On the way home from church yesterday, we exuberantly piled onto a bus heading towards Tooting. It was busy with tired shoppers, fractious infants and us, a group of 6 Salvationists plus one pushchair-bound (and also semi-fractious) infant.
In all the noise and chaos, a fair amount of seat swapping took place. We juggled preferring others, mobility needs and proximity to said pushchair. At some point in the proceedings the guy sitting on the double chair next to my single seat shifted his backpack, to make room for the burgeoning crowds. His name, I found out, was Dave.
Unfortunately no-one sat down. I was a little embarrassed that certain members of our group seemingly preferred to stand than to take up his offered seat. So I smiled, acted apologetic, and generally tried to cover over our wholesale rejection of it. I expected that to be the end of the interaction, I expected to retreat back into my thoughts, but it was not to be.
”Where’s the Citadel round here then?” Dave ventured, a nod to the fact that we were all, (infant excepted), decked out in the familiar Salvation Army gear. Surprised at his use of lingo I explained briefly where it had been, and that we were borrowing another church due to the rebuilding of the hall.
The conversation flourished, he talked about work, how he was on the way home from a nightshift, travelling from Victoria to Carshalton (an unenviable distance if relying on buses). We then got onto issues of faith – I was amazed and touched by his honesty, and the fact he was so willing to talk.
Dave talked about his life, his dog, recipes involving haddock and mashed potato. He shared his health concerns and his thoughts about religion and action etc.
He commented that it was sad that we no longer talk to each other. That we are all carrying stories and so often we skim over an opportunity to share those with each other and allow them to briefly correlate.
I could see the rest of the group watching this quizzically, watching for signs that I needed rescue, wondering what we were so engrossed in discussing.
I was listening to Dave, feeling quite disturbed, thinking that it would have so easy to have ignored him, to have missed the moment, for him to have spent another two hours on a bus interacting with nobody. I was also feeling privileged, that of all the people in the world who could be hearing his story, it was, at that moment, myself.
He had a lot of respect for the SA, a lot of people do, but he said he missed seeing us out on the streets now. He missed knowing where we were and seeing us talking to people. I think what he missed most of all was talking to people. It was like loneliness emanated from him. I felt a pang of sadness that I was going back to an evening of music videos and pancakes, while he was on his own.
We left him at the corner, he stayed watching cars go by. He’d given me £2 to put in our collection, I left wishing there was more I could have given him, hoping that out conversations about faith would have encouraged him a little.
It reminded me of the responsibility of faith. The responsibility I have not to keep my head down and keep myself to myself. There are people and sitautions that are calling out for our interaction, our comment, our conversation.
I’m praying that Dave does have, or that he finds some people he can love and be in community with. I know that I value it beyond all the physical possessions and passing surroundings I have here. I’m also praying that I will be more vigilant for these occasions, so I won’t miss them when they arise.
