Dry Cleaning

I’ve been dragging my feet on taking my black suit to the cleaners. It’s been two months since I got mud all over it at my grandpa’s burial service. It had been a rainy December and we all (especially us pall bearers) had shoes that were caked in mud after carrying the casket to it’s final resting place. I thought about taking the suit to the cleaners today, but I decided an afternoon nap might be better since my alarm went off at 4:45 A.M. this morning. It would have made for a nice symbolic Ash Wednesday activity.

From dust we come, and to dust we shall return.

The imposition of ashes on this day is a liturgical slap in the face. As I looked around the church tonight and saw people with crosses on their foreheads, I thought about how we looked like a forest of trees with spray painted X’s on them. In a way we were. We are all scheduled to be cut down. Despite what we like to think, and what our culture constantly tells us, our earthly selves will pass away. No amount of anti-aging cream can change that. As the hymn “Our God, Our Help in Ages Past” puts it so bluntly, “time, like an ever-rolling stream, soon bears us all away. We fly forgotten as a dream dies at the opening day.”

Ash Wednesday puts us in our place and helps us begin that necessary journey through Lent and Holy Week. We beg forgiveness for the wrongs that we do and remember our own mortality. It is only after we have attempted to come to grips with that reality that we can celebrate with reality of ashes and celebrate the filling of the font with the water of salvation.

One thing we all share is that we, along with my grandpa and others who have gone before us, will return to the ground from which we’ve come. Like ashes, though, we will be made pure in death. We live in hope that our earthly selves will pass away, while the divine within each of us will live forever.

This is the hard reality and the great hope of Ash Wednesday: From dust we come, and to dust we shall return.

Midterm Examen

Well, we’re now on the other side of the Young Adult Volunteer hill. Today marks the halfway point in this year’s experience in Nashville. And so far, this experience has been every bit as transforming as it was advertised to be. I have been in situations I never thought I would see, I have met interesting people who have been both loving and cruel to themselves and those around them, I have made some life-long friends, and I have even learned to enjoy eating grits.

Each night (or I should say, most nights) at the Toolshed, the four of us gather to engage in a spiritual practice called the examen. This is a time of looking back on the day that has passed that calls to mind both the good and bad things that have happened. The pattern we have typically followed is a sharing of each day’s high and low point. Another way of saying this is “when did I feel God’s presence most closely, and when did I feel that God was farthest from me?” This not only keeps us aware of what is going on in one another’s’ lives, but allows us an opportunity to engage in some serious reflection about what has gone on during the day. The examen is a useful tool for vocational discernment as well. For example, if I make a habit of saying “the low point of my day was the eight hours when I had to work with homeless people and the high point of my day was when it was time to come home from work,” then I can probably take from this that my calling is probably not to work with the homeless.

So, here is a little examen, looking back at the highs and lows of last five and a half months.


Discerning my Vocation
I have been confronted several times this year with Frederick Beuchner’s definition of vocation as the place where one’s deepest needs meet the world’s greatest hunger. At the beginning of the year, I came into this experience thinking that I would be led through some process that would give me a road map of my future. I, through the help of our fantastic vocational discernment specialist Janet Salyer, have broadened my definition of vocation from a basic “what am I going to do when I grow up” to a more intense questioning of what God is calling me to be at any given moment. Few receive a direct life plan from heaven in the form of some divine edict. For most of us, we can discern what God wants us to do as a next step. For me, I am less sure that I want to head to seminary right away next year than I was in September, when I viewed this year as just a logical stepping stone between college and seminary. It is still what I want to do, but I have realized there is no reason to be in a hurry.

Second Presbyterian

People from outside the congregation always ask us what church we decided to attend in Nashville, and we always say, “Second Pres., but we really didn’t have a choice in the matter.” Even though I didn’t have a choice, and I haven’t been to any of the other Presbyterian churches here, I am pretty sure Second would be the church I’d end up a part of anyway. Second is a demonstration in many ways of what it means to be countercultural. Nashville is home to more churches per capita than any other city, most of those being of the conservative evangelical variety. A view of abortion and homosexuality as the most pressing moral issues is not uncommon here in the “buckle of the Bible belt,” rather than those that Jesus focused on such as loving our poor and oppressed neighbors. Second is a church that isn’t afraid to be a little different and I appreciate that. It has also been interesting to see Second Presbyterian transform itself from a church that primarily viewed itself as the church that is rebuilding from a fire, to a church that has had its identity changed back to what I assume it was before the 2003 fire. The beautiful new church building inspires its members to worship enthusiastically and remember those outside its walls. It says a lot that they are willing to host four young people to serve the community in an intense way on their behalf, and provide a mother figure (Susan) to take care of us.

Intentional Christian Community
The absolute best part of this experience so far has been the one that happens inside The Toolshed. I can’t imagine that four more compatible people could have been chosen to inhabit 600 square feet of house behind Second Presbyterian. Chasie, Tara and Patrick have become a second family to me in our time together. My favorite times are the ones where we are all sitting on our couches together in the living room just talking. Tara and I will start bantering about something, usually an expression of our well-churched dorkiness. I’ll start bragging about my ordination as a deacon and start putting down the others for being “lay people” and then it’s all downhill from there as we start talking about the value of blue vs. purple as the seasonal color of Advent. Then one of the girls will throw something at me so they can make fun of me for not being able to catch anything. Our household is great.


The Campus
Working at the Campus for Human Development has given me a glimpse into the life of our society’s bottom class. I work on a daily basis with people who depend on government and charity for their every need. They often are used to being looked at with looks of disgust, and most have problems with substance abuse. I have seen a lot of things in the past few months. I’ve stood in human waste, I’ve broken up fights, I’ve caught a drug deal in progress, I’ve seen people with black eyes and bloodied lips who have been beaten up, I’ve been called every name in the book and probably some ones that aren’t even in the book, I’ve seen one too many people drunk off mouthwash, and I’ve been coughed on and sneezed on by people who are carrying who knows what disease. Yet, in the midst of all this, I have come to love the work that I have been doing, and can imagine few things as fulfilling as working at the Campus. The thing I love is that this is an organization that is really founded upon the principles of Christianity. We do not try to get people to convert to our religious views, but rather live them out in daily life. It is an honor to know, serve, and be served by the homeless. The thing I’ve been most impressed about at the Campus is the sense of hope that arises out of ugly situations. No matter what has gone on during the day, we always find something to laugh about. It is a place that is filled with the feeling of family. My favorite times at the Campus have been the times when I have felt like we were making a home for people. They have been the times when a woman decorated our Christmas tree with things she had purchased, when people have apologized to me for saying something they shouldn’t have said, when people have come up and made sure that I was okay after somebody was yelling at me, or when someone just comes up and says “thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” The Campus staff is filled with true professionals who don’t always have the answers, but seldom fail to act without respect for each person as a child of God.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I am so thankful that I ended up in Nashville. When I initially applied for the YAV program, it was mostly as a back up for the actual position I wanted in the Young Adult Intern program. I know that God called me to this time and place, and I am thankful that my calling was shared by three other outstanding people that we could share in this experience together. Writer (and Presbyterian) Anne LaMotte says that there are really only two prayers that she needs: “help me, help me, help me,” and “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Hebrews 13:2

From The Tennessean:

English now official language of Metro: Council passes controversial law

And in very related news from CNN.com:

Klan growing, fed by anti-immigrant feelings

Whether you're wearing white sheets and burning crosses or wearing suits and serving on Metro Council, the message is the same.

"As I long for my Indiana home..."

GO COLTS!

One Day

Thursday, February 1, 2007

6:45 A.M. :: The T-Mobile jingle (duh-da-duh-da-dum…duh-da-duh-da-dum…) wakes me up as it does every day from my cell phone/alarm clock. This is a great way to advertise.

6:55 A.M. :: I actually wake up for good, as I somehow do every day. I look out the window to see how much snow we got. There was a light dusting on my windshield.

7:46 A.M. :: How do I manage to get into my car every day at the same exact time? I drive to the Campus. I accidentally drive about 35 miles per hour through a school zone by Carter Lawrence School on 12th Avenue. I slow down to the required 15 about 30 feet from the sign that marks the end of the zone, knowing that people actually obey school zone speeds here, unlike in Indiana where they are merely a 25 MPH formality. I am paranoid about seeing police lights in my rear view mirror the whole way to work.

7:57 A.M. :: I get to the Campus. I find a parking spot that isn’t in the middle of the lot, which is where you park if you get there later in the morning.

8:00 A.M. :: The police arrive and I start to run for cover since I’m sure they’re looking for me to give me my speeding ticket. My fears are relieved when they explain that they’re responding to a complaint about prank calls being made from the day room telephone during the early morning hours.

8:02 A.M. :: I unlock the door to the Campus and give the three women who are always first in line a hard time.

8:03 A.M. :: I remember why we dread the first of the month. The good part of it is that the Campus has funds again to help people get their Tennessee State ID cards, birth certificates, prescriptions, Traveler’s Aid vouchers and Salvation Army clothing vouchers. The bad part is that it all requires a lot of paperwork. And all the requests come in at once.

9:00 A.M. :: I first hear that one of our participants, and one who I have gotten to know pretty well, who is in a coma following a lethal combination of pre-existing health conditions, and ingesting a deadly mix of painkiller and alcohol. Some of the other guys bring me his and his girlfriend’s bags that they took from Room In The Inn, where he was found unconscious and bleeding heavily this morning, to put in my office.

9:45 A.M. :: It’s time for the store. Within about two minutes of opening the store, where we allow people to exchange points that they earn by going to classes for useful items such as hats, gloves, underwear, du-rags, hair brushes, radios, notebooks and the like, I was ready to close it. People were complaining that we were cheating them out of points, and that we didn’t have good enough things and that we didn’t have the things they wanted. Just as I was about to give some people a little talking to about appreciating this free stuff we were letting them have, a man thanked me for what we were doing and I remembered to not take the groaning of the masses so seriously.

10:20 A.M. :: I close the store on time, which is something I am a stickler about. There is actually nobody I have to turn away. Usually, if I don’t turn people away, I’d be there for the rest of the day.

10:30 A.M. :: I am in the copy room trying to print something onto Campus letterhead to help a lady in her search for housing. I hear Anneice paging me, so I call her. “The sheriff is here to see you.” I figure that he is there to take me away for speeding through the school zone, but I go downstairs anyway. He just wants to put a warrant or something in the mail room like usual.

11:00 A.M. :: We are trying to find some family contact information for the man who is dying at the hospital. His girlfriend (who would probably be his wife in any other setting) is on the phone with us asking if we know anyone in his family to contact because she doesn’t.

11:30 A.M. :: It is time for lunch at the Campus, which we serve each Thursday. As I’m locking the door as we close before lunch time, the woman who is the partner (for lack of a better term) of the dying man comes in the door crying. I ask her what is going on, and she tells me that she is there to get his ID card for the hospital. His heart has stopped beating twice and he has been revived both times. I take her back to my office to get his wallet. She cries, and my eyes well up. She says, “Jeff, what will I do if he dies? I’ll be all alone.” I manage to say something about how we at the Campus are her family. She says, “My daddy just died, now he’s gonna die…what is God punishing me for…why does God hate me like this?” I don’t know what to say.

11:40 A.M. :: Lunch is well underway. I don’t really help much and I kind of wander around a little. Sandwiches are being served, so it is a pretty easy meal to handle.

11:45 A.M. :: I am pouring out the big can of beer that was handed to me from the man’s belongings that are in my office into the sink in Fred and Anneice’s office. I walk into the hallway and join the woman, Anneice and the volunteer who leads Bible study in a prayer.

12:15 P.M. :: I eat with Anneice, Marcus (our new Vanderbilt football player intern), and Stacy, a volunteer from Trevecca. We laugh about some of our most eccentric participants (the one who takes all of his clothes off when he gets high, the one that keeps making baby noises, etc.).

1:15 P.M. :: Thank God the checks are finally here. The first of the month is when everybody gets their government checks. That means that many people have been hanging around for the last three weeks waiting on that next check to come so they can spend it in the first week of the month on things like food, bills, and adding a hefty portion to their savings accounts in hopes of saving for a down payment on housing. And by food, bills and savings, I mean cheap motel rooms, crack, and booze. That is the sad life of a person who is addicted.

2:45 P.M :: I’m staffing the day room by myself since most of the others got off work at 2:30. There’s just a small crowd there getting their daily dose of Miami Vice (we had been in a routine of watching Bonanza and Gunsmoke, but TV Land changed the times, before that, they always wanted to watch Charmed (aka “the show with those witches”)). Many people have gone to get what must be so tempting, a motel room.

3:15 P.M. :: One of the participants is helping me run the phone list so I don’t have to worry about resetting the timer ever 7 minutes while I’m making endless runs to get cough drops and cold pills for people.

3:55 P.M. :: I turn off the TV in the day room and begin my “okay, everybody start heading toward the door” routine.

3:57 P.M. :: I start to worry that one of the guys is dead when I try to wake him up for about 45 seconds by shouting at him and shaking him. He finally wakes up.

4:02 P.M. :: The last people finally file out, leaving the staff with a huge pile of bags to carry outside.

4:10 P.M. :: We finally begin our daily staff wrap-up meeting, where we discuss participants, suspensions that we have given (i.e. the difference between a day for basic cussing and a month for verbal abuse), property matters, and which staff members will be out the next day. Most of the meeting is spent discussing the man in a coma and the needs of his girlfriend and the church that found him covered in blood.

4:15 P.M. :: One of our guys is dead. Though we don’t know it yet, the man in the hospital has been removed from life support. I would find that out the next morning when I walk in and see that we are beginning a moment of silence and an impromptu 5-minute memorial service for him.

4:25 P.M. :: It’s time to go home. It’s always a chore to make sure I don’t hit anybody with my car as I’m pulling out of the lot. I watch my speed all the way back through Music Row and down Belmont Boulevard in case the police have been hunting for me all day.

7:30 P.M. :: My roommates are finally all home. It’s community night, so we all eat together. It was so nice of the people from church to bring us white chili, salad, chips, and fruit the night before. There was enough to stretch into two nights.

8:30 P.M. :: This is one of our less well planed out community nights, and we’re all kind of looking at each other to see what we should do. We are all a little too tired from the day to talk about Marjorie Thompson’s Soul Feast like we started last week, so we really don’t do anything else, which is alright by me for this night.

9:00 P.M. :: I catch up on some e-mails, and start writing this blog entry.

10:45 P.M. :: It’s time for bed.

11:15 P.M. :: I put down my Time magazine and turn out the light. Another day of living is over.