When Your Horse is Dead
25/08/25 12:24
On July 24, 2025, President Donald Trump signed Executive Order 14321, titled “Ending Crime and Disorder on America's Streets.” It was an initiative to get politicians, bureaucrats, religious leaders, NGO operators, and local citizens everywhere to come to terms with the out-of-control homelessness flood that is drowning America's urban centers, and now flowing into the suburbs and beyond.
Homelessness is one of America’s most confounding social issues. It’s been with us in one form or another since the United States became a country. In the 18th century, people without residence or resources were referred to as vagabonds and beggars. Those in similar circumstances in the 19th century were said to be vagrants and drifters. From the early to mid-20th century, folks wandering along the roadways, rail lines, riverbanks, and back alleys were labeled tramps, Okies, hobos, and bums. (You’d be hard-pressed to find someone in their 70s who, as a kid during the Eisenhower years, didn't at least once dress up as a hobo for Halloween. The grown-ups handing out the Hershey bars saw it as a snippet of Americana.)
Starting in pre-Colonial times, and running through the 1960s, this relatively small, penurious part of the population was primarily served by individual families, community churches, and institutions such as city/rescue missions, The Salvation Army, and private benevolent societies. (In my book, Invisible Neighbors, I address the many reasons why our system of solutions changed by the time we got to where we are today.) Beginning in the latter 20th century — when the number of down-and-out individuals started to really go up and off the charts — anyone left to the streets got funneled into a category we now simply called homeless.
One of the things the country had going for it in the first 200 years was that our collective core beliefs, and thus our civic systems, were anchored to absolutes. Our fundamental tenets were by and large based on Judeo-Christian values, so it was easy to work together to solve common social problems. That started to change by the time we hit the 1970s. By the time we got into the 2000s, those Judeo-Christian values that were once accepted, and then tolerated, started to be outright opposed. Today, as researcher George Barna explains it, America’s biblical worldview, based on theism, has been replaced by syncretism, which amalgamates perspectives from competing worldviews, like nihilism, postmodernism, secular humanism, Marxism, Eastern mysticism, animism, and more. Syncretism is not based on an authoritative truth, Barna says, but on personal comfort. While there’s nothing wrong with the desire to experience comfort, we run into problems when we violate our absolutes in order to obtain it. That is why finding solutions to today's social problems is so difficult. It's not just that we have competing methods; it's that we have competing philosophies. Even those who believe in God and understand the Christian gospel are highly influenced by syncretism. It’s hard not to be. This is one of the reasons we have such a divided country.
No one disagrees that homelessness has exploded in the last 25 years. It has indeed, for reasons too numerous to list in this article. The most recent causes include high barriers to housing, proliferation of cheap drugs, COVID-19, and unbridled immigration. Today, even the National Alliance to End Homelessness, which has advanced and applauded Housing First as the “silver bullet” to do what its name suggests, has now confirmed that despite throwing hundreds of millions of dollars at the problem, we are at the highest level of homelessness in our country’s history. Blame whatever or whoever you want, but the bottom line is abundantly clear: What America has been doing in recent years to fix the problem has certainly not stemmed the tide. The problem is plainly worse than ever.
So, what’s next? It seems logical that we should turn to an old Native American proverb: “When your horse is dead, it's time to dismount.” Attempting to spur on the deceased steed is sheer folly. To have the situation explained in more detail, watch the 86-minute documentary, Americans with No Address. (I wrote the chapter on adult homelessness in the documentary’s accompanying study guide.)
Saddling a fresh horse is what President Trump’s Executive Order is essentially seeking to do. But with what’s being vehemently espoused by those who have the most to lose by having the existing government programs dismantled or even augmented, it's easy to think that the upshot of Ending Crime and Disorder on America’s Streets is that everyone who is homeless will suffer this same fate: They will all be sent to prisons or asylums. That doesn’t have to be the case — and I certainly hope the president, despite the brash rhetoric used in making certain points, doesn’t think that’s what must be enacted. Just as all homeless people entered into their current state of affairs through different doors, they can all exit via various doors, depending on their condition and desire. Each door leads to a different destination.
While everyone’s situation is unique, the broad categories I share below explore, generally speaking, who’s out there, along with possible portals to their future.
First, there are the Unfortunate Victims. These are the multitudes who are desperately poor or are in dire straits. They have fallen through the gaping holes in society’s safety nets and are hanging by a thread. Some families have been dangling there for generations. They are experiencing homelessness because they have been abandoned, have wandered from their community, lost employment, just can’t make ends meet, have been displaced or evicted, or the like. They are couch surfing, sleeping in a vehicle, or staying in a shelter. Some are living in an encampment or “sleeping rough” elsewhere. On the whole, they are not mentally ill or addicted to hard drugs. These are those who will benefit from rapid rehousing, in whatever form it takes in the future. Government has an important role here that needs an all-hands-on-deck response. Red tape must be shredded to get more low-income houses built at an accelerated pace and a reasonable cost — which has been one of the most aggravating ongoing problems. Sensible rules must be put in place to get vouchers into the hands of those who urgently need to move in and are willing to be accountable for the resources provided.
These people also likely need additional education, job training, help finding employment that pays a livable wage, childcare, nutritional assistance, spiritual guidance (which is a specialty of faith-focused organizations), and counseling to help them get beyond what made them Unfortunate Victims in the first place. They also might need help shedding any victim mentality that could be haunting them. There are numerous NGOs that are ready and able to work together with the government to get this done. If there was ever a cause that could and should bring government and nonprofits together and work through philosophical differences to solve a pervasive problem, this is it.
Trafficking Escapees could fit into the Unfortunate Victims group, but they have come from such darkness and depravity that their level of PTSD and need for specialized care puts them in an entirely different category. They have already been imprisoned. They now need not only freedom, but also protection. Accessible online are numerous faith-focused groups committed to restoring those who have fled their human trafficking captors.
There is another group that could be considered Unfortunate Victims, but their situation is unique enough to give them their own category. It is the Formerly Fostered — those who have aged out of the foster care system. This is the group that needs help quickly. Statistics vary, but some studies have shown that nearly half of those who reach age 18 and have no continuing direction and assistance end up homeless. Again, the Internet is rich with resources and names of organizations that are ready to help those in this subset and provide purpose and direction. Also, the Administration for Children and Families within the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, which oversees federal foster care policy and funding, needs to visibly demonstrate that they have taken on the mantle of making the transition from foster care to independent living as smooth as possible so we can rescue these people from potential homelessness and exit those who are already in it.
And then we have the Mentally Ill, which are myriad. When it comes to those suffering this fate, the outcry is that institutionalization is cruel and inhumane. That’s because when most people think of institutionalization, they think of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest or Shutter Island. But mental health has come a long way since Ronald Reagan unlocked asylum doors in the 80s and sent people home to take psychotropic drugs (which, unfortunately, only about 30 percent did). Today there are places for those who are mentally ill to get help—modernized places where critical care, quality of life, and dignity are chief concern.
I recall an elderly woman I saw in an alley when I was doing a neighborhood walk with a city mission director. There was obvious psychosis as she was having an animated conversation with another person who wasn't physically present. The director told me she refused any help from concerned individuals at the mission. She slept on damp cardboard and picked daily through a dumpster for sustenance. Social services personnel were determined to honor her self-autonomy, so they allowed her to continue to live this appalling lifestyle. One must ask, is that real compassion? Wouldn't it be better for her to be in a warm, well-lit facility wearing clean and climate-appropriate clothing, surrounded by staff attending to her hygiene and nutritional needs, plus providing psychiatric care — even if she initially didn't want to leave her alley? Wouldn’t our cities be all the better for making life less scary for her and for passersby? There are hundreds of thousands of alley-dwellers like her who should be escorted to a more humane option. That is not incarceration, it’s human kindness.
None of the above groups — which include many military veterans — should be threatened with jail just because of their situation. But again, if people are going to make much-needed life changes, they do need services with accountability as opposed to charity and self-autonomy. The latter has led us to where we are today.
Because of the prevalence of alcoholic beverages, legalized recreational marijuana in half of our states, and wide availability of other narcotics, the Substance Addicted group is one of the largest. Some people are homeless because they're addicted. Others become addicted once they are homeless to numb the effects of extreme weather conditions, high levels of noise, physical abuse, insects, and rodents, and more.
City mission staff around the country will tell you that hard drugs present the biggest challenges when working with the homeless population. There’s no end to what’s available on the street for the right price (or the right favor). Not long ago, fentanyl passed meth as the drug of choice, being cheap yet 50 times more powerful than heroin and 100 times more potent than morphine. Now, fentanyl is routinely being mixed with xylazine, commonly known as “tranq.” From 2018 - 2023, the death rate from overdoses of this “cocktail” rose 6,000 percent! Harm-reduction programs employed by many cities also factor in here. Harm reduction, according to the Harm Reduction International website, “refers to policies, programs, and practices that aim to minimize the negative health, social, and legal impacts associated with drug use, drug policies, and drug laws.” The site goes on to explain that harm reduction hopes to help the Substance Addicted group “without judgement, coercion, discrimination, or requiring that people stop using drugs as a precondition of support.” Basically, it’s a plan to let drug addiction run its course by providing safe injection sites, clean needles — and clandestinely, even free alcohol and drugs as inducements to achieve community objectives in certain situations.
Advocates of harm reduction say that it reduces overdose deaths, prevents infection from contaminated needles, diminishes the stigma of drug use, and reduces emergency room visits. Opponents say it normalizes drug use and keeps Substance Abused homeless people in their state of dependency and despair indefinitely. I think it’s yet another sign of a society that has given up on its people. It also is an example of how syncretism is steering philosophy: Right and wrong are fluid concepts. Moral judgement is taboo.
I’ll be the first to say that those who are addicted on the streets do not need long prison sentences. They need housing — linked to compulsory treatment programs. That’s the way it was from 2007 to 2013. Over that period, based on the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development’s own statistics, the number of unsheltered homeless people dropped by almost a third. But in 2013, government policy shifted. Programs that required wraparound service participation were penalized. Speed of placement became the priority and the measuring stick. Interestingly, over the next five years, the number of unsheltered individuals rose by more than 20 percent. It’s no secret that there are plenty of treatment options in every city, starting with Citygate Network missions, Salvation Army Adult Rehabilitation Centers, and Adult & Teen Challenge programs. To get back to where we were, those with housing should work hand-in-hand with those in addiction recovery. Both need to throw open wide their doors and expand their operations if there is going to be an all-out effort to get a handle on things.
Admittedly, the difficult part is getting addicted individuals to want to enroll in a program. Many do reach a point of desperation and seek a different direction, but just as many do not. It would help immensely if leaders in certain cities started to again enforce what is called quality-of-life crimes, such as graffitiing, public intoxication, public drug use, public urination/defecation, solicitation for sex, and misdemeanor theft. Having no ramifications for such behavior is proving to be the downfall of so many metropolitan areas.
Those who, even when sober, adamantly spurn quality-of-life laws and reject addiction-recovery help would fit into the next subset.
This is the group that is Willfully Resistant. Even though they are not all Substance Addicted, they are against almost everything and refuse to accept housing, shelter, or any services and assistance, whether offered by the government, secular NGOs, or faith-focused nonprofits. They thumb their noses at ordinances. They have been known to set up their own tent or shack settlements, elect their own officials, and make their own rules. Woe to those who violate them. In a few cities, they receive protected status. In most cities, they are simply ignored because dealing with them — and the advocacy groups that regularly come to their rescue — takes too much manpower and money and creates too much negative press (which is especially bad when elections are on the horizon).
As harsh as it might sound to the ears in 2025, we must go back to making lawless street life uncomfortable for this group. I’m talking about those who choose to be homeless and want to live in a way that threatens the well-being and livelihoods of those who are housed, employed, and following social norms. And we must elect politicians who will stand against the outcries of the skittish and show that misguided compassion is actually harming homeless people. A group called the California Peace Coalition has said, “Many [of these people] require the threat of jail or other forms of coercion to stop breaking laws and get their lives together. This is not the same as long prison sentences. In fact, research shows that swift and certain consequences for lawbreakers are more effective than slow, uncertain longer sentences.”
The Department of Justice’s National Institute goes on to state that “the certainty of being caught is a vastly more powerful deterrent than the punishment.” In other words, “if the chance of being caught and sanctioned is only five percent, and even if the threatened punishment is 20 years behind bars, committing the offense is still a safe bet by the numbers. But if the chance of being caught and sanctioned increases to 95 percent, even if the threatened punishment is only six months in jail, the likelihood of an individual committing the offense plummets.”
Unfortunately, the Willfully Resistant are the ones chasing away tourists and convention business. They are the ones causing downtown stores to board up or close down. In a way, they are like the motorist you see on a police show who, when pulled over, refused to present their documents, answer questions in a civil manner, or step out of their vehicles. Up to now, they have been allowed to roll up their windows and drive on. But because their actions are unlawful, and the Executive Order is about restoring law and order on America’s streets, these are also the ones who will end up in handcuffs, despite the predictable raucous protest of advocacy groups. It’s time to see if “swift and certain” ramifications, followed by monitored programs and services, will give us back our streets and other public spaces.
And then, we can’t forget about the Embedded Nefarious group. Cartels and gangs that rely on money from drugs and prostitution have been known to send their low-level soldiers into the encampments to live in tents and boxes and deal in narcotics and human trafficking. A study conducted in Los Angeles found that 17 percent of homeless youth identified as being a gang member and 46 percent as being gang affiliated. Others already in poverty continue to live on the streets and take advantage of those who are regularly in a stupor or mentally ill. These are criminals who need to be prosecuted.
One homeless subgroup that has grown significantly in the past several years is Misplaced Immigrants. Excluding the lawbreakers and foreign adversaries who slipped through, many aliens came into the country fearing for their safety in their homeland and hoping for the best in the United States Unfortunately, limited affordable housing options, a language barrier, and the inability to obtain credentials have narrowed their options. Moreover, reenergized enforcement of preexisting legal policy now has them stuck between trying to qualify for a U Visa or apply for asylum, or retreating to the shadows of homelessness or semi-homelessness and hoping they aren’t discovered. Unfortunately, while some states provide don’t-ask/ don’t-tell sanctuary, others are making it a crime for a homeless shelter to conceal, harbor, or shield undocumented immigrants for financial gain. It’s confusing for both the immigrants and those who are trying to help them. This subgroup will likely diminish on its own during the next few years, either because people will take government-sanctioned steps toward legal residency and maybe citizenship, or because they will self-deport or experience government-imposed deportation.
Executive Order 14321 is far from perfect, and there are a lot of questions to be answered involving capacity for services needed and capacity for love in the hearts and minds of fellow countrymen. Theism will have to do battle with syncretism because most of modern society doesn't want a God who says there are consequences for wrongful actions. Modern society, at least up ‘til now, wants comfort and self-autonomy for those living on the streets — even though these homeless people may not be able to fully grasp their situation or may be involved in abhorrent and criminal activity. Modern society has essentially been saying, “These people have a tough enough life. Let’s let them live as they desire on the streets, and let’s lift the penalties for any civil disobedience that may occur.” As a result, we have created what Christopher Rufo calls a “new class of ‘untouchables,’ permanently disconnected from the institutions of society.” However, while social media gives the impression that a sizable portion of the public sympathizes with those on the streets and wants city officials to leave them alone or go easy on them, a growing number of Americans are fed up. They want us to turn away from the insanity of perpetual hopelessness. They are comparing philosophies. They are exploring the soundness of a biblical worldview. This may be one of the reasons we are seeing younger generations embrace the Bible in what’s being called a new spiritual awakening. Maybe there’s a chance we will again find our lost absolutes.
It will be a tough slog to get the Executive order titled “Ending Crime and Disorder on America's Streets” off the ground, let alone get it accomplished. Lawsuits can be expected. And we will have to fight toxic empathy all along the way. Even so, for the sake of all of us, especially those precious people created in God’s image living in inhumane conditions on the street, it’s time to saddle this new horse and ride it into battle.
Homelessness is one of America’s most confounding social issues. It’s been with us in one form or another since the United States became a country. In the 18th century, people without residence or resources were referred to as vagabonds and beggars. Those in similar circumstances in the 19th century were said to be vagrants and drifters. From the early to mid-20th century, folks wandering along the roadways, rail lines, riverbanks, and back alleys were labeled tramps, Okies, hobos, and bums. (You’d be hard-pressed to find someone in their 70s who, as a kid during the Eisenhower years, didn't at least once dress up as a hobo for Halloween. The grown-ups handing out the Hershey bars saw it as a snippet of Americana.)
Starting in pre-Colonial times, and running through the 1960s, this relatively small, penurious part of the population was primarily served by individual families, community churches, and institutions such as city/rescue missions, The Salvation Army, and private benevolent societies. (In my book, Invisible Neighbors, I address the many reasons why our system of solutions changed by the time we got to where we are today.) Beginning in the latter 20th century — when the number of down-and-out individuals started to really go up and off the charts — anyone left to the streets got funneled into a category we now simply called homeless.
One of the things the country had going for it in the first 200 years was that our collective core beliefs, and thus our civic systems, were anchored to absolutes. Our fundamental tenets were by and large based on Judeo-Christian values, so it was easy to work together to solve common social problems. That started to change by the time we hit the 1970s. By the time we got into the 2000s, those Judeo-Christian values that were once accepted, and then tolerated, started to be outright opposed. Today, as researcher George Barna explains it, America’s biblical worldview, based on theism, has been replaced by syncretism, which amalgamates perspectives from competing worldviews, like nihilism, postmodernism, secular humanism, Marxism, Eastern mysticism, animism, and more. Syncretism is not based on an authoritative truth, Barna says, but on personal comfort. While there’s nothing wrong with the desire to experience comfort, we run into problems when we violate our absolutes in order to obtain it. That is why finding solutions to today's social problems is so difficult. It's not just that we have competing methods; it's that we have competing philosophies. Even those who believe in God and understand the Christian gospel are highly influenced by syncretism. It’s hard not to be. This is one of the reasons we have such a divided country.
No one disagrees that homelessness has exploded in the last 25 years. It has indeed, for reasons too numerous to list in this article. The most recent causes include high barriers to housing, proliferation of cheap drugs, COVID-19, and unbridled immigration. Today, even the National Alliance to End Homelessness, which has advanced and applauded Housing First as the “silver bullet” to do what its name suggests, has now confirmed that despite throwing hundreds of millions of dollars at the problem, we are at the highest level of homelessness in our country’s history. Blame whatever or whoever you want, but the bottom line is abundantly clear: What America has been doing in recent years to fix the problem has certainly not stemmed the tide. The problem is plainly worse than ever.
So, what’s next? It seems logical that we should turn to an old Native American proverb: “When your horse is dead, it's time to dismount.” Attempting to spur on the deceased steed is sheer folly. To have the situation explained in more detail, watch the 86-minute documentary, Americans with No Address. (I wrote the chapter on adult homelessness in the documentary’s accompanying study guide.)
Saddling a fresh horse is what President Trump’s Executive Order is essentially seeking to do. But with what’s being vehemently espoused by those who have the most to lose by having the existing government programs dismantled or even augmented, it's easy to think that the upshot of Ending Crime and Disorder on America’s Streets is that everyone who is homeless will suffer this same fate: They will all be sent to prisons or asylums. That doesn’t have to be the case — and I certainly hope the president, despite the brash rhetoric used in making certain points, doesn’t think that’s what must be enacted. Just as all homeless people entered into their current state of affairs through different doors, they can all exit via various doors, depending on their condition and desire. Each door leads to a different destination.
While everyone’s situation is unique, the broad categories I share below explore, generally speaking, who’s out there, along with possible portals to their future.
First, there are the Unfortunate Victims. These are the multitudes who are desperately poor or are in dire straits. They have fallen through the gaping holes in society’s safety nets and are hanging by a thread. Some families have been dangling there for generations. They are experiencing homelessness because they have been abandoned, have wandered from their community, lost employment, just can’t make ends meet, have been displaced or evicted, or the like. They are couch surfing, sleeping in a vehicle, or staying in a shelter. Some are living in an encampment or “sleeping rough” elsewhere. On the whole, they are not mentally ill or addicted to hard drugs. These are those who will benefit from rapid rehousing, in whatever form it takes in the future. Government has an important role here that needs an all-hands-on-deck response. Red tape must be shredded to get more low-income houses built at an accelerated pace and a reasonable cost — which has been one of the most aggravating ongoing problems. Sensible rules must be put in place to get vouchers into the hands of those who urgently need to move in and are willing to be accountable for the resources provided.
These people also likely need additional education, job training, help finding employment that pays a livable wage, childcare, nutritional assistance, spiritual guidance (which is a specialty of faith-focused organizations), and counseling to help them get beyond what made them Unfortunate Victims in the first place. They also might need help shedding any victim mentality that could be haunting them. There are numerous NGOs that are ready and able to work together with the government to get this done. If there was ever a cause that could and should bring government and nonprofits together and work through philosophical differences to solve a pervasive problem, this is it.
Trafficking Escapees could fit into the Unfortunate Victims group, but they have come from such darkness and depravity that their level of PTSD and need for specialized care puts them in an entirely different category. They have already been imprisoned. They now need not only freedom, but also protection. Accessible online are numerous faith-focused groups committed to restoring those who have fled their human trafficking captors.
There is another group that could be considered Unfortunate Victims, but their situation is unique enough to give them their own category. It is the Formerly Fostered — those who have aged out of the foster care system. This is the group that needs help quickly. Statistics vary, but some studies have shown that nearly half of those who reach age 18 and have no continuing direction and assistance end up homeless. Again, the Internet is rich with resources and names of organizations that are ready to help those in this subset and provide purpose and direction. Also, the Administration for Children and Families within the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, which oversees federal foster care policy and funding, needs to visibly demonstrate that they have taken on the mantle of making the transition from foster care to independent living as smooth as possible so we can rescue these people from potential homelessness and exit those who are already in it.
And then we have the Mentally Ill, which are myriad. When it comes to those suffering this fate, the outcry is that institutionalization is cruel and inhumane. That’s because when most people think of institutionalization, they think of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest or Shutter Island. But mental health has come a long way since Ronald Reagan unlocked asylum doors in the 80s and sent people home to take psychotropic drugs (which, unfortunately, only about 30 percent did). Today there are places for those who are mentally ill to get help—modernized places where critical care, quality of life, and dignity are chief concern.
I recall an elderly woman I saw in an alley when I was doing a neighborhood walk with a city mission director. There was obvious psychosis as she was having an animated conversation with another person who wasn't physically present. The director told me she refused any help from concerned individuals at the mission. She slept on damp cardboard and picked daily through a dumpster for sustenance. Social services personnel were determined to honor her self-autonomy, so they allowed her to continue to live this appalling lifestyle. One must ask, is that real compassion? Wouldn't it be better for her to be in a warm, well-lit facility wearing clean and climate-appropriate clothing, surrounded by staff attending to her hygiene and nutritional needs, plus providing psychiatric care — even if she initially didn't want to leave her alley? Wouldn’t our cities be all the better for making life less scary for her and for passersby? There are hundreds of thousands of alley-dwellers like her who should be escorted to a more humane option. That is not incarceration, it’s human kindness.
None of the above groups — which include many military veterans — should be threatened with jail just because of their situation. But again, if people are going to make much-needed life changes, they do need services with accountability as opposed to charity and self-autonomy. The latter has led us to where we are today.
Because of the prevalence of alcoholic beverages, legalized recreational marijuana in half of our states, and wide availability of other narcotics, the Substance Addicted group is one of the largest. Some people are homeless because they're addicted. Others become addicted once they are homeless to numb the effects of extreme weather conditions, high levels of noise, physical abuse, insects, and rodents, and more.
City mission staff around the country will tell you that hard drugs present the biggest challenges when working with the homeless population. There’s no end to what’s available on the street for the right price (or the right favor). Not long ago, fentanyl passed meth as the drug of choice, being cheap yet 50 times more powerful than heroin and 100 times more potent than morphine. Now, fentanyl is routinely being mixed with xylazine, commonly known as “tranq.” From 2018 - 2023, the death rate from overdoses of this “cocktail” rose 6,000 percent! Harm-reduction programs employed by many cities also factor in here. Harm reduction, according to the Harm Reduction International website, “refers to policies, programs, and practices that aim to minimize the negative health, social, and legal impacts associated with drug use, drug policies, and drug laws.” The site goes on to explain that harm reduction hopes to help the Substance Addicted group “without judgement, coercion, discrimination, or requiring that people stop using drugs as a precondition of support.” Basically, it’s a plan to let drug addiction run its course by providing safe injection sites, clean needles — and clandestinely, even free alcohol and drugs as inducements to achieve community objectives in certain situations.
Advocates of harm reduction say that it reduces overdose deaths, prevents infection from contaminated needles, diminishes the stigma of drug use, and reduces emergency room visits. Opponents say it normalizes drug use and keeps Substance Abused homeless people in their state of dependency and despair indefinitely. I think it’s yet another sign of a society that has given up on its people. It also is an example of how syncretism is steering philosophy: Right and wrong are fluid concepts. Moral judgement is taboo.
I’ll be the first to say that those who are addicted on the streets do not need long prison sentences. They need housing — linked to compulsory treatment programs. That’s the way it was from 2007 to 2013. Over that period, based on the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development’s own statistics, the number of unsheltered homeless people dropped by almost a third. But in 2013, government policy shifted. Programs that required wraparound service participation were penalized. Speed of placement became the priority and the measuring stick. Interestingly, over the next five years, the number of unsheltered individuals rose by more than 20 percent. It’s no secret that there are plenty of treatment options in every city, starting with Citygate Network missions, Salvation Army Adult Rehabilitation Centers, and Adult & Teen Challenge programs. To get back to where we were, those with housing should work hand-in-hand with those in addiction recovery. Both need to throw open wide their doors and expand their operations if there is going to be an all-out effort to get a handle on things.
Admittedly, the difficult part is getting addicted individuals to want to enroll in a program. Many do reach a point of desperation and seek a different direction, but just as many do not. It would help immensely if leaders in certain cities started to again enforce what is called quality-of-life crimes, such as graffitiing, public intoxication, public drug use, public urination/defecation, solicitation for sex, and misdemeanor theft. Having no ramifications for such behavior is proving to be the downfall of so many metropolitan areas.
Those who, even when sober, adamantly spurn quality-of-life laws and reject addiction-recovery help would fit into the next subset.
This is the group that is Willfully Resistant. Even though they are not all Substance Addicted, they are against almost everything and refuse to accept housing, shelter, or any services and assistance, whether offered by the government, secular NGOs, or faith-focused nonprofits. They thumb their noses at ordinances. They have been known to set up their own tent or shack settlements, elect their own officials, and make their own rules. Woe to those who violate them. In a few cities, they receive protected status. In most cities, they are simply ignored because dealing with them — and the advocacy groups that regularly come to their rescue — takes too much manpower and money and creates too much negative press (which is especially bad when elections are on the horizon).
As harsh as it might sound to the ears in 2025, we must go back to making lawless street life uncomfortable for this group. I’m talking about those who choose to be homeless and want to live in a way that threatens the well-being and livelihoods of those who are housed, employed, and following social norms. And we must elect politicians who will stand against the outcries of the skittish and show that misguided compassion is actually harming homeless people. A group called the California Peace Coalition has said, “Many [of these people] require the threat of jail or other forms of coercion to stop breaking laws and get their lives together. This is not the same as long prison sentences. In fact, research shows that swift and certain consequences for lawbreakers are more effective than slow, uncertain longer sentences.”
The Department of Justice’s National Institute goes on to state that “the certainty of being caught is a vastly more powerful deterrent than the punishment.” In other words, “if the chance of being caught and sanctioned is only five percent, and even if the threatened punishment is 20 years behind bars, committing the offense is still a safe bet by the numbers. But if the chance of being caught and sanctioned increases to 95 percent, even if the threatened punishment is only six months in jail, the likelihood of an individual committing the offense plummets.”
Unfortunately, the Willfully Resistant are the ones chasing away tourists and convention business. They are the ones causing downtown stores to board up or close down. In a way, they are like the motorist you see on a police show who, when pulled over, refused to present their documents, answer questions in a civil manner, or step out of their vehicles. Up to now, they have been allowed to roll up their windows and drive on. But because their actions are unlawful, and the Executive Order is about restoring law and order on America’s streets, these are also the ones who will end up in handcuffs, despite the predictable raucous protest of advocacy groups. It’s time to see if “swift and certain” ramifications, followed by monitored programs and services, will give us back our streets and other public spaces.
And then, we can’t forget about the Embedded Nefarious group. Cartels and gangs that rely on money from drugs and prostitution have been known to send their low-level soldiers into the encampments to live in tents and boxes and deal in narcotics and human trafficking. A study conducted in Los Angeles found that 17 percent of homeless youth identified as being a gang member and 46 percent as being gang affiliated. Others already in poverty continue to live on the streets and take advantage of those who are regularly in a stupor or mentally ill. These are criminals who need to be prosecuted.
One homeless subgroup that has grown significantly in the past several years is Misplaced Immigrants. Excluding the lawbreakers and foreign adversaries who slipped through, many aliens came into the country fearing for their safety in their homeland and hoping for the best in the United States Unfortunately, limited affordable housing options, a language barrier, and the inability to obtain credentials have narrowed their options. Moreover, reenergized enforcement of preexisting legal policy now has them stuck between trying to qualify for a U Visa or apply for asylum, or retreating to the shadows of homelessness or semi-homelessness and hoping they aren’t discovered. Unfortunately, while some states provide don’t-ask/ don’t-tell sanctuary, others are making it a crime for a homeless shelter to conceal, harbor, or shield undocumented immigrants for financial gain. It’s confusing for both the immigrants and those who are trying to help them. This subgroup will likely diminish on its own during the next few years, either because people will take government-sanctioned steps toward legal residency and maybe citizenship, or because they will self-deport or experience government-imposed deportation.
Executive Order 14321 is far from perfect, and there are a lot of questions to be answered involving capacity for services needed and capacity for love in the hearts and minds of fellow countrymen. Theism will have to do battle with syncretism because most of modern society doesn't want a God who says there are consequences for wrongful actions. Modern society, at least up ‘til now, wants comfort and self-autonomy for those living on the streets — even though these homeless people may not be able to fully grasp their situation or may be involved in abhorrent and criminal activity. Modern society has essentially been saying, “These people have a tough enough life. Let’s let them live as they desire on the streets, and let’s lift the penalties for any civil disobedience that may occur.” As a result, we have created what Christopher Rufo calls a “new class of ‘untouchables,’ permanently disconnected from the institutions of society.” However, while social media gives the impression that a sizable portion of the public sympathizes with those on the streets and wants city officials to leave them alone or go easy on them, a growing number of Americans are fed up. They want us to turn away from the insanity of perpetual hopelessness. They are comparing philosophies. They are exploring the soundness of a biblical worldview. This may be one of the reasons we are seeing younger generations embrace the Bible in what’s being called a new spiritual awakening. Maybe there’s a chance we will again find our lost absolutes.
It will be a tough slog to get the Executive order titled “Ending Crime and Disorder on America's Streets” off the ground, let alone get it accomplished. Lawsuits can be expected. And we will have to fight toxic empathy all along the way. Even so, for the sake of all of us, especially those precious people created in God’s image living in inhumane conditions on the street, it’s time to saddle this new horse and ride it into battle.
Don't Forget the Words
28/05/24 06:58
Not long ago, I re-read Elisabeth Elliott's Through Gates of Splendor , penned in 1956. If you’re not familiar with the book, it’s the true story of five missionaries—including her husband—who were slain by the Auca Indians of Ecuador earlier that decade. I was completely pulled into a post-World-War-II frame of mind as the author described the upbringing, scholastic achievements, conversion, and courting years of each of the martyrs.
I was taken by their copious references in their diaries to their faith, and their ongoing recitation of Scripture, spiritual poems, and hymns. Other than a few preachers on Sunday morning, very few people I know talk like that today—and I live in Colorado Springs were there are nearly 200 Christian ministries headquartered!
Indeed, it was their burning desire to stand before and preach the gospel to the lost that drove Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, Pete Fleming, Roger Youderian, and Ed McCully together. And it drove them to that fateful encounter on the Rió Curaray in the South American jungle.
Not long after re-reading the book, I came across a piece by Brad Greenberg in The Wall Street Journal’s “Houses of Worship” section. Called “How Missionaries Lost Their Chariots of Fire,” it describes the significant swing in Christian missionary culture since the Eisenhower era.
Greenberg talks about how evangelistic fervor has diminished and how the emphasis in missions has changed. He suggests that missionaries used to go overseas to preach about Jesus and make converts.
“Christians today typically travel abroad to serve others, but not necessarily to spread the gospel,” he writes.
He suggests that the vast majority of them go to nations where Christianity is already known to work for social justice, and to expand their horizons or strengthen their spirituality.
In the article, David Livermore, executive director of Cornerstone University’s Global Learning Center, explains this paradigm shift: “In a postmodern context it goes against the grain to...do hard-core proselytizing. To Millennials, it really feels like al-Qaeda in Christian wineskins.”
Scott Moreau of the missions department at Wheaton College adds that two decades ago, half of his graduate students believed that building churches abroad was their leading objective. Fighting human trafficking, caring for AIDS orphans, and ending poverty are now the popular priorities. And while these are indeed very worthy concerns, the switch has evoked some to question whether the message of the cross has become secondary to serving a cause.
As I talk to people around our continent about the ministry taking place at missions and similar ministries today, I often hear things like this: “I, too, want to preach the gospel by feeding the hungry and housing the homeless.” It’s as if the very acts of hospitality are the essence of the gospel. Hospitality demonstrates the character of Christ, but without the words of Christ, the gospel is speculative rather than substantive (see Rom. 10:17).
The fact is, with society paying so much attention to the hungry, homeless, abused, and addicted…and with so many groups stepping forward to address the symptoms of sin and neglect…it’s easier than ever to marginalize the words we are called to proclaim.
Greenberg concludes his article by saying, “Spreading Christianity through deeds alone aligns with a quote attributed to St. Francis of Assisi: ‘Preach the gospel always, and if necessary, use words.’ But research suggests that non-Christians often miss the message without the words.”
Said another way, these days, people should not be expected to connect dots they may not even know exist. Fewer and fewer of the folks who go to Christian social service agencies and social justice ministries for services have any sacred history. The “old, old story” needs to be told anew. (I am not advocating that a homily must precede the hominy or vice versa; I am simply saying that in the course of your ministry, a literal message is critical, whether from the pulpit during a chapel service, across the desk in a counseling session, or on the sofa in the lounge during causal conversation.)
In a culture becoming paranoid of any proselytization, these words from the Apostle Paul to Timothy can be pretty intimidating, but they are, nevertheless, our continuing mandate: “Preach the Word! Keep your sense of urgency…Whether it is convenient or inconvenient, whether it is welcome or unwelcome, you as preacher of the Word are to show people in what way their lives are wrong. And convince them, rebuking and correcting, warning and urging and encouraging them, being unflagging and inexhaustible in patience and teaching” (2 Tim. 4:2, Amplified Bible).
We don’t have to talk like Nate Saint or Jim Elliot did—but we do have to talk.
Adapted from the book Invisible Neighbors by John Ashmen (Cross Section Publishing, 2010, 2011, 2015, 2017)
I was taken by their copious references in their diaries to their faith, and their ongoing recitation of Scripture, spiritual poems, and hymns. Other than a few preachers on Sunday morning, very few people I know talk like that today—and I live in Colorado Springs were there are nearly 200 Christian ministries headquartered!
Indeed, it was their burning desire to stand before and preach the gospel to the lost that drove Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, Pete Fleming, Roger Youderian, and Ed McCully together. And it drove them to that fateful encounter on the Rió Curaray in the South American jungle.
Not long after re-reading the book, I came across a piece by Brad Greenberg in The Wall Street Journal’s “Houses of Worship” section. Called “How Missionaries Lost Their Chariots of Fire,” it describes the significant swing in Christian missionary culture since the Eisenhower era.
Greenberg talks about how evangelistic fervor has diminished and how the emphasis in missions has changed. He suggests that missionaries used to go overseas to preach about Jesus and make converts.
“Christians today typically travel abroad to serve others, but not necessarily to spread the gospel,” he writes.
He suggests that the vast majority of them go to nations where Christianity is already known to work for social justice, and to expand their horizons or strengthen their spirituality.
In the article, David Livermore, executive director of Cornerstone University’s Global Learning Center, explains this paradigm shift: “In a postmodern context it goes against the grain to...do hard-core proselytizing. To Millennials, it really feels like al-Qaeda in Christian wineskins.”
Scott Moreau of the missions department at Wheaton College adds that two decades ago, half of his graduate students believed that building churches abroad was their leading objective. Fighting human trafficking, caring for AIDS orphans, and ending poverty are now the popular priorities. And while these are indeed very worthy concerns, the switch has evoked some to question whether the message of the cross has become secondary to serving a cause.
As I talk to people around our continent about the ministry taking place at missions and similar ministries today, I often hear things like this: “I, too, want to preach the gospel by feeding the hungry and housing the homeless.” It’s as if the very acts of hospitality are the essence of the gospel. Hospitality demonstrates the character of Christ, but without the words of Christ, the gospel is speculative rather than substantive (see Rom. 10:17).
The fact is, with society paying so much attention to the hungry, homeless, abused, and addicted…and with so many groups stepping forward to address the symptoms of sin and neglect…it’s easier than ever to marginalize the words we are called to proclaim.
Greenberg concludes his article by saying, “Spreading Christianity through deeds alone aligns with a quote attributed to St. Francis of Assisi: ‘Preach the gospel always, and if necessary, use words.’ But research suggests that non-Christians often miss the message without the words.”
Said another way, these days, people should not be expected to connect dots they may not even know exist. Fewer and fewer of the folks who go to Christian social service agencies and social justice ministries for services have any sacred history. The “old, old story” needs to be told anew. (I am not advocating that a homily must precede the hominy or vice versa; I am simply saying that in the course of your ministry, a literal message is critical, whether from the pulpit during a chapel service, across the desk in a counseling session, or on the sofa in the lounge during causal conversation.)
In a culture becoming paranoid of any proselytization, these words from the Apostle Paul to Timothy can be pretty intimidating, but they are, nevertheless, our continuing mandate: “Preach the Word! Keep your sense of urgency…Whether it is convenient or inconvenient, whether it is welcome or unwelcome, you as preacher of the Word are to show people in what way their lives are wrong. And convince them, rebuking and correcting, warning and urging and encouraging them, being unflagging and inexhaustible in patience and teaching” (2 Tim. 4:2, Amplified Bible).
We don’t have to talk like Nate Saint or Jim Elliot did—but we do have to talk.
Adapted from the book Invisible Neighbors by John Ashmen (Cross Section Publishing, 2010, 2011, 2015, 2017)
Coming to Terms
23/05/24 19:36
A few months back, I was asked in a podcast interview about the “social justice work city missions were doing.” In times gone by, I would have ignored the host’s choice of terms and answered the question by describing the emergency services, addiction recovery, and follow-up work our members were undertaking with their guests and clients. But times have changed. The term “social justice” has been kidnapped. It now wears the cloaks of many causes, some of which are held high by various religious groups, but are not necessarily aligned with principles, practices, and precepts of most f the city missions I know. I took the time on the air to make a few clarifying remarks.
I told the host that I felt social justice is outward facing. It wants to know who is to blame for the disparity — either directly, indirectly, or by association. Social justice spends just as much time seeking out villains to punish as it does seeking out victims to help. When it identifies the offenders, it goes on a crusade for retribution, which can include redistribution. Fairness in such plans is always subjective, and that brings greater division.
In my exchange with the podcast host, I suggested that the alternative to social justice is biblical justice. This looks inward. Biblical justice begs every individual to ask this question: “Am I partly to blame?” Are my attitudes rooted in sin and making the problem worse in my areas of influence, or are they making things better for everyone around me? Biblical justice mirrors the heart of David, who cried out in Psalm 139, “Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me and lead me in the way everlasting” (King James Version).
That is the attitude that I believe needs to exist in all of us, and in particular, all organizations that do frontline ministry with the poor. To be clear, this attitude doesn’t turn a blind eye toward the obvious inequities happening nationally or internationally. It speaks to the issues when it’s appropriate, but it works on the home front first. It comes to terms with the condition of the heart.
Very few Citygate Network members were aware that Citygate Network had a Racial and Spiritual Unity Cohort that met together monthly for more than a year. Pastor Robert Loggins helps lead it. The group was made up of an equally racially mixed group of CEOs. They studied together and prayed together. They went on trips together, like to Selma, Alabama, and walked hand-in-hand over the Edmund Pettus Bridge. They had goals (one of which resulted in an additional statement in Citygate Network’s Corporate Values). But sought first to understand — understand each other and themselves.
May I be so bold as to ask: How are you doing with your coming-to-terms efforts? Don’t let talk about social justice get you off track. It’s biblical justice we need.
I told the host that I felt social justice is outward facing. It wants to know who is to blame for the disparity — either directly, indirectly, or by association. Social justice spends just as much time seeking out villains to punish as it does seeking out victims to help. When it identifies the offenders, it goes on a crusade for retribution, which can include redistribution. Fairness in such plans is always subjective, and that brings greater division.
In my exchange with the podcast host, I suggested that the alternative to social justice is biblical justice. This looks inward. Biblical justice begs every individual to ask this question: “Am I partly to blame?” Are my attitudes rooted in sin and making the problem worse in my areas of influence, or are they making things better for everyone around me? Biblical justice mirrors the heart of David, who cried out in Psalm 139, “Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me and lead me in the way everlasting” (King James Version).
That is the attitude that I believe needs to exist in all of us, and in particular, all organizations that do frontline ministry with the poor. To be clear, this attitude doesn’t turn a blind eye toward the obvious inequities happening nationally or internationally. It speaks to the issues when it’s appropriate, but it works on the home front first. It comes to terms with the condition of the heart.
Very few Citygate Network members were aware that Citygate Network had a Racial and Spiritual Unity Cohort that met together monthly for more than a year. Pastor Robert Loggins helps lead it. The group was made up of an equally racially mixed group of CEOs. They studied together and prayed together. They went on trips together, like to Selma, Alabama, and walked hand-in-hand over the Edmund Pettus Bridge. They had goals (one of which resulted in an additional statement in Citygate Network’s Corporate Values). But sought first to understand — understand each other and themselves.
May I be so bold as to ask: How are you doing with your coming-to-terms efforts? Don’t let talk about social justice get you off track. It’s biblical justice we need.
The Power of Place
10/03/24 21:01
My grandfather never seemed to mind that the twentieth century was passing him by. He just didn’t care for conveniences. Though he did own a Model-T Ford, it was permanently parked in one of his barns, encased in decades of dust. Dewey Gillogly walked everywhere he went.
Until the day he died, Dewey drew his water from an ancient spring at the base of the hill that held his house. Some of my kinfolk back in those southeastern Ohio hollows swear it was the untreated water that killed him, but since he lived to be 92, their arguments are a lot shallower than that old spring must have been. Every morning, with pail in hand, he would bound off his back porch and head down the well-worn path to pull up enough drinking and washing water to get him through another day.
It was probably the area’s first permanent settlers who deepened the spring’s basin and lined it with slate. At some point a tin roof was purportedly raised overtop to protect the pool from falling leaves and debris. By the time Dewey came along there was standing a 10’ x 15’ cement-floored springhouse. The overhanging pitched roof covered the actual spring. Behind the wide wooden door, the water flowed through a trough in the floor, along the north wall. It was a place where melons and steel cans of raw milk were kept cool. The elevated portion of the floor was where my grandfather stored the sacks of potatoes he harvested from his fields up behind the house, or the apples he picked from the orchard in the side yard. The air inside had a dank, earthy smell, but with a strange scent of sweetness.
During my childhood, all my Ohio aunts and uncles lived in the rural regions surrounding the Gillogly homestead. Some were close enough that they could hear the report of Dewey’s shotgun echoing through the hills. I, on the other hand, was a distant relative in the literal sense of the term, growing up in ever-progressive New Jersey. But once or twice a year, my parents would head west in our Hudson Hornet for a Buckeye visit, and I would reconnect with my cousins. We’d scamper through the cornfields, get dirty in the coal shed, get wet in the creek, catch snakes in the stone foundation of the smokehouse, and look for treasures along the rails of the New York Central spur line that ran through the woods, just west of the house.
But on those warm August afternoons, when my parents and I had Grandpa and the farm to ourselves, I would eventually wander away from the grown-up discourse and find my way to the springhouse. There, I would lie on the bank and stare up into the bright green canopy of the sycamore trees that towered overhead. I’d study the twisted branches and watch squirrels leap from limb to limb. I would close my eyes and try to distinguish the calls of the cardinals from those of the robins. With my eyes still closed I would ponder life (as deeply as a nine-year old can ever ponder anything). When my imagination awoke, I would pretend that the springhouse was a garrison and I was the commander of its loyal troop, fighting off make-believe foes with sticks and stones.
When we’d visit in autumn, the sycamores would lay a golden carpet all around the springhouse. I was particularly drawn to the place at that time of year. As I got older, I would sit on the slate-topped stone wall that formed the front of the springhouse, with my back against a corner post, and read for hours on end, fully absorbed in the quiet coolness of that special setting. Looking back on my later-teen years, I’d have to say that some of my very important long-term plans were prayerfully developed in the shadows of that old shack.
That springhouse will always be a sacred place to me. For an adolescent, it was a safe haven — a place where life took a shady side road, skirting arduous arithmetic assignments, playground bullies, and the increasing business in the burgeoning Levittowns that were epitomizing East Coast life as I knew it. For a young man, walking down to that springhouse was like going to visit a trusted friend — one who provided a link to my past, but moreover, cared about my future.
Every few years, I’d get a chance to return to my Ohio roots . . . and witness how time has whittled away at the old homestead. Today, the wide swath of grass that used to be a main road ends in a thicket just beyond where the house used to stand. The rails, ties, and ballast that formed the spur line are long gone. Two of my cousins have divided up the property. The coal shed has disappeared. So have the smokehouse and the other outbuildings. Grass is the only thing that now grows on the hillsides that were once furrowed fields. But the springhouse remains. A stubborn survivor of change, it yet sits at the foot of the hill like a proud monument to the power of place. But even if it were gone, it would still be there in my mind, and I would occasionally visit it and relive the moments that I savored in its shelter.
All of us have a need for such private places in our lives — places of peace where we can go for a reprieve from routines and explore our innermost feelings — natural settings of sanctity where we can, as Christ followers, ponder the promises of Scripture and seek the heart of God.
Jesus, Himself, retreated to such private places on a reoccurring basis — probably more often than we’re even told in Scripture. After all, it was His Father who pointed out, as far back as Genesis, that rest and reflection needed to follow a marked time of toil. Whether it was to clear his mind or to get clear direction, Jesus would disengage from the demanding crowds or His conventional confines and escape to a quiet place in the open air — a garden, a mountainside, the seashore, the wilderness.
That’s exactly what Judi and I found during our multi-month Scotland escape. The indigo loch reflecting the firmament, the castle turrets beneath the rocky craigs, the sound of circling seagulls, the Kyle-bound train passing by on the opposite shore, the distinct smell of coal smoke from a dozen different chimneys: This was our backdrop for treasured memories that will increase in value as the years roll by. The power of place enriched our deep conversations on long hikes and short walks.
Where is your private place where you can temporarily let the rest of the world roll by? A Highlands village worked perfectly for us, but you don’t have to go to a distant land. Your special place can be the porch of a cabin nestled in the pines beside a placid lake, a long wooden dock on a wide lake, or even a small gazebo in a backyard garden where the noise of the neighborhood can be temporarily turned down. If you don’t have such places in your life, I strongly encourage you to find one and retreat to it as often as you can. We all need regular respites from the rush. We need a quiet place where we can make memories and engage in meaningful meditation to soothe our soul.
Until the day he died, Dewey drew his water from an ancient spring at the base of the hill that held his house. Some of my kinfolk back in those southeastern Ohio hollows swear it was the untreated water that killed him, but since he lived to be 92, their arguments are a lot shallower than that old spring must have been. Every morning, with pail in hand, he would bound off his back porch and head down the well-worn path to pull up enough drinking and washing water to get him through another day.
It was probably the area’s first permanent settlers who deepened the spring’s basin and lined it with slate. At some point a tin roof was purportedly raised overtop to protect the pool from falling leaves and debris. By the time Dewey came along there was standing a 10’ x 15’ cement-floored springhouse. The overhanging pitched roof covered the actual spring. Behind the wide wooden door, the water flowed through a trough in the floor, along the north wall. It was a place where melons and steel cans of raw milk were kept cool. The elevated portion of the floor was where my grandfather stored the sacks of potatoes he harvested from his fields up behind the house, or the apples he picked from the orchard in the side yard. The air inside had a dank, earthy smell, but with a strange scent of sweetness.
During my childhood, all my Ohio aunts and uncles lived in the rural regions surrounding the Gillogly homestead. Some were close enough that they could hear the report of Dewey’s shotgun echoing through the hills. I, on the other hand, was a distant relative in the literal sense of the term, growing up in ever-progressive New Jersey. But once or twice a year, my parents would head west in our Hudson Hornet for a Buckeye visit, and I would reconnect with my cousins. We’d scamper through the cornfields, get dirty in the coal shed, get wet in the creek, catch snakes in the stone foundation of the smokehouse, and look for treasures along the rails of the New York Central spur line that ran through the woods, just west of the house.
But on those warm August afternoons, when my parents and I had Grandpa and the farm to ourselves, I would eventually wander away from the grown-up discourse and find my way to the springhouse. There, I would lie on the bank and stare up into the bright green canopy of the sycamore trees that towered overhead. I’d study the twisted branches and watch squirrels leap from limb to limb. I would close my eyes and try to distinguish the calls of the cardinals from those of the robins. With my eyes still closed I would ponder life (as deeply as a nine-year old can ever ponder anything). When my imagination awoke, I would pretend that the springhouse was a garrison and I was the commander of its loyal troop, fighting off make-believe foes with sticks and stones.
When we’d visit in autumn, the sycamores would lay a golden carpet all around the springhouse. I was particularly drawn to the place at that time of year. As I got older, I would sit on the slate-topped stone wall that formed the front of the springhouse, with my back against a corner post, and read for hours on end, fully absorbed in the quiet coolness of that special setting. Looking back on my later-teen years, I’d have to say that some of my very important long-term plans were prayerfully developed in the shadows of that old shack.
That springhouse will always be a sacred place to me. For an adolescent, it was a safe haven — a place where life took a shady side road, skirting arduous arithmetic assignments, playground bullies, and the increasing business in the burgeoning Levittowns that were epitomizing East Coast life as I knew it. For a young man, walking down to that springhouse was like going to visit a trusted friend — one who provided a link to my past, but moreover, cared about my future.
Every few years, I’d get a chance to return to my Ohio roots . . . and witness how time has whittled away at the old homestead. Today, the wide swath of grass that used to be a main road ends in a thicket just beyond where the house used to stand. The rails, ties, and ballast that formed the spur line are long gone. Two of my cousins have divided up the property. The coal shed has disappeared. So have the smokehouse and the other outbuildings. Grass is the only thing that now grows on the hillsides that were once furrowed fields. But the springhouse remains. A stubborn survivor of change, it yet sits at the foot of the hill like a proud monument to the power of place. But even if it were gone, it would still be there in my mind, and I would occasionally visit it and relive the moments that I savored in its shelter.
All of us have a need for such private places in our lives — places of peace where we can go for a reprieve from routines and explore our innermost feelings — natural settings of sanctity where we can, as Christ followers, ponder the promises of Scripture and seek the heart of God.
Jesus, Himself, retreated to such private places on a reoccurring basis — probably more often than we’re even told in Scripture. After all, it was His Father who pointed out, as far back as Genesis, that rest and reflection needed to follow a marked time of toil. Whether it was to clear his mind or to get clear direction, Jesus would disengage from the demanding crowds or His conventional confines and escape to a quiet place in the open air — a garden, a mountainside, the seashore, the wilderness.
That’s exactly what Judi and I found during our multi-month Scotland escape. The indigo loch reflecting the firmament, the castle turrets beneath the rocky craigs, the sound of circling seagulls, the Kyle-bound train passing by on the opposite shore, the distinct smell of coal smoke from a dozen different chimneys: This was our backdrop for treasured memories that will increase in value as the years roll by. The power of place enriched our deep conversations on long hikes and short walks.
Where is your private place where you can temporarily let the rest of the world roll by? A Highlands village worked perfectly for us, but you don’t have to go to a distant land. Your special place can be the porch of a cabin nestled in the pines beside a placid lake, a long wooden dock on a wide lake, or even a small gazebo in a backyard garden where the noise of the neighborhood can be temporarily turned down. If you don’t have such places in your life, I strongly encourage you to find one and retreat to it as often as you can. We all need regular respites from the rush. We need a quiet place where we can make memories and engage in meaningful meditation to soothe our soul.
Are You Hearing Me?
01/03/24 12:44
THE WORDS
Even before we moved into our Scottish cottage, Judi and I were somewhat familiar with the language nuances between the U.S. and the U.K. Here are some of the common Scottish words and terms to which we’ve been reintroduced:
Even though we’re usually connecting all the dots, we still get caught off guard. Like last week:
Places to fill up the car with fuel are few and far between in the Highlands. If we’re traveling north, the closest station to the cottage is 19 miles, up and around the head of the loch in the village of Lochcarron. After that, it’s 29 miles to the next one in Kinlochewe, and another 32 to the one after that.
Last week, I pulled into Lochcarron station and noticed what looked like plastic flags on the handles of the green pumps. (In Scotland, opposite of what American drivers are used to, green-handles signify unleaded while black indicate diesel. Don’t get them confused!)
Thinking the streamers were tags indicating they were out, I walked in and asked Charlotte, “Do you not have gas today?”
“I’m afraid not,” she replied, “We’ll get some bottles in next week.” Her response slipped right by me because I was straightaway trying to decide if I wanted to chance going 29 or more miles north, or double back south 27 miles, past our cottage, just to fill up.
“But if you’re talking about the pumps,” Charlotte interrupted with a knowing look, “we have plenty of diesel and petrol.” Oh yeah. Petrol! That’s the word. It turns out that what I thought were flags were mini rolls of plastic gloves that pumpers can wear to minimize getting petroleum residue on the hands.
Yes, we’re still learning the lingo.
THE SIGNAGE
We’ve mastered driving on the left with the steering wheel on the right, but it’s the signage we constantly encounter — even on trails and in establishments — that have us questioning and chuckling and sometimes going back for a second look. Here are a few of our favorites that we’ve managed to snap as we’ve been out and about. We’ll let you draw your own conclusions.
THE ACCENT
This brings me to the trickiest part of communication in Scotland, the brogue. Let me say up front that I absolutely love the Scottish pronunciations and I adore the way certain phrases roll smoothly off the tongue like the fog rolling over the heather on the braes at morning’s first light. I also realize that, over here, we are the people with the accents. But honestly, sometimes trying to understand is like trying to figure out a word riddle, particularly when we encounter someone from Glasgow or a remote isle. Following a conversation with such a person, Judi and I will quickly and quietly step to the side and ask each other, “How much of that did you get?” It’s not uncommon to discover that we each heard something entirely different.
Interestingly, those from over the southern border also have a hard time communicating with some of the Scots. There’s a story about a Scotsman walking through a field. He sees a man drinking water from a pool with his hand. The Scotsman shouts “Awa ye feel hoor that’s full O’ coos Sharn.” (Rough translation: Don't drink the water, it's full of cow…pies.) The man yells, “I’m an Englishman. Speak English. I don't understand you.” The Scotsman shouts back, “I said, use both hands; you'll get more in.”
The point to all of this is that good communication is a two-way venture. The speaker and the hearer must be on the same wavelength. Eye contact is critical because facial expressions give valuable insights to what’s really being said. And clear communication takes time. Judi and I have agreed that our extended time together — without her heading off to a tennis match or me rushing to the airport for another five-day business trip — has forced us to verbally process what each other is saying on a deeper level than we have experienced for many years.
You don’t have to come to Scotland to improve your communication, but if you do, you’re guaranteed a dialectal and cultural bounty to boot. As the Scots say, it will be pure dead brilliant.
Even before we moved into our Scottish cottage, Judi and I were somewhat familiar with the language nuances between the U.S. and the U.K. Here are some of the common Scottish words and terms to which we’ve been reintroduced:
- In Scotland, potatoes are tatties, French fries are chips, and our chips are their crisps. And if you eat too many of any of those, it’s not your pants that you’ll have trouble snapping, it’s your trousers.
- Over here, a jumper is a pullover garment, not someone about to bound off a ten-story ledge; and trainers are not the fit folks at the gym pushing you to do one more pull-up, rather, it’s what you wear on your feet when you’re there working out.
- You might think you would go to the supermarket with your shopping list and push a cart. But actually, you go to the grocery with your messages and wheel a trolley — that is, if you have a pound in your pocket to buy its temporary freedom from the others it’s chained to. And if you have a wee bairn at home, you’ll probably want to toss some nappies in that trolley. And maybe you’ll want a tin of shortbread biscuits and some squash to mix up and wash them down.
- You don’t keep a flashlight in the trunk so you can see what you’re doing at night when you pull onto the shoulder to change a tire. Rather, you keep a torch in your boot so that when you finally get to a passing place you can…try to read the microscopic instruction on the mini tyre compressor you’re glaring at since none of the cars in Scotland these days carry spares. (Good luck if you have a blowout after dark on an unlit single track in the mountains where there are no lay-bys. But I’ll save expounding on that for another blog.)
- There are plenty more. A toastie is not how you feel sitting in front of the coal stove, it’s a grilled sandwich. Being invited for a cuppa means you’re going to drink tea. If you have legal problems, you don’t look for a lawyer but a solicitor — unless you need somebody to defend you, and then you need a barrister. A burn won’t catch on fire because it’s a small stream. A moor is a swamp where numerous burns and the endless Scottish rain pool together. (There are more moors than you imagine.) A lass is a young man. A lassie is a young woman, and when several lassies get together to celebrate one’s upcoming betrothal, it’s a hen party. Bonnie means pretty. You can also say braw or tidy, which is the opposite of hackit. A coo is a shaggy cow, and shag has nothing to do with carpet. I’m sure you ken what I mean.
Even though we’re usually connecting all the dots, we still get caught off guard. Like last week:
Places to fill up the car with fuel are few and far between in the Highlands. If we’re traveling north, the closest station to the cottage is 19 miles, up and around the head of the loch in the village of Lochcarron. After that, it’s 29 miles to the next one in Kinlochewe, and another 32 to the one after that.
Last week, I pulled into Lochcarron station and noticed what looked like plastic flags on the handles of the green pumps. (In Scotland, opposite of what American drivers are used to, green-handles signify unleaded while black indicate diesel. Don’t get them confused!)
Thinking the streamers were tags indicating they were out, I walked in and asked Charlotte, “Do you not have gas today?”
“I’m afraid not,” she replied, “We’ll get some bottles in next week.” Her response slipped right by me because I was straightaway trying to decide if I wanted to chance going 29 or more miles north, or double back south 27 miles, past our cottage, just to fill up.
“But if you’re talking about the pumps,” Charlotte interrupted with a knowing look, “we have plenty of diesel and petrol.” Oh yeah. Petrol! That’s the word. It turns out that what I thought were flags were mini rolls of plastic gloves that pumpers can wear to minimize getting petroleum residue on the hands.
Yes, we’re still learning the lingo.
THE SIGNAGE
We’ve mastered driving on the left with the steering wheel on the right, but it’s the signage we constantly encounter — even on trails and in establishments — that have us questioning and chuckling and sometimes going back for a second look. Here are a few of our favorites that we’ve managed to snap as we’ve been out and about. We’ll let you draw your own conclusions.
THE ACCENT
This brings me to the trickiest part of communication in Scotland, the brogue. Let me say up front that I absolutely love the Scottish pronunciations and I adore the way certain phrases roll smoothly off the tongue like the fog rolling over the heather on the braes at morning’s first light. I also realize that, over here, we are the people with the accents. But honestly, sometimes trying to understand is like trying to figure out a word riddle, particularly when we encounter someone from Glasgow or a remote isle. Following a conversation with such a person, Judi and I will quickly and quietly step to the side and ask each other, “How much of that did you get?” It’s not uncommon to discover that we each heard something entirely different.
Interestingly, those from over the southern border also have a hard time communicating with some of the Scots. There’s a story about a Scotsman walking through a field. He sees a man drinking water from a pool with his hand. The Scotsman shouts “Awa ye feel hoor that’s full O’ coos Sharn.” (Rough translation: Don't drink the water, it's full of cow…pies.) The man yells, “I’m an Englishman. Speak English. I don't understand you.” The Scotsman shouts back, “I said, use both hands; you'll get more in.”
The point to all of this is that good communication is a two-way venture. The speaker and the hearer must be on the same wavelength. Eye contact is critical because facial expressions give valuable insights to what’s really being said. And clear communication takes time. Judi and I have agreed that our extended time together — without her heading off to a tennis match or me rushing to the airport for another five-day business trip — has forced us to verbally process what each other is saying on a deeper level than we have experienced for many years.
You don’t have to come to Scotland to improve your communication, but if you do, you’re guaranteed a dialectal and cultural bounty to boot. As the Scots say, it will be pure dead brilliant.
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