Side Streets.

I live in a city with a shiny main street. Like many cities of similar size, there has been a sincere effort to “revitalize downtown,” which means committees and resources focused on restoring buildings and attracting businesses. The money and effort has produced results, but now our downtown serves as a vivid example of something else.

I recently walked the length of our main street. As long as I did not look too closely, it felt like a vibrant urban center, but down the side streets and further down the way another city was visible. Pinstriped suits gave way to blue jeans, aftershave to nine in the morning shadow, and highrises to boarded up store fronts. Although I did not feel as safe as when I set off, I tried not to judge the transitions. Instead, I used them to more fully understand the lesson I was being taught . . . about me specifically, and about communities in general.

Like downtown, I have a shiny main street. Much expense and effort has been put into that street through education, clothing, and life experiences. To travel beyond the main street, however, is to find another neighborhood. It’s not as impressive or groomed, nor visited as frequently, but it’s part of the whole. Beyond the main street is a more dangerous part of town, and, if I dare, there’s much to be experienced there, too. I could choose to focus only on Main Street, but that limits the breadth and depth of the city. Just as the people in blue jeans have just as valid a story to tell as the pinstripes, the boarded up store fronts as the high rises, there is much to be learned from going beyond the revitalized. Rather than pick and choose, both neighborhoods belong to the whole.

The same is true of churches and other communities of faith. They, too, have all sorts of streets, but too often members linger only on the main street. Historic buildings and notable members can impress, but there’s much to be gained by looking down the side streets and walking in the tattered neighborhoods as well. Maybe it's an AA meeting in the basement, a grief support group, or a lost visitor wandering the hall, but interesting people can be found, authentic stories heard on the side streets of our communities.

The great surprise for me is that on these side streets, in the un-groomed part of town, God seems to have a more recognizable presence. I do not know why that is. Perhaps there’s just more room, or a greater need. Either way, I am thankful for the lesson and, more importantly, the recognizable presence.