I can remember standing one evening, during my student days, in a well-known local kebab shop. They had a simple system at the time. One staff member took your order and called it back to the kitchen, the kitchen staff cooked and a final employee assembled and took your money. Simple, efficient, unchanging. I was mid flow this night, perched on the window ledge waiting for my order (large on chips with extra sauce) when the assembly/till guy turned and shouted an order to the kitchen. It was a break in protocol. It had come out of the blue. The tension was thick in the air. No one spoke, maybe even no one breathed, glances of uncertainty were shared around the room…the till guy shrugged and we each returned to our waiting. A few minutes passed and a customer walked in. He began to place his order, in the usual manner, and the till guy shouts across the room “don’t worry mate, it’s already on. I saw you driving past!” I didn’t know whether to cry or applaud or stand and salute. It was a moment of unrivalled beauty. I had so many questions all at once. How does one reach such legendary status? Can I get an autograph? How often do you have to come to be that known (I was there pretty often)? Could my arteries sustain the required frequency? Would my student loan run out before I made it?

I never reached the mythical status of known regular. I have never managed it in any eating or drinking establishment since, but the dream is still alive. One day I will succeed. It may not be everyone’s highest goal to be a kebab shop regular, it might even be some people’s absolute nightmare to be that predictable, but I think at the core of who we all are sits a deep-seated desire to be known. To be in spaces and places where we matter. To be around people who hold us in their hearts, who notice when we’re not around. Under so much of our posturing and posing, of our trying to impress and our insecurities of not being enough, is simply a need to be known. To have someone, anyone, know the good, the bad and the ugly of who we are and still want us around.

There is something so powerful, so affirming, so life giving in being known. How often does the little voice inside whisper “if they only knew…”? How often do we feel that we can’t be our true selves, that we need to present the kind of impression that will make us acceptable? If I’m honest I find it exhausting. The inner dance of who do I need to be today or what’s seen as important in this room can drive me to distraction. So often I long for the peace giving acceptance of being known and loved. I long for the cosy embrace of those who see beyond my junk, know the truth, and still want me around. I think if we allow ourselves to be honest, even for a moment, it’s what we all most long for. To simply be received as we are. To belong.

The “crazy” thing is that those beaten down by the circumstances of life are no different. As we’ve journeyed with thousands of people in every conceivable position of poverty and struggle I have been more and more convinced that we are all the same. Our stories are unique. Our circumstances differ vastly but the longing of our hearts is very similar. We want to know we belong somewhere, anywhere, (even a kebab shop). We want to be known, as we are. The thing is, not all places are good places to be known. Not all communities are healthy and life giving to belong to. The number of lives I have seen spiral down destructive paths because they find an openness and welcome in negative places is heart-breaking and yet they are often the only places of acceptance and belonging available. That is more heart breaking. If we won’t do the hard work of getting to know people as they are, without judgement or condition then we have no right to be surprised when they step into destructive communities with open embrace. When we fail to receive people as we find them we force them to posture and pose, to perform for us, or we push them away. Neither satisfies the longing to be known. Neither brings life to either party.

Emergency provision is no bad thing. There is always going to be need and need should not go unmet by those who have the means to help but without intention and forethought food bags and furniture (and any form of physical or service provision) can become an insurmountable barrier to being known. Both parties play their role but neither feels the soul affirming joy of being known. What will it take to stop us treating one another as issues to be fixed or resources to be used? What will it take for us to believe that we, warts and all, are worth knowing and that maybe, just maybe those we deem to be most broken are worth knowing too? There’s power in known. What will it take to unlock it?

Photo by Filipe de Rodrigues on Unsplash