When I realised we needed to set up a charity providing safe homes for survivors of slavery facing homelessness, I thought I was prepared.
I was fully prepared to hear the horrific stories of trauma, injustice and gut-wrenching pain. As an empath, I knew that it was going to be an emotional rollercoaster for me.
I also expected the hard slog, the sleepless nights, the arguments with my husband (we work together - don't ask me if I recommend it...), the never-ending learning curve of processes and procedures and the personal growth that accompanies it.
I expected to have to battle corrupt, inhumane and hostile policies from our government.
I was even ready for the broad spectrum of public misconceptions around modern slavery to blatant racism.
Call me naive, but what I absolutely was not prepared for was the friendly fire.
And here's where you can stop reading if you're going to find this a challenge. I don't mind if you stop. Just scroll on to something more cheerful. But this needs to be said.
And not just the friendly fire but the ignoring. The apathy. The commission and omission.
I know the world is an overwhelming place. Believe me, I know this. I know that many churches and Jesus-followers are involved in amazing projects that seek to make this world less overwhelming for those who don't have some of our privileges or who face injustice and poverty. So, before I say anymore, I want to acknowledge this.
But.
For 3 1/2 years I have been banging my head against a brick wall of churches.
It's not just the lack of response and the ignoring of my emails and phone calls.
It's the phone calls from churches telling me not to contact them again. Churches who, on their websites, talk about inclusivity and welcome. I don't know why I'm left open mouthed each time this happens, but I am.
It's the emails from large churches (1500+ people) telling me that they're not going to share our (ONE HOUR) zoom event because they can't think of anyone who would be interested.
It's the dismissive attitude that robs people of having a home.
It's the need to help people who 'feel deserving' rather than those who have nobody looking out for them.
It's the emails from the actual social action person in the church telling me their church isn't interested. Yep, the actual, paid social action person.
A one hour zoom, people. Survivors of slavery surely deserve that much of our time.
I'm angry.
I'm angry on behalf of the people we welcome and love who need homes.
I'm angry because I know there are people who want to use their spare bedrooms for good but don't know how they can do this.
I'm angry because the Church isn't doing what we're meant to be doing.
And I'm disappointed.
I started out with such a faith and belief that when they found out survivors of slavery needed homes, the Church would rise up and fill that gap. Because that's what we're here for, right? Welcoming the stranger and all that?
But each time my head has banged against a church brick wall, my heart and my faith have taken a battering. It's exhausting to read all the referral forms, knowing the need and knowing the difference a welcoming home would make to this person. And then not being able to give them that home.
I've been in a church leadership family. I know its busy and full-on and pressured. I know there are many, many needs that pull on the time of church leaders. That's why I'm not asking them to run a project. I'm only asking churches to share our event with their people.
And I can't understand why they don't.
So, no, I wasn't prepared for this deep, heart-wrenching disappointment and anger. Nobody told me I'd have to deal with this every. single. day.
I know I can't change hearts and minds. All I can do is keep doing what I'm meant to be doing. And keep forgiving and loving and showing mercy.
But know this, one day Jesus will separate us into those who fed the hungry, clothed the naked and welcomed the stranger and those who didn't.
And I want to be on the right side, don't you?
