Living in a play pen

More on Ann Morisy's wonderful book, Journeying Out.  

One of the chapters in this book made me wince the whole way through.  Morisy devotes a whole chapter to the problem of suburbia, which she describes as play pen living.  Those of us (and she includes herself in this) who live in suburbia live lives protected from life's struggles.  We devote our lives to trivia: to filling our wardrobes with clothes we don't need and our houses with Ikea furniture.  We accumulate so much stuff that our houses become cluttered and then we have to decide what to do with all the stuff.  Our wealth protects us from many of life's struggles.  It is as if we are children living in a play pen.  Ouch.

Morisy does not claim that people living in suburbia never suffer, but that we hide our suffering behind our Ikea curtains, thus preventing us from the joy of receiving help and support from our neighbours.  She argues that we try to maintain a certain image - that we like to appear 'sorted' - although we struggle to live up to our ideal.  

The solution to what she perceives as a problem (although to many of us it's simply 'normal life') is to journey out of our play pen to encounter those who know deeply about struggle, and who are unable to conceal it from the world.  An example would be the trip to Zimbabwe by the good ladies of the Mothers' Union, which I described yesterday.  In the Borough of Southend, where I live, one does not need to go as far as Zimbabwe to find open struggle, however.  The community of rough sleepers in central Southend are only a couple of miles down the A13 from leafy Leigh.  The Southchurch Foodbank is just a short drive away.  And even in the church coffee shop where I spend much of my time, which is smack in the middle of suburbia, I frequently meet people who, once I get to know them a little, tell me of the pain and struggle which is just below the surface.

Blessed are you who are poor, says Jesus, for yours is the Kingdom of Heaven (Luke 6.20).  We suburbanites really struggle with sayings like this.  What do you mean, Jesus?  Don't you love us?  Is there perhaps some clever explanation scholars have come up with to take away the sting of this saying?  Surely Jesus can't really mean what he seems to mean?  Morisy argues that we who are not poor need those who are poor far more than they need us and the help we can provide from our riches.  For in encountering struggle, we encounter Jesus.