This Tuesday is the anniversary of the worst day of my life.
It’s weird to say that, because the worst day of my life has nothing to do with a loved one’s death. There were no physical injuries involved. Nothing like that.
No, it was just a meeting at our church. That’s all.
I have a ton of friends who’ve experienced so much worse. So, so, so much worse. It feels so lame to call this night the worst of my life.
But it was.
It did something to me.
It honestly feels like the David before the meeting and the David after are two entirely different people.
I’ve talked about the meeting at length before. Some of you might be reading this and thinking “Oh God, not the meeting again.”
But I want to talk about it.
It’s the five year anniversary. This feels significant.
Five years since a meeting that changed my life dramatically.
(I think I’m going to have a party on Tuesday. The world’s worst party. I’ll sit alone and eat ice cream until I’m no longer depressed.)
A few years ago, our church put a transitional Village for houseless people on our church property.
People in the community were….not excited about the idea.
Five years ago this Tuesday, over 500 people came to voice (scream) their frustrations.
Our church basement definitely broke a bunch of fire codes that day.
I wish I had a full video of the meeting, just so I could show people how crazy it was.
This video doesn't do it justice, but you can kind of get an idea.
Click here to read about it. It was so great. Very cool.
In 2020 I wrote a weird little book about the whole experience trying to help houseless people, and what it did to my spirit, emotions, psyche, etc.
I don’t think I could write the same book now. I have rose-colored glasses about the whole situation. The Village has been very successful, and the people who didn’t move away from the community because of its existence have mostly felt positive about it since its opening.
I’m glad I wrote about the experience in the moment, when the suffering hadn’t yet eased up.
Here’s what I wrote about The Meeting:
A slew of local and statewide news stories aired shortly after the announcement of the Village project. These early news reports about our project were extremely positive. One local anchor exclaimed, “What a great way for a church to walk the talk.” We were encouraged by the early buzz, and thought that it might drown out some of the naysayers.
However, after our worship service on Easter Sunday 2019, some of us noticed a small group of people in the field at our church, and a lady filming with an enormous camera. We could tell that something was happening for TV, but we were not sure what it was. I considered talking to the group, but also knew that if this were a negative news story, I could be ambushed with unexpected questions in front of the news cameras.
Sure enough, one of the anti-Village neighborhood groups had contacted the news and asked for a story. That evening, a spotlight on our church aired on TV. This segment ended with a plea from a neighbor:
Come to the upcoming community informational meeting and vent your frustrations to the church.And come, they did.
We expected a small but passionate group of people to show up at the church. I had already been informed that there were people discussing the possibility of a lawsuit against our church,1 and one neighbor had already put his house on the market because he did not want to live next to a homeless Village.2 People were angry, and I knew it. However, I also believed that once the community took the time to hear about our project in detail, they would come around and support what we were doing. I believed that our team could deal well with this small group of neighbors.
Except it was not a small group of neighbors.
Five hundred people showed up to our meeting, and many of them were so mad. So, so mad. Our plans for the meeting quickly derailed, and it became a 2+ hour screamfest. Some highlights include:
One dude calling all houseless people “parasites.”
A younger girl explaining to the hostile crowd how gentrification is at the root of many of the problems in St. Johns (her speech was met with cries of “Who are you to tell me where I’m allowed to buy a house?”).
Our church being repeatedly accused of ‘using’ houseless people to make a quick buck.
Some dude creeping closer and closer behind our administrative pastor (her husband was ready to thump the dude).
The crowd mocking and laughing at one of the leaders of the project because of how emotionally invested he was in the project.
It was a cool meeting. Very fun. 10/10 would recommend.
The meeting ended, and after I got my bearings and went back to my office to recover, my body shut down. For an hour and a half, I stared at my feet, unable to move; unable to think; unable to imagine a way to move forward. I got home and checked my phone. Dozens of strangers had emailed and messaged me, telling me how poorly I had handled the meeting, and sharing their disappointment in our church and my leadership. I read until I couldn’t read anymore, then I chased some sleeping pills with a glass of wine and went to bed.
For the following two days, I was unable to get out of bed for anything other than to grab some water or go to the bathroom. I lay on the bed with the covers pulled completely over my head, like a five-year-old protecting himself from monsters. I could not face the outside world, the neighbors, society, my wife, or my kids. I felt like a failure, and believed the entire town hated me. That whole week, I thought of myself as the most hated person in the neighborhood of St. Johns. My phone lit up with email and Facebook notifications from people who were furious with me. I read a few, and turned my phone back off, pulling the covers back over my head.
For two days, I stayed in my bedroom.
For two days, I remained under the covers.
For two days I hid from the world.
At the time I was training for a half marathon, but I couldn’t get myself to go for a run. Leaving the house meant facing the neighbors, and I simply could not do that.
Over the next few days and weeks, the bodily shutdowns became more frequent. The panic attacks became worse. And every moment I was overwhelmed with the belief that the rest of the neighborhood hated my guts. All the while, I carried the shame of wondering why this impacted me so greatly. After all, I wasn’t assaulted. People weren’t camped outside of my home. I hadn’t been doxxed. I had my job. I had my family. I had friends that loved me.
Honestly, all that occurred was a couple hours of screaming. It really wasn’t that bad. So why did it impact me like it had? Politicians, sports figures, musicians, and actors deal with this stuff on a daily basis, and I crumbled after one single incident. I felt weak; powerless. I wished I had never gone forward with the project. I wished that I had never become pastor of this church. I wished that I had never gone into ministry at all. I didn’t feel strong enough for this line of work. I wanted to hang it all up. I wanted to cancel the project and quit my job.
In my lowest moments, I wanted to die.
2024 David is conflicted about what the meeting did to me.
It absolutely changed me, for sure.
But I can’t decide if it made me better or worse.
I don’t know if I’m more resilient now, or if my skin is thinner than it’s ever been.
I don’t know if it made me more cynical about the cruelty of humanity, or more hopeful that people can do good despite opposition.
I don’t know if this experience made me more of a Christian or less. I think it moved the needle; I just don’t know which way.
I feel like a less compassionate person lately. I imagine this meeting had at least a little to do with it.
I don’t know.
I don’t know why this meeting impacted me so much.
I don’t know why it still does.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it.
I’m less anxious and panicky than I was in 2019 when thinking about it. But I still sometimes have panic attacks when I think about the meeting.
I still harbor resentment toward the individuals who accused me of untrue things.
I still get angry when I see those people in restaurants or stores.
I wish I could let it all go.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.
The David from before the meeting is a very different David than the David after.
I can’t decide if he’s a better or worse person.
What I’m listening to:
Cobra Starship - Church of Hot Addiction
I’ve been dragging this week. Needed some hype this morning.
There’s a small list of songs that always get me hype, no matter how many times I listen to them.3 This is one.
They’re also the only band I’ve seen live who has a keytar player. So rad.
Comment below with the song that always gets you hype.
I need more.
And now a trip down memory lane:
It was fun reliving all of this.
Wait, did I say fun? I meant horrible. It was horrible.
In the end we received over 100 lawsuit threats. Very cool.
Over 20 people ended up moving because we were doing this. It’s pretty heartbreaking to know that helping houseless people is a bridge too far for some neighbors.
Others:
Disconnected - Face to Face
The Ghosts of Me and You - Less than Jake
Semi-Charmed Life - Third Eye Blind
Futures - Jimmy Eat World
Nice Guys Finish Last - Green Day
Tell that Mick He Just Made My List of Things to Do Today - Fall Out Boy
Ocean Avenue - Yellowcard
Hurricane - Something Corporate
The Rock Show - Blink 182
Dammit - Blink 182
David, thank you for this retelling - I’m sure it cost you something. My pivotal church meeting was 5 years ago in January. It was gutting, disorienting, and in hindsight, ushered me to a wide open space that keeps getting wider… and more fun. Meaning there is a provocative playfulness of God out here in the wild. It makes me want thin skin. As thin as possible. As translucent as your story here, where the life can show through. The bravest people I know are the thin skinned ones. They’re like those spring rolls with rice paper - you know what’s inside. You know what to expect and that feels so much safer than the alternative.
Oh I felt this. Every word. I keep picturing Jesus crammed into a corner of that overflowing meeting, crying his eyes out. I wonder if he was changed by it too.
This line struck me: "I don’t know if I’m more resilient now, or if my skin is thinner than it’s ever been." It's both. Both and. At least that's what my therapist would say. Both things can be true.
Pump up song addition: Dog Days by Florence and the Machine