Hope from the Margins

"Marginal Notes" is a new column that will appear each month in Sojourners. It will be personal in nature and reflective in spirit. Offering a kind of writing different from editorials and articles, "Marginal Notes" will afford an opportunity for more open-ended and personal communication.

Its subjects will be people, events, stories, community, our spiritual and political lives--all from a perspective that tries to be both biblical and firmly rooted in our present historical situation. The columns will be written from inside Sojourners community, on visits to other communities, on the road, out in the churches, home in the city, in quiet places, amid political struggle. They will come from the margins of my notebook, the margins of America, even the margins of the church.

The title of the column reveals a basic assumption--that things look clearer from the margins, that the biblical insight is usually an outsider's insight, that the church itself is meant to be a marginal society in whatever circumstances it finds itself--marginal because of its loyalty to Jesus Christ.

These columns will be personal perspectives from someone who thinks the best metaphors for the church are the ones of pilgrims, strangers, and sojourners--those who try to sing the Lord's song in a strange land.

To be marginal in one's society is not, emphatically not, to withdraw as some would charge. It is to be motivated and led by values and commitments different from and often contrary to the mainstream. It is to have the capacity of bringing something new and fresh to the public arena.

New vision is always what any society most needs, and the edges of society have always been the most likely place for it to emerge. To generate something new, one must be listening to voices other than the loud voices of a mass society. If we have read our Bibles, we will know to look and listen for the new word God wants to speak to us on the edges of things rather than at the center of wealth and power.

To be on the margins, therefore, is to put ourselves in a position to watch, to listen, and to become engaged in a new way. To look from the margins usually enables us to see better what is to be done and perhaps to know better how to go about it. In other words, being closer to the edges than the mainstream yields perspective.

Part of being on the margins is new association with the people who have been made marginal. The gospel tells us that it is among "the least of these" where we find Jesus.

Last week, at our mid-week community worship, that association with the marginal became the theme of our sharing. Dan began by saying, "This week I've met Jesus 50 times." He spoke out of his work with Salvadoran refugees, trying to get them settled in Washington with housing and enough work to survive. He had heard countless stories of children, parents, husbands and wives murdered by the military security forces in El Salvador, of separated families, of fear for loved ones left behind. Said Dan, "I can scarcely believe their composure, their faith, their hopeful spirit. When I told one woman that there was simply no work to be found, she thanked me, smiled, reached in her pocket and handed me a dollar for our work." I bowed my head and pondered how much the poor can teach the rich about generosity.

Judi, a nurse at a neighborhood medical clinic, sadly reported that an old street man who had come regularly to the clinic froze to death the night before in an abandoned garage. The hurt and pain she felt at losing a friend in such a brutal way quickly went around the room. "People have a right not to freeze to death," someone cried. But another old street gentleman had come back to the clinic today, she reported. For the first time, he had allowed Judi to unwrap his layers of clothing--three coats, six shirts, and several ties--to rub medicine on his raw back. "Never has rubbing anyone's back meant so much to me. It was, for me, like anointing Jesus."

As we gathered around the Eucharist, the tears of the community were released for the people of Poland. It had been a rough week, a time of listening and waiting for reports about what was occurring. I realized how much hope I had invested in the birth and growth of Solidarity. The reports of Lech Walesa "broken and weeping" were more than I could take.

Oh, how fragile are our hopes for justice, for peace, for life. Dashed hopes, outlawed unions, martial law in Warsaw and San Salvador, murdered loved ones and families made refugees, frozen street people--these were the hard facts of our Advent. And so we waited, Advent style. How long, oh Lord? Must our waiting slip into despair?

We celebrated the Eucharist that night, and we saw the fragility of God in Jesus Christ, broken bread, poured-out wine. But here was the key, the hope of the world. There is nothing to do but unite our fragile lives with his and know that through him the world will be saved.

What else can we do in the face of so many made marginal ? Shall we give up, give in, pull back? What do they need? Not for us to shrink from their pain and withdraw to despair because of their suffering. But rather to see, because of how great their suffering, how much more we need to love.

Perhaps the only difference between hope and despair is going on. When overwhelmed with the reality of suffering, we can decide either not to feel it or to let ourselves take it in. If we take it in, we will either succumb to despair or be moved to a greater depth of love, which is to come closer to God. There are no other choices. We will either curse the darkness, or we will say, "Come, Lord Jesus, we need you now more than ever."

Jim Wallis was editor-in-chief of Sojourners when this article appeared.