If you start from a place of love, you can’t go wrong

“You know, the world has a way of overlooking people,” said Pastor Peter Borhauer of First United Methodist Church in downtown Newark, Ohio. “If you don’t fit whatever the expectations are, no one cares.”

He was speaking to a knowing crowd of 50 or so people gathered in the church basement to memorialize a friend named Daisy, a loved one who died on the streets of this small city. The room is filled entirely with church volunteers, outreach workers, and people who are unhoused or have been. The man across from me, “Mm-hmms,” in affirmation.

God sees us, Pastor Peter continued, sees who we truly are – not just our circumstances. It’s a message that resonates with those gathered, some of whom, like Daisy, have struggled with the consequences of our modern world: homelessness, substance use, or issues with mental health.

We were seated around long card tables usually set up to serve folks who stop in on Fridays for a meal and a shower and to be seen. Daisy was a regular.

For folks who come here and for folks who care for them, it’s been a rough summer. Daisy was one of three people found dead on the streets. A summer of intense heat followed by weeks of storms and rain could be hard on anyone living in Central Ohio, but for those sleeping rough, it was desperate.

I think that desperation repels us or makes us feel complicit or guilty. It’s what makes us want to look away, to call for policies that clear the camps and streets and communities of our neighbors who, for whatever reason, can’t afford the rent, can’t pay the bills, can’t just get it together.

Henry David Thoreau wrote in his journals that, “The question is not what you look at, but what you see.”

If we don’t see, if we don’t stop and focus our attention, then our circles grow smaller, and we don’t get to know the people in our midst. On the streets of this town, I’ve met poets, computer scientists, artists, comedians, mechanics, conspiracy theorists, travelers, and carpenters.

I’ve met human beings with complicated pasts and presents, with talents, tastes, and names. People like Daisy.

Daisy could light up a room, one friend said at the service. She made people smile. Daisy and one outreach worker hugged each other every time they met. Daisy was a graduate of Miami University of Ohio and was a lifelong learner. She had recently asked for help securing her transcripts so she could go back to school to study cyber security. She had a family who loved her.

At one point, Nancy Welu spoke. She’s a coordinator for the Newark Homeless Outreach and had been in contact with Daisy’s family. Nancy offered to share any messages that folks might have with the family. “Speak it now, let me know,” Welu said. “I will pass on all the memories.”

That’s when one of Daisy’s cousins stood up. “We’re here,” she said.

Everyone gasped. Her brother was here. Her aunt. Her family.

“This is what community looks like,” Nancy said for the crowd but really, for the family, “and I hope you can feel it in this room. The love we have for this,” she chokes up, can’t get the words out, “amazing person.”

Another friend spoke and explained that at one point she was having a difficult time with a roommate. It wasn’t going well. Her roommate, she said, was a taskmaster and was being hard on her. She was at a loss.

Enter Daisy.

Look at her from a position of love, Daisy told her. Always start there. If you start from a place of love, you can’t go wrong.

There were candles up front and Pastor Peter invited folks to come up and light one.

“Light one,” he said, “not just in remembrance of Daisy, but in remembrance of anyone that you’ve lost. She’s not the only one we’ve lost. There are others whose names we know and whose names we don’t know. But don’t forget God knows. Every single one of us. And don’t forget that advice she gave you. Just speak from a position of love. You can’t be wrong if that’s where you start.”