Love on the Margins
by: Kaitlyn Ranasinghe
I live in a wealthy neighbourhood in Toronto. Nestled between two mansions, my family shares a small bungalow with a friend, splitting the rent to enjoy this wonderful area. This neighbourhood we call home is steeped in wealth and privilege where residents enjoy the comfort of being surrounded by others just like themselves.
A few months ago, a modular housing project was proposed in our neighbourhood to offer affordable housing to 64 individuals exiting homelessness. It will be built next to a retirement home on a small patch of grass with a few trees.
This project immediately became the subject of significant community backlash. Community members protested; posting signs saying, “Save our trees” and “No modular housing.”
Recently, a friend of mine shared a picture on the community Facebook group of her young children walking to school and captioned it: “Our daily commute takes us right past [this space]. This morning’s conversation: how can we together care for our vulnerable as much as we care for our trees?”
I think this is a brilliant reflection when the majority of complaints are that a few trees will be lost to the new building.
Why do we care more for these trees than for the vulnerable in our city?
When we think about people experiencing homelessness, I think many of us are filled with pity: It’s too bad that people have to live like that.
Yet most of us like to keep our distance. We’ve been conditioned to avoid and look past those in need. We avert our gaze, move away, and then forget all about it.
Why is it that when we are faced with homelessness we can talk the talk – give money or share a fundraising campaign – but when it comes time to walk the walk – to demonstrate unconditional love and care – we muster any number of reasons why it just won’t work?
“I love the idea of housing the homeless, but just not here.”
“Why don’t we move the project near the highway where none of us live?”
My neighbours do not want modular housing because it interrupts their sense of security and comfort. And I think many of us, if facing the same situation, would feel similarly. We may claim to be concerned about trees, but deep-down we are trying to protect our comfortable lives.
I think we often forget that those experiencing homelessness are as much our neighbours as our co-workers, in-laws, our friends.
As I reflect upon the people that Jesus viewed as his neighbours, they were people that society would have marginalized: sinners, tax collectors, sex workers, adulterers, and lepers.
When Jesus loved his neighbours, he ate with them, spent time with them, cared for them as his own family. He didn’t pity them, he welcomed them into his life; disrupting the sense of security that comes from being surrounded by people who are just like ourselves. Jesus moved toward brokenness, not away from it; and we are called to do the same.
What would it look like for my neighbourhood to welcome 64 individuals in desperate need of housing with open arms and without condition?
It would look like us following Jesus’ example. To confront our biases and assumptions about those who are different from us. To ask the Spirit to change our harmful attitudes and break our hearts where we have become apathetic and prone to self-preservation. To stand up for those on the margins. To disrupt our sense of comfort and security and to get to know those we tend to avoid. To take time to be one with our neighbours – no longer us-them, but simply us.
How beautiful that would be to love on the margins.
Kaitlyn Ranasinghe is a new mom, community educator, and advocate who is passionate about social justice. She has worked in maternal health, food security and resilience, anti-human trafficking, and women’s rights. She has a passion for education and advocacy that inspires structural and systemic change in Canada and the world.
@kaitlyn.rena