace in the likeliest of place

Last week, Missio (the church where I serve) finished up a teaching series entitled Peacemaker. We spent 6 weeks exploring the biblical idea of shalom (wholeness, restoration, peace) and talked about peace as God’s dream for the world. You can listen to the entire series here.

We finished our conversation by talking about how the Holy Spirit is participating in the work of peace because throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus connects the Spirit to peace (see John 14 and John 20).

I think this idea is beautiful but it can also feel a little abstract. Like what does it mean to say or believe that the Spirit is working for peace? How does that happen? What does it look like? Can we see it?

Thinking about these questions reminded me of a story I tell at the very end of my new book Prodigal Gospel and I wanted to share it here.

This story, to me, illustrates how the Spirit often works for peace in and around us. The question for us is simply, are we paying attention?

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A few years ago, I was in dark headspace. The church I served, Missio, was in the midst of heated theological debate and one of our elders was advocating that my co-pastor and I should be terminated. It was one of those times where every decision felt heavy and every situation a lose-lose. At the same time, our church property had become a refuge for house-less folks in our city. Every day, I would arrive to the building and see more tents set up on the grass and more people sleeping under our awnings. We wanted the property to be as much of a sanctuary as possible, but we were also beginning to receive criticism and even threats from our neighbors and tenants. Some of it was unfair and unjust, but every day I’d clean up feces, needles, foils, or other drug paraphernalia that had been left in the parking lot or on the lawn.

These two complicating realties continued for months. I’d show up at the building and clean up our property, then head into a meeting that sucked. But during that time, I also met a couple we’ll call Jonny and June. They slept in front of our office door, which is covered by an awning above, and decent foliage on each side. To get into the building, I would have to wake them up and ask them to clean up a bit so that I could pass by. We’d do this little dance every morning and as happens in the recurring rhythms of life, we began to chat. I learned a bit about their lives, their struggle to find housing, and the barriers to employment when you don’t have housing. In an odd kind of way, we became like neighbors. I’d take them coffee and  they’d walk the parking lot and clean up with me. During one of our morning routines, they asked me if I’d write a letter to the housing committee on their behalf, which I did. I didn’t think much about the letter until one day Jonny and June weren’t under the awing in front of our offices.

The day Jonny and June were gone, had already been a particularly trying one. I’d just left a 6 am meeting with our board and was exhausted. When I arrived at the building, I felt annoyed. I didn’t want to clean up shit, or drugs, or needles. I didn’t want to hear from another angry neighbor that they planned to sue us for a creating a “public nuisance.” Even realizing Jonny and June were gone made me mad. I felt betrayed. Like my neighbors had just left without a word. No gratitude, no thank yous for the coffees or the letter, or the endless gentle wake ups. Nothing. I can be a real ass.

When I opened the office door, I noticed a little white envelop on the ground that had been slid through our mailshot. There was nothing written on the envelop and it was unsealed, which made a me a little nervous. I gingerly opened the envelop and found a note and a five-dollar bill. The note said simply,

            “Thanks for giving us a place to belong. We found a home.” Jonny and June

            I cried.

In a rush like wind, my annoyance, impatience, frustration, and anger gave way to the startling power of grace. I did not deserve that gift and I was not prepared for it. Everywhere I looked I had seen darkness, but in the strange mystery of love, Spirit burst forth in light. Maybe this moment seems small and insignificant to you but after I collected myself, I told my co-pastor what happened, and she cried a bit with me because of how strange and good this gift was. There was just something so surprising and confrontational about this small mercy. It upended my suspicious and reminded me of the truth of our shared belonging. That little envelop carried good news.

I think this is often how Spirit works. In the dark and dead places of life, Spirit brings light and life. Spirit whispers words of love and welcome and sometimes confronts us with reminders of our shared belonging. Spirit, through Jonny and June, did just that. In my annoyance I’d drawn the circle of belonging close to me. My party was a table of one and I’d whine at it if I wanted. But then Spirit arrived with party guests who enlivened the whole affair in the resplendent glory of love.

I wonder if my encounter with Jonny and June was at all like Pentecost. One moment, the disciples were hiding, praying, and waiting but then in a rush they’re confronted with something so good that they run into the streets to spread the news to people who, just some forty days before, had killed Jesus. Spirit arrived and expanded the disciples circle of belonging first in Jerusalem but then to the ends of the earth.