Love Thy Neighbour – waiting on the Will of God

I moved to Aylesbury three years ago, almost to the day today.  As an itinerant Christian without a home of my own I am free to travel and move as God wills.  At first this was frightening, having been used to the security of home ownership, but as the years have gone on this fear has developed into a feeling of joy and mission for the work of God. The first question I always have when I move is I wonder why here?  The rental agent was adamant I would not want to live in this particular flat and showed me round many purpose built places with all mod cons…… and no soul. I insisted on being  taken to this more aged, ex council flat in an area where there had been a few murders and the police helicopters are regularly heard overhead.  I knew immediately this was the place and there were hidden benefits that I had not noticed until I moved in – like plenty of loft space to store canvases and a little outside shed for my bike.  The whole place is filled with sunshine all day and the north easterly bedroom is perfect for my work, with large windows overlooking the half dead tree and the washing lines where all manner of old appliances and rubbish is dumped by other tenants.  Home sweet home.

Moving in day I was greeted to blaring music from the man downstairs all day and all night and rather a lot of expletives and angry shouting.  Interestingly I felt no dismay about this at all at first, though in later times I would rail and put my own music on load to drown out his.  Earphones are  also very handy in this situation.

I also met, within days, a great neighbourly character who asked many pointed questions and proceeded over the years to place gnomes and other ceramic or pottery creatures outside my front door.  She would tend any tubs of ailing plants I had placed outside and forgotten about and I saw that she cared daily for a dying man next door with humour and diligence.  After he died she took care of everything in the flat so that his elderly sister did not have to worry.  At the same time she also cared for a drunk who would knock on her door for breakfast each morning and when he became ill she would go to his house and wash his ulcerated feet and cook him food till he had to go into hospital.  She is in her early seventies herself but you would be hard pressed to see her age as she has so much energy.

I observed this kindness over the years and also the silliness in which she indulged and eccentricity.  A real holy fool on my doorstep – what a blessing.  At times she puts food and sweeties through my letterbox and some evenings when I am late home and tired there are little bottles of bubble bath or lovely powder.  How grateful I am.  But any attempt to post things for her is met with an overwhelming reciprocity so I have found other ways to serve in return.  One is to listen; sometimes for two or three hours to her chatter about spirits and mediums and all kinds of visions she has had experience of.  She would talk and ask me what I thought and I would say I do not know I just follow Jesus and pray to God.  Then she would ask me about that and about the Bible.  Once she had a feeling of St. Francis and out of the long conversation came the most wonderful commission and she loves it immensely.  St. Francis has taken root and we talk of him often now.

Recently she was plagued with a ghostly disturbance that had been distressing her for years – I believe this is one of the problems with indulging in spiritism.  Normally she is not bothered by such things but this time I could see she was upset so I offered to come and read the blessing of the light from my Franciscan Office, one evening.  We sat side by side, with her three little dogs and the parrot squawking behind us and read it together.  She had candles ready and it was very peaceful and lovely.  However, the fiend was not impressed and came back with a vengeance the following night and I wondered if I had done the right thing.  We chatted about it and I felt it was best to wait and see. I suggested she start reading the Bible daily and she took this on board thoughtfully.  Things settled down again and whilst I was away recently she looked after my flat and my cats with the invitation to sit amongst the icons I have there as much as she liked – as she loves them so much and the feeling of holiness she says she gets when she comes in.

When I returned she said she did spend some time in the flat and also borrowed my Franciscan Office and took it home to read.  She was amazed, as the first time she opened it, she felt a pair of arms reach around her and hug her.  The feeling of love, she said, was overwhelming.  So now I am ordering her a copy to have for herself.

Over these three years there has been this gentle developing of interest and change from spiritualism to Christ and when I look back it has the quality of a gently flowing stream of change.  I did not have to do anything but just be who I am and respond to whatever questions she had.  However, I feel the luckiest of the two as I have learned so much about service with joy and giving.  This crazy woman has taught me more than any sermon ever could about loving my neighbour.

The image above is an etching I made years ago about Israel ben Eliezer, the Besht or Master of the Holy Name.  He lived only fearing God and stood up to a demon which was plaguing his local village.  His courage and subsequent compassion for the demon made all things well not only for the village but for the world.  He went on to found Hassidism.

So I now come back to the demon downstairs of the loud music and expletives. These past few weeks before I journey to Australia to work have seen a number of little things happening in my life that suggest completion and finishing some paragraph in my life to date. The bad tempered drunk and addict downstairs has been a thorn in my side since I lived here.  He is so angry and hateful even the wondrous neighbour warned me to be careful as he can be extremely nasty at times.  This is true he has often abused my visitors, damaged my property and shouted the most foul language in my direction as I walk past his kitchen window.  Where some women go to work with the loving voice of their husbands saying, “Have a nice day, dear.”  I would hear, “F*** off you c***!”  Nice! Strangely enough I have never been bothered about it – it is all part of the richness of my experience here.  I admit to times of utter frustration when he has been exceptionally annoying but have regretted my loss of temper immediately.  He is obviously disturbed and out of his head a lot of the time.

However, this week after a beautiful Julian meditation I attended – set up by Amy, one of the icon school students who is simply glowing with an aura of light at the moment in her journey – I returned home feeling ultra calm.  Only to be greeted with the sound of hammering on my door and shouting from his nibs.  I went down and he was sitting on his doorstep smoking a cigarette and cursing as usual but seething with anger.  I asked him what his problem was – and he stood up, stepped right into my face crossing my threshold and raised his arm and started more shouting.  Incredibly I still felt calm and peaceful as if I knew somehow this issue between us was going to be finally sorted.  I asked him if that was how he liked to treat women, with violence and bullying and he stepped back and howled with laughter.  Then he ranted about psychologists and psychiatrists and the prison he had been banged up in for smuggling cocaine; mental health institutions and lithium.  He said no one could do anything for him, they have never helped him, ever.  Then he said I was talking down to him and being like them and I replied I may have been but I was just telling him what I thought of his behaviour.

He sat down and rolled a cigarette and I asked him for one.  He looked at me with complete surprise, “You don’t smoke!”

I said he knew nothing about me only what he had decided I was.  So we sat and smoked  and he asked me about my paintings and then how much they were.  Would I do a discount for a friend, if he asked me to paint something?  I said he was not my friend and he gave me look which made me smile.  He went indoors and came out with a torn shabby photograph of a baby.  His estranged 24 year old son when he was a child.  He asked me if I could repair the damage and I sad no but I could draw the baby for him.  It turned out to be the only photo he has of his son, the rest were destroyed when his ex wife- ugly old bat, he called her – ran off with a man who set fire to her house.

“How much?” he asked and I said I would do it for nothing.  He could not believe this and asked again and I repeated I would take a copy now and draw the picture when I was in Australia and give it to him when I return.  You would have to have been there to see the change in his face.  All the years of anger and frustration and hatred just melted away and there was this ordinary man whose life has been sheer hell and who expects nothing from anyone except grief. As he went back inside he shot another question at me, “How much?”

“Nothing,” I replied and he smiled and went inside.

One has to learn to love not only ones neighbour but also demons.