It may be accurate to say that I don’t feel any fluffy butterflies in my belly when I see someone driving their Corvette top-down, wearing off fancy sunglasses, and playing gangsta music pounding hard enough to inflict internal bleeding. And neither do I feel the fury Chuck Norris directs towards them. Honestly, I really just don’t fit in with the rich.
Let's start here with a bit of background. I grew up in an immigrant family. My mother, originally from the Philippines, came over from Singapore to be a nanny in Canada; and my Dad came over from Yugoslavia, the part now called Croatia. After my parents got hitched, they bought an acreage - perhaps in the hopes of reclaiming the family farm my father once had in his homeland. Now I wouldn’t call us poor; we were only on welfare for a couple months. However, I do remember that people thought we were poor. Sure we didn’t have any running water most of the time. I remember feeling only a little embarrassed when we arrived at church with empty jugs, which my Dad and I filled between Sunday School and the morning Service. And sure we didn’t have the nicest place. I still remember those bus rides where the veterans in the backseat took it upon themselves to give the new kids the exclusive tour of the route. On this tour, my house was referred to as the “dirty place”. The obligatory oohs and ahhs that followed made me feel special, but also sad for my mom: she can be a real clean-freak; she just loves to keep things clean. Despite all these things, we still lived pretty comfortably.
These experiences, however, served to create a gap between me and the rich; I just don’t understand them. Hopefully now you, my dear reader, can understand my skepticism when a fairly large design and architecture firm, decided to donate their time and money to the housing program at The Mustard Seed Edmonton by landscaping the grounds surrounding our first apartment building. As I helped to plant trees and spread a variety of different rocks and mulch on the ground, I couldn’t help wonder why they were there. The Jekyll in me said, “It is from the bottom of their good hearts”; while the Hyde in me said, “It is from the guilt; they have to do something good to make them feel better.”
Christ in me, who become poor for us, says, “Love your neighbour”. I am still learning to do this because I not have both poor and rich neighbours. Woe to me if I love one and not the other, if I do good to my friends and spite my enemy, if I am not thankful for the generosity of those who have much. And also because I don’t like woe all that much.
Love Lots,
Jeremiah
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