Growing Things

Posted on 6/8/2020 by Howard Pugh

As the YMCA is still closed for many activities, I walk the Museum District for an hour each afternoon. A few blocks from Tommy and me a millennial has turned his small front yard into a riot of flowers and vegetables. He is out of work, he told me when I stopped to appreciate his garden. He spends the morning online applying for jobs and the afternoon with a trowel in the dirt—which he fears will be his source of food when unemployment benefits run out. I frequently find him at his horticultural tasks; we have come to greet each other warmly, a shared interest and pleasure in growing things.

Several weeks ago, however, as I approached, his smile faded and he stepped back, seemingly offended. I was at a loss to understand his reaction until he stated, with emphasis, “I do not attend church.” I was wearing the St. Mark’s tee shirt. I assured him I do not proselytize and gently asked why his reaction had been so visceral. He explained that his family had belonged to a very conservative church and, as an older teen, he had come to realize the pastor and a number of the lay leaders were judgmental, hypocritical, xenophobic, and generally disparaging of all who did not believe as they did. He had not set foot in a church since he was seventeen. I said I understood, and I do. I asked, nonetheless, if he would acknowledge our acquaintanceship by performing a simple search when he was next at his computer: I invited him to find and read the brief history of St. Mark’s.

As I walk toward his yard last week, he put down his hoe and hailed me. He had toured the St. Mark’s website. He confessed that, when he read about our outreach efforts, he was incredulous: could a relatively small congregation provide that level of support for the homeless, even during a pandemic? He had walked to the church the following Saturday morning to see if we were living out our mission. We were. He thanked me for proving it would be possible for him to return to church; and, as he turned to his herbs, he told me he envied me my relationship with St. Mark’s.

As the YMCA is still closed for many activities, I walk the Museum District for an hour each afternoon. A few blocks from Tommy and me a millennial has turned his small front yard into a riot of flowers and vegetables. He is out of work, he told me when I stopped to appreciate his garden. He spends the morning online applying for jobs and the afternoon with a trowel in the dirt—which he fears will be his source of food when unemployment benefits run out. I frequently find him at his horticultural tasks; we have come to greet each other warmly, a shared interest and pleasure in growing things.

Several weeks ago, however, as I approached, his smile faded and he stepped back, seemingly offended. I was at a loss to understand his reaction until he stated, with emphasis, “I do not attend church.” I was wearing the St. Mark’s tee shirt. I assured him I do not proselytize and gently asked why his reaction had been so visceral. He explained that his family had belonged to a very conservative church and, as an older teen, he had come to realize the pastor and a number of the lay leaders were judgmental, hypocritical, xenophobic, and generally disparaging of all who did not believe as they did. He had not set foot in a church since he was seventeen. I said I understood, and I do. I asked, nonetheless, if he would acknowledge our acquaintanceship by performing a simple search when he was next at his computer: I invited him to find and read the brief history of St. Mark’s.

As I walk toward his yard last week, he put down his hoe and hailed me. He had toured the St. Mark’s website. He confessed that, when he read about our outreach efforts, he was incredulous: could a relatively small congregation provide that level of support for the homeless, even during a pandemic? He had walked to the church the following Saturday morning to see if we were living out our mission. We were. He thanked me for proving it would be possible for him to return to church; and, as he turned to his herbs, he told me he envied me my relationship with St. Mark’s.