It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way.
Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities1
The starting point of this book was a particular encounter with one individual, the story of his life and its effect on mine. The context was important: he had been a drug-user, I was a priest, the hostel was loosely connected with the local church. Writing from his experience in inner-city Leeds, David Rhodes echoes a similar sentiment:
In this and many other ways it came to the priest that he was not bringing God to the homeless: it was the homeless and poor who were living and speaking the love of God to him in his need and his spiritual poverty. It was they who were the outward and visible expression of God’s presence.2
An exploration of the meaning of this outward and visible expression is the subject matter of this book, together with an appreciation of the dialogue between those who are marginalised and those who listen to their lifestories. A theological route map proposed parallel paths. Practical theology implied an examination of the contemporary world in dialogue with different texts, including the Bible. It suggested that an inter-disciplinary method which paid heed to context and to the hidden ‘others’ created by Western modernity would yield an authentic theology of transformation. This led to a focus on the nature of the encounter – one story told to another person – and so to a theology of story. It was suggested that within certain criteria the stories of the poor can re-invigorate our Christian story and make these stories strange again. A second path was based on a desire to collect more stories and to analyse them systematically. Qualitative research methods applied to everyday life were the ones best disposed to achieve this task. The intersection of writer and those written about, together with issues of voice, point also to the influence of postmodern thinking and, as in a mathematical problem, the desire to show workings: what Jagose calls in relation to Queer Theory a display of exoskeletal support. This translates here to a recapitulation of the story in which we find ourselves, and in particular to a wish to isolate moments where previously held theory may be challenged by such empirical data that conversations and interviews have provided. A theology of homelessness is the destination to which these markers point.
Both a literary and a theological perspective saw story as fundamental to existence, a way of giving meaning and order to the confusion of human life. The stories which homeless people tell are particular evidence of this, where the search for identity and meaning is often sharper, perhaps unique. If the pain of homeless people is frequently centred around loss, including the loss of identity, then the story which begins to rediscover identity is all the more significant. The therapeutic dimension of storytelling exemplified by those with experience of the Alcoholics Anonymous organisation is also mirrored here, both consciously in those who acknowledge the power of the story, and unconsciously as they construct their lifestories in my hearing.
An understanding of liberation theology designated the poor as storytellers for God. While an analysis of the stories of these homeless people does not preclude notions of spirituality, with the possible exception of Julie’s interview and Marc’s experience of a Christian cafe, there is little evidence that they themselves have any concept that they are especially ‘preferred’ by God. On the other hand, there is ample proof to echo here Segundo’s caveat that ‘passive and fatalistic’ imagery around God is not a helpful departure point for the evangelisation of the theologian by those who are marginal. It is certainly possible to affirm that a two-way traffic is desirable, but the evidence from this analysis points more in the direction of Rayan’s ‘latent’ theology awaiting articulation perhaps by both specialist and non-specialist together. The theologian does indeed need to go outside the camp, and I believe that this was achieved in a small measure during these conversations.
Freire’s more political language of oppressed and oppressor, and their entrapped reciprocity, leads to a wider critique. There is no evidence from any of the participants of an understanding of the Church as challenging the underlying causes of poverty and homelessness. It could be argued that there is not a lot of comment about the Church in any sense – where it is positive it is around personal support, non-interference in a lifestyle, and in reinforcing a conservative outlook on life. There are more examples of a negative apprehension of the Church. Yet added to this is my impression of a similar absence from the homeless centres I visited. They certainly attempt successfully to meet the changing needs of homeless people, but I question the degree of theological literacy in what are essentially Christian projects. In terms of the Good News as a loving response to those who suffer, there is no doubt that these projects tell out the gospel, but I wonder about the difficult task of a prophetic ministry which questions root causes of marginalisation. If, of course, the Church itself is weak in this role and prefers a quiet collusion, then it is hardly surprising that those who work within its broad margins are not encouraged to challenge the status quo. This is perhaps a concrete example of Myers’ argument that the Churches have negotiated a withdrawal from the public, political domain in return for continued influence in individual lives. There is a concern here for non-persons (rather than non-believers) but much of the Church’s resources and thinking about mission tends to marginalise connections with social justice.
Further insights into the nature of storytelling were provided by Buber, Wright and Hauerwas. While my intention was to create in the course of the interviews the I–Thou relationship which Buber describes, the interviewees witnessed to the significance of telling their stories whether it was to me or, more importantly, to a key worker. The therapeutic relief of ‘getting the story out’ for the first time is mentioned by more than one participant. Buber underlines the real gift of being able to listen to others, and the frequency with which nowadays conversations harden to an I–It status. This may explain partly explain why homeless people as experts on homelessness are so rarely consulted.3 This would also extend to the insights of homeless (and other marginal) people when they read and interpret the Bible. Wright’s notion that our stories carry our knowledge of the world, allowing new knowledge to be added, is supported here by the attempts of these storytellers to integrate their earlier lives with their present situations, and at the same time formulate plans and hopes for the future. They have already set up the beginnings of a third story, which shows a pattern of recovery and restitution favoured by Western narrative. If their first stories are an articulation of collapse then the intention is to move to reconstruction. Such a process is also supported by similar work amongst homeless people from a health perspective:
The analysis of the transcripts indicated that homeless individuals strive to have valued lives and selves. Because of their homelessness, they experience disrupted plans and altered lives. The narrative text revealed that homelessness poses identity problems; positive former identities are preserved, current identity is devalued, and future identities are glimpsed. Past, present and future blends into one another as homeless individuals (for a number of reasons related to their biographies and context) cling to selves situated in the past or create selves oriented to the future.4
Stanley Hauerwas remarked on the same theme within a context of Christian storytelling, with the significant difference that he imagines that the Christian story is the vehicle through which the past and present are incorporated into the new self. It is not obvious from the interviews that the Christian story plays much part in the lives of these homeless people. It may be significant that Julie who articulates some clear Christian thinking appears as such a positive and energetic character, or that Marc speaks more positively than elsewhere in his interview of his time spent in a Christian cafe. But for the majority, a real hold on the powerful nature of the Christian story is absent.
Hauerwas’ work on the loss of narrative is also reflected here. If the theme of loss in general is evidenced among this particular group of homeless people, then homelessness imposes another loss upon them: their place in the common societal story, or more likely their exclusion from it. They are outsiders to the story in which they once had a role. And so like the poor everywhere, they now they risk another alien story being imposed on them, via the labelling and prejudice against those who have fallen out of the system. They long to return to this old story, and recall the moments when they were part of it, trying to construct a future which allows for the awfulness of the present. The new story can never wipe out what is currently experienced but it may be able to mollify its effects. A more concrete loss of place is also emphasised in these stories, from Charlie’s ‘lost wandering lad’ to Pete’s descriptions of a disrupted marital home; from Danni’s experience of prison to Fran’s rootless searching. But equally, place is comprehend as a contested reality with different meanings ascribed to it, with home (and therefore homelessness) being loaded with ideology.
Three levels of loss or absence may be perceived here: a theoretical absence or exclusion from discourse concerning housing and homelessness, in other words a post-colonial erasure in social policy terms and in much sociological and theological study; a loss for specific individuals of their place in the story of the community, and the story they tell themselves about themselves; these two levels represented literally by the loss of a place of security, commonly summed up in the concept of home.
It is here that the Christian theologian wishes to intervene and say to homeless people: I know a story that can help you slowly to reconcile these things, to argue for real equality, to imagine a better future. Despairingly perhaps I ask: ‘Why haven’t you heard this story?’ John Vincent has already provided some of the answer in his discussion about why poor people in Britain are rarely the instigators of a local liberation theology. But the message to the theologians is to ask themselves where they are situated in relation to the theology they are creating, and where this theology is being performed.
These biographies of homeless people and their analysis (including a reflection on reading the Bible together) need to be reviewed against the earlier decisions about how best to collect stories of everyday human life. The tensions between individual and group experience form one aspect of this, which leads neatly to a reminder about who constitutes a ‘proper’ subject for study. The way in which homeless voices are often ignored in terms of investigation is part of a wider cultural practice of marginalisation. The theme of spirituality forms the least ‘good fit’ and some reasons for this are suggested. Lastly, the important intersection between writer and subject is reconsidered.
The analysis of these interviews allows the current reader to have an understanding of these 11 homeless people (and to a small extent of one writer) in ways which respect both their individuality and at the same time their common experiences. While it is important not to lose sight of the particular against the universal, the idiosyncratic over against the stereotype, nevertheless this project also shows clearly the existence of a number of experiences, which many, but not all, of the participants share. These amount to a crisis or a series of crises often brought about by a major loss (by bereavement, of job, of partner, of health, and so on) which results in some form of abuse, of self or substance. At this point the story becomes public in the loss of home, and frequently in the loss of shelter. This is the first part of what might be described as a cycle of homelessness.
The second part is characterised by a paradoxical emotional reaction. Descriptions of pain, fear, suffering and isolation have usually accompanied this slide into homelessness; yet at the same time and within the same individuals there is a fierce will to survive, to remain independent and to preserve a measure of human dignity despite the circumstances. Ironically, such a combination may prevent a homeless person seeking outside intervention before further crises (for example, of health) develop.
The third part, occurring in varying degrees in these life histories, is an account of restitution or coming home. Drug and alcohol addiction is being controlled, marital reconciliation is underway, restoration of health is envisaged. Above all, the start of, or return to, a permanent and secure home is imagined. The manager of St Piran’s remarks that this hope ranges from the realistic to the frankly fantastic, but such hope is present in almost all participants in this study, with the exceptions of Geoff and Tim. Both show a greater acceptance of their circumstances, though Tim’s age and ill-health indicate that a change of lifestyle is required in the near future.
This process of homelessness has been presented as a linear one in accordance with the accounts of participants. Of those who were interviewed at Aubyn House, Caroline, Danni, Fran, Marc and Pete had also lived at the Victory hostel; Charlie and Pete had lived with the Salvation Army, and Danni had lived at Akron House on the outskirts of the city. This is implicit evidence of a resettlement policy: from short-stay hostels to a ‘half-way house’ like Aubyn to a secure tenancy. The picture in the other town was less clear since St Piran’s was a day-centre, but some of those interviewed there spoke of different hostels and bedsits. Resettlement work was part of St Piran’s remit as evidenced by the employment of an outreach worker. Although there is only one hint of this (at the end of Danni’s interview), what is presented here as primarily linear is often in practice cyclical: a cycle of homelessness. Before the appointment of resettlement or outreach workers, it was recognised that many who were simply rehoused came back to hostels quite quickly, unable to sustain independent living, and starting from a worse position of failure than before. Michael from St Piran’s remarked that in dealing with a whole life and a whole person, provision of housing alone was not enough.5 This points back to the concept of diversity – distinctive individual lives within shared experiences.
Diversity allows a challenge to negative labelling of homeless people, and sees instead individuals with a mixture of different characteristics and experiences. This undercuts any notion of respectable or unrespectable research subjects, and equally of respectable or unrespectable biblical interpretation. Of these participants, more than half, during a large part of their lives, would have been seen as respectable or middle class; of the others, the majority come from dysfunctional families and are too young to have established independent existence.
One of the things they may share is the common assumption of others about homeless people: a narrative which it is hard to contest. In the description of the humour of miscommunication between his speakers, Rapport suggests that the underlying cause is the unconscious attempt of speakers to impose different cultural concepts on one another, and the attempt’s failure. He alludes to Wikan’s work amongst the poor in Cairo, when she comments that the weaker groups in society have difficulty resisting an alien culture being imposed upon them. In respect of the homeless population the same phenomenon is apparent. Katherine Boydell comments that:
the behaviour of … interviewees was better understood through an effort to understand the meanings that the homeless individuals themselves adopted rather than by concentrating only on the more unidimensional attributions made by others.6
The overall culture of the homeless people involved in this study reveals a tension or a paradox between suffering and survival. Though some of the actual descriptions seem to make light of the worst of the experiences described, the sum total for any individual, or for the group as a whole, amounts to serious degree of physical, emotional, psychological and spiritual suffering. Alongside this runs a powerful stream of fierce survival. Brett Smith remarks in his personal account of depression that ‘the preference in Western culture for restitution narratives, in which the storyteller triumphs over her or his illness, reinforces a general aversion to hearing diverse and contradictory illness stories’.7 Notwithstanding this preference, stories of survival may represent an unconscious attempt to resist the almost uniform negative images which are placed on homeless people, movingly described by those participating in the Bible reading experience. The fact that society at large continues in these images points to a public failure to make survival real. This supports the contention that these dialogues reflect the same phenomenon that Wikan describes – that the construction of culture is dependent on the relative power of different groups, and that homeless people have little with which to argue their case.
The category showing the least ‘good fit’ between theory and the data discovered by these conversations focused on spirituality and religious experience. The difficulties with terminology, especially in an empirical study, are best captured by the double recognition that while definitions of religious experience as both event and process are possible, an interviewee or respondent is quite free to choose their own understanding. Within this research I chose to emphasise the broader basis, with the use of the word ‘spiritual’ on occasions. However, as the results indicate, a very wide variety of response occurred, almost none of which fall into any of the categories previously designated. Such words and phrases as ‘heightened perception’, ‘a sense of something dynamic, communal, mystical or numinous’, ‘God as Trinity’, are largely missing from these transcripts. Instead, interviewees expressed a limited range of images and ideas associated with God, which include holding God to blame for their troubles. There was a range of expression about Church and the Bible, some interesting attempts to develop a personal theology and examples of black humour. It would be arrogant and misplaced to conclude that there is an absence of spirituality here, though there is little that is specifically Christian.
One explanation for this dichotomy between theory and practice is a methodological one. It concerns the difference between the purposes of the comparative studies and my own. Whereas they sought either to examine the religious experience of children or adults, or to approach these issues from a philosophical standpoint, my intention was to hear the stories of homeless people which might (or might not) include a religious or spiritual dimension. In view of this difference it is less likely that the resulting analysis will yield similar themes. It might also be argued that this study took a relatively small sample, focused on a group of people with some common experiences, and was not afraid to include ‘negative’ remarks. The insights of these interviewees can be included and valued by seeing them within the broader picture of the life history of each individual. This also has the merit of avoiding a false separation between religion or spirituality and the rest of life.
The final part of this review concerns the relationship between writer and those written about. Qualitative research theory and postmodern methods both recognise a reciprocity of relationships inherent in this type of endeavour. The researcher will have an effect on the data and vice versa; just as the research subject will, to some extent, change the investigator, and vice versa. An awareness of this is essential, not simply in the sense that the data is not ‘pure’, but more positively that the honest involvement of the researcher brings a greater authenticity to the overall project. Such awareness is all the more necessary where there exists an imbalance of power with participants who are socially marginal. It is for these reasons that I have from the outset considered myself a participant in this research, albeit of a different character. I have touched upon questions of motivation in the Prologue; within the concept of life histories I have included some of my own, sharing a measure of vulnerability with the research participants. I hope I have shown that my sense of unease and of being ‘on the edge’ in the present Church of England may provide some tiny opening to access the lives of those who have suffered a great deal more marginalisation. Additionally, a longer-term involvement with these projects has provided a greater depth of understanding. It has also been noted where within the interviews themselves this writer felt more personally affected.
There was a similar sense of reciprocity in the experience of being a volunteer at St Piran’s. Volunteers usually want to feel useful and be active doing things, yet often in these centres, there is not a lot to do except simply to be with the clients, the homeless people. The result is boredom and frustration on the part of the voluntary staff, and dissatisfaction. However, on reflection, these emotions probably mirror fairly closely those felt by the clients themselves; so the volunteer is drawn subconsciously into the world of the homeless person. It is from this point of greater equality that real dialogue can start.
A chance encounter and a private conversation soon took on a more public dimension following the first interview with Caroline. She was pleased that someone was going to write about her experiences and those like her. This reflected an unspoken moral bargain: homeless people would talk to me in intimate detail, but they wanted their stories heard. I hope I have kept my side of the bargain. On the other hand a growing familiarity with the transcripts and the need for a certain objectivity from them have sometimes blunted the sharpness of the stories they tell. I am grateful to others’ accounts for reminding me of God’s anger and human anger as a reaction to such suffering. Anger prompts engagement: the asking of difficult questions, or the advocacy of political action. Here I have chosen the task of reworking Christian theology so that it hears and honours the stories of homeless people, and contributes to the transformation of lives. In the course of this I too have had my consciousness raised about reading the Bible, about Church practice, about theology itself, in a way which is non-refundable. The exercise of writing this book becomes a part of my story, alongside the stories which homeless women and men have told to me. My future is not clear, but these ‘events’ will have to be incorporated into it.
Practical theology includes the argument that the disciplines of economics, sociology and psychology need to inform theology in its response to contemporary situations. This book makes a strong claim that such a theological method is both desirable and necessary. Without it, our theology of homelessness would be as empty of meaning as a fifteenth-century dispute into the number of teeth in a horse’s mouth.8 However practical theology ‘must be prepared to admit to and live with huge black holes in understanding and experience’.9 This book stands as an attempt to identify those black holes more precisely and begin to fill them in.
The findings of this investigation are summarised schematically below, in a way which allows departure points for the creation of a theology of homelessness. In particular, the discontinuity between theory and practice in the area of spiritual experience requires noting. Additionally, interviewees’ critical appreciation of the Bible and the Church can now be placed in the wider context of how homelessness is understood in these two domains. The following chapter develops these insights at the level of both individual and society.
• Homelessness is the often the result of serious loss or losses – of close relative, of job, of partner, of health. The stories told by homeless people also record their loss of role in the common story of the society around them.
• Descriptions of pain, suffering and isolation co-exist alongside the will to survive independently and with dignity. Dynamic narratives of restitution also suggest that story has the potential for transformation and empowerment.
• The diversity of the homeless population interviewed here and of their life experiences challenges a stereotypical view of homelessness.
• Distinctions between research subjects as respectable or unrespectable are undermined in terms of this data. Listening more attentively to those deemed socially excluded would be welcome.
• Traditional descriptors of religious experience are absent from this data, although this does not imply an absence of discourse about religion, the Bible, the Church or spirituality.
• For the majority of those interviewed, there is little comprehension that the Christian story is Good News for them.
• Within the particular Centres there is explicit focus on individual care, but little engagement with structural reasons for homelessness, from a theological or a political perspective.
• Insights from the study of economics, sociology and psychology can provide important material for theological reflection on current issues.
• Theologies of equality are worth restating as public theologies which lead to political action.
• Theologies of place are worth articulating because homelessness and homeless people are often at the sharp end of contested definitions of place and space. Reading the homeless city from the perspective of those on its margins can yield new theological understandings of home.
• Contextual Bible reading with those whose voices are less audible provide new images of Jesus in the contemporary world. Homeless people may have some insights which are especially valuable given their life experiences.
• Homelessness cannot be fully understood without an awareness of the society in which it is situated, including the political dimensions of a market in housing.
• An ethical framework includes not only the ethics of research into vulnerable individuals, but also the concepts of moral hazard and moral deficit as applied to recent economic crises.
• The vulnerability of the storied self allows some access to other more vulnerable groups. The recording and analysis of the stories of homeless interviewees are interactions between research subjects and researcher, which risk changing the lives of all participants.
1 Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities (London and Glasgow: Collins’ Clear-Type Press, no date), p. 8.
2 David Rhodes, Faith in Dark Places (London: Triangle, 1996), p. 18.
3 For an American example of this, see Alan Emmins, 31 Days: A New York Street Diary (London: Corvo, 2006), p. 93.
4 K.M. Boydell et al., ‘Narratives of Identity: Re-Presentation of Self in People Who Are Homeless’, Qualitative Health Research 10/1 (2000): 30.
5 See G. Randall and S. Brown, Outreach and Resettlement Work with People Sleeping Rough (London: DoE, 1995) and Pleace, ‘Rehousing Single Homeless People’ in Burrows, Pleace and Quilgars, Homelessness and Social Policy.
6 Boydell, ‘Narratives of Identity’, p. 28.
7 Smith, ‘The Abyss’, p. 276.
8 ‘In the year of our Lord 1435 there arose a grievous quarrel among the brethren over the number of teeth in the mouth of a horse. For thirteen days the disputation raged without ceasing. All the ancient books and chronicles were fetched out, and wonderful and ponderous erudition, such as was never before heard of in this region was made manifest. At the beginning of the fourteenth day a youthful friar of goodly bearing asked his learned superiors for permission to add a word, and straightway, to the wonderment of the disputants, whose wisdom he sore vexed, he beseeched them to unbend in a manner coarse and unheard of, and to look in the open mouth of a horse and find answer to their questionings. At this, their dignity being grievously hurt they waxed exceedingly wroth; and joining in a mighty uproar they flew upon him and smote him hip and thigh and cast him out forthwith. For, they said, surely Satan has tempted this bold neophyte to declare unholy and unheard of ways of finding truth contrary to all the teachings of the fathers. After many days more of grievous strife the dove of peace sat on the assembly and they, as one man, declaring the problem to be an everlasting miracle because of a grievous dearth of historical and theological evidence thereof, so ordered the same writ down.’ Jack Priestley, Hockerill Lecture 1996, quoting Francis Bacon, 1602.
9 Woodward and Pattison, Practical Theology, pp. 13–14.