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The Crossing

It’s an idea. It’s a place. It’s a mission. It’s hospitality. It’s help, advice, education and encouragement. It’s community

The Crossing brings together resource and need, an ability to bless and opportunity to do so. It’s a place of giving and receiving.

Community embraces the idea that we need each other, that we are part of each others lives, positively or negatively. The Crossing is a place to express this in practical and positive action.

The Crossing is one way that we continue what Jesus started.
Blessing. Caring. Loving. Supporting. Helping. Educating. Inspiring. Completing.

“As we live the gospel, we become it, as we become it, people see it, as they see it, they respond to it, as they respond to it, they accept it”

Do you have questions? You can check out the FAQ here

The Crossing is still a concept at this point in time. The decision to go ahead will be made in the first quarter 2010. This page is intended to communicate the vision, the idea, the dream and the possibilities, and is not binding

			This is a series of articles about what a day in the life of The Crossing may look like. It is designed to inspire and pique your imagination. Aside from Pastor Jonathan, all characters are fictional, however we hope you catch glimpses of yourself in its vision…







	As Titirangi leaps and springs into daylight, the doors of The Crossing swing open on another morning of loving, learning and serving. The aroma of fresh coffee bites the air as staff busy about getting things ready for the day. Food deliveries are taken care of, sandwiches, cakes and pastries arranged in chilled display cabinets, tables and umbrellas set up in the courtyard. Before long the first of the customers start to arrive. Mike, a regular, calls in every morning on his way to work, loving the easy-going atmosphere of the place, the way he is greeted by name. An advert for the parenting course, Toolbox, is playing on the large screen. “That sound like you, Mike?” Jasmine smiles from behind the counter as she hands him his coffee. “Nah, not anymore. Kids all grown up, left home. Missus left shortly after.” He grins but she has a feeling it’s more for show. Alice, the manager, joins in, “We’ve got another event coming up Saturday evening, might be more your thing. Bunch of guys watching the rugby test on the big screen, guest star Micheal Jones.” Mike shrugs, “Maybe…” He grabs a chair and settles into his Herald as the first of the school drop-off crowd start to arrive. The women are happy, chatty, ordering food and slipping into seats. After the empty silences of Mike’s flat, their friendly banter is music to his ears. He listens to them as, bubbling with female enthusiasm, they set about organising a fund-raising event for Konini Primary. Back at the coffee machine, Jasmine is making Dennis, a teacher from the intermediate school across the road, his morning coffee, sweet, strong, the way she knows he likes it. Any staff member of the three local schools gets coffee-on-the-house once a week, and she clicks his card, watching as his eyes flit to the big screen, where a promo for the Alpha Course is now showing. Wonder what he makes of that, she thinks. Dennis is a declared atheist. As he winks a thank you and drifts off, Jasmine notices a thin, blonde woman seated alone in the corner. Her gaze is fixed to the screen and, as she watches the message of the advertisement, her fingers dab the corner of each eye. Moved, Jasmine approaches her. “Excuse me, is there anything I can get you?” With red-rimmed eyes the woman looks up, shakes her head. The faint trace of a bruise stains her lower lip and her hands are trembling. “If you need some peace and quiet, there’s a chapel over there,” Jasmine’s voice is low, gentle. “Please use it, if you’d like to…” Respecting the woman’s need for privacy, she then steps away, greeting some of the TBC staff as they wander in through the café on the way to their various places of work within the building. “Hi, Jonathan,” she smiles at the pastor then, as she fixes him his standard coffee, discreetly makes him aware of the distressed woman who, by this time, has made her way, weeping, to the chapel. After a quick think, Jonathan decides, “Look, let’s give her some space for now, but if she’s still there in fifteen minutes, grab her a cuppa and ask if she’d like someone to pray. Lisa’s on Support today, but if she doesn’t turn up I’ll pop in.” Jasmine nods, then turns her attention to the next customer. After about half an hour the café really gets cranking. The M and Ms have just finished their first lively session and the mums are now ready for a snack and, of course, a good natter with each other. Fortunately, the centre provides heaps of toys and, safely confined within moveable barrier blocks, their little ones can continue to play and have fun, while their mothers and caregivers take a well-earned break in the comfort of the roomy lounge area just off-side the cafe. Here, the same adverts are being played from a big screen television and one mum watches one on Alpha for a while before muttering, “I’d sure like to ask God a thing or two.” “What’s that?” her friend says, “You talking about that Alpha course? My neighbour did one, reckons it was awesome.” “The Toolbox one’s good. Don’t know what we’d have done without it, actually. The kids benefited heaps; their behaviour improved because we were dealing with things so much better.” “Yeah, that’s what I need. It’s not like you’re handed a manual on how to parent the moment your kid pops out, and my mum’s no help. Her ways are more of a case of what not to do!” One woman leans forward in her seat, “Hey, speaking of courses, are you guys going to that thing on potty training?” “When is it?” “What is it?” “An information forum. It’s on after the next M and Ms session. Hang on a sec…excuse me, Keith?” the young mum waves over a man carrying a clip-board, “Where’s the potty training thing being held?”
	The Crossing director is in a hurry, but he stops to answer Cathy’s question. “How’s Sammy?” he adds, his eyes searching out a little guy rocking on a plastic horse. After a quick chat he heads off to greet a case worker from CYPFs who has come to talk about a family conference she would like to set up. He orders coffee and they slip into the privacy of a small meeting room to discuss how The Crossing can best be of assistance. Next on his agenda is another meeting, enhancing missional possibilities. This is led by Alan, the newly appointed missions’ pastor, and those present put forward their ideas with much passion and enthusiasm, after all, most of the initiatives already in place are proving successful beyond everybody’s wildest dreams. Aligning The Crossing with “trusted brand names” such as Parents Inc, The Parenting Place and Toolbox has been a huge advantage. Maybe Glen Eden Baptist or Lifewise Glen Eden might be keen on a joint venture. Once the meeting is over, Keith decides he has certainly done enough for a Mellowpuff, and, tucking his clip-board under his arm, gravitates towards the inviting aroma of the café. Pastor Jonathan is up ahead and Keith is about to ask him if he’d like to do lunch and a catch-up, when he sees his friend has company in the form of Lisa, the volunteer supporter, and a tearful young woman. They are saying good-bye to her, Jonathan’s hand on her shoulder, as she wipes beneath her eyes, half-laughing, half-crying. Keith turns to the counter where Jasmine is now refilling a napkin holder. She sees his look of concern and, in a low voice, says, “Lisa’s been talking and praying with her in the chapel. It’s so cool when people open up and allow you to get below the surface to the tough stuff, the things that really matter.” Keith nods, “Guess that’s what we’re here for.” “I reckon,” Jasmine smiles, “Now. You look like a man in need of some lunch!”

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The afternoon is fresh and sunny and, as the doors of The Crossing swing open, a cheeky breeze whisks in.

“Got the good weather at last,” chuckles Jack, holding the door open for his elderly friend.

The two old mates are off to what has fast become the highlight of their week. Having both lost their wives to illness in the past year, they are about to attend class number three of a Lifeworks ‘Going Through Grief’ course.

“Tell you what, mate,” Merv shuffles inside, “I wouldn’t care if it were snowin’ out there; I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Jack grins in return and lets the door close. It has taken him a few good goes to get his friend to join him – bit stubborn, this one – but his persistence has paid off. Merv doesn’t know it, but he’s got the whole of Evergreens praying for him, hoping he’ll also come join the warm, family atmosphere of their sixties-plus group.

That’s where this Lifeworks stuff originated, from a growing need and a passion to help life work for retirees. There are other classes, too. ‘Nutrition For Life’ and ‘Exercise For Life’, both free since they are funded by the council. Jack thinks he and his friend could do with attending both, but decides for now he’d better not push it.

“Good afternoon, Merv, Jack,” Miriam, the Creative Memories representative smiles as she heads for the airy room she hires to promote her business.

Looks like a full house today, she thinks, noting the hum of activity about the place. She’s glad she stocked up on the latest of the CM’s colourful range; last week some of the mums from ‘Single-Minded’ couldn’t get enough of the stuff. While the playgroup was running, they kept slipping out and sneaking a peek at all the new products.

Miriam has an affinity with the parents from ‘Single-Minded’, particularly the mums. She, too, raised her three kids alone and knows how tough it can be.

Sometimes her clients chat, tell her how they’re getting on with the course.

Wish there was that kind of thing around while I was going through it, Miriam thinks wistfully. Especially valuable would’ve been Dawn, the gracious, gentle-spirited older woman who works among the parents and their children, offering kind words, sound advice, or simply a listening ear.

“You’re worth your weight in gold,” she told the woman recently, but, in typical

Dawn-like fashion, was waved off with an embarrassed giggle.

“They bring me just as much joy,” she had said, “And I’m learning all the time.”

Miriam sighs as she sets about straightening her products. Yes, having someone like Dawn would’ve made all the difference.

Still, she hasn’t done too badly. All her children have grown up to be fine adults. Look at young David, working here at The Crossing, bless him. He’s always been mad on computers, so running the computer literacy programme is just the thing. Pretty popular class it is, too. He was just saying yesterday he needs five more work stations.

Miriam checks her watch: 2.30. The after-school pick-up crowd have started to filter in.

These are the mums who, before collecting their children from the nearby schools, like to come into The Crossing for a quick coffee and catch-up. It bodes well for Miriam’s business as often some will pop in to see the latest she has on offer.

She notices that today, though, rather than moving through to the café, small clusters of women are standing in the foyer, talking in hushed voices, and, from what she can see, their expressions are sombre.

Perhaps something bad has happened that they might need help with. She goes to investigate and catches snippets of conversation.

“…State Highway Two…”

“….think his dad’s been killed…”

“What about the mum?”

“…intensive care.”

Miriam’s heart goes out to a young woman balancing a baby on her hip and crying, “I just saw them yesterday. My Charlie hangs out with their son and I went over to their house to pick him up. They’re the nicest family…”

The Crossing volunteer support person, Lisa, appears. Chaplain to schools, Glen, is already across the road at the school, offering what assistance he can to those affected by the tragedy, but clearly more support is needed.

Always self-conscious when she’s about to offer help, knowing there’s a chance she may be rejected, Lisa sends up a quick prayer, pushes the nervousness aside, and lays a hand on the woman’s arm.

She introduces herself and asks, “Is there anything I can do to help?” She senses a resistance, but perseveres, “Would you like to sit down somewhere? I could get you a coffee.”

The woman shakes her head, “No, I’m OK, it’s just…it’s been a really hard week. This kind of tipped me over the edge, but I’d better not be too long; I’ve got to pick up Charlie, and – ”

One of the mums breaks in, “Shelly, I can pick up Charlie. He knows me. And let me take Bubby, too. You stay and chat, have a coffee with…I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Lisa. Yes, Shelly, please stay, even if you’d just like some alone-time in the chapel. It’s nice and peaceful in there and you can try to process things a bit.”

The young woman looks hesitant but, as her baby begins to fuss, relents, “I’m sorry, I feel like I’m always on the verge of losing it lately.” Surrendering to the kindness, she allows her friend to take the infant, then hands her a bunch of keys, “Take my car, Debs, it’s got Sophie’s carseat. I could drive yours home later…if you trust me.”

Her friend laughs, “Of course I trust you! And please, don’t worry about anything, Shell. With all that’s happened lately, you deserve this time out.”

Shelly sniffs back tears, “Thanks, both of you.”

Lisa gives Debs a grateful smile, then guides the exhausted Shelly to the calm interior of the chapel.

As they enter, the fragrance of daphne drifts from the large vase in the corner, a wonderful scent of life and of hope, and the young volunteer worker is reassured yet again that the Spirit is with her, that these opportunities do not happen by accident, that reaching out is what she is called to do.

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Tania grins a thank you at her husband as he holds the door of The Crossing open for her to walk through. She can tell by the look on his face that, even after four weeks, he’s still uneasy, although his attitude has improved a lot since that introductory night of the Toolbox ‘Parenting Teenagers’ class.

Talk about stepping out of their comfort zone. Not quite so daunting for her, since she’s attended the odd parent/teacher evening, experienced things outside of the familiarity of home, work, pub. But for Bill it’s been hard. Flash place, straight-looking people everywhere, good, upstanding citizens…

“Better not try preachin’ to me,” he’d grumbled as they’d pulled into the car park that first night.

“It’s a parenting class, babe, not a church service.”

“They’ll be lookin’ down their noses.”

“They won’t!”

And they haven’t. In fact, the easy-going and personal nature of the place has gone a long way to softening Bill’s defenses. He even participated in a class discussion last week, something she thought he’d never do. He’s starting to become more involved with the kids at home; they both are. It’s a case of having to, with Cody and Cassandra so far off the rails.

Tania feels intervention has almost come too late but she tries to think positively. Max Bauer, the presenter of the class and a highly-respected parenting ‘guru’, has been so supportive, reassuring them it is never too late to learn new parenting skills. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so encouraging if he knew about their own bad behaviour.

She walks beside Bill through the carpeted area leading to Room 4. There are lots of things going on and the centre hums with an atmosphere of learning, of aiming higher, making things better.

In one room, English is about to be taught to an ESOL class and Tania smiles at a shy-looking Asian student waiting near the door.

The next room along is for another Toolbox class, ‘Parenting Through Separation’.

Tania supposes she should be thankful she’s walking past that one. Although her relationship with Bill has never been a picnic, at least they’re still together – just.

If only she can talk to someone about the things that have been churning round in her mind for weeks now. Well, ever since they started the course, really.

As parents, they are such hypocrites. How can they steer Cody and Cassie down a right path when they themselves are struggling?

“You’re not smoking dope in my garage!” Bill roared at Cody last night, eyes red from the joint he’d just shared with the neighbour.

“You can’t do that, hun,” she’d tried to talk to Bill about it, but he’d just mumbled something about Cody needing a good kick up the backside.

Perhaps, thinks Tania, it’s time to talk to someone here at The Crossing. She knows they have a counselor on site, and a family therapist. There’s also a director of social services. Max Bauer mentioned the woman last week; said she hooked people up with the likes of CYFS and WINZ. There’s loads of help for those who want to tap into it, who have plucked up the courage…

“Hi, Tania.”

Startled from her thoughts, she turns to see a youth with a healthy tan and dreadlocks, grinning at her from a doorway.

“Oh, gidday, Matthew.” It’s the son of Carol, her friend and workmate. Trying to ignore Bill’s impatient scowl, she stops to chat. “What are you up to?”

He waves a casual hand toward the room he’s just come from, “Aw, we’re making a trailer for a youth group event.”

Tania’s gaze goes beyond him to the friendly-looking bunch of young people lounging around a computer. A far cry from Cody and his mates. When Bill and she had left, they’d been slumped in front of the TV, cigarettes drooping from their mouths, beers in hand.

She chats briefly to the boy, then follows her husband on to Room 4.

She’s made up her mind. Tonight she will find out what she has to do to see The Crossing counselor. Max Bauer is right. It’s never too late for change.

Anne Cleary