This is not what I signed up for...

Work in the inner city is always full of surprises. Poverty. Violence. Drugs. Homelessness. Hunger. Unemployment.  Add on top of that the fact that as the director of social outreach at the community center I provide aid to those in need and my share of surprises becomes disproportionate to most.  For the most part (knock on wood), I have become more comfortable with handling the unexpected on a daily basis. As time has gone on, the importance of faith and trust have been reinforced and reaffirmed as "God will provide" has moved far beyond a simple axiom and become a way of being and ministering.

I truly believe that God will provide. If I didn't, I wouldn't be able to do the work that I do. That's because a) I would worry myself to death about where we would get all the help we need, i.e. why the food pantry is empty, b) I would realize that there is no way we should be able to do the work we do with the staff/help we have, i.e. who in their right mind delegates event coordination to teenagers?!?, and c) If I didn't think God would provide, I pretty sure I'd be saying that we can do/ are doing this on our own, which is just plain false.  Those are just some of the reasons I believe God will provide.

That faith though does come with some consequences.  God will provide. That means whether you like it or not, God is there and is going to come up with something. God will provide. And that means that you don't really get a free choice in what exactly the Good Lord giveth.  Whatever it is that God provides, I have to believe it's good.  That each new experience/ surprise/ twist in the road is a blessing and/or opportunity for grace. I wouldn't be able to do the work I do without that.

But what about when what God seems to provide isn't exactly what you signed up for?  Not that you were expecting something in particular, but nowhere in what you expected or thought would be expected of you did this ever come up.

Empty food pantry? Vietnamese elderly couple in need on Federal disaster grants? Volunteers with criminal backgrounds?  Putting on large scale community events on 2-weeks notice?  No problem. I've got it covered.

Accompanying a neighbor through diagnosis and treatment for breast and lymph node cancer? This is not what I signed up for.

In fact, I don't like doctors, I have no medical training, and blood makes me woozy.  Our neighbor, Sally, is not the most agreeable woman in the world, has smoked all her life and won't admit that that is the root of her emphysema. She can't and most likely wouldn't go to doctors appointments if someone didn't accompany her, in essence making her go.  That someone doing the accompanying is me.

In the midst of my ministry last year, I wrote about a breakthrough moment with Sally.  Soon after Sally opened up to me I wrote of the experience of caring for her:

I can feel that moment. The memory of it is triggered deep within me and while the details of our conversation fade, that touch does not. And I wonder, did Christ ever forget those he touched? The lepers and the blind people he healed- each one had a connection through touch with Christ. For healing to happen they needed to touch, not because healing is somehow linked to touch, no, they needed to touch to believe that change could happen. Such belief comes from a connection, a presence, a belief and care by those who touch us. Jesus touched those in need and changed their lives... I can hope to reach out like that in/with my life. If I do, God is bound to touch me and that's the type of feeling you don't forget- it changes you, it heals you, it stays with you, and it makes you stay in touch with what's all around you.

Our relationship had been rocky leading up to that moment of connection but in that moment barriers were broken and progress was made.

I wish I could say that the smoothness of that moment continued... it didn't.  That's probably why I haven't really written about Sally since.  Grace abounded vividly that day. It opened my heart and gave me the opportunity to love another in a new way, connecting with God and making a difference in the process.  The day that we spent seven hours in the waiting room of an inner city Emergency Room, because Sally told me she couldn't swallow and hadn't eaten in days, only to have Sally storm out of the waiting room without being seen and demand to be taken home was less obviously graceful.  As we yelled at each other in the parking garage, I could feel the moment but in a much different way.

The ensuing months have been rough. I've learned that giving your heart to others in ministry does not give them the right to trample all over it, that vulnerability is a two-way street that must be tread with caution, and that sometimes to best serve someone you need to detach yourself from them so that they can walk on their own. After all, once healing takes place it is the healed that gets up and walks not the healer that walks for them.

As we've traveled towards this diagnosis, I've put these lessons into action.  The work I do requires commitment to a lot of people and as such I can't let one person monopolize my time and energy and I also have to leave time and energy for myself.  I've made other parish staff go to appointments, dropped Sally off to fend for herself, and emotionally distanced myself from the case.  None of this has been easy.  Once my heart is invested in something or someone I want to see it through. Detaching my well-intentioned heart and placing responsibility on Sally has been difficult, but I know it is for the best.  In moments of doubt or guilt, I think that I should be doing more, that somehow pulling away and making Sally self reliant is cold-hearted and uncompassionate. Yet, this is what I need to do... for her and for me.  To do anything else would be a disservice.

So, when the results of a biopsy and other battery of tests came back today and the doctor called me into the examining room to bear the news and be with Sally as we looked towards what this future with cancer will mean, I didn't (and still don't) quite know what to do with it all.

This is not what I signed up for, no way no how.  Still it seems to be what I've got and what God is calling me to work in and learn from.  It's one of those surprises that comes with the work I do.  All I can say is that  God will provide.  What exactly? I'm not sure. Perhaps a new way to serve, a different way to grow, a discomfort that I would never wish for, or an opportunity for grace and mercy.  Really, I don't know. I can just believe that God will provide for Sally and myself.

A Balancing Act

The last few weeks, and in all truth months, have been filled with transition. That has left me out of whack and steered my writing much more toward the personal than the public.  A sort of haze settled in over my mind, clouding my writing process and leaving me to deal in the story of my life much more in person than in writing.  


What I have written for public consumption has been much more strained. Withstanding rounds of revision and slowly, laboriously being brought out of me, these pieces have been helpful in jump starting my writing if only through the necessity of deadlines.  Despite this block or in light of it, life has gone on.  I am transitioning into living in a local community with four Sisters of St. Joseph, women who are at least double my age but still companions and compatriots to me on this journey.  As I sit in the haze of transition, it is these women who sit with me, knowing all too well what it feels like to be in a new place, with new people, in a way of life that no matter how much you try to wrap your mind around is still very foreign.


A dear friend recently asked me what it was like to live with these women.  At first I looked back at her quizzically, how is this any different than the transition I made into community last year?  Then her question hit me. I knew what she was asking- what is it like to live with these women? These women are sisters... but even more, these women are old ladies. Truthfully, I didn't quite know how to answer. If I think about it, they are old. The thing is though that I haven't thought about it. Sure there are moments when it is striking clear that the women I live with have been alive much longer than I have, when stories predate my birth, and I realize the woman I am having a heart to heart with is my mother's age.  These are facts. And this is a fact of this life especially.


My preoccupation over the last few weeks though has been with my own life and not the sum of the years in anyone else's.  Moving into a new community, returning to an intense work setting, making my way along in my application to the SSJs, and dealing with the ups and downs of everyday life has shown me that life is a balancing act.  In the midst of transition, it is easy to get off balance.  Lots of things throw you for curves and everything seems to have a different degree of impact on you than it might otherwise. 


In times less hectic, balance is something that comes with greater ease. You have it and you must simply maintain it.  When life is jumbled, it takes the tension of honesty with yourself, others, and God to pull things together.  I catch glimpses of balance every now and then, but know it will be a while until it is a more permanent feature.  For now, I must simply recognize and be at peace with this fact. If I feel like life is balanced and the uneasiness of all this transition has passed for good, I am most likely lying to myself. Remember that whole honesty thing?! Truly though I am coming more and more to understand the balancing act.


This means balancing time with community and time of prayer and contemplation. It means straightening out tasks in my ministry so I can serve those most in need, while also giving myself enough space and time, to care for myself, so that I have enough energy to serve to the best of my ability.  It means being attentive to myself, being gentle, so that I do not lose the balance within myself that is so critical. Without such balance, I lose my adequacy in many things. I can't write. I falter in prayer. I find myself exhausted. I can't be present to others the way I'd like to be. I find myself unable to fully minister to those who come to the Center for help.


Yet, each day brings with it a new chance to take steps towards balance.  I find myself becoming more comfortable with my new community; comfortable enough to take time away from them- to walk out on a television show we're watching to go pray, to fond time to write or nap when I need it.  I'm not perfect. Sometimes the Spirit hits me and I choose to stay, bargaining for a few more minutes in community, only to find I'm tuckered out once I move out of the room. Still, even in not heeding the call, simply recognizing the call to balance is a step in and of itself.  


The same can be said in ministry.  Remembering why I do what I do in the midst of frantic demands on my time and energy is a blessing.  I do not do this for me. This is for God and neighbor.  I need balance so that I can be united with both.  Dependence on both will lead me to a well balanced life, one full of love, grace, joy, and gratitude.


Slowly but surely I will move toward balance.  Slower than I would like at times, but more surely than I could ever imagine. The work of such a balancing act is the act of living. It is takes a lifetime to achieve but ultimately, such balance will allow me to live this life... my life.

Bound by Ignition: a poem

You deserve to receive all of my love.

Anything less, Lord, would not be enough.

I'll lavish you, Lord, with all I have received.

I'll spend my whole life to anoint you as King.

- Danielle Rose, "Anointing at Bethany"

Bound by Ignition

Your steadfast love swirls within me.

My heart aflame

Burning as I seem to have always felt it.

In the way I will never forget.

Doubt flits away in the vapor of smoke;

Trails of apprehension, crumble like crystalline.

Flakes fall, soft like snow.

There my feet fall.

"Follow me," you call.

My will chimes in with a 'but' on the end.

"I will, but..."

No. Not Here.

The flame rises,

the resistance melts away.

In the fire, my will is transformed.

Merged, Fused with yours.

You rise in me, I but follow.

If I withdraw, I freeze

the fuel stands still

no spark- no fury for life

a life of the heart

no need to remember;

never forgotten.

muscle memory.

no knowing how it will beat,

assured that grace trumps certainty.

Bound by ignition

to burn brightly in you.

to love deeply in you.

to always be yours.

Transitions & Updates

The last month has been one of chaos. I moved back to Philadelphia midway through August, moved into a new community, and returned to work at the community center as the new assistant director in charge of social outreach, volunteer coordination, and all sorts of various other programming. Add on top of that the general state of a life in transition, a dear friend deciding to leave the congregation, and a death that shook the entire community and you have a glimpse of where my life has been (and why it hasn't been here on the blog) over the last month. Oh yeah... and I'm becoming a nun.

So all in all, please excuse my absence over the last few weeks. I'm glad to be back and hope to have a new entry up very soon. In the meantime, I need a favor, can you comment and let me know your favorite entry from the last year? I'm working on a piece for publication that reflects on my year of service & which draws off of my writing, so I need to know what might be the best piece to feature. I have my favorite but I want to hear from you, so get to it and I'll get on a new entry right away.

Peace to you all,

Colleen

Speaking Injustice.

"Yo no hablo espanol pero yo en entiendo."

This is a phrase I have become fairly familiar with over the last year. Roughly translated it means "I do not speak Spanish but I understand it." I am so familiar because, in the last year, it has passed my lips more often than almost any other Spanish phrase.

It is the one phrase that my Spanish speaking roommate taught me in our year together. It is enough to get people to begin talking to me when I find myself a stranger in their home. To be a stranger who cannot communicate is not a good situation to be in, especially when all you want to do is help the person you're trying to communicate with.

For the longest time, I found my way around this phrase. I found other ways to communicate. Taking on interns added to my work load (doubling the need to ease neighbors whose homes we entered and coaching students simultaneously in the basics of social work) but it allowed me to have a translator when I entered a home where English wasn't spoken and certainly wasn't understood. In these cases, the phrase acted as an endearing excuse. As if to say, I'm sorry I can't speak your language, but please accept this butchered phrase as a sign that I'm trying and know that I do know what you're saying. I would use it as a means of comfort- a plea of sorts to explain to those I wished to relate to that I could understand what they were saying, even if I couldn't verbally respond. Thank goodness for nearly a decade of French and the power of a reassuring smile.

Other times, if I found myself on home visits without an intern, I would turn to neighbors or, on occasion, I would call back to the office in the hopes that our parish secretary would translate for me. Neither of these situations were/are ideal. They are humbling, to say the least, but still when push comes to shove they make sure that people who need assistance were able to be served.

Now having returned to Philadelphia after a bit of a hiatus, I find myself catching up on visits that have piled up over the last month. Yesterday I scheduled fifteen visits in one day. That's a lot and, actually, I didn't schedule them... a volunteer did. I had her mark next to each person she called if they'd be home at the time I'd scheduled and what language they spoke. When she returned from making phone calls with the list, more than half were Spanish speakers. "No problem", I thought to myself, "this volunteer needs hours and I need a translator, I'll just bring her with me." That was the plan.

Then, late in the afternoon, right before I left the office my phone rang. On the other end, my volunteer told me she had forgotten she had an appointment scheduled for today and wouldn't be able to come in. Like I said, that was the plan.

I left the office not quite knowing what the next day would hold. Today, I came back into the office still quite unsure. "Trust," I told myself. That seems to be the frequent order for life at the community center. So I hit the road with trust in mind.

As I began to visit homes, my fears eased as the first few homes marked as 'Spanish-speaking' were bilingual and manageable. Then I came to Luis's house.

I say house and not home for a reason. The building I came up to had no front stairs, instead I hoisted myself inside the shell of a house. Luis was sweeping when I arrived- sweeping the plywood floor, mind you, trying to get rid of as much dust as possible. In fact, the house's interior was only wood. No carpet. No furniture. No drywall. No running water. Only some windows and even those were boarded up. The situation was beyond words, but even if I had words Luis and I wouldn't have been able to communicate.

I tried. I really did. I mixed Spanish, French, and English to try and understand the situation. Luis got frustrated as he tried to reply back in English to my questions. I turned to my famous phrase. Yo no hablo espanol pero yo en entiendo. I understand. A stream of Spanish came back at me and I understood: This place had no heat; Luis had no other place to go; There was only so much I could do.

Without the ability to speak to Luis's concerns and situation, I couldn't do any justice. I don't know if I could have done anything even if we were speaking the same language. Yet, we weren't and in failing to communicate I felt like I was doing an injustice. As a volunteer, I had screeched past with my broken, nearly-nonexistent Spanish; now, as a paid employee, how am I supposed to do my job when, without language, I cannot fully serve those I minister to? And it wasn't just Luis, it was so many that I meet; How much more could be accomplished if I was just able to talk one-on-one with the person across from me- to not just feel their pain but to speak to it.

I left Luis knowing change needed to happen. I left him with a voucher he didn't understand and I left him in a situation that no voucher could fix. It wasn't just Luis though. (His situation was extreme.) It was the recent immigrants I meet and cannot give full attention to because I don't have words. It is the cycle of injustice perpetuated by the inability of one to meet another where they are at, to sacrifice time and self to learn a new language so comfort can be found. Comfort that stems far beyond a phrase or two. 'I understand' can only go so far. At some point it has to be followed up by "and because I truly understand, I find myself more like you. More able to help because I am enriched, challenged, and humbled as I seek justice in a world where injustice seems to pass as the norm."

Poco a poco, estoy aprendiendo.

Live Jesus

I was recently asked to write a Gospel summary. The instructions given to me were as follows:

"In your own words, write a summary of what is important in living as a Christian. This summary pertains to both basic values and concrete ways of living as revealed in the Gospels by the words and actions of Jesus.

Imagine that you are explaining the teachings and example of Jesus to an adult who is interested in Christianity. This person is intelligent and well disposed, but not yet familiar with the Gospels and, therefore, has asked you to write this summary. The length of the summary depends on you, but you should try to give what you consider to be a representative summary of the Gospel message."

I was to write the summary without looking at Scripture and do so in one sitting. The result was two very different pieces. One was much more theological and reflected on what it means to be a Christian, the other a more literal summary that dealt with Christ's life and the challenge it poses to followers. The piece that follow is the latter.

On the table next to my bed stands a small card that reads: "Today's Challenge: Live Jesus."

The card may only be the size of a business card and the challenge it poses only two words, but its message is so much more expansive than that. Those two words, live Jesus, mean so much more.

To live Jesus is to live the Gospel. Living it is no simple task, neither is trying to summarize the message of the Gospels, but I guess it wouldn't be called a challenge otherwise, now would it?

It is today's challenge. A challenge renewed and reawakened each day. The challenge starts in a manger, under the cover of darkness, where God became human. Born to a simple family, Jesus defied all odds and brought the Divine into the everyday, bringing with him hope and a new way of relating to God. To live like this Jesus is to recognize the Divine in our midst.

From there the challenge took form through the life and ministry of Jesus. On the banks of the Jordan, he fulfills the prophesy of his cousin John, who baptizes him with some reticence, as the Spirit falls upon him and Jesus is called forth to the life he will lead unto death. Jesus seems to sense the challenge that lies ahead for him (if he doesn't sense it then, the next forty days in the desert communing with God and being tempted by the Devil surely make the point clear.) Yet when he emerges from the wilderness he invites others into the journey he has already begun.

Calling fisherman to cast out their nets, to have faith, he wrangles a ragtag group of disciples to follow him, to become fishers of men. These followers leave behind their livelihoods to follow this teacher. He leads them for miles on foot, teaching them in word and deed. As they travel they meet people of all sorts- the rich, the poor, women, children, temple officials, prostitutes, tax collectors, and many more. In one way or another he talks with and relates to each one of these people.

In some cases, he challenges them and their way of thinking. He questions the temple official's motives and blind adherence to rules (he heals on the sabbath and replies to the questions of commandments meant to trip him up), a move that does not make him popular by any means. Of the rich, he instructs the rich young man that he might do all the things in the world right but to truly find God he must leave his riches and follow Christ.

In other cases, he uses them as examples. "Be like a child," he instructs his disciples, for to do so is to trust and love purely. "Whatever you do to the least of these, you do unto me." He crafts stories from the Good Samaritan to the Prodigal Son to teach his disciples about how to live, the gifts of faith, and the call/responsibility that comes along with such faith.

This call was lived out even further in the way he welcomed those he met and was welcomed by them, growing in relationship and allowing lessons to be learned, healing to take place, and people to find God. Dining with prostitutes and tax collectors, he was one with them. And on the hillsides, he instructed many, feeding them with loaves and fishes and nourishing their souls by instructing the masses in how they would be blessed for being true to themselves and following God in the Beatitudes.

Through all of this Jesus lived fully and after three years of ministry he went with his disciples to Jerusalem for what would be his Passion, death, and resurrection. Here, the challenge to "live Jesus" takes all the life and teaching from his life and is distilled. Here, to live Jesus is to be the hands of Christ; the hands that break bread and share it with friends, so that all might be fed. Here, to live Jesus is to have the eyes of Christ, eyes that look up from the floor where you kneel to wash the feet of others, humbled in service and love. Here, to live Jesus is to feel the pain of betrayal by friends in the garden and to forgive. Here, to live Jesus is to carry the cross to death. There, on the hillside, Christ died, nailed like a criminal to a cross. To live Jesus is to be present to that.

And finally to live Jesus is to live the Resurrection, Christ's rising from the dead. Returning to share the Good News, as he had before his death, but with a new spirit, one that called those he taught to action in remembrance of all he had taught them. He told the women at his tomb not to weep but to share the hope of his return. He met his terrified followers in an upper room and on the road to Emmaus, where they didn't recognize him, and in each place he brought them joy and promise, bolstering their faith and calling them to more. He was alive and calling them to live too.

And so, the Gospels end. Jesus ascends to heaven and the Holy Spirit is left with his followers. But the Gospel message doesn't stop there. We wake up to it every morning. It stares us in the face. A story lived thousands of years ago, a challenge that is still alive today: live Jesus.

Life in Abundance

"To the East, P.O."

In July, I was blessed to spend time on retreat at St. Mary by-the-Sea in Cape May Point, New Jersey. My time away was full of grace and I returned renewed and refreshed. Whereas I would usually offer words to convey my experience, I offer instead some artistic impressions of my time with God. May these do justice to the abundance I've encountered and reveal what your eyes are meant to see.