Roger Quick, the chaplain of St George’s Crypt, a charity for homeless and vulnerable people in Leeds, ponders what Christmas will be like in this year of all years …
Christmas is the worst time. Being homeless at any time is bad. Being homeless surrounded by images depicting the perfect Christmas with a loving family in a comfy house (spacious and well-appointed) is worse. It just brings it home that your family don’t want you. And you know that if you were there, it would be like the Christmas before, with a stocking-full of failure and recriminations; violence and blame being parcelled out; disappointment and tears by bedtime. That’s not exaggerating. That’s the reality of dysfunctional Christmas. And all the relentless advertising of all the shiny things which would make it better just make it worse when you have no money, and the kids will be disappointed in you, and you will have failed again. All the cheery bonhomie between here and the North Pole can’t make that better.
So, when one Christmas in St George’s Crypt came round, it took considerable courage, and an extraordinary Hope, to react as one of our people did, when I read the Gospel of the Nativity in our Wet House and asked – as I often do after a scripture reading – What do we make of all that then? Old Jack sat back on the sofa, folded his arms and said:
You know what I reckon? If they came here now, to Leeds now instead of to Bethlehem all that time ago, they might try booking in to the Queens Hotel. But they wouldn’t have them, because they’re not posh enough. So then they might try maybe the Dragonora. But they wouldn’t have them either. So they might try a few more places; and they still wouldn’t get in anywhere. And you know where they’d end up? They’d end up here in the Crypt. Because he’s one of us.
Jack had seen sixty Christmases; a lot of them disappointing, right from the start. It was no good telling him to think of the happy times; they got swamped by the memories of failure and shame. But still, he knew the real meaning. Somehow, through the drifts of glittery tinsel, the flashing lights, tarty elves, and the plastic Ho-ho-ho-ing; still he knew the moment of silence under the stars, when the creator of all things visible and invisible chooses to step into his creation and live.
When you know that - when you really know that - everything changes. It’s not God up there and us down here, infinitely separated (and certainly not by sin, which is the most neurotic doctrine of them all). Everything changes because God is us and that being us goes right back before everything, and stays when all that is has come to nothing and the universe has vanished into its own black hole.
So, at the Crypt, we try and do the same as God. Not to love from a safe and protected distance but truly to be with everyone who comes to us for help; to be with them until we acknowledge that we are the same: Little, weak and helpless. Until we can let go all the stuff that pretends to give us security and happiness: which, in reality, smothers and deadens us.
And that is what having nothing teaches you, if you let it. That nothing matters; not losing your job, or your house, or your car, your reputation, or even those who love you. Some of our people get that far. Having been brought to the place where they have so little, they understand how little is really necessary.
Christmas in the Crypt this year is going to be a bit different. We still have sixteen residents in single rooms, socially distanced for meals and anything else. We would have had as many as forty sleeping in our dormitories; they are housed elsewhere during COVID-19 - at the government’s expense, but being cared for by our staff. Our old Wet House has been newly rebuilt as fifteen separate flats. The hundred or more who would normally come to lunch now come for a takeaway meal. All the social life - the art classes, the music, the drama - are on hold. We still have physiotherapy and haircuts but the big sit-down Christmas Dinner can’t happen this year.
Most Christmases we would have perhaps thirty generous volunteers helping. That’s not possible this year - pray God it is next. But there are other ways of helping your local homeless charity. Their funding streams will have dried up too. They too will be having difficulty meeting the regular bills.
There is an old belief that you only get to keep in heaven what you gave away on earth (Most of us therefore can look forward to an eternity of silly socks and cheap perfume).
We have so much; but really we’re just looking after it for a little while.
So, may your Christmas be blessed. Because he’s one of us.
***
Roger Quick grew up in Leeds and London. He first arrived at the Crypt forty years ago, too drunk to be let in. When he sobered up he became a volunteer, and eventually worked as a musician, lecturer, writer and broadcaster. After ordination, he served in parish ministry in Leeds and Scotland, where he was chaplain to Strathallan School for seven years. His series Talking Saints was regularly broadcast on BBC Radio 2. Since 2013 he has been chaplain to St George’s Crypt.
Entertaining Saints: Tales from St George’s Crypt is out now in paperback, priced £9.99.
All royalty proceeds go to St George’s Crypt. Illustrations are by Si Smith. You can find more of his work at www.simonsmithillustrator.co.uk.
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