Re-entry

One of my favorite things about air travel is people watching. There are always interesting people in airports and on airplanes. On this weekend’s trip to Ghost Ranch in New Mexico, I flew with a guy dressed in some kind of martial arts outfit. There was a guy named Brian Moles—we were checking in at the same time. It was the first time either of us had met someone named Moles outside of our families. It was especially funny that he had the same name as my brother. There were Boy Scouts returning from their ranch in New Mexico, and there were a load of middle class families on late summer vacations. Even though everyone at the airport is there for a different reason, the thing that grabbed me is that we were all in the same boat—or maybe the same airplane—so to speak. We all get in that metal tube and pretend to be brave when we think about the fact that we’re rocketing through the air at 30,000 feet. We’re all at the mercy of the pilot, and what happens to one of us happens to us all.

That plane imagery captures what was good about spending four days with about 35 other national Young Adult Volunteers in the high deserts of Northern New Mexico. Those of us who were there had been in the same boat. We all were finishing a year that had taken us to places outside our comfort zones, and confronted us with the suffering that takes place in this world every minute of every day.

The best part of this retreat was that it was less programmed than our orientation was. We had lots of free time to get to know one another better and hear stories from the year. Much of the time that was spent on activities was spent in silent personal reflection or sharing in small groups. On Saturday night, each site group was responsible for putting together a skit or presentation that would convey something about its year. Many YAVs had similar experiences to ours, many were different. Through these presentations and lots of time for more informal story telling, including at our bonfire on the last night, we learned a lot about what each of us had been through.

The Atlanta group acted out something that is pretty much my whole life—the struggle and vicious cycle of obtaining important personal documents for homeless people. (You need a birth certificate to get an ID, an ID to get a Social Security card, an ID to get a birth certificate…) The Tucson, Miami, and Gulf Coast groups, which were the largest, told funny stories from the year. The Tucson site’s housing is required to be environmentally friendly to the point of letting termites eat an entire wall off the house. In Nashville, we lived in one of the smallest houses, but it was one of the nicest and in the nicest neighborhood. From what we could tell, despite the tighter than ordinary living conditions, our group had the least amount of conflict. Jody, one of two YAVs in Alaska this year, who only saw her counterpart three times all year, told about moving every month and the time when there was 300 inches of snow. I am astounded that she, like about half of the YAVs at the retreat, has chosen to stay at her site after her year of service. Those who aren’t staying are starting theological education or other graduate programs and a few are starting jobs.

The end of term retreat, sometimes called “re-entry,” was about providing those of us who had been through the experience of a lifetime a chance to take some time apart from the world in the time between our experience as volunteers and our re-entry into the world as employees or students. As Tara and I got off the plane onto the runway in Nashville, I remember we said, “We’re home.” It did feel more like home to set foot back in Tennessee than I had anticipated. The re-entry process will continue for a while, I’m sure, and it will take a lot of open space to process everything that happened this year and to understand what it meant. For four beautiful (and cool) days in New Mexico with fellow travelers on the journey of service, though, thanks be to God.

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Here's the poem that Tara and I wrote for our presentation to the group on Saturday night...

This is a follow-up to our poem from September,
It was so good, we're sure that you remember.

Nashville was great, that's why three of us are staying,
This time, though, for jobs that are paying.

Our community went shopping for an engagement ring,
So Patrick's getting married, that's why he fled the scene.

Overall, we had an excellent year.
Want a few specifics? Just lend us an ear.

Chasie spent her days at the Martha O'Bryan Center.
For kids and single moms, she became a mentor.

Jeff broke up fights and busted crack deals.
He also did his best to serve delicious meals.

Patrick worked with kids, at times they misbehaved.
When he helped them win the science fair, about his skill they raved.

Tara worked with immigrants as they adjusted to this nation.
She helped them buy houses in their process of integration.

We did our best to live simply in Green Hills,
Though living in one of Tennessee's richest zip codes certainly had its thrills.

We went on retreats to discern our vocation.
It was nice to get away to a different location.

Went as a group to Louisville in January.
There we saw Eleanor and Mary.

We celebrated with Second Pres. at its new building's dedication,
From doing justice and mission its members never vacation.

To think of anything bad to say, we'd have to scratch our heads
Except for the comfort level of Jeff and Patrick’s bunk bed.

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Well, it’s now been almost three weeks since NEP ended. Brian and I have moved into our new apartment in the West End/Vanderbilt area near Centennial Park, and I went back to work at the Campus on Wednesday. It was really great to get back into the swing of things. The only person who might be looking more forward to my first pay day than I am is Brian, since I’ve been mooching off his resources since we’ve been here. We’ve got things pretty well settled in the apartment and had our first guests over the weekend. Today was the first Sunday back at Second. It was Genesis Sunday, which is the same thing as Rally Day, and I was in a skit for the Outreach Committee, promoting volunteering with Room In The Inn. We parodied “24” and made Jack Bauer into a super-volunteer.

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I have one more blog post in me, which will be coming at some point soon—a final reflection on this year.

NO LONGER STRANGERS

As I was driving to work a few days ago, heading into the Music Row roundabout, I saw someone waving at me from a bench on the side of the road. It was Richard F., (see “The Campus, Day 1”) and he was smiling and waving at me while sitting next to a shopping cart full of his earthly belongings. It has become commonplace for me to have homeless people waving at me when they see my car around town, and I can’t go downtown without seeing lots of people I know. My friends and family laugh while we’re driving around and I say, “oh, there’s Ken,” and “that guy goes to my internet class,” or “you don’t want to cross that guy the wrong way.”

My roommates and I have been reflecting a lot recently about what it’s like to be on the “other side” of mission trips—being the ones receiving the benefits of church youth groups on their week-long trips to save the world, instead of being a part of those groups. Patrick laughed about the different groups of youth he had a Preston Taylor every week all summer, and how they’d all get sad and cry on the last day even though the kids would probably not remember who they were the next week. I experienced it when I went and gave thanks on behalf of the Campus to a group of youth here on a mission week, and as they all stampeded me to give me a hug and get their pictures taken with me, I was feeling bad that I couldn’t remember most of their names. We’ve laughed about how we re-do many of the work projects that they do because of their lack of professional skill. But that’s not the point.

An old way of seeing mission work might involve a missionary who brings something and gives it to those who are on the receiving end. The model that more appropriately describes the experience I had this year is mutual mission. Lines between those who serve and those who are being served often blur and roles become reversed. The mission God calls us to is not in hammers and nails, and plates of food or in sermons or any of that. It’s found in the relationships we develop while we serve one another. It’s in the love of one another that results from our love of God. That’s why kids cry at the end of mission trips and why I cried this morning when Patrick and Sarah headed off for Texas. We find this love by walking a mile in the shoes of our neighbor.

For the last three hundred thirty-three days, I have been humbled by the chance to walk alongside the people at the Campus for Human Development. There have been times when the walking alongside seems more like tripping over rocks, running behind to catch up, and walking in front, dragging people along. Though the walk might not be perfect, the opportunity to develop relationships with those who are the poorest of the poor in so many ways, but who often are so rich in faith, good humor and kindness.

I am thankful for the ways that mutual service has been practiced this year. When Ray, who would never speak until spoken to, came up to the desk to tell me that one of my tires was getting low on air, he was serving me. June, a staff member who was a participant at the Campus at one time, served Ray by trimming his beard, which has become the start of a dramatic change in his personality and his seeking housing on his own initiative. When after someone was particularly verbally abusive to me, I was served by the participants who came up to me to make sure I was okay. My collection of little gifts that people have given to me—I found a little vial of cologne and some cucumber-ginseng facial mist on my dresser as I was getting my things together—is a testament to the ways that people have been generous. When the line of people buying their gift vouchers for our More Than a Toy program this past Christmas was largely made up of people who had been attending classes and earning points so they could give vouchers away to other people who had children to buy for and not enough points, that was love in action.

Yesterday, the staff of the Campus put on a different type of shoes. Bowling shoes. We closed the Campus for the afternoon and we all headed to the bowling alley for pizza and fun. A surprise was that the reason for the party was to honor me and Brian, a fellow year-long intern through the Jesuit Volunteer Corps (a Catholic equivalent of the YAV program). It was our goodbye party without the goodbye part, since we will both be staying at the Campus. People were given an opportunity to share good (and bad) things about us. Hearing what the people I work with had to say about me was special, and they said things I wouldn’t have expected. Then we bowled. There was lots of cheering, laughing and even a few pins were knocked over in the process. I taunted Ms. Anneice, who had earlier told everybody about how we fight like boyfriend and girlfriend (yikes!), about how I was beating her, even though only by a few pins (says something about my bowling ability). It was just a time to let loose and have fun and to celebrate what we have been through together.

The most important thing about this year at the Campus has been the people who have been through it with me. Staff members, participants and volunteers have all been a part of the community that makes the Campus a special place. One year ago, I had never met a homeless person. Sure, I’d been to the Lighthouse Mission in Terre Haute once or twice, but the poor were an interesting concept and people I felt sorry for. I am thankful for the opportunity I have had to make friends out of people who were once foreign to me. The relationships I have formed and the love that has flowed between us has been an experience like none other.

Thanks be to God.