Strangers who are not strangers
New York can be an extraordinarily small place. I spent Tuesday night watching and discussing a documentary in the works called Our House. The film profiles several anarchic Christians who created a sanctuary for recovering drug addicts in an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn. They took a cold, dank, brick storehouse in Williamsburg and transformed it into a supportive community of Christian worship and place for personal reflection. Soon after its development, they had to abandon their home for an incoming condominium and continue their journey individually. The film is still a work in progress, so I won’t go too far into how it’s structured, however I do believe it has great potential to create conversation around the gentrification of Brooklyn, homelessness and religion.
But, that’s not my point here.
Today I stopped in a cafe I frequent all the time and immediately recognized J working behind the counter. He was one of the creators and leaders of the warehouse commune. Up until Tuesday night, I couldn’t have told you one thing about this person. Now, unbenost to him, I know his story, his background, his outlook on the future. It felt strange and a bit surreal. The moment once again proved that New York is a small, connected, unexpected yet extraordinary place waiting to teach me a lesson or two.
