The isolation at the centre

We live right at the heart of a city centre.

We know that it is a distinctive place to be based ... And much of our life is shaped by our locality. We have, perhaps, come to somewhat take for granted this place at the centre, at the crossroads, at the meeting point. A place where there is always life and busy-ness and people, and joy and challenge and community in many different forms.

And then, a couple of months ago, almost overnight, everything changed. I know, that is not unique to us. This is not a post about some competitive one-up-man-ship about whose life has faced the most upheaval in recent weeks, not at all. But it possibly a reflection on some of the aspects which I think are, in fact, relatively specific to our situation.

We quickly learned after coming here that the model of community we were creating wasn't just going to be about those who lived together in the flat long-term: much of our community was going to be about those who passed through, for longer or shorter periods of times, and those who connected in, in more or less committed ways. Individually and together we hope we have created spaces of meeting, of coming together, for lots of different people. The table cloth, into which we stitch the names of those who share our table, stands as testament to some of that.

Carrs Lane Lived Community is, in that sense, a mirror of the community in which we are based. Birmingham city centre is always (the last few weeks aside) busy. There are always people criss-crossing, pausing for a while, meeting. But the "community" here is a transient one. With all the hubbub and busyness it can be easy to forget that this place at the heart of it all, this place which is so connected, is in fact a bit of an island.

So when the passing through and the meeting all stops; when this crossroads, this hub suddenly falls silent; life beings to look very, very different.

While others have spoken of the highlight of stepping outside on a Thursday to meet their neighbours, of knowing for the first time the names of those who live next door; we have adjusted to the streets around us emptying; the face-to-face real human contact which was so much part of our everyday has all but come to a standstill.

And while I am eternally grateful for the existence of the internet, and social media, and video conferencing apps and all of that ... It is not the same. Existing in this isolation at the centre has been, at times, a challenge.

When we first came here, I wasn't even really sure I wanted to live at the centre of a busy city; it was one of the aspects of coming here which is someways least appealed. But that was a long time ago, and in the intervening years I have thrived on living in this very peopled place.

And I think its ok to admit that I am missing that reality. I miss looking out of windows and seeing the whole of humanity in all its glorious, messy diversity passing by. I miss sharing food with lots and lots of different people. I miss conversations: the deep and theological, the fleeting and incidental; the serious and the frankly rather silly. I miss the sharing of tears and the sharing of laughter, neither of which are quite the same through a screen.

Don't get me wrong. I am ever an optimist and I can see much that is good.

This is in fact, still, in some ways, a place at the centre. We have continued to pray, right here, at the heart of the city, and have gathered new less geographically bound communities to pray alongside us. We have continued to gather friends and community around us on virtual platforms, at times including refreshing and renewing friendships which might otherwise be more distant. We have continued to find ways to reach out, where we can, to some of those we aspire to support.

There are, I admit, certain advantages to the emptiness of the building. I have enjoyed not having to pack away the prayer area each day to make way for other users.

The fact that no-one is having to sleep by our bin-store because, whatever its flaws and failings, there has been at least a solid attempt to get everyone into accommodation is a testament to what is and could be possible in supporting those who are street homeless.

Having long struggled with the signs of excessive consumerism and its detrimental effects on both mental health and the environment; a few months of less shopping in no bad thing.

The roads are quieter, which has given me renewed confidence on my bike, and the pollution levels are undoubtedly at the lowest they have been for some time: as long as I don't catch Covid, my lungs, at least, may be in better shape rather than worse through all of this.

Like many people, I don't actually want a return to business as usual. I don't want the homeless kicked back onto the streets, I don't want a return to queues to endless excessive consumerism, I don't want everyone jumping back in their cars.

But I can't deny that I am longing for a bit more community that doesn't just rely on a laptop or phone.

Admittedly, I'm possibly writing this post at slightly the wrong moment: during the last week or so, there have been a few more people around the city centre, but it is far from being back to the usual hubbub of life and colour; a little one to one face to face contact has become more possible; there are glimmers that, while "normality" may be a long way off, new possibilities may emerge. But I started writing it probably about a month ago, and, for me, if for no-one else, it is a record I think I want to keep.