A Theology of Loitering

My friend Tim Ignacio (pictured above) moved into a slum community in the Philippines in his quest to follow Jesus. In the process, he discovered Jesus did a lot of loitering. I asked Tim to jot down his thoughts for my blog. Thanks Tim!

What comes to mind when you hear the word “loitering”? In Tagalog, we use the word “tambay”, an ironic reiteration of the English word “standby”. Whether here in the Philippines or there in the Western World, this act is often frowned upon and I doubt that churches have spent much time encouraging their congregants to engage in it. But what if “loitering” or “tambay” was both a theological framework for knowing God and a practice of ministry for our communities? What if the Jesus of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John was someone Who would’ve been arrested for loitering today? Could there be a rich, yet overlooked, theology hiding in plain sight among those doing “tambay”?

As Westerners, especially Christian Westerners, I think we often feel the impulse to  “do” something when we are in the communities we seek to serve. Whether it comes to us consciously or not, I believe that there is an attraction to the satisfaction of knowing we accomplished something when we spend time with communities with whom we’re doing “outreach”. However, though we might have a dichotomy of “being vs. doing” in our Western lenses, in the Filipino context, being is doing. In attempting to tambay, we can surrender our agendas and longings to feel “accomplished”, trust that something is happening in our being around, and just enjoy the company of those we are loitering with.

This is what Riverside has been teaching me. I moved to Riverside, a community  in Quezon City, last July 2020. After around 7 months of hanging out, hosting meals, and making music with my neighbors, I’ve been learning how much loitering is something Jesus did and would still do today.

While the “ministry of presence” has become a popular Evangelical practice-turned-catch-phrase, I’ve been seeing how the socio-cultural fabric of Philippine identities nuances this idea. In Filipino cultures, we have the value of “pakikisama”, which roughly translates to “knowing how to hang”. This is a high value for Filipinos, and when they complement another person, they often say, “marunong siyang makisama” (they know how to hang). My house is right beside a small basketball half-court and people are always playing there, as the Filipino love for basketball is like the American love for football, baseball, and fast food put together. Sometimes, when I’m stuck in my house checking emails or doing other work, my neighbors wonder why I’m not joining them and assume that I don’t want to spend time with them. I believe that the consciousness of “pakikisama” orients us to better see how our presence is ultimately experienced communally. Whether we are present or absent as individuals, we always affect our communities.

Having spent time as both a student and staff in college ministry, I’ve had my fair share of spiritual conversations with strangers. Many of them were awkward attempts to engage in deep and vulnerable conversations with people I had just met. Here in the Philippines, we have a dichotomy that distinguishes people from inside and outside of any given community: “taga-labas” (outsider) and “taga-loob” (insider/someone from here). If someone who is “taga-labas” tries to have a conversation about Jesus with one of my neighbors (like, say, a missionary), it is likely that this conversation will accomplish very little, no matter how convincing, passionate, or articulate that person is. It takes a lot of trust to move from being seen as “taga-labas” to “taga-loob”.

 I once hosted a sort of Bible study at my place with some of the young guys I had become friends with, and I was surprised at the vulnerability and honesty that they shared with me. They talked about their tough family situations and even the real questions they had for God. If I had tried having the same “Bible study” in my first week of living in Riverside, I’m pretty sure that we would have had a completely different discussion. But because I had been building trust through just “loitering”, I believe that my neighbors have come to see me less as “taga-labas” and more as “taga-loob”. And, because of this, when we do have more vulnerable conversations, my friends in Riverside likely feel that they are more able to share honestly. As one of my “kuyas” (older brothers) out here once said, “trust is the currency of relationship”. So, really, I don’t think that it’s so much about how passionate, prepared, or knowledgeable we are, but how willing we are to pay this price through our “tambay”.

My good friend Ate Mani works as a lumpia vendor, and through her walking around our community and selling lumpia, she has gotten to know a lot of people. She has one friend who has opened up to her about her difficult home life as a wife and mother with very little money. Though she has confided in Ate Mani several times, as both of them are powerless to change her familial and financial situation, they often just cried together. Ate Mani can’t offer her friend the resources to change her life circumstances, nor will any kind of answer heal her bruises, whether physical or emotional. But what Ate Mani does have to offer is all that Jesus asks of us: her time and her compassion. Western Christianity, especially American Evangelicalism, seems more infatuated with attractive answers, and will only offer its “presence” so long as it can also share those answers. I myself can often feel like “nothing is happening” when I just sit and listen to my friends in the community. But in times like ours, people don’t really need more “answers” from us Christians. Everyone else has pretty much heard all of them, and too often they have been traumatizing at worst and inconsequential at best. I think that Ate Mani demonstrates for us that, as followers of Jesus, the best thing we can offer is our love. Love that is quicker to listen than speak, love that is embodied less in articulate and convincing answers, and more in silent and attentive presence. Love that knows how to loiter.

So, like my neighbors in Riverside and Ate Mani, I invite us all to consider loitering with those we hope to serve and say we love. And, when we do it, we just might catch greater glimpses of Jesus and His Kingdom as we tambay.