Well, it's been a while. Since my internship ended, I've been travelling, catching up with friends, and packing (and packing and packing). I've arrived safely at my new apartment in Princeton, and while a lot of my stuff is still in boxes, I feel remarkably at home already.
Sometimes it takes some travelling, I think, to help you realize how much you miss a place. This summer when people would ask about seminary, I would often say that I was enjoying it, but that I didn't necessarily feel at home here. While that might be true to some extent, this week I'm realizing that I've probably carved out more of a niche than I was aware of. Somehow I was personing (my alternative to "manning") two tables at the Organization Fair, have several birthday parties to go to already, and have known more people than not in most of my classes. That's a good feeling.
A few things have happened this week to remind me what a funny (in the good, beloved, funny valentine way) place this is.
- a professor cried during a lecture. Twice! A little awkward, I'll admit, but when do professors get so into what they're talking about that they cry?
- people have helped me out! From fixing the copy machine, to passing out fliers, to carrying the top half of my desk, colleagues have been anxious to kindly be of service. In case you live in a bubble, that doesn't happen all the time.
- we didn't get classroom assignments until the night before classes started. While this was not funny in a lot of ways since no one knew where their classes would be until 8 hours before they started, I choose to see at as another way that this place is personal and not robotic.
I'm looking forward to what the semester will bring!
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
10 (possible) Upsides to Having Your Wallet Stolen
In no particular order:
1. You get to feel very Law and Order when you go to not 1 but 2 ghetto police stations in Philly at 11 o'clock at night. (This after you've been sitting in your apt. for 3 hours because no one came. Apparently in Philly when a theft moves to a fraud, as in someone spending $317 on your card at CVS, an officer has to physically see you. Then when you go to station 1, they inform you that actually your particular crime happened right on the edge of their precinct and you need to go to station #2)
2. You don't have to worry about being mugged in said ghetto areas because everything worthwhile is already gone!
3. You become very chummy with your Bank representatives who, after detecting the crime before you did, seem like the Second Coming.
4. You get to make an unexpected trip to everyone's favorite place (wait for it)...The Jersey DMV!!
5. You get to make little jokies with the one nice guy of five people who check your IDs about why exactly you're carrying your College diploma, framed, into the DMV.
6. You find out your seminary is kindly not going to charge you for a new I.D.!!
7. After said DMV trip you get to see your baby niece for a little while.
8. You get to work on that all important Christian quality of forgiveness while picturing someone stealing your wallet out of your bag, running to CVS, spending $317, using the cash in your wallet to get to Cherry Hill, then spending $500 more at Target.
9. You get to hear everyone else's story about the time they lost their wallet, and kind of feel less bad about your situation. Kind of.
10. You get to correct everyone's assumption that the homeless people you work with took the wallet by saying, "Actually, my wallet was stolen in a food court in a really swanky hotel that caters to wealthy people and wouldn't let a homeless person in the door!"
Now doesn't all that sound awesome?
1. You get to feel very Law and Order when you go to not 1 but 2 ghetto police stations in Philly at 11 o'clock at night. (This after you've been sitting in your apt. for 3 hours because no one came. Apparently in Philly when a theft moves to a fraud, as in someone spending $317 on your card at CVS, an officer has to physically see you. Then when you go to station 1, they inform you that actually your particular crime happened right on the edge of their precinct and you need to go to station #2)
2. You don't have to worry about being mugged in said ghetto areas because everything worthwhile is already gone!
3. You become very chummy with your Bank representatives who, after detecting the crime before you did, seem like the Second Coming.
4. You get to make an unexpected trip to everyone's favorite place (wait for it)...The Jersey DMV!!
5. You get to make little jokies with the one nice guy of five people who check your IDs about why exactly you're carrying your College diploma, framed, into the DMV.
6. You find out your seminary is kindly not going to charge you for a new I.D.!!
7. After said DMV trip you get to see your baby niece for a little while.
8. You get to work on that all important Christian quality of forgiveness while picturing someone stealing your wallet out of your bag, running to CVS, spending $317, using the cash in your wallet to get to Cherry Hill, then spending $500 more at Target.
9. You get to hear everyone else's story about the time they lost their wallet, and kind of feel less bad about your situation. Kind of.
10. You get to correct everyone's assumption that the homeless people you work with took the wallet by saying, "Actually, my wallet was stolen in a food court in a really swanky hotel that caters to wealthy people and wouldn't let a homeless person in the door!"
Now doesn't all that sound awesome?
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Caution: May be controversial and unpatriotic
For those of you who know me, you may know that I struggle with the relationship between the church and politics, specifically American politics. I wonder if it is the church's role to speak out about things like the war or gay rights (either for or against) or if we are called to speak more generally about the Kingdom of God and let people fill in the gaps. This is getting stirred up in me again this summer in light of an event the church I'm working at is having. We're hosting author, Shane Claiborne, in a few weeks to talk about his book, Jesus for President. I've read some of the book, but even if you haven't you can gain a lot from the title.
So then this happens. Today I got yet another e-mail forward of the "look at how hard the troops are fighting to protect your right to drink Starbucks, you unpatriotic hippie" variety. While I totally feel like people have a right, and should fight for the right, to be excited about our troops and the war on whatever, the fact remains that I have a right not to. More than that, I wonder how being patriotic has gotten boiled down to supporting a war or not.
So I looked up "patriotic" on dictionary.com. This is what came up:
patriotic
adjective
inspired by love for your country [ant: disloyal]
patriotic [pӕtriˈotik, (especially American) pei-] adjective
(negative unpatriotic) having or showing great love for one's country Example: He is so patriotic that he refuses to buy anything made abroad.
Two interesting things came out of that for me. The first being the antonym, which is "disloyal", and the second being the use of the word in a sentence.
These are interesting to me because firstly, my views are often called unpatriotic and, yet, I don't feel disloyal. Because if I am disloyal to America, who am I loyal to? And secondly, apparently buying things here makes one patriotic, which is funny considering so many of our clothes, toys, etc are made in sweat shops abroad.
Ok, then, in a very loose train of thought, I'm mixing around these ideas of God and country.
- Who am I loyal to? I should first and foremost be loyal to God in the way that Jesus was more loyal to God than to the Romans or Pharisees. The irony in that is that so many who are "patriotic" would also claim they are very loyal to God. Why then is there such a breakdown in ideologies and viewpoints?
- Many people who only buy "American", like in a real and true sense, are the same people who are called unpatriotic. You know who i mean -- people who do food through co-ops, make their own clothes, and use bio-diesel in their cars. Often though they also have some sort of bumper sticker on their car that talks about ending the war. Hmmm...
- I always thought that patriotic meant to help your country in some way be the best it can be, and for me that has meant speaking out against things I don't agree with or living with 5 other crazy people in a trailer in Mississippi fixing homes and lives, or eating the same meal with someone who has lived on the streets for 20 years. I do this firstly because God challenges us to love God by loving each other, but also on some level because this country has bestowed all kinds of amazing rights and privileges on me that I feel need to be realized by all in this country, and if the government can't do that for its own people than its our duty to do it for each other.
And so I think my point is not to pat myself on the back, but to really grapple with how to build bridges between two vastly different groups of people who both call themselves Christian and who both proudly call themselves American. Where and how does that conversation start?
So then this happens. Today I got yet another e-mail forward of the "look at how hard the troops are fighting to protect your right to drink Starbucks, you unpatriotic hippie" variety. While I totally feel like people have a right, and should fight for the right, to be excited about our troops and the war on whatever, the fact remains that I have a right not to. More than that, I wonder how being patriotic has gotten boiled down to supporting a war or not.
So I looked up "patriotic" on dictionary.com. This is what came up:
patriotic
adjective
inspired by love for your country [ant: disloyal]
patriotic [pӕtriˈotik, (especially American) pei-] adjective
(negative unpatriotic) having or showing great love for one's country Example: He is so patriotic that he refuses to buy anything made abroad.
Two interesting things came out of that for me. The first being the antonym, which is "disloyal", and the second being the use of the word in a sentence.
These are interesting to me because firstly, my views are often called unpatriotic and, yet, I don't feel disloyal. Because if I am disloyal to America, who am I loyal to? And secondly, apparently buying things here makes one patriotic, which is funny considering so many of our clothes, toys, etc are made in sweat shops abroad.
Ok, then, in a very loose train of thought, I'm mixing around these ideas of God and country.
- Who am I loyal to? I should first and foremost be loyal to God in the way that Jesus was more loyal to God than to the Romans or Pharisees. The irony in that is that so many who are "patriotic" would also claim they are very loyal to God. Why then is there such a breakdown in ideologies and viewpoints?
- Many people who only buy "American", like in a real and true sense, are the same people who are called unpatriotic. You know who i mean -- people who do food through co-ops, make their own clothes, and use bio-diesel in their cars. Often though they also have some sort of bumper sticker on their car that talks about ending the war. Hmmm...
- I always thought that patriotic meant to help your country in some way be the best it can be, and for me that has meant speaking out against things I don't agree with or living with 5 other crazy people in a trailer in Mississippi fixing homes and lives, or eating the same meal with someone who has lived on the streets for 20 years. I do this firstly because God challenges us to love God by loving each other, but also on some level because this country has bestowed all kinds of amazing rights and privileges on me that I feel need to be realized by all in this country, and if the government can't do that for its own people than its our duty to do it for each other.
And so I think my point is not to pat myself on the back, but to really grapple with how to build bridges between two vastly different groups of people who both call themselves Christian and who both proudly call themselves American. Where and how does that conversation start?
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
A Blog in Two Parts
Part 1 in which I learn something new
Something I didn't realize until recently, which maybe you can relate to, is how informed people living on the streets are about politics and issues of social justice. They often hear things before the public, have witnessed both the pros and cons of service providers, and have a lot of time to discuss policies. The irony I caught on to this week, as I was telling my friend Irwin he should run for mayor since he knows a ton about Philly after 18 years on the street, is that many can't vote because they don't have permanent addresses or an ID to get them into the shelter (yes shelters in Philly require an ID) that might provide a mailing address or the $20 it costs to get an ID. Essentially, then, the people who are more informed about politics than most liberal college kids and who would benefit most from radical changes in government have no voice in that system. Huh.
Part 2 Its not all about you.
In talking with the youth this summer about different issues, the one topic that frequently comes up is why a lot of our homeless friends tend to be unsocial or resistant to conversation with them at our church meals. Many times the guesses from the teenagers about why this might be the case are something like, "They're jealous of us" or "They're intimidated by us". We gently explain that while there is a chance of this possibility, because our friends are battling larger systems of oppression than just who has the better iPod, "jealous" is probably not the word and because many of them have been beat up, robbed, or sexually assaulted in their time on the street, they're probably not intimidated by a bunch of rich, white kids.
The point is they make it about them without realizing our friends carry so much baggage with them into this place, both physical -- bags, duffels, backpacks -- but more importantly emotional -- shame, rejection, anger and fear. With all that, they may not want to talk about the weather with some kids they've never met before.
*I should sidebar here and mention that many in our congregation love to talk for hours and to meet new people, but there are a few who stick to themselves.
But in this misunderstanding I begin to reevaluate my own frustrations with this job and calling. I'm constantly frustrated about time off, how my work is received, who's doing what, how moving chairs fits into my job description. In other words its often all about me. Huh.
Something I didn't realize until recently, which maybe you can relate to, is how informed people living on the streets are about politics and issues of social justice. They often hear things before the public, have witnessed both the pros and cons of service providers, and have a lot of time to discuss policies. The irony I caught on to this week, as I was telling my friend Irwin he should run for mayor since he knows a ton about Philly after 18 years on the street, is that many can't vote because they don't have permanent addresses or an ID to get them into the shelter (yes shelters in Philly require an ID) that might provide a mailing address or the $20 it costs to get an ID. Essentially, then, the people who are more informed about politics than most liberal college kids and who would benefit most from radical changes in government have no voice in that system. Huh.
Part 2 Its not all about you.
In talking with the youth this summer about different issues, the one topic that frequently comes up is why a lot of our homeless friends tend to be unsocial or resistant to conversation with them at our church meals. Many times the guesses from the teenagers about why this might be the case are something like, "They're jealous of us" or "They're intimidated by us". We gently explain that while there is a chance of this possibility, because our friends are battling larger systems of oppression than just who has the better iPod, "jealous" is probably not the word and because many of them have been beat up, robbed, or sexually assaulted in their time on the street, they're probably not intimidated by a bunch of rich, white kids.
The point is they make it about them without realizing our friends carry so much baggage with them into this place, both physical -- bags, duffels, backpacks -- but more importantly emotional -- shame, rejection, anger and fear. With all that, they may not want to talk about the weather with some kids they've never met before.
*I should sidebar here and mention that many in our congregation love to talk for hours and to meet new people, but there are a few who stick to themselves.
But in this misunderstanding I begin to reevaluate my own frustrations with this job and calling. I'm constantly frustrated about time off, how my work is received, who's doing what, how moving chairs fits into my job description. In other words its often all about me. Huh.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Sometimes Jesus talks to himself
So the ideal with ministry, particularly in a place where you're working with the disadvantaged, is to see Christ in the face of every person you meet. A professor once gave us a hint for this task. The face itself is a cross. The nose leading up to the forehead, intersected by the eyes forms a cross able to be seen on any person's face. A reminder to others that this person is loved. Also, like any muscle, you need to exercise your heart on this. You need to look past the dirty clothes, the skin color, the gender, the rotting teeth and disabilities. It's tough work, but in time one gets better at it and is able to conjure up some love that has long been repressed by the teachings of a fearful society. In other words, in rare moments, one can feel onself simultaneously looking at Christ and being Christ.
This gets easier working at a place like BSM, where I'm working this summer. Everyone here has committed their life to this task -- to being welcoming and loving to those who have been tossed out by the world. In fact, the love is so overwhelming that I'd nearly forgotten that the rest of the world isn't actually like that. Good thing it only took a trip to Starbucks to remember.
This week, while waiting on line for my coffee, I realized our BSM friend, Pat, was ahead of me on line. He was counting out his money while the young lady behind the counter grabbed his coffee. Simultaneously, however, the manager (I guess) began loudly, so everyone could hear, to inform him that he couldn't stay. Pat asked if he couldn't just stay for a few minutes to drink his coffee. The manager said no. Pat asked for his money back and didn't take his coffee. When it was my turn, I grabbed his coffee with mine and ran outside to find him. I told him I knew him from BSM and asked him to sit with me at one of their outside tables. We sat for a while and talked. He seemed to know the area I was from. Then Pat drifted off. He seemed to be getting angry at people who weren't there. I went back to work and when we saw him later he was full out yelling at invisible enemies.
Two things, then, are causing me trouble. I don't feel like my sitting with Pat makes a difference. He's still homeless and he won't remember me tomorrow. I mean I can rationalize it and I know it's better to sit with someone than to not sit with them, but the problems seem neverending. Secondly, I don't know how to transfer the love and passion from someplace like BSM to the people at Starbucks and the people at City Hall and the people at the White House. How do we expand the bubble of faith and love and hope?
This gets easier working at a place like BSM, where I'm working this summer. Everyone here has committed their life to this task -- to being welcoming and loving to those who have been tossed out by the world. In fact, the love is so overwhelming that I'd nearly forgotten that the rest of the world isn't actually like that. Good thing it only took a trip to Starbucks to remember.
This week, while waiting on line for my coffee, I realized our BSM friend, Pat, was ahead of me on line. He was counting out his money while the young lady behind the counter grabbed his coffee. Simultaneously, however, the manager (I guess) began loudly, so everyone could hear, to inform him that he couldn't stay. Pat asked if he couldn't just stay for a few minutes to drink his coffee. The manager said no. Pat asked for his money back and didn't take his coffee. When it was my turn, I grabbed his coffee with mine and ran outside to find him. I told him I knew him from BSM and asked him to sit with me at one of their outside tables. We sat for a while and talked. He seemed to know the area I was from. Then Pat drifted off. He seemed to be getting angry at people who weren't there. I went back to work and when we saw him later he was full out yelling at invisible enemies.
Two things, then, are causing me trouble. I don't feel like my sitting with Pat makes a difference. He's still homeless and he won't remember me tomorrow. I mean I can rationalize it and I know it's better to sit with someone than to not sit with them, but the problems seem neverending. Secondly, I don't know how to transfer the love and passion from someplace like BSM to the people at Starbucks and the people at City Hall and the people at the White House. How do we expand the bubble of faith and love and hope?
Sunday, June 15, 2008
(Melted) Reflections on a Summer Heat Wave
To preface: Many of you know that I am tolerant of the heat. I like it even. I love feeling warm and not having to worry about a jacket. I like wearing tank tops and flowy skirts as often as possible. To that end, I had no trouble moving to Mississippi. I loved sitting outside even on the hottest days as long as I had a cool drink in my hands.
Ok.
Then this happened.
Three days after moving to Philly, I realized the AC in my apartment wasn't working. No sweat (pun intended) I thought. I have a fan and like the warmth and its not even that hot. My mom advised me to have it looked into anyway. Yeah, yeah I said. When I have time.
Then two days later, the worst heatwave Philly has ever experienced descended upon the city (I may be exaggerating this statistic -- I'm no weatherperson or historian, but I'm sure it was close to the worst if not actually THE worst). If you live in the Northeast, you know. The week went like this:
Sunday- Phone call #1 placed to management company. They promised to be there the next day. I also triple check to make sure the windows don't open. They don't. That's right, the windows don't open.
Monday- No evidence of anyone having fixed the AC. Call #2 placed. They say the guy works until 7 and he still might show up. 7 comes and goes without a rescuer.
Monday night/Tuesday morning- I believe that the whirring of my little fan meant for a small dorm is actually crying. I don't think the poor thing can take much more.
Tuesday/Wednesday afternoon- We go on a welcome retreat to the shore from where I place a phone call (#3) to the manager of my building. She informs me that she hasn't heard anything of my complaints and not only that, through a series of complicated situations (ask me about that on a rainy day) she doesn't have a key to my apartment so they can't get in. I call her back saying I will sit there all day or give her a key or beat up a grandma if she can fix the AC. I don't hear back from her.
Wednesday night- As my thermostat is pushing 90, I read that several people have died in the city due to the heat. I call the emergency number of the building. About an hour later, the general maintenance guy shows up and is able to get a small amount of air moving, so at least I know I'm not breathing my own carbon monoxide, but not much else.
Thursday- Finally success. After dropping my key off. I see results and sleep under my covers for the first time in a week.
While this incident was more of an uncomfortable annoyance for me than anything else, it did teach me something about not being listened to by the only people who have power to change the situation. I think this is the case with a lot of the people we're working with. With no voice to represent them, one leap forward (finally talking to the bldg manager) is often met by a set back (she doesn't have a key). For many of our homeless friends, loss of a job combined with mental illness have allowed them to fall off the grid. I'm learning how easy it is to fall off, but how incredibly difficult it is to come back.
Ok.
Then this happened.
Three days after moving to Philly, I realized the AC in my apartment wasn't working. No sweat (pun intended) I thought. I have a fan and like the warmth and its not even that hot. My mom advised me to have it looked into anyway. Yeah, yeah I said. When I have time.
Then two days later, the worst heatwave Philly has ever experienced descended upon the city (I may be exaggerating this statistic -- I'm no weatherperson or historian, but I'm sure it was close to the worst if not actually THE worst). If you live in the Northeast, you know. The week went like this:
Sunday- Phone call #1 placed to management company. They promised to be there the next day. I also triple check to make sure the windows don't open. They don't. That's right, the windows don't open.
Monday- No evidence of anyone having fixed the AC. Call #2 placed. They say the guy works until 7 and he still might show up. 7 comes and goes without a rescuer.
Monday night/Tuesday morning- I believe that the whirring of my little fan meant for a small dorm is actually crying. I don't think the poor thing can take much more.
Tuesday/Wednesday afternoon- We go on a welcome retreat to the shore from where I place a phone call (#3) to the manager of my building. She informs me that she hasn't heard anything of my complaints and not only that, through a series of complicated situations (ask me about that on a rainy day) she doesn't have a key to my apartment so they can't get in. I call her back saying I will sit there all day or give her a key or beat up a grandma if she can fix the AC. I don't hear back from her.
Wednesday night- As my thermostat is pushing 90, I read that several people have died in the city due to the heat. I call the emergency number of the building. About an hour later, the general maintenance guy shows up and is able to get a small amount of air moving, so at least I know I'm not breathing my own carbon monoxide, but not much else.
Thursday- Finally success. After dropping my key off. I see results and sleep under my covers for the first time in a week.
While this incident was more of an uncomfortable annoyance for me than anything else, it did teach me something about not being listened to by the only people who have power to change the situation. I think this is the case with a lot of the people we're working with. With no voice to represent them, one leap forward (finally talking to the bldg manager) is often met by a set back (she doesn't have a key). For many of our homeless friends, loss of a job combined with mental illness have allowed them to fall off the grid. I'm learning how easy it is to fall off, but how incredibly difficult it is to come back.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
The City of Brotherly Love
This past weekend I moved to Philly to begin an internship. I'll be working out of a church that is trying to build a community between the homeless and the artists that live in Center City. For the summer, they're having youth groups stay at the church to do service projects in and around the city. I'm facilitating that and I'm slightly terrified.
The four of us doing this program are living in a very swanky apartment that shares a building with Banana Republic. That's right -- I live in Banana Republic. My co-workers seem great so far and I can tell that we were chosen for our unique gifts, hopefully leading to a cohesive whole that will run like a well-oiled machine. Hopefully.
Back to my job specifically. I am to be the non-anxious presence as I take groups of kids around the city to various service projects such as soup kitchens, shelters and parks. While on the move, I need to be asking them such as questions as "Yes, why DO you think that sign says no shopping carts?" or "Well, actually this community used to be fairly run down and now its what we called 'gentrified'. What do you think happened to all the people who lived here before?" and the classic, "Ok you're angry about this, what do you think God is challenging you to do?" And when plans fall through or buses are late or someone gets the one and only recorded snake bite in the history of Philadelphia, I need to be the non-anxious presence that calmly says, "Oh snake bites? Happens all the time! This way to the hospital, team!"
Yup, its gonna be tough. Its going to be a summer of leading with faith and trusting that God is there before us, paving the way.
The four of us doing this program are living in a very swanky apartment that shares a building with Banana Republic. That's right -- I live in Banana Republic. My co-workers seem great so far and I can tell that we were chosen for our unique gifts, hopefully leading to a cohesive whole that will run like a well-oiled machine. Hopefully.
Back to my job specifically. I am to be the non-anxious presence as I take groups of kids around the city to various service projects such as soup kitchens, shelters and parks. While on the move, I need to be asking them such as questions as "Yes, why DO you think that sign says no shopping carts?" or "Well, actually this community used to be fairly run down and now its what we called 'gentrified'. What do you think happened to all the people who lived here before?" and the classic, "Ok you're angry about this, what do you think God is challenging you to do?" And when plans fall through or buses are late or someone gets the one and only recorded snake bite in the history of Philadelphia, I need to be the non-anxious presence that calmly says, "Oh snake bites? Happens all the time! This way to the hospital, team!"
Yup, its gonna be tough. Its going to be a summer of leading with faith and trusting that God is there before us, paving the way.
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