Going Further Than Expected
Rev. John Michael Hanvey
One of the great illusions in life is to think that all progress is good. One of the things I have learned from my study of history, is that often what started off as small and simple turns into something so unwieldy that a reformation is needed.
On the surface the history of THOMAS is a little like that. What impressed me most about THOMAS when I first encountered it sixteen years ago was its immediacy. We responded there and then to the needs of the poorest and most vulnerable in the community. The poor always have to wait but that was never the case at THOMAS. Even though there can be ‘meaning in the waiting’ (R.S.Thomas) generally it’s a luxury that the most needy cannot afford.
As we have become larger and more professional I wonder if we have not lost something of that immediacy on route. Of course one can never simply go back to things as they once were. One of the more obvious advantages of the growth of THOMAS is that we now reach a lot more people further afield than Blackburn.
The Drop-in at THOMAS which is the oldest of our projects, with the Residential Re-hab and Floating Support, and the Salford and Blackpool projects following on is at one level, still the most challenging. The illness of meaning shows itself so desperately in the lives of those who come to us on a daily basis. Here we see not only the external signs of addiction, homelessness, low self-esteem, wasting bodies and minds that have stopped dancing (if ever they did, though some did for sure), but there is also a pain and a darkness in the soul and that is more difficult to address. The challenging behaviour that often goes with such desperation is often difficult to handle. And we still find it problematic to draw the line between excluding people who are violent and abusive and at the same time wanting to reach out to them. How do those of us who belong to the community of faith nourish these people’s precious humanity, hold and support them in the messiness and deep-seated pain of their lives?
Whilst the food we offer at the Drop-in is important it’s also a symbol of a much deeper hunger which cries out that ‘man does not live on bread alone’ (Matthew 4:4).
One of the inspiring things about the THOMAS Drop-in over the years is the quality, love and generosity of so many volunteers who have cooked, cleaned, talked, listened, and walked many an extra mile with sometimes very demanding people. What has inspired some to do this work, has been a deep human concern not necessarily built on any faith or religious foundation and for others the result of a deep faith and prayer life that has somehow brought together the human and divine and enabled them to see the evidence of the Incarnation staring them in the face.
I feel that the Drop-in and all it symbolises is somehow a clarion call to the Church and to the idea of the Big Society. No matter how difficult this particular work is it’s about taking risks and daring to be different, going further than one ever thought possible.
It’s about going deeper than what we see on the surface. The Drop-in endures and still with all its difficulties and challenges, is not built on sentimentality and has no illusions about the human condition and the awful realities of addiction. In one young person abuse, loneliness and meaninglessness are sometimes all present at the same time. And this is the challenge from which we cannot avert our eyes.
The support for what we try to do has been quite wonderful over the years locally and beyond, including donations via ‘Edges’. Schools, Churches and individuals continue to encourage all the staff by their generosity and kindness. I feel that whilst the other THOMAS projects demonstrate hope and human and spiritual development as people progress in their recovery, the Drop-in is a stark reminder of the fragility of the human condition. It challenges us to a more radical engagement with humanity – there are sometimes no obvious results in the Drop-in and some do die from overdose and suicide.
I personally have been moved at the funerals I have been involved in. Large numbers, many of them young giving what is their best to support and just be there for each other in their incomprehensible desperation.
Some time ago I was present in the intensive care unit when a young man of twenty-six who had taken an overdose died. Moments after his death I saw on his face for the first time ever, peace and the lack of pain and struggle. My first thought was that we cannot give up on trying to open up the real possibility of such peace and lack of pain now in others whilst there is still life, no matter how the odds may be stacked against us