to slow down and care

 AMDG

I, a pilgrim at rest, seeking our Lord ahead and finding him here, to you, my brethren. I wrote most of this piece in November but only now, after Christmas, have been able to reference the texts which gave my experience so much solemnity. I have by now finished my orientation and formation program, been sent and blessed, and wait busily for the day I fly to Brazil. Yet for this story, we look back.

Most Fridays during the 8 week orientation program, the missioner candidates dispersed to do ministry in various shelters around the city. I listed as my top choice a “Peace Center” affiliated with a homeless shelter. It sounded on paper like a place of spiritual respite where I could have 1:1 conversations and maybe get involved in activities like scripture study or meditation. Better than kitchen work, to be sure! But on our first day, when another candidate and I arrived, we were first given a 5 minute overview of the shelter – which did not include the Peace Center! – and then asked where we wanted to serve. Not knowing enough to say more, my partner said she would be more comfortable on the women’s side. I volunteered myself to be with seniors and men. And that was it.

I was handed off to a middle-manager, Larry (names are all changed). Larry introduced me to one of the social workers on staff, then brought me down to a grungy room where maybe two dozen guys were sitting or laying on the floor dozing or watching television. Larry said I could talk to them. I awkwardly perched on the edge of the garbage cart, the only seating available. The movie was in German, with English subtitles. I asked the guy next to me about it and he gave a polite, short response. I wouldn’t want to be interrupted while I was watching a movie, either. I returned to Larry. He brought me to another grungy room, with 6 or 7 cots lined up on each wall, blankets and belongings neatly tucked around them, and fly tape hanging from the ceiling. Most of the beds were occupied, and all the men appeared to be... sleeping. Larry pointed out a handful of guys who would “love to talk” to me. So I awkwardly approached the one guy who wasn’t asleep and introduced myself. After he left I turned and spoke to the two men opposite. One of them mostly ignored me. The other relented and shared a seemingly bottomless series of stories about the students he once took on a trip to India. That afternoon I left hungry, because there was no lunch, and feeling a bit confused and frustrated that I had no work or direction and had accomplished little but bother people. It was so strange to me.

I mentioned the day to my spiritual director, who said, “why not sit and watch the movie?” I was a little taken aback. The other candidates were serving meals, organizing supplies, and checking in new residents. With mild horror I imagined reporting to them that I sat around and watched movies. However, my spiritual director reminded me of the value to these men of sharing their experience, being with them, and, if they wanted to talk, talking with them. I had already been learning the preeminence of accompaniment in the spirituality of my organization. And in the spiritual exercises, I learned to slow down and be with Jesus.

On my second Friday, I arrived at the shelter in time to play ring toss with a bunch of college interns and a few residents in the multipurpose room adjoining the kitchen. That was fun. When the students cleared out, a staff member recruited me to help with lunch, so I shadowed him to his office, then back to the kitchen and eventually helped hand out donated, pre-made sandwiches and bags of chips since the scheduled cook hadn’t shown up. I left the shelter for lunch with my partner. When I came back, I went to the senior/sick room, where I talked to Tai, a young veteran who was “here temporarily.” Then I went to the TV room and watched ¾ of an action flick. Before it was over, we were all herded out into the alley next to the building so the room could be cleaned. Outside, it was warm, even in October, with the sun beating straight down. Some of the men peed in the alley. Some of them smoked. At either end were locked gates. I met Marty, whom I recognized from ring toss, and talked to him for a while, sitting in the scant shade and ignoring the smell of urine. Marty had a long career as a teacher before coming to the US, where his credentials don’t transfer, and he has debilitating pain. I was still in the alley when it was time to meet my partner to walk home. I walked to the door back into the TV room, but it was locked. I looked left. I looked right. No dignified exit. I paced casually and then squatted back down in the shade, stuck. Fortunately, the door opened a few minutes later. The cleaning was done and men were being admitted back in by a man checking their names off on a clipboard. I got in with the throng, my name and date of birth were added to the list, and I was able to get in and get out.

My following Fridays were similar. I wasn’t recruited for kitchen help anymore, so I had more time to watch TV and talk to the guys. I kept up with Marty, with whom I could talk a little about faith and morality. He was the one who put on the action movies. I became familiar with Jeremy, Ivan, and Fred from the disabled wing. Jeremy had traveled a lot and had an outgoing personality, but at some point had become blind. Ivan was a seasonal worker and tinker who was recovering from two strokes, trying to get his documents in order to get on disability payments, and hoping to move closer to family. He would make circuits of the city with his walker. Fred rarely talked after that first day. One day Nestor showed up wearing a studded leather belt on his head like a crown, carrying himself with a dignity not seen in the other men. He had been a victim of violence—probably gang violence—but within weeks had found another place to live and had leads on work. I gave him one of my books for his birthday. And there were others. On one of my last days, one of the younger guys I knew, Herme, had tracked down his boyfriend from wandering the streets and brought him to the shelter. Herme was prickly and volatile with the staff but had also worked out Disney+ on the TV, brought a bag full of bakery scraps to share, and tenderly applied ointment to his boyfriend’s severely cracked feet.

Bishop Francis Xavier Ford, MM wrote:

The hardest cross to bear in life is the thought that we are wasting our time, that we are useless, that the world is rushing along and we, apparently, have not yet found our feet. For the missioner the monotony of merely marking time, of facing petty tasks, or even manufacturing small jobs to kill time, can be especially disheartening.

This monotony readily suggests to a nervous conscience that we could be doing better work elsewhere, that we are not really appreciated at our full worth, and that we are not given a chance to show what we could accomplish in busier circumstances. (Stone in the King’s Highway, pp55-56)

Reverend Larry Lewis, MM, in Mission Today, says

I think we would do well to acknowledge a primary learning we’ve received from serving God’s people throughout the world these past  100+ years. Namely, that relationship is everything. ...

... [Noel Dermot] O’Donoghue reminds us that the motivation of our vocation [as mystics], the relationship of receiving and giving God’s love, often gets buried in the whirlwind of activity and in seeking measurable results of our work. The often frenzied search for measurable results protects us from being vulnerable and open to our relationship with God and the people to whom we are sent.

Finally, an unknown interviewer says of Bishop James Edward Walsh, MM,

He said that if we believe we hold the pearly of great price, faith in Jesus Christ, but we do not genuinely care about the people with whom we want to share our faith, then who would listen to us. Bishop Walsh said that if we do not care about and ask about and ask about the families and the daily lives and cares of the people to whom we are sent, then they would certainly not listen to us or care about what gives meaning to our lives. ... Does my presence to God and my desire to give and receive God’s love remind me that what gets in the way of my deepest desire is, to one degree or another, the same thing that gets in everyone’s way – pride, fear, needing “face,” grandiosity, depression, feelings of unworthiness, fear to trust. If I can be present to my own vulnerability in relation to my hunger for God and what derails my dependence upon Him, then I will be more open and free to care about the other and his or her deepest desire and what cares and worries and fears and hopes open or close them to God’s love. (“It’s All in the Manner”)

May these words continue to bear fruit in my life. I thank God for the formation experience I have had and all those who contributed to it.

I wish you heartfelt blessings in this season of wonder at the Incarnation of our Lord. May God’s grace continue to unfold in known and unknown ways in your life.

Pray for me, and I for you.

Peace,

Your Other Brother