23 March 2003
FEATURE
by David Ball
The Martlet
March 20, 2003
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In the dim candlelight, peoples' shadows flicker on the walls of the room leading to a dark stairway deep inside the abandoned furniture store. The air I breathe carries a tired, musty smell. Combined with the scarce lighting and echoing voices, it all reminds me of being inside an ancient cathedral.
This is holy space, I think. What we are doing here is sacred. With police outside waiting to shut this down any minute, this place feels like a sanctuary from the harsh outside world. But it's also harsh in here. I am afraid, and I can sense that fear in others too.
Even with this fear, and the threat that police could storm this abandoned housing squat anytime to evict us all, I feel safe here in a different way. I try to find my way upstairs in the darkness. My feet negotiate a path over cracked cement, ripped tiles and cavernous holes in the floor. Who knows where they drop to? With a sleeping bag over one shoulder, and my other hand outstretched to find walls, I move slowly.
Other people pass by, many of them homeless, going in and out of the housing squat while I venture deeper into a building used long ago to sell furniture. I cannot see their faces, and I feel like I cannot know them well because of my privilege. But we're all here together. For 15 years, 538 Pandora Avenue has lain empty.
Not tonight, though. For one night, and one night only, Victoria's homeless have opened this place up for shelter.
I came to support this housing protest and that's why my five housemates are here too. We're spending the night deep inside the labyrinth of corridors and rooms, in a small dark room powdered with what looks like asbestos. Camping on the old wood floors, we fell asleep to the sound of wailing downtown sirens and a man in the adjacent room snorting cocaine.
The six of us talked about being part of the squat all week, after the cops shut it down only days after it began. The issue of homelessness in Victoria was unresolved. Sleeping in the depths of the squat was unlike anything I had ever done and without my housemates for support I would have been too afraid. Not just afraid for my safety, but afraid because I know that I am so privileged in this society and felt out of place at this housing squat. At any point, I could have chosen to catch a taxi home, where I could expect a warm bed. That very choice is a luxury few others at the squat had.
This experience has made us all discuss what it means to be church. After more than a month of living together in a community house inspired by a Christian vision, it's something we often think about. A lot of people think of churches as large buildings housing formal religious practices. But for me, church is not somewhere to go, but something to be. Jesus taught that we ourselves are the church; he said that the temples will collapse but community will always remain.
My house is a church, my friends are a church, my body is a church.
I am church.
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