I recently stopped to take some pictures of a building that had burnt down in a neighborhood and was still smoldering. I've been thinking lately about what it means psychologically as individuals and as communities to live in the kind of places where buildings burn or fall down often and where basic city infrastructure is cracking because of disinvestment.

On one hand, the constant physical reality - empty buildings and lots, rubble, space where there was not once space - reminds us of the relational and spiritual realities of a neighborhood. So much has been lost, and what's lost may need to be grieved.

On the other hand, the burning and falling means new space is opened. Sure, it's space empire might want to fill in ways that displace or dishonor the poor. The space represents a vulnerability. But maybe the empty lots also have the potential to remind us of new spaces to build, create, and reimagine.

Like the frozen icicles that covered the trees around this building as the firemen sprayed their hoses, maybe we shouldn't allow disinvestment to be the only narrative these pictures create. Perhaps all around and throughout what seems like unspeakable loss - like new ice formations in the midst of a burning building - new possibilities are simultaneously emerging.

While we watched the building burn and the firemen work a friend said to me, "Memories were once made here." And maybe new ones are still yet to be made.

Photo of a smoldering building on the North Side of Pittsburgh as firemen work to put out the last of the fire during December 2023. Notice the ice covering the trees that surround what is left of the building.