THE NASHVILLE EPIPHANY

January 6, 2008

Epiphany.

On New Year’s Day 2008, I worked. It was a frigidly cold day in Nashville, and the Campus’ day room was packed to the brim with people. So, I decided to go outside to make sure everything was alright out there. I leaned against the cold railing on the ramp that leads to the door and talked to some of the guys who were there, exchanging “happy new year” greetings. They asked whether my parents and sister made it back to Indiana alright after their visit over Christmas. When they moved on, another man came up to me, who I’ll call LP. He came to us about a year ago now, and has been a positive presence in our community. He attends all the classes, is a mainstay at “Sanctuary,” which is the weekly devotional service that I coordinate, and always has a kind greeting for all of us on the staff. I knew that he had been in prison before he came to us homeless, but didn’t know a lot of his story. After a month or so of being with us, I remember the day he came up to me and Maggie at the support desk and thanked us, with tears in his eyes, for being the first people that had been nice to him in a really really long time. It was one of those moments that keep us going, and reminds us why we do what we do, even when it gets tough and doesn’t feel too important. My New Year’s Day conversation with LP was another one of those moments. He told me about the evening they released him from prison after eight years, with a small mesh bag that contained all of his earthly possessions.

LP, in his former life, had owned his own construction company. He had a home, a wife, and kids. He coached his son’s little league team. One night, he came home to discover that his best friend was having an affair with his wife. In anger, LP broke in to his mother-in-law’s home and stole pictures of his kids. At his lawyer’s urging, he pled guilty to the crime or burglary, which because of the plea should have meant just a few years in prison. However, the judge imposed the maximum sentence of fifteen years. Being well-behaved in prison, LP served half of that sentence, and he was released into a freezing cold January night in Mississippi. Having severed all ties with friends and family, he had nowhere to go. He decided to ride the train to wherever it would take him. He hopped onto a flat car—not even a box car that was enclosed—and began to ride into the night.

The train was moving about 50 miles per hour, and being exposed to the freezing air brought about misery. Suddenly, the train came to a complete stop in the middle of a cow pasture. He thought he was probably in Kentucky or North Carolina by this time, since the weather had become so cold. He cried out to God in desperation. He even asked God to take his life so the suffering could end. The train began to move again, making the cold feel worse. He started to feel a warmness come over his body, which he knew was a sign that he was literally freezing to death. LP was trying to come up with a plan to throw himself under the train because he felt that there was nothing to live for and the cold was too intense. Just then he looked up and saw a light. As the train moved closer, he was able to see that it was a billboard for Channel 2, Nashville’s ABC affiliate. LP realized that he must not be in North Carolina or Kentucky after all, but in Tennessee, and close to the state’s capital. He decided that he would jump from the train and walk to the city the next morning. He leapt from the train, and hit the ground, rolling about fifty feet. He sat up, surprised to see some people around. Realizing that he wasn’t just outside Nashville, but actually just outside its downtown, LP went up to the people he saw to ask where exactly he was. A man told him that he was in the parking lot of the Nashville Rescue Mission.

Not believing that he had just jumped off a train at a seemingly random point, and rolled directly into the parking lot of a homeless shelter, the very kind of place he probably needed to be, LP walked around a little to get his bearings. He found another homeless man, who took him to the McDonald’s at 12th and Broadway to warm up with a cup of coffee. The man explained to LP what he needed to do, and where the best places to eat, sleep, and receive other needed services were. The man told LP that the place for him was a called Room In The Inn. LP came to Room In The Inn, and its Campus for Human Development that morning, and has been there ever since.

The thing that stuck with me from my New Year’s Day conversation with LP was his saying, “here I was, ready to let a train cut me into pieces because my life was so bad, and God literally throws me into the parking lot of a rescue mission, then takes me to coffee with a guy who told me about the greatest thing I’ve ever had: people who love me just the way I am.” He explained that he first met God in prison, but then found him in the flesh at Room In The Inn.

I told LP a little bit about how I got to the point where I was that morning: standing, listening to him on a ramp that led into a homeless shelter, with piles of bags around us, and pigeons overrunning the parking lot, eating the scraps left by those who had been eating their lunches outside. We had to put my story on pause a few times because of the deafening whistle of the train that runs along the same tracks by which he came to us. I told him about my journey, the original destination of which was becoming a professional musician. I told him about the time when I didn’t enjoy music anymore, and left school for a while. I added in the part where I answered the phone 150 times every day for a year and a half at Columbia House. I told him how I got fired from that job and went back to school at ISU with a major that my mom suggested based on the fact that I liked watching The West Wing. I told him about how I found joy in music again as a music director and organist at Trinity Lutheran Church, where I decided to work after saying I would only be a substitute for the four weeks of Advent, while finishing up school and preparing for seminary after that. I explained to LP how somewhere along the line I decided to do something else for a year between college and seminary and decided to apply for the Young Adult Volunteer program. I told him about the phone calls and discernment process that led me to Nashville. I explained that it was me telling Susan Brantley that I didn’t want to work with children that led me to the place I was at that very moment.

My story wasn’t quite as dramatic as LP’s, but in the end, we had each reached the same destination, albeit for different purposes, and shared a bit of humanity in that moment. And a little divinity too. God found a way to guide us not to the places our carefully laid plans would have taken us, but instead to a place where we would meet God in person.

As I look back, the Nashville Epiphany Project took me to many of those places. One of those places was a little green house called “The Toolshed” where four wise people spent the nights while they were in a search of Emmanuel in this world. Chasie, Patrick and Tara provided the community I needed for a year, and friendships that will last well beyond. Second Presbyterian Church provided the hospitality needed to sustain us on our journey, and the spiritual foundation for our quest. Vocational discernment with Janet Salyer and the steady guidance of Susan, our site coordinator, gave us the tools we needed to ask God where we should seek his presence next.

I did, along with my companions on this journey, find the living Christ in this world. We found him among the poorest of the poor in our communities. He was there in children who have never met their fathers, and who don’t know what a loving family is like. He was there in adults who wanted better things for their lives than the violent and fearful streets. He was there in those who are among the most despised in our society, in immigrants who speak and act differently than the ways to which we are accustomed. We found him there amongst the filth, the sickness, the fights, the wars, and the poverty of human existence.

Like LP, I had been introduced to God many times. In this year, I found God in places I never imagined I would go, and met the living Lord in the flesh. I found in those epiphanies, a love that loves me just the way I am. A love that frees us and gives us light, shining like a star—or even a billboard—breaking the fearful darkness of this world, and guiding us on our long and winding journey home.

Amen.


Thanks for reading this chapter of my journey.

The star recently painted on the inside of the support area at the Campus for Human Development, over the desk where hundreds of people come every night seeking Room In The Inn.

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.

* * * * * * * * * *

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.

* * * * * * * * *

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.

* * * * * * * * * *

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.

The Ring

The worst kept secret in the city of Nashville over the last month is that Patrick was planning to propose to his girlfriend, Sarah. As I write this (Monday night), Patrick is anxiously pacing around the Toolshed, waiting for time to head to the Midtown Café to set up his proposal night. Of course, by the time I actually post this on the blog, I will have made sure she said yes and have their permission to share the news.

On a Saturday several weeks ago, Patrick mistakenly let it slip that he was on his way to the jewelry store to do some ring shopping. Chasie, being the girl that she is, said, “oh, I’ll go with you!—I mean, if I can…”

After Patrick said she could, he said, “well it will be less weird if Jeff goes too.”

And so we loaded up in Patrick’s Durango to head for Cool Springs. As we were pulling out, Tara happened to pull in, so she jumped in too. Now, let me make it clear that I was not all that interested in which ring Patrick was going to choose. People ask me what the ring looks like, and I always say, it’s round and it’s got a diamond. I did have the time of my life at Shane Co. with their free homemade cookies and bottles of water the lady carried around in a basket. There was also the free coffee machine and the umbrellas that were available to take if it was raining. And Tara, Chasie and I got to know the security guy pretty well in the couple of hours that we were there. He tipped us off to the best kind of cookies and made sure to alert us when fresh ones came out. We were all a little surprised, including Patrick, when he actually bought a ring that day. We went and had a celebration at Bosco’s afterward. That Saturday was a highlight of the year, for sure.

He didn’t know it yet, but Sarah had let me know in early June that she was going to fly in to surprise Patrick for the Fourth of July, which was the next week from this ring-buying trip. So, we had that excitement on top of what Patrick was doing. The engagement ring was going to be ready on Tuesday at the exact same time that I was going to be picking Sarah up from the airport. I was charged with the task of making sure he didn’t walk into the house with a jewelry store bag, which would “ruin their lives forever” as Tara and Chasie explained to me. Fortunately, Mrs. Hammontree, who also knew that Sarah was coming to Nashville, had encouraged Patrick to leave the ring in the vault for safe keeping. Crisis averted.

What a privilege it was to share in Patrick’s preparation for this big step in his life—a result of some serious vocational discernment. This afternoon, as Patrick finished up his preparations for the big night—a whole gallery of pictures surrounded by rose petals that they would find in their private dining room at the Midtown Café after riding in a chauffeured town car from the airport—the others of us couldn’t help but share in his excitement.

That’s what this year living together has been all about. It has been about the overlapping of individual lives, forming one cohesive unit with bonds strong enough that they can’t be overwhelmed easily. As Annie said in her sermon yesterday, prayers were answered when the four of us somehow fell into place as the NEP volunteers for this year. Patrick and I were interested in several of the same sites—Atlanta, Nashville, and Cincinnati. Chasie was initially interested in going abroad. Tara wanted to go to Tucson. We all became drawn to Nashville for various reasons, but it can only be attributed to the movement of the Spirit that four people could be drawn together who not only shared an interest in service and the pursuit of social justice, but who could share 600 square feet for eleven months without a major conflict! Miracles do indeed still happen.

The four of us, whether we’ve been sitting on our couches in the living room, or going on a road trip together, or going out to eat, or sharing the highs and lows of our days, have found ways to share parts of our lives that will never be the same. Even though I’m sure we’ll talk often to Patrick, and Tara and Chasie will be living about two miles away from me and Brian, it won’t be the same.

I’ll miss bantering with Tara about whatever topic we can come up with. She is such a smart and funny person, and I admire her passion for justice and hospitality toward those who are coming to our country from Latin America. I will miss hearing Chasie’s laugh and talking to her about how our days went. I’ll miss the everyday chance to make up a little song about her or come up with a new nickname for her. I won’t miss sharing a bunk bed with Patrick, but I will certainly miss our spontaneous sing alongs and the way we make fun of the girls together, and saying “PATRICK!?!” when he comes in the door from work, and hearing “JEFF!?!” in response.

The same Spirit that brought us here was the same Spirit that became the love between us, as in Augustine’s description of the Trinity (the lover, the beloved, and the love between them). Community was not always easy. We didn’t always understand one another’s motives, and we didn’t always agree on how things should be done. As Henri Nouwen wrote, “Nothing is sweet or easy about community. Community is a fellowship of people who do not hide their joys and sorrows but make them visible to each other in a gesture of hope.”

In the struggle to create authentic community with one another, we found common ground that gave us strength and truly gave us hope to be able to find the image of God in one another and in the people we have met in service. Patrick somehow found hope with his girlfriend 900 miles away that a future with her was what he wanted. And we all shared in the joy of that discovery.

By the time I’ve gotten around to writing this part, it’s almost 11:00pm and we’re waiting excitedly for Patrick and Sarah to come back here. Our time together as an organized community is over, but the memories we have shared and the common life we have developed will go on. Thanks be to God for the gifts of friendship, love and mutual faith that we have shared in this amazing journey.

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

It’s now Tuesday night. We’re officially YAVs for just about an hour more. Patrick and Sarah are talking on their phones sharing their news with friends from Texas. Tara and Chasie are getting things moved into their new townhouse, and I’m getting a few things together before I do the bulk of my packing tomorrow morning. We’ll all spend our last night together here tonight. Since my apartment won’t be available until the 3rd, I’ll be leaving most of my things here until the 8th when I come back to Nashville.

So what’s up with this blog now that the year’s over?
People have been asking me whether or not I’ll continue this blog past the YAV experience. I will not. This blog has been the way that I have communicated this particular experience with people from home and around the church and community. There will probably be three more posts: one probably tomorrow wrapping up my first year with the Campus for Human Development, one following the re-entry retreat at Ghost Ranch, and then a concluding reflection on the experience of this year. Starting a blog for the Campus community is something that will likely be a part of my new responsibilities there, so I’ll keep you posted on that.

NASHVILLE EPIPHANY PROJECT 2006-07

PATRICK HAMMONTREE, CHASIE WALLIS, TARA LENTZ, JEFF MOLES

Family

Sunday was the first of the last three days of NEP. It was a day when we celebrated the special connection we have shared with Second Presbyterian Church this year. We began the day with worship—the last Sunday we’d have our names listed in the bulletin under the church staff column. The experience of our last Sunday together as YAVs would probably have been different just as our last days at work tomorrow would be different if three of the four of us weren’t staying put. But, it was our last day sitting in a row at Second with Patrick, and when any member of the family leaves, it’s tough.

After a great sermon by Annie McClure, the four of us were called to the front to be de-commissioned (that would be the opposite of the commissioning in September, right?). Amy and Annie led a service that included naming what we had contributed to our mission placements and to the church. As I’ve said a lot, this year was somewhat strange in that it was the least involved I have ever been in the church, while at the same time, Second Pres. allowed me to be the most involved in the ministry of Christian faith than I have ever been. It was a stretching experience to take my faith outside church committees and well-ordered worship. The church newsletter lists some of the things the four of us did at Second this year: music, Sunday School teaching, newsletter articles, letter writing campaigns, baby sitting, mission trip chaperoning, house sitting, Room In The Inn volunteering, and lots of fellowshipping.

After worship came the celebration of what I consider to be the most important part of what I took from my experience with the church this year—the family we gained. NEP is the only site in the YAV program that is linked to an individual congregation. In other words, Second is the only church out of the 11,000 in our denomination that sponsors its own Young Adult Volunteer site. Along with that came a natural family. Just today, a woman dropped by a picnic basket full of “traveling food” for us. This is emblematic of the kind of extraordinary support we’ve received from Second from day one. Many of our closest friends from the church trekked over to our driveway yesterday for a reception. Later that night, we went to Jim and Deb Kitchens’ house for a farewell dinner with the church staff, NEP committee, our mentors and Janet Salyer. The only wrinkle in the day was that Susan, our site coordinator who has been an outstanding part of our year, was unable to be with us due to her mother’s death earlier in the week. Despite missing the most important person in our year, we managed to have a great time, sitting around laughing with the church staff after everyone else had left. Second has become a true family for us over the past year.

It is a church that truly calls its members to become active servants in the world. I am so thankful for the wonderful people that call Second Presbyterian in Nashville their church home. What a gift it has been to add Second to my list of church homes, alongside Central Pres. and Trinity Lutheran in Terre Haute, and it’s exciting that I’ll be able to continue to call Second home for a while longer. It’s a remarkable congregation, and we’re all so thankful for everything they’ve done for us.

Our good pal Zach, who could be considered to be the 5th NEP volunteer this year, is moving away too in August--to Indiana. I guess Zach and I are trading states. Good luck to him as he starts at Notre Dame Law School. Between Chasie and Zach is Ariel, who might as well be the 6th NEP volunteer this year. She is serving as Second's youth director through the Center for Youth Ministry Training.

The reception in the driveway -- Janet Hilley, Sue Biddle and John McClure were having a blast!

This is the church's gift to me, presented last night at the dinner. It's a calabash rattle from Cameroon.

"The flowers decorating the sanctuary today were given by the Campus for Human Development in honor of Jeff, Chasie, Tara and Patrick."

The Campus people are nice (at least I liked you until this afternoon...ha.)