Right before Christmas, I posted a blog about trying to play my defective keyboard in our St. Francis Inn dining room. Several of the keys, especially the "E" about middle "C" were sticking, upsetting my perfectionist attempts to play Christmas Carols. Despite what I viewed as this significant flaw, the music had a real effect on our guests. Some sang along with the carols they knew; others smiled and tapped their feet or hands; and still others thanked me as they left the dining room that day. Even now, roughly two weeks later, some of the guests still talk to me about how much they enjoyed the music.
A number of you have communicated with Thea or me about how much this particular blog meant to you or to a friend. Several of you forwarded the blog to others. I must tell you, that all of this made me feel very blessed and contributed to a wonderful Christmas for our family. But, as Paul Harvey used to say, "Here is the rest of the story!"
The day after I posted the blog, my brother-in-law Rick sent me an e-mail saying that these stuck keys were a manufacturer's defect, and that he owned a Yamaha keyboard that had had the very same problem. He'd contacted the manufacturer and had received a new keyboard assembly, free of charge. The manufacturer's repair technician had even come to his home to make the repair! Rick encouraged me to contact Yamaha and ask for a free repair, but since my keyboard is six years old, I figured that my keyboard was long beyond any warranty. I forgot all about Rick's suggestion.
Two days later, Rick sent me another e-mail with the phone number and e-mail of the Yamaha rep in Los Angeles, and again encouraged me to request the repair. Since all I had to do was send an e-mail, I decided to go for it....well it was more like "I know this is a waste of time, and I really do not even deserve this repair, but since Rick went to the trouble of sending me this info, I might as well try." Talk about a lack of faith! And self worth! Not to mention laziness!
Despite an overwhelming sense that there was not way that this was going to work, I composed a brief e-mail saying that I had a six year old Yamaha keyboard that had periodically had a problem with stuck keys and was there any possibility of a repair, given that it was long beyond the warranty period. To my astonishment, the LA rep immediately replied, asking for the serial number of my keyboard, which I dutifully supplied. Within a day, the rep had determined that, yes, indeed, I was entitled to a complete repair of the keyboard assembly and had send me the name of a technician right here in Philly who could do the job.
Yesterday, Thea and I took the keyboard in and within 30 minutes, it was fixed and good as new. Actually, it is BETTER than new -- the keyboard has never played so smoothly. I am really excited and happy: the keyboard is a pleasure to play now, not a frustration. And I owe it all to Rick who was persistent in getting me to request the repair when I would simply have accepted the situation as beyond my control.
As January 1st approaches, I know that one of my New Year's resolutions will be to be a little more attentive to the suggestions of people who are trying to help me and to be open to possibilities for good coming out of any situation.
Happy New Year, everyone!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
2 Phone Calls
"Sister, I need to make a telephone call. Can you help me?" The elderly man held out a folded piece of paper. I opened it, reading a letter from a daughter to her father. She had not had contact with him for 10 years. Somehow she had gotten his address and gave him her phone number. He wanted to talk to her.
I dialed her number, and miraculously, she picked up on the first ring. I handed him the phone, and a big smile filled his face as he said, "This is your father." They spoke for a few minutes in Spanish, and he ended with a promise to call her again soon. As he left, I remarked that is had seemed like a happy call. He said yes, he had not wanted to tell his daughter the turns his life had taken and the hard times he had fallen on. I added that a Dad was important to a daughter and I hoped that he would call her again soon.
A bit later the second line of the Inn rang. This is the number that the guests use for outgoing calls, and when it rings, it is usually a wrong number. This time, a woman's voice asked for "Mort." I didn't know Mort, but after some questioning I discovered Mort was the woman's brother,and he must have called her from the Inn. He was recently out of prison, and was a guest at the Inn, as well as one of Br. Xavier's helpers. I tracked down Br. Xavier, he went into the yard and found Mort, who came into the office for the call. He told his sister he was in big trouble. He had been evicted by his landlady, was out on the street, and apparently had not followed some of his parole rules. He was going to turn himself in soon, he said, but had no place to stay until then. His sister did not invite him to stay with her. I knew we had given him a coat and gloves, but the night temperature was predicted to be close to 4 degrees with the windchill. He bid his sister goodbye, and sadly left the office. I asked him if he would go to a shelter tonight, but he said he could not. He didn't elaborate as to why not, and I didn't press him. I felt helpless and frustrated that there was nothing I could do but wish him a good night and offer a prayer for him.
I dialed her number, and miraculously, she picked up on the first ring. I handed him the phone, and a big smile filled his face as he said, "This is your father." They spoke for a few minutes in Spanish, and he ended with a promise to call her again soon. As he left, I remarked that is had seemed like a happy call. He said yes, he had not wanted to tell his daughter the turns his life had taken and the hard times he had fallen on. I added that a Dad was important to a daughter and I hoped that he would call her again soon.
A bit later the second line of the Inn rang. This is the number that the guests use for outgoing calls, and when it rings, it is usually a wrong number. This time, a woman's voice asked for "Mort." I didn't know Mort, but after some questioning I discovered Mort was the woman's brother,and he must have called her from the Inn. He was recently out of prison, and was a guest at the Inn, as well as one of Br. Xavier's helpers. I tracked down Br. Xavier, he went into the yard and found Mort, who came into the office for the call. He told his sister he was in big trouble. He had been evicted by his landlady, was out on the street, and apparently had not followed some of his parole rules. He was going to turn himself in soon, he said, but had no place to stay until then. His sister did not invite him to stay with her. I knew we had given him a coat and gloves, but the night temperature was predicted to be close to 4 degrees with the windchill. He bid his sister goodbye, and sadly left the office. I asked him if he would go to a shelter tonight, but he said he could not. He didn't elaborate as to why not, and I didn't press him. I felt helpless and frustrated that there was nothing I could do but wish him a good night and offer a prayer for him.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Thea and Mark's Snowy Day
On Thursday, December 17 I looked at the weather map for Philadelphia and points south. We were planning to leave after the meal on Saturday to drive to Raleigh, spend the weekend with daughter Angela and her family, then go on to Athens and spend the rest of the week with daughter Andrea and her family. I noticed that snow was to begin around midnight Friday in the Philly area, and that Maryland and Virginia were to get quite a bit of snow as well. We debated as to whether we should ask if we could leave on Friday rather than Saturday. We didn't need to as Judy, our coordinator, called us at 7:30 Friday morning and suggested we leave before the snow started. So we rushed around, got packed, served the meal, then at 2 pm left town. All was well until we got south of DC. For some inexplicable reason, the traffic slowed to 20 mph. After about an hour of slow going on I-95, we ran into snow. This snow was coming down hard and fast. We could see 3 inches already on parking lots along the highway. We figured at this rate we would reach Raleigh at 5 am, if we didn't plow into a ditch. We saw an exit at about 7:30 pm that had 6 motels, and got over to the right lane to exit. Unfortunately, the traffic didn't appear to be moving up the ramp. I could see a Quality Inn above our location, separated by a fence from the interstate. Mark suggested I get out, climb the fence and book us a room. So I donned by coat, grabbed my purse, and hiked up through the snow to the top of the berm. After several tries I was able to mount the fence, push down the barbed wire, and jump over. I then made it up to the motel and stood in line. Meanwhile, Mark was still trying to go up the ramp. He finally drove around some stopped trucks, got halfway up, and the traffic stopped again. All the drivers got out to see what was happening. It appeared that two cars had collided, but finally decided to ignore any damage and move on. At this time Mark started up the car again, but had no traction. He managed to finesse the car a little at a time up the ramp, and arrived at 8:30 at the motel. At this point we were 30 miles north of Richmond, VA
The next morning we awoke to about a foot of snow. We figured we would be spending another night at the motel. We went out to knock the snow off our car, and to our amazement, the interstate was plowed and traffic moving normally. A man came by and told us there was a two hour break in the snow, and if we wanted to go, now was the time. We grabbed our bags, left without getting food, and drove south. Within a mile we saw that things were still pretty bad on the interstate. We saw lots of cars stranded, some even in the main lanes. There were cars in the median, some turned upside down, and others pointing in the wrong direction,having done a 360. Ramps were closed due to disabled vehicles on the ramp. We felt so blessed that we had gotten off when we did, had gotten a room, and had been safe in our travels. We made it to Raleigh safely, and look forward to spending Christmas with our children and grandchildren. We don't even feel guilty about leaving early from the Inn, because they had 2 feet of snow on Saturday, and probably had less than 100 guests at the meal.
The next morning we awoke to about a foot of snow. We figured we would be spending another night at the motel. We went out to knock the snow off our car, and to our amazement, the interstate was plowed and traffic moving normally. A man came by and told us there was a two hour break in the snow, and if we wanted to go, now was the time. We grabbed our bags, left without getting food, and drove south. Within a mile we saw that things were still pretty bad on the interstate. We saw lots of cars stranded, some even in the main lanes. There were cars in the median, some turned upside down, and others pointing in the wrong direction,having done a 360. Ramps were closed due to disabled vehicles on the ramp. We felt so blessed that we had gotten off when we did, had gotten a room, and had been safe in our travels. We made it to Raleigh safely, and look forward to spending Christmas with our children and grandchildren. We don't even feel guilty about leaving early from the Inn, because they had 2 feet of snow on Saturday, and probably had less than 100 guests at the meal.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Happy Anniversary to the St. Francis Inn
Thirty years ago today, the St. Francis Inn served its first meal. After the friars made the food, they served it to five men and then sat down and ate with them. Last night we served dinner to 296. The original building was a bar converted to soup kitchen. The first structure is the current dining room and office, but in 2000 the size was doubled and a bigger kitchen area, bathrooms and storage rooms were added. Regardless of the size of the building, the mission remains the same. "We do not wish to serve the poor, but to be poor and to serve our brothers and sisters."
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Christmas Carols, Stuck Keys, and Grace
It began as Thea's idea: many of my best ideas are hers. Yesterday she suggested that I might play Christmas carols for one of our mid-day meals this week. I passed on the idea to Sister Mary who was today's meal coordinator, and Voila, I was set up in the dining room. There was one problem, however. One of the keys on my keyboard --specifically the "E" above middle "C" -- sticks. The problem began a week or so ago and has gotten steadily worse. Now, everytime I play that note, the key stays down.
Despite this problem, I was enthusiastic about playing for our guests. Sunday is our busiest day, and today was rainy, cold, and dreary. I figured that some live seasonal music would lift everyone's mood. With Thea's help, I assembled a list of 30 or so songs -- everything from "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" to "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" -- and began to play. Almost immediately, I ran into serious problems: not only did the "E" above middle "C" stick every time I played the note, but its cousin "E" below middle "C" also was sluggish. It is amazing how often you need these notes, especially for songs in the keys of "C" and "G", two of my favorite keys. Furiously, I transposed every carol that I could into other keys ("F", "D", even "Bflat"), which required me to use the stuck keys as little as possible. When I had to play the "E", I would continue playing but reach up with a spare finger and flick the key up -- a neat trick when you're used to pushing down to play. The results were predictable: my "performance" was bad, and it was really upsetting! Imagine a tune such as "Deck, the (no sound, stuck key) with bows of (blank)-ley, fa- (blank) la, (blank),la,la la, la." Horrible! I was so frustrated, but there was nothing to do but press on for the 90 minute lunch.
Then a funny thing happened. I started focusing on the guests instead of my malfunctioning instrument, and I began noticing positive things. A little old lady, normally quite nasty (we call her the French lady) humming along contentedly...an older African American man tapping his foot...another lady nodding her head to the music. As people left, many of them stopped to say how much they enjoyed the music. One guy, a big burly man, said that he used to sing in a gospel choir and that this really made him feel great. Another guy said "We are so blessed to have you here." But the apex was when an older, short lady, clearly very down on her luck, came up to the keyboard and began singing "Silent Night". Her voice was terrible -- ragged, vocal chords scarred from tobacco and drug use -- but she knew all the verses. People at the neighboring tables joined in, and I realized that stuck key or not, this music was lifting people. I saw, as each of us occasionally does, that God was using me, at that very moment, to brighten the lives of others. His Grace was flowing through my fingers to people who needed it. My eyes welled up, my chest constricted, and I gave thanks that I could, in some small way, be part of God's plan for the St. Frances Inn on this Sunday.
As I reflect on this now (5 PM on Sunday), I wonder how often each of us misses God's Grace in our lives because we are so worried about trying to do tasks to perfection rather than just living for the moment and doing them as we are able. For me this is certainly true. Today I was closer to God when I was not so worried about how I was playing my music and more open to how He was working through the music to further His kingdom.
Despite this problem, I was enthusiastic about playing for our guests. Sunday is our busiest day, and today was rainy, cold, and dreary. I figured that some live seasonal music would lift everyone's mood. With Thea's help, I assembled a list of 30 or so songs -- everything from "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" to "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" -- and began to play. Almost immediately, I ran into serious problems: not only did the "E" above middle "C" stick every time I played the note, but its cousin "E" below middle "C" also was sluggish. It is amazing how often you need these notes, especially for songs in the keys of "C" and "G", two of my favorite keys. Furiously, I transposed every carol that I could into other keys ("F", "D", even "Bflat"), which required me to use the stuck keys as little as possible. When I had to play the "E", I would continue playing but reach up with a spare finger and flick the key up -- a neat trick when you're used to pushing down to play. The results were predictable: my "performance" was bad, and it was really upsetting! Imagine a tune such as "Deck, the (no sound, stuck key) with bows of (blank)-ley, fa- (blank) la, (blank),la,la la, la." Horrible! I was so frustrated, but there was nothing to do but press on for the 90 minute lunch.
Then a funny thing happened. I started focusing on the guests instead of my malfunctioning instrument, and I began noticing positive things. A little old lady, normally quite nasty (we call her the French lady) humming along contentedly...an older African American man tapping his foot...another lady nodding her head to the music. As people left, many of them stopped to say how much they enjoyed the music. One guy, a big burly man, said that he used to sing in a gospel choir and that this really made him feel great. Another guy said "We are so blessed to have you here." But the apex was when an older, short lady, clearly very down on her luck, came up to the keyboard and began singing "Silent Night". Her voice was terrible -- ragged, vocal chords scarred from tobacco and drug use -- but she knew all the verses. People at the neighboring tables joined in, and I realized that stuck key or not, this music was lifting people. I saw, as each of us occasionally does, that God was using me, at that very moment, to brighten the lives of others. His Grace was flowing through my fingers to people who needed it. My eyes welled up, my chest constricted, and I gave thanks that I could, in some small way, be part of God's plan for the St. Frances Inn on this Sunday.
As I reflect on this now (5 PM on Sunday), I wonder how often each of us misses God's Grace in our lives because we are so worried about trying to do tasks to perfection rather than just living for the moment and doing them as we are able. For me this is certainly true. Today I was closer to God when I was not so worried about how I was playing my music and more open to how He was working through the music to further His kingdom.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Christmastime in Philadelphia
Steve, one of the guests and our Philadelphia expert, told us that "Philadelphia has her best face at the holidays." He is so right! We have taken advantage of some of the tradtional holiday treats, such as the light and music show at Macy's, formerly Wanamakers Department store. We also toured the Dickens Village in Macy's, which was originally in another now defunct store. These events go back at least to postwar days. A more recent arrival is the holiday show in the lobby of the Comcast building, the tallest building in Philadelphia. This year was a real treat, complete with fiberoptic panels and 3-D effects. But the very best show of all was at Longwood Gardens, a fabulous botanical garden that belonged to Pierre Dupont. The 20 room conservatory was decorated with giant Christmas trees and carpets of poinsettias. There were huge wreaths made of orchids, bromeliads and palm fronds. Outside, there were thousands of lights on tall trees, as well as a dancing fountain that rose and fell to holiday music. We even saw a choral concert by a 100 year old choral group that specializes in Gilbert and Sullivan. Since there are no yards in our neighborhood, people make the most of their windows and doors, with the occasional sidewalk tree festooned with lights. Since it has turned really cold (felt like 12 degrees last night), it is easy to get into the Christmas spirit.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Bathroom Duty and God
Every Monday morning, our St. Frances Inn staff "team" gets together for a sharing. We begin with psalms, have a spiritual reading, review one of the seven guidelines of the Franciscan ministry, and then share how we feel about what we've heard. Last Monday, the guideline was "We seek not simply to serve the physical needs of those we minister to but to build relationship with those whom we meet." As I (Mark) reflected on the guideline, I realized that for most of my time here I have been focusing on the tasks at hand and not so much on the people we serve. As a former administrator, I certainly was coming down on the side of "doing" rather that "being present". As I left the sharing session, I resolved to be open to allowing the Spirit to work through me to form relationships with our guests.
Later that week, I had bathroom duty. The job is basically to line people up and send them in an orderly way into our two public restrooms. I was half way into my 90 minute shift when I remembered the guideline about forming relationships, and so I decided to give it a try. The first two attempts were perfunctory: "How are you doing today? "Fine, how are you." "Nice Day, isn't it? "Yeah, real nice!", etc. Then a short guy with a pale blue hat moved to the front of the line.
I tried again: "How are you today?" He looked me right in the eye and with a tired, defeated face simply shook his head side to side. I said, "Tough day?" He replied, "Tough week!" I asked "Why?" He replied, "Too many drugs, got really drunk, and now I am $240 behind on my rent." Without even thinking about what I was saying, I asked, "So, what drugs are you doing?" He replied: "Crack". I felt my stomach contract: crack cocaine is a common street drug here, but this was the very first person that I personally had met who was a crack user. I said to him, "That is a really bad drug. You need to try to get off of it." He replied, "That is easy to say, hard to do." I said, "Yes, but you need to try." He looked at me and said "Why? I lost my child; I lost my wife; now what the f*** do I have to look forward to for Christmas?" I felt a flood of sympathy -- I wondered how I would react if one of my daughters and wife had died. It was easy to see how someone might turn to alcohol or drugs to ease the pain.
By this time, one of the bathrooms was open and the man went in. I wondered if there was anything at all that I could do to help. When he emerged a minute later, I asked him his name. "Steve" he replied. I said, "My name is Mark, and I know that it is not much, but I will pray for you. And if you ever want to talk, I would be happy to talk with you about all of this." He smiled briefly and walked away.
I don't know what will happen with Steve and me. Probably nothing, but I have noticed him coming to morning mass a couple of times since then and each time during the "Sign of Peace", our eyes meet and we exchange smiles and an embrace. If nothing else, at least he knows that another person is concerned about him and his suffering.
Later that week, I had bathroom duty. The job is basically to line people up and send them in an orderly way into our two public restrooms. I was half way into my 90 minute shift when I remembered the guideline about forming relationships, and so I decided to give it a try. The first two attempts were perfunctory: "How are you doing today? "Fine, how are you." "Nice Day, isn't it? "Yeah, real nice!", etc. Then a short guy with a pale blue hat moved to the front of the line.
I tried again: "How are you today?" He looked me right in the eye and with a tired, defeated face simply shook his head side to side. I said, "Tough day?" He replied, "Tough week!" I asked "Why?" He replied, "Too many drugs, got really drunk, and now I am $240 behind on my rent." Without even thinking about what I was saying, I asked, "So, what drugs are you doing?" He replied: "Crack". I felt my stomach contract: crack cocaine is a common street drug here, but this was the very first person that I personally had met who was a crack user. I said to him, "That is a really bad drug. You need to try to get off of it." He replied, "That is easy to say, hard to do." I said, "Yes, but you need to try." He looked at me and said "Why? I lost my child; I lost my wife; now what the f*** do I have to look forward to for Christmas?" I felt a flood of sympathy -- I wondered how I would react if one of my daughters and wife had died. It was easy to see how someone might turn to alcohol or drugs to ease the pain.
By this time, one of the bathrooms was open and the man went in. I wondered if there was anything at all that I could do to help. When he emerged a minute later, I asked him his name. "Steve" he replied. I said, "My name is Mark, and I know that it is not much, but I will pray for you. And if you ever want to talk, I would be happy to talk with you about all of this." He smiled briefly and walked away.
I don't know what will happen with Steve and me. Probably nothing, but I have noticed him coming to morning mass a couple of times since then and each time during the "Sign of Peace", our eyes meet and we exchange smiles and an embrace. If nothing else, at least he knows that another person is concerned about him and his suffering.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Broken Glass
This morning one of the volunteers went out to load the van in the yard, and discovered that someone had taken bricks and broken the back and side windows. Since there was nothing in the van at all, this was probably done out of spite rather than to steal. After the police were called and the insurance company informed, I was assigned to sweep up all the glass on the ground and in the vehicle. I had barely started when one of the guests called out that he wanted to help. He said he came here all the time and it made him really mad that someone had done somethng out of meanness. The guest said if we closed for a day, he wouldn't blame us. I responded that we certainly weren't going to close and we would never punish all of the people who came to eat just because of the actions of one or two individuals.
The staff could quickly make a list of likely suspects: guests we had banned for a period of time because of theft, violence or disobeying certain rules like drinking in front of the Inn. We may or may not ever know who did this act of vandalism. Apparently it has been many years since such an event has occurred. I think the long-time staffers were saddened that after so many years of giving to this community, someone would do something like this, especially as we enter the holiday season. For Mark and I, this event was a reminder that we are in the real world, not part of a movie where the bully reforms and ends up doing good at Christmas.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
How to Say "I'm Sorry"
"Larry" was one of the first guests Mark and I met. He is a middle-aged African American man, very large, and at first glance, fearsome. He hangs out at our corner, and gave us the scoop on where to eat in the neighborhood. He has been on the street for some time. Several years ago, while passed out on the street, he was awakened by a man pointing a gun at his chest. He managed to grab the man's hand and the gun was turned, went off, and killed the other guy. "Larry" was arrested, but the jury found him not guilty on the grounds of self-defense.
The people here at the Inn do not want the guests sleeping on the street, so have banned Larry from entering the Inn grounds until he finds other accommodations. This may seem cruel and not very Christlike, but it is very dangerous to sleep outside in our neighborhood,both because of the cold weather and the drug users that roam the area. So there is a "tough love" component to all of this.
Nevertheless, Larry hangs around and offers to help carry things for us. This morning he helped me carry all the cardboard and cans for recycling to the curb. When he entered the trash area, he told me that he knew he had been short with people the past week, but it was due to having a migraine headache. He wanted to apologize to me if he had been unkind. He said he was telling everyone he may have been short with the past week that he was sorry. He had seen a doctor and gotten some medicine, and now the headache was gone. He said it felt so good to have the pain leave him.
Six months ago if a man that looked like "Larry" had come up to me on the street, I would have looked away and probably hastened my pace. Not only was I having a conversation at 7 am with him, but HE was apologizing to ME for any perceived insult! What a lesson he was preaching about asking for forgiveness. Once again, those whom I was supposed to be helping were helping me.
The people here at the Inn do not want the guests sleeping on the street, so have banned Larry from entering the Inn grounds until he finds other accommodations. This may seem cruel and not very Christlike, but it is very dangerous to sleep outside in our neighborhood,both because of the cold weather and the drug users that roam the area. So there is a "tough love" component to all of this.
Nevertheless, Larry hangs around and offers to help carry things for us. This morning he helped me carry all the cardboard and cans for recycling to the curb. When he entered the trash area, he told me that he knew he had been short with people the past week, but it was due to having a migraine headache. He wanted to apologize to me if he had been unkind. He said he was telling everyone he may have been short with the past week that he was sorry. He had seen a doctor and gotten some medicine, and now the headache was gone. He said it felt so good to have the pain leave him.
Six months ago if a man that looked like "Larry" had come up to me on the street, I would have looked away and probably hastened my pace. Not only was I having a conversation at 7 am with him, but HE was apologizing to ME for any perceived insult! What a lesson he was preaching about asking for forgiveness. Once again, those whom I was supposed to be helping were helping me.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Littering and "The Law"
One of the things that Thea and I have noticed about Philadelphia is the litter, especially on the streets in our neighborhood. It is terrible: people just throw everything from paper and cans to plastic bags and garbage on the streets. I hate it and have always wanted to confront the people who do it. Well, last week, I got my chance!
Thea and I were going into our local CVS store when right in front of me a women in a parked car threw a piece of trash onto the ground. I scooped it up and in my best "voice of righteous anger" said: "M'am, you are LITTERING!". She was startled and said: "I was going to get out and put it in the trash!". I replied: "The trash can is right over here, for heaven sakes!" She asked: "Do you work for the store?" and I replied an irritated "NO!" and walked into the store. When we were inside, Thea told me that she could not believe that I had done that and that I had been pretty harsh. I replied that the woman got what she deserved and felt justified in what I had done. Littering is against the law.
We purchased our item in the store and exited. As we passed the women in the parked car (still there), she intentionally tossed another piece of trash in front me and said "Clean it up!" Thea, without comment, picked up the trash, and we drove off.
I asked Thea again if she thought that what I had done was wrong, and she replied again that she thought that I had not handled the situation especially well. I thought about it some more and asked her asked "What would St. Frances have done?" She said: "He probably would have cheerfully picked up the trash, made a joke about it, and left the woman laughing and feeling a little guilty."
Over the next few minutes, after I had calmed down, I began reviewing my behavior. Certainly it was true that littering is against the law. Technically, I was all in the right here -- a law-abiding citizen, helping to keep the environment policed. I had confronted a person who was breaking the law, but in doing so, I had not seen her as a "child of God", as "the face of Jesus", or even as a person. I had seen her as a jerk, had treated her as such, and (predictably) had gotten a defiant, "up yours" reaction. Worse still, I had not changed her behavior for the better. In fact, she probably is throwing trash on the streets of Philadelphia right now while she pictures my face and curses. No, my behavior had not, in any way, contributed to a positive outcome.
As I reflected more, I realized that my actions were very much like those of the Pharisees in Jesus' time. These were upstanding, law-abiding citizens who held others accountable -- and completely missed Jesus' message that we should love our neighbors. Like the Pharisees, I had not shown this woman love, or even respect, and probably left her worse than I found her. I was, truly, part of the problem, not part of the solution.
By now I felt chastened. I resolved to use this as a lesson in humility and respect for others. We are called to love others not to criticize them. If I get another chance at a "littering incident", I will try a lighter approach, something like: "Hey, I think this blew out of your car. Do you need it?.... OK, I will throw it in the trash for you. Have a great day!"
This living a life of loving humility is tougher than it looks.
Thea and I were going into our local CVS store when right in front of me a women in a parked car threw a piece of trash onto the ground. I scooped it up and in my best "voice of righteous anger" said: "M'am, you are LITTERING!". She was startled and said: "I was going to get out and put it in the trash!". I replied: "The trash can is right over here, for heaven sakes!" She asked: "Do you work for the store?" and I replied an irritated "NO!" and walked into the store. When we were inside, Thea told me that she could not believe that I had done that and that I had been pretty harsh. I replied that the woman got what she deserved and felt justified in what I had done. Littering is against the law.
We purchased our item in the store and exited. As we passed the women in the parked car (still there), she intentionally tossed another piece of trash in front me and said "Clean it up!" Thea, without comment, picked up the trash, and we drove off.
I asked Thea again if she thought that what I had done was wrong, and she replied again that she thought that I had not handled the situation especially well. I thought about it some more and asked her asked "What would St. Frances have done?" She said: "He probably would have cheerfully picked up the trash, made a joke about it, and left the woman laughing and feeling a little guilty."
Over the next few minutes, after I had calmed down, I began reviewing my behavior. Certainly it was true that littering is against the law. Technically, I was all in the right here -- a law-abiding citizen, helping to keep the environment policed. I had confronted a person who was breaking the law, but in doing so, I had not seen her as a "child of God", as "the face of Jesus", or even as a person. I had seen her as a jerk, had treated her as such, and (predictably) had gotten a defiant, "up yours" reaction. Worse still, I had not changed her behavior for the better. In fact, she probably is throwing trash on the streets of Philadelphia right now while she pictures my face and curses. No, my behavior had not, in any way, contributed to a positive outcome.
As I reflected more, I realized that my actions were very much like those of the Pharisees in Jesus' time. These were upstanding, law-abiding citizens who held others accountable -- and completely missed Jesus' message that we should love our neighbors. Like the Pharisees, I had not shown this woman love, or even respect, and probably left her worse than I found her. I was, truly, part of the problem, not part of the solution.
By now I felt chastened. I resolved to use this as a lesson in humility and respect for others. We are called to love others not to criticize them. If I get another chance at a "littering incident", I will try a lighter approach, something like: "Hey, I think this blew out of your car. Do you need it?.... OK, I will throw it in the trash for you. Have a great day!"
This living a life of loving humility is tougher than it looks.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Happy Thanksgiving!
We are ready to feed 400 guests today at the Inn a dinner of turkey, stuffing, sweet potato casserole, cranberry sauce, cornbread and pie. Later today, the permanent team will be having their own meal. Thea has to prepare the turkey and Mark is making mashed potatoes.
We have so much to be grateful for this day. We are thankful for each other and all of our family members. We are so appreciative of our friends, especially those of you who have sent cards or commented on our blogs. Your prayers and words of encouragement have meant so much to us. We are thankful for the team here and all they have done to welcome us, to be patient with us as we make mistakes, and show us what it means to live simply with the poor.
This morning at Mass, after the homily, a guest named Rhonda told everyone how grateful she was to God who had helped her through her addiction, healed her when she was expected to die from a gunshot wound to the head, and brought her to an existence where she no longer lived on the street. Her testimony was powerful and pointed to the goodness of God and her total reliance on Him. Both of us were humbled by Rhonda's absolute trust in God's mercy and goodness. Everything we have and are comes from God; for Him we are most thankful.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Pink Footed Goose
Lest you think that our lives here are all work and no fun, I (Mark)am here to correct that misconception. Thea and I have had lots of outings to local museums, parks, gardens, and some (inexpensive!) restaurants. However, without a doubt, our most fun outings have been to "chase" new birds. We are on a number of list serves which report rare bird sightings in all of the northeastern states from Delaware north to Maine and even southern Canada. Thea or I check them every day to see if there is a bird of interest reported, and if it is nearby, we drive out to try to find it. So far, we have added 8 new species to our life list and are now up to 658 North American birds (target: 700 before we die!!).
Our latest "chase" was last Saturday. We had planned to go to a local park on our day off, but on the morning list serve for New York, Thea found a report of a single Pink Footed Goose (that's the species' actual name -- I am not making this up!)from the Sunken Garden State Park on Long Island. This is about a three hour drive from Philly, and before you think that we are absolutely crazy, let me say that the same bird had been report two other times in recent weeks at the very same location, always mixed in with flocks of Canada Geese. So, we knew that this Goose was probably staying around for the winter, or at least for a while.
It was already pretty late for us (8:30 AM), and so we quickly changed plans, packed a lunch, filled the car with gas and headed to New York. The route took us through Northern New Jersey up the Turnpike, past Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx and finally onto the Long Island Parkway. We arrived at the state park at 11:30 and immediately saw a group of about 100 Canada Geese and began scanning them for one with pink legs and feet. No luck -- these were all regular Canada Geese. Since the Pink Footed Goose had also been seen on the athletic fields at a nearby high school, we drove there. Even worse luck: there were no birds at all on the fields. Disappointed, we drove back to the Sunken Gardens Park and began a systematic search of the area. We ran into several other groups of birders, also looking for the Goose. Together we scanned group after group of Canda Geese with no results.
Why, you ask, are we and all these other people looking for this one bird? Well, the Pink Footed Goose nests in eastern GREENLAND and is only very rarely seen in the US. The American Birding Association ranks birds from one to six in order of their difficulty to see. The "sixes" are mostly extinct; the fives have been reported in North America, perhaps, a single time. The Pink Footed Goose is ranked as a "four". Thus, this sighting is a moderately big deal in the birding world: over the course of the morning and early afternoon, Thea and I ran into people from New Jersey, New York, Texas, and Pennsylvania who were also searching for this one goose.
By 1:30 PM, we (collectively) still had not found anything and Thea and I decided to try the high school again. This time, we really combed the place, pulling into restricted parking lots and even the bus maintenance facilities so we could get good looks at ALL of the athletic fields. Still no birds. By 2:00, our hope was fading, but we decided to try one more time at Sunken Gardens before heading home. As we approached the park office, we noticed that there was a large group of Canada Geese in the field to the left. More interesting was the fact that one of the birding couples (from New York) that we encountered during the morning was scanning the flock carefully. We watched as another car, presumably with other birders, rolled up to the flock, paused for a moment and then moved on. Thea and I figured that this meant that there was no Pink Footed Goose in flock and, mindful of the three hour drive back to Philly, went to the park's rest room, before leaving to come home.
Exiting the rest room, we decided to go over and scan the flock "just in case", noticing that a small group of new birds had just flown in to join the flock. As we approached and got out our binoculars, we saw that the couple from New York were wildly waving exitedly and pointing. Sure enough, there in the midst of, perhaps, 200 Canada Geese was a single Pink Footed Goose. Despite the humorous name, the Goose is really beautiful. It is the size of Canada Goose but browner with a delicate white edging to its feathers. The beak is stubby and a beautfiul shade of pink at its base, and the bird's legs and feet are (indeed) bright pink.
We stayed for another 30 minutes reveling in the bird that was a thousand miles off its migratory path. As we drove home, Thea and I relived the excitement of finding the bird, against pretty steep odds. In talking with the other birders from New York, we found out that the Pink Footed Goose had flown in with the last group of birds, just as Thea and I exited the restroom.
The moral of the story: in birding as in life, persistence pays, and sometimes, you need a little luck too!!
By the way, while we were watching the bird, the folks from Texas and New Jersey also showed up, and so everyone got to see the Goose!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
"...by sharing in their struggle for justice."
The third ministry guideline of the St. Francis Inn says "we wish to make a special effort to serve our sisters and borthers by sharing in their struggle for justice." Feeding and clothing the poor is essential, but in an ideal world there would be no need for the St. Francis Inn. Mark and I want to spend some of our time here learning how to have real change in our society, not just short-term solutions.
We have not been very successful tapping into the groups in the Philadelphia area that promote justice and systemic change. However, there is a Catholic Worker House in our neighborhood, and in addition to running the free medical clinic on our street, the Catholic Workers at this house work with immigration, peace issues and have an outreach clinic in Haiti. Last week we attended a talk by two of the Workers, Katie and Johanna, as well as Bishop Thomas Gumbleton. Bishop Gumbleton is familiar to many because of his work with Pax Christi USA and Bread for the World, as well as being a frequent columnist for NCR. It was a thrill to meet him, as well as hear about the clinic. Haiti is the poorest country in this hemisphere, with 80% of the people making less than $2.00 per day. The clinic began at the request of a Catholic priest in Cite Soleil, the huge slum in the capital. The group decided the way to make systemic change was to train "health agents" who would do low-tech education and wellness strategies. They talk to their neighbors about handwashing and boiling water. They distribute mosquito nets and ibuprofen. Pretty simple compared to western medicine, but even these simple techniques yield big results.
Monday we skipped our own community meal and went to the Catholic Worker House for a roundtable discussion with Bishop Gumbleton. In September he was part of a group that visited northern Iraq. He was hosted by Chaldean Catholics, and spoke to both Christians and Muslims about life in the Kurdish north. Most of what he said was familiar to us, such as the desire of the Kurds for an autonomous state, but it was interesting to hear him talk about some of the internal peace initiatives that were not being brokered by the U.S. or United Nations. Unfortunately, there was not a lot of time for questions and answers, and both Mark and I had many questions we wanted to ask. We will continue to look for opportunities such as these during our stay in Philadelphia.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
A Thing as Lovely as a Tree
One of the things Mark and I miss the most is our yard. We love to sit on our screened porch, watching the birds at our feeders, saying hello to our wonderful neighbors, and glorying in the many trees in our yard through the seasons. Most of our neighborhood is treeless. Today I had the opportunity to make that change by planting trees throughout our zipcode area. Through a variety of groups and grants from the state horticultural association, 75 trees were planted along the sidewalks in our area. I met some really neat young people, including the president of our neighborhood association. Young people are moving into our neighborhood, buying their first homes, and fixing up the neglected rental properties. It makes the neighborhood safer and stronger. I was able to talk to them about the Inn and our guests and how we might all work together to make the neighborhood cleaner and more cohesive. While it was not direct service to the poor, I hope that by making the environment more natural, those who live here will feel more in touch with the One who created it all.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
"Why me, God? Why not someone else's child?"
Yesterday evening I was assigned the job of office person, and Mark was the coordinator for the evening meal. About 5:30 a woman named Desiree came up to Mark and made an unintelligible statement, and then burst into tears. Mark ushered her into the office. We managed to learn that her 5 year old son Matthew had died in a car accident last Friday. The boy's father had been driving under the influence, had not put a seat belt on the boy, and the car had crashed into something, sending Matthew flying through the windshield.
Since the office had people in it waiting to use the phone and get mail, I suggested that I take Desiree upstairs to a more private place. I offered her the use of the chapel, and she asked if I would pray with her. I felt utterly helpless, not knowing what words I could offer that could in any way help her pain. I prayed that God would hold her son for her, and that she would feel peace, knowing Matthew was happy in heaven. She calmed down and added her own prayer, but then wailed out, "Why me, God? Why not some other mother's son?" I told her it was okay to be angry with God, that He did not make this happen, but she might feel like she was being punished in some way. I also told her that God loved her and would help her through this grief. We also spoke of practical things: did she have any friends or family she could stay with, did she have a social worker helping her with the funeral expenses and grief counseling, etc. Desiree went back and forth between violent sobbing, and rational planning. All I could really do was put my arm around her, cry with her, and be present to her. Finally, she said she was ready to leave, and went home. The funeral for her little boy is Friday morning. Please keep Desiree in your prayers.
Since the office had people in it waiting to use the phone and get mail, I suggested that I take Desiree upstairs to a more private place. I offered her the use of the chapel, and she asked if I would pray with her. I felt utterly helpless, not knowing what words I could offer that could in any way help her pain. I prayed that God would hold her son for her, and that she would feel peace, knowing Matthew was happy in heaven. She calmed down and added her own prayer, but then wailed out, "Why me, God? Why not some other mother's son?" I told her it was okay to be angry with God, that He did not make this happen, but she might feel like she was being punished in some way. I also told her that God loved her and would help her through this grief. We also spoke of practical things: did she have any friends or family she could stay with, did she have a social worker helping her with the funeral expenses and grief counseling, etc. Desiree went back and forth between violent sobbing, and rational planning. All I could really do was put my arm around her, cry with her, and be present to her. Finally, she said she was ready to leave, and went home. The funeral for her little boy is Friday morning. Please keep Desiree in your prayers.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Group Support
Serving a meal at the Inn requires the work of a large number of people. We are blessed with an abundance of local volunteers who come on a weekly or monthly basis and act as servers, bussers, dishwashers and cooks for the meals. In addition, there are groups that come from far away parishes, such as Canton, Massachusetts or New Hampshire on a regular basis, stay for a weekend or more, and help out. We have housing on the block for groups of 8-10 individuals. Last week we had a group arrive from St. Francis of Assisi parish in Raleigh, NC. Mark and I have visited that parish on several occasions and attended a hunger conference there last February, so we had a connection with the group. Several members of the group were engaged in the Just Faith program at the parish; others had seen the announcement in the bulletin and were interested in serving at an inner city soup kitchen for a few days.
It is a positive experience for me when we have a group come for a few days. First of all, it allows others the chance to serve in a way that they might not be able to in a more affluent setting. The enthusiasm of the group rubs off on us and makes us more attuned to the guests and their needs. I was particularly happy to have two women from the group go with me to St. Benedict's Thrift Shop and assist the guests, especially the men, who were in need of coats, shoes and pants. When I am at the shop, I cannot leave the front desk area because I am the only one allowed to handle the money. So often people come in, want something, but will leave saying that there is not anything in their size. By having extra volunteers present, customers were able to find the things they needed in their size. Finally, this group came while the Team was on retreat. The ten people from St.Francis could be used at the meal to help replace the ten Team members who were gone.
The sheets were barely dry, and another group arrived, this time from Bonaventure College in New York. I believe that these groups get much more than they give when they spend time here in Kensington.
It is a positive experience for me when we have a group come for a few days. First of all, it allows others the chance to serve in a way that they might not be able to in a more affluent setting. The enthusiasm of the group rubs off on us and makes us more attuned to the guests and their needs. I was particularly happy to have two women from the group go with me to St. Benedict's Thrift Shop and assist the guests, especially the men, who were in need of coats, shoes and pants. When I am at the shop, I cannot leave the front desk area because I am the only one allowed to handle the money. So often people come in, want something, but will leave saying that there is not anything in their size. By having extra volunteers present, customers were able to find the things they needed in their size. Finally, this group came while the Team was on retreat. The ten people from St.Francis could be used at the meal to help replace the ten Team members who were gone.
The sheets were barely dry, and another group arrived, this time from Bonaventure College in New York. I believe that these groups get much more than they give when they spend time here in Kensington.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The Most Unwanted Guests
According to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, 20 to 25% of the homeless population in the United States suffers from some form of severe mental illness. In comparison, only 6% of Americans are severely mentally ill (National Institute of Mental Health, 2009). In a 2008 survey performed by the U.S. Conference of Mayors, 25 cities were asked for the three largest causes of homelessness in their communities. Mental illness was the third largest cause of homelessness for single adults (mentioned by 48% of cities). For homeless families, mental illness was mentioned by 12% of cities as one of the top 3 causes of homelessness.
Here at St. Francis Inn, there are guests who are mentally ill. Some of these come daily to our meals, get toiletries, clothing vouchers and are shown respect and kindness. Some function well enough with medication that they can pay bills, have housing and lead fairly normal lives. Others are so ill that they are disruptive in their behaviors, end up in jails (where there are high populations of the mentally ill), or are easy victims for more lawless individuals.
Our first encounter with such a guest was "Jaime." "Jaime" stands on the street corner a good part of the day and reads loudly from the Bible. As he reads, he also reads out the name of the punctuation in the sentence, such as "Let there be light period." Other guests were disturbed by his reading during the meals, so he has been asked to come by at meal time and get a dinner "to go." He often attends daily Mass, and will comment on the homily. He is a veteran, has been institutionalized and often makes comments that seem much saner than many of the people who are "in charge" in this country.
Another guest is "Deacon." One of the first days that I was working at the Inn, the doorbell rang and a very nicely dressed man asked timidly if we had a pen and paper he could have. I knew there were school supplies being collected upstairs, but I felt I needed to ask the coordinator if I were allowed to take something. Sister Mary said that "Deacon" was ill, and thought he was writing a book. He sits on the corner and writes all day long in his notebook. When one looks at what he has written, it is gibberish. Once he fills up a notebook, he starts with a new one. "Deacon" is under a doctor's care, and we keep a pill counter with his weekly pills in our kitchen. When he comes for his meal, we also give him his daily allotment of pills.
"Bettie" is another guest who is tormented by inner demons. She is a beautiful, tall, willowy woman, who could pass for a runway model. However, she is continually walking about, talking out loud to the voices she hears in her head. She sometimes asks to use the phone, will dial a number, quickly leave a message, then hang up. She has family somewhere, but doesn't seem to want to stay with them. She appears very vulnerable and when she disappears for a few days, I worry that some harm has befallen her.
Because these people are not a threat to themselves or others, they are not institutionalized unless they wish to be. They could benefit from counseling and medication, but lack of transportation, funding and mental health workers or concerned family members/friends keep them from getting the services they need. We can only be a stopgap, taking care of their most basic physical needs like food and clothing. These people are the truly marginalized in our society, through no fault of their own, and deserve the same help we would extend to a person ill from cancer or diabetes.
Here at St. Francis Inn, there are guests who are mentally ill. Some of these come daily to our meals, get toiletries, clothing vouchers and are shown respect and kindness. Some function well enough with medication that they can pay bills, have housing and lead fairly normal lives. Others are so ill that they are disruptive in their behaviors, end up in jails (where there are high populations of the mentally ill), or are easy victims for more lawless individuals.
Our first encounter with such a guest was "Jaime." "Jaime" stands on the street corner a good part of the day and reads loudly from the Bible. As he reads, he also reads out the name of the punctuation in the sentence, such as "Let there be light period." Other guests were disturbed by his reading during the meals, so he has been asked to come by at meal time and get a dinner "to go." He often attends daily Mass, and will comment on the homily. He is a veteran, has been institutionalized and often makes comments that seem much saner than many of the people who are "in charge" in this country.
Another guest is "Deacon." One of the first days that I was working at the Inn, the doorbell rang and a very nicely dressed man asked timidly if we had a pen and paper he could have. I knew there were school supplies being collected upstairs, but I felt I needed to ask the coordinator if I were allowed to take something. Sister Mary said that "Deacon" was ill, and thought he was writing a book. He sits on the corner and writes all day long in his notebook. When one looks at what he has written, it is gibberish. Once he fills up a notebook, he starts with a new one. "Deacon" is under a doctor's care, and we keep a pill counter with his weekly pills in our kitchen. When he comes for his meal, we also give him his daily allotment of pills.
"Bettie" is another guest who is tormented by inner demons. She is a beautiful, tall, willowy woman, who could pass for a runway model. However, she is continually walking about, talking out loud to the voices she hears in her head. She sometimes asks to use the phone, will dial a number, quickly leave a message, then hang up. She has family somewhere, but doesn't seem to want to stay with them. She appears very vulnerable and when she disappears for a few days, I worry that some harm has befallen her.
Because these people are not a threat to themselves or others, they are not institutionalized unless they wish to be. They could benefit from counseling and medication, but lack of transportation, funding and mental health workers or concerned family members/friends keep them from getting the services they need. We can only be a stopgap, taking care of their most basic physical needs like food and clothing. These people are the truly marginalized in our society, through no fault of their own, and deserve the same help we would extend to a person ill from cancer or diabetes.
Monday, November 9, 2009
The Museum in Heaven -- what would you put on exhibit?
Yesterday at Mass, Fr. Michael gave a homily on the Widow's Mite gospel. He made the usual points about giving out of our want rather than just from our excess, etc. and then moved on to what I found to be a fascinating "sidebar". He said that if there were a "Museum in Heaven", he was certain that the Widow's mite would be one of the exhibits -- because these three coins represented what Jesus wants our attitude to be about material possessions. Fr. Michael also thought that the alabaster jar of aromatic oil that the women broke to anoint Jesus' feet and the glass used by the righteous to give water to Jesus "When I was thirsty" would also be key exhibits. Obviously, as a former museum director, I found this whole line of thought compelling, and I began reflecting on what I would include in this heavenly exhibition if I were the Curator. What would I think were the essential objects needed to tell the story of Christ's life on earth?
The centerpiece of my Museum in Heaven would certainly be a piece of the Calvary cross, the physical place where Jesus sacrified His life for our salvation. I would also include one of the linens that was left behind in the tomb -- perhaps the head cloth would be best, to represent His resurrection, the key experience of hope for all Christians. To represent the miracles, I would probably choose one of the large jugs that Jesus used to change water into wine at Cana, and a facsimile of the drawing that Jesus traced in the dirt in front of the woman caught in adultery.
From Christ's early life, there would be the manger from his birthplace, some tools from Joseph's carpenter's shop, and perhaps a piece of bright cloth from the caravan that Jesus left when he returned to the temple to begin learning about his Father's business, to the distress of his poor parents who didn't know where he went.
To represent the apostles, I would exhibit one of the fishing nets that Peter and his partners left when they first were recruited by Jesus, and the pouch containing the 30 silver pieces that Judas used to betray Jesus. For His battles with the Pharises, I would include the scroll that Jesus read from when he spoke in the temple for the first time and declared: "Today this reading (the coming of the Messiah) is fulfilled in your presence", and some of the wheat which His desciples threshed by hand on Sabbath, in violation of the strict Jewish law. And finally, I would include a copy of that Jewish Law itself, all 600+ tenets and juxtapose this to Jesus' law of the two great commandments to love God and love your neighbor.
As I read this list, I am struck by how small this exhibition would be! Jesus didn't leave behind many physical traces, or is my list here too limited? What you YOU include in the "Museum in Heaven's" artifact list?
The centerpiece of my Museum in Heaven would certainly be a piece of the Calvary cross, the physical place where Jesus sacrified His life for our salvation. I would also include one of the linens that was left behind in the tomb -- perhaps the head cloth would be best, to represent His resurrection, the key experience of hope for all Christians. To represent the miracles, I would probably choose one of the large jugs that Jesus used to change water into wine at Cana, and a facsimile of the drawing that Jesus traced in the dirt in front of the woman caught in adultery.
From Christ's early life, there would be the manger from his birthplace, some tools from Joseph's carpenter's shop, and perhaps a piece of bright cloth from the caravan that Jesus left when he returned to the temple to begin learning about his Father's business, to the distress of his poor parents who didn't know where he went.
To represent the apostles, I would exhibit one of the fishing nets that Peter and his partners left when they first were recruited by Jesus, and the pouch containing the 30 silver pieces that Judas used to betray Jesus. For His battles with the Pharises, I would include the scroll that Jesus read from when he spoke in the temple for the first time and declared: "Today this reading (the coming of the Messiah) is fulfilled in your presence", and some of the wheat which His desciples threshed by hand on Sabbath, in violation of the strict Jewish law. And finally, I would include a copy of that Jewish Law itself, all 600+ tenets and juxtapose this to Jesus' law of the two great commandments to love God and love your neighbor.
As I read this list, I am struck by how small this exhibition would be! Jesus didn't leave behind many physical traces, or is my list here too limited? What you YOU include in the "Museum in Heaven's" artifact list?
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Visit to Amish Country
We were short-staffed for 4 days this week while some of the full-time workers were on retreat. So Mark had to do pick-ups for 3 of 4 days, and Thea had to be the assistant cook for 2 days. Both cooks made soup, so Thea's job entailed chopping endless numbers of potatoes, onions and peppers one day and snapping green beans for 2 hours on another. It was with real relief that we had today free. Thea's former student, Brenda Sallee, is working in Reading, and suggested we contact her and she would take us around Lancaster County. There are about 37,000 Old Order Amish (drive horse and buggy), other Amish (drive cars ) and Old Order Mennonites (no cars) that live in the county. We went to a hand-twisted pretzel factory, a quilt museum, and drove down the small 1 lane roads through the orderly farms of the Amish and Mennonites. We saw a man drive with his daughter in a buggy to Walmart, where they have buggy parking for the Amish. We also were amused by watching a carriage go through the "drive-through window" of a bank. The weather was sunny and about 50 degrees, so it was a perfect day for a ride in the country. We enjoyed a lunch at a country restaurant, served family style. We sampled homemade sausages, ham loaf, potato stuffing and shoo-fly pie. It was only a little over an hour from our home to Lancaster County, yet we felt like we were in another era.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Philadelphia Strikes Out
This posting is not about baseball, although the Phillys did lose to the NY Yankees in the 6th game of the World Series. The strike I am referring to is the SEPTA strike; these are the workers that keep the buses, trollies and subway/el train running. The strike began in the middle of the night Monday after the baseball game ended. Commuters coming in on the light rail were shocked to reach the subway and find it was not running. There are 35,000 public school children who use public transportation to get to school, and thousands more who attend private/parochial schools who walked, biked, skateboarded or found a car ride to school.
Apparently when the new contracts are negotiated every 4 years, terms are not met and the strike occurs. The length has varied from just a few days to 100 days. So how is the SEPTA strike affecting St. Francis Inn? One of the most obvious is the low numbers of senior citizens who are coming to eat. We had less than 50 seniors last night, compared to our usual 100. Since seniors can ride the buses for free, many of our guests who live more than a mile away depend on the buses to get them to the Inn. Likewise, we have had several of our most dependable daytime volunteers call in and say they could not come and help. The last two days there have been only 2 or 3 of us who have prepared the food, taking most of the 6 hours we have available before mealtime. The roads are in gridlock, because commuters are being forced to drive to work rather than take mass transit. As a result, pickups of the bread and baked goods are taking longer.
The strike has brought out the worst in people.There are all sorts of stories of road rage, motorists and cyclists battling out space, and people getting up at 3 am to make the commute. There are stories of kindness,too. A man told me this morning he was driving home yesterday and saw some elderly people standing on the street corner. He thought maybe they didn't know about the strike. So he rolled his window down and asked them if they knew the buses weren't running. They replied they were waiting for a cab as they had to go to the hospital. It turned out that the hospital was close to his home, and he ended up driving the couple to their destination.
We hope that a just mediation of the contract will occur very soon.
Apparently when the new contracts are negotiated every 4 years, terms are not met and the strike occurs. The length has varied from just a few days to 100 days. So how is the SEPTA strike affecting St. Francis Inn? One of the most obvious is the low numbers of senior citizens who are coming to eat. We had less than 50 seniors last night, compared to our usual 100. Since seniors can ride the buses for free, many of our guests who live more than a mile away depend on the buses to get them to the Inn. Likewise, we have had several of our most dependable daytime volunteers call in and say they could not come and help. The last two days there have been only 2 or 3 of us who have prepared the food, taking most of the 6 hours we have available before mealtime. The roads are in gridlock, because commuters are being forced to drive to work rather than take mass transit. As a result, pickups of the bread and baked goods are taking longer.
The strike has brought out the worst in people.There are all sorts of stories of road rage, motorists and cyclists battling out space, and people getting up at 3 am to make the commute. There are stories of kindness,too. A man told me this morning he was driving home yesterday and saw some elderly people standing on the street corner. He thought maybe they didn't know about the strike. So he rolled his window down and asked them if they knew the buses weren't running. They replied they were waiting for a cab as they had to go to the hospital. It turned out that the hospital was close to his home, and he ended up driving the couple to their destination.
We hope that a just mediation of the contract will occur very soon.
Monday, November 2, 2009
The Ties That Bind
When Mark and I first discussed giving a year of service after retirement, we considered going outside the U.S., perhaps with the Peace Corps or Franciscan Mission Service. Our younger daughter, who had recently produced our first grandchild, was appalled. How could we go off for one or two years, missing out on all the landmark events of a young child? For that reason and various others, we amended our search to locations east of the Mississippi.
In the past 3 weeks, we have been thankful we did. First, our second grandchild arrived, two weeks early, and I was able to go down to Athens, Ga and assist our daughter Andrea with little Katie. Right before I was to leave, our daughter Angela called, quite distraught, because her son Cade had H1N1 flu, and she had been unable to get the vaccine. Since she is pregnant, this was a matter of concern. Mark was prepared to get in the car and drive 8 hours to Raleigh to take care of the boy. However, the other grandparents generously drove from Hickory to get him and kept him the remainder of the week. Thankfully, Angela did not have any symptoms of the flu.
It is all well and good for us to care for the people of Philadelphia, but our first priority has to be to our family. Several of the people who are long time volunteers at the Inn have taken leave of absence to care for ill parents or other relatives. I can understand better the sacrifice priests, religious and lay missioners make when they go far away from home and family for several years at a time. Likewise, those members of the armed forces who are serving overseas are making a great sacrifice. Our nephew Will is currently serving in Iraq, and was unable to attend his brother's wedding last Friday. He called from Iraq and was able to speak to many family members. We were happy to hear his voice, but will be happier when he returns to us safe and sound.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
The Guests, Part 2
We call them guests, the people that come to our meals, and they are certanly that.
we serve them a sit down meal, every day of the week, just like they were customers at a restaurant. Sometimes I think of them as clients, or as recipients, or as blessings, but always they are individuals....people, each with a story.
One of the first of the guests that I noticed when we came to the St. Frances Inn was a tall, muscular, man named Bill. Bill is 63 and a little scruffy looking (unkempt beard, a Jack Daniels headband, longish hair), but he also is friendly. We quickly learned each other's names, and eventually he told me his story. He used to be a New Jersey State Trooper (and still has a license to carry a gun) with a family. One day in 1974 a drunk driver hit and killed his wife and his older child. The driver was charged with vehicular manslaughter, but a good lawyer got him off with only a suspended sentence and got his driver's license back almost immediately. Bill was so incensed at the verdict that he threw his Trooper's badge at the judge and resigned from the police force on the spot.
The next 16 years were a blur, lost in drink, meth, go-go clubs, and bars. Amazingly, Bill was able to balance this life with a tow truck and garage business, getting an average of 2 hours of sleep per night. Finally, in 1989, he quit drinking and using drugs "because I didn't want to live like that anymore". Around that time, he also began coming to the St. Frances Inn because the people were friendly and many of his street friends also came here to get a meal. He has stayed around and now is a source of help for others. These include "the 96 old lady that lives behind me" and "the couple with two retarded children who live next door". He brings them food from the Inn sometimes or helps them with odd jobs. Bill still has his tow truck and a garage and occasionally works or leases out his truck to others, but spends most of his time on the street and at the Inn. When I asked him why he does this, he told me: "This is my famly now, and these are my friends. I like helping people out when I can."
Bill's story surprised me. I look upon most of the people who come to us as "needy", but am discovering that this need comes in many forms. Certainly we have our share of addicts, mentally retarded people, immigrants, and others that society views as disadvantaged. However, there are also some, like Bill, for whom this is their community in which each plays a useful and positive role. Chalk up another lesson for Mark...stay tuned, I am ssure that I have much more to learn about this unique place called the St. Frances Inn.
we serve them a sit down meal, every day of the week, just like they were customers at a restaurant. Sometimes I think of them as clients, or as recipients, or as blessings, but always they are individuals....people, each with a story.
One of the first of the guests that I noticed when we came to the St. Frances Inn was a tall, muscular, man named Bill. Bill is 63 and a little scruffy looking (unkempt beard, a Jack Daniels headband, longish hair), but he also is friendly. We quickly learned each other's names, and eventually he told me his story. He used to be a New Jersey State Trooper (and still has a license to carry a gun) with a family. One day in 1974 a drunk driver hit and killed his wife and his older child. The driver was charged with vehicular manslaughter, but a good lawyer got him off with only a suspended sentence and got his driver's license back almost immediately. Bill was so incensed at the verdict that he threw his Trooper's badge at the judge and resigned from the police force on the spot.
The next 16 years were a blur, lost in drink, meth, go-go clubs, and bars. Amazingly, Bill was able to balance this life with a tow truck and garage business, getting an average of 2 hours of sleep per night. Finally, in 1989, he quit drinking and using drugs "because I didn't want to live like that anymore". Around that time, he also began coming to the St. Frances Inn because the people were friendly and many of his street friends also came here to get a meal. He has stayed around and now is a source of help for others. These include "the 96 old lady that lives behind me" and "the couple with two retarded children who live next door". He brings them food from the Inn sometimes or helps them with odd jobs. Bill still has his tow truck and a garage and occasionally works or leases out his truck to others, but spends most of his time on the street and at the Inn. When I asked him why he does this, he told me: "This is my famly now, and these are my friends. I like helping people out when I can."
Bill's story surprised me. I look upon most of the people who come to us as "needy", but am discovering that this need comes in many forms. Certainly we have our share of addicts, mentally retarded people, immigrants, and others that society views as disadvantaged. However, there are also some, like Bill, for whom this is their community in which each plays a useful and positive role. Chalk up another lesson for Mark...stay tuned, I am ssure that I have much more to learn about this unique place called the St. Frances Inn.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Aging with Grace
One of the unexpected benefits of working at St. Francis Inn is getting to know women religious. Other than the wonderful Maryvale Community in Lincoln County, Mark and I have had little contact with women religious during the past 35 years. There are a number of Sisters that we have come to know and admire.
Sister Jude is a Sister of the Holy Family of Nazareth. She was a college art professor for many years before becoming a visiting nurse. Now, at 77, she works 3 days a week at the Inn and always cooks the dinner on Wednesday. It is amazing to see this septuagenarian baking chicken for 300.
Sister Mary, an Alleghany Franciscan, 73 years old and Sr. Leslie,68, a Sister of St. Francis of Philadelphia, both began their ministry in education. At some point they both decided to work with the poor and served at women's shelters in New York and Boston. In the early '90's they came to Kensington. They organize the rest of us, clean, carry loads, and help the guests. Their energy puts me to shame.
Another Sister comes on Tuesday and Thursday and helps with the breakfast for the guests. She and her twin sister are both Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament, founded by St. Katharine Drexel here in Philadelphia. The order was founded to serve Native American and African-American children, and Sister Margaret,87, spent most of her ministry serving at reservations in the Southwestern U.S. She just celebrated her 60th anniversary as a sister.
I think the positive outlook these Sisters exude and the energy they have that allows them to help others are partially products of a life of prayer, reflection, and happiness in their choice of a vocation.
Sister Jude is a Sister of the Holy Family of Nazareth. She was a college art professor for many years before becoming a visiting nurse. Now, at 77, she works 3 days a week at the Inn and always cooks the dinner on Wednesday. It is amazing to see this septuagenarian baking chicken for 300.
Sister Mary, an Alleghany Franciscan, 73 years old and Sr. Leslie,68, a Sister of St. Francis of Philadelphia, both began their ministry in education. At some point they both decided to work with the poor and served at women's shelters in New York and Boston. In the early '90's they came to Kensington. They organize the rest of us, clean, carry loads, and help the guests. Their energy puts me to shame.
Another Sister comes on Tuesday and Thursday and helps with the breakfast for the guests. She and her twin sister are both Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament, founded by St. Katharine Drexel here in Philadelphia. The order was founded to serve Native American and African-American children, and Sister Margaret,87, spent most of her ministry serving at reservations in the Southwestern U.S. She just celebrated her 60th anniversary as a sister.
I think the positive outlook these Sisters exude and the energy they have that allows them to help others are partially products of a life of prayer, reflection, and happiness in their choice of a vocation.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Musings on a cold, rainy day
We are having 2 northeasters back to back. The first one hit on Thursday, our day off. We knew it would be rainy with a high of 48, so we had planned to go to a movie and hear a lecture on Mayan birds. However, Br. Fred was going to New York City to the motherhouse, and asked if we wanted to come along. The only problem was that he was leaving at 5:30 am. The time was not a problem, so off we went and we were at the friary about 7:30. We ate breakfast at a diner, then Mark and I got on the subway at Penn Station and headed for the Statue of Liberty. We had not planned enough in advance to go up in the crown, but we did go inside the monument and had a wonderful time despite the cool, wet day.
Today was the third day of rain, and the sewer started to back up into the basement of the Inn. Mark and Br. Fred spent about 4 hours with the shop vac getting the water out of the basement until the plumber arrived. Apparently the flooding occurs a few times a year.
I was out in the yard giving out tickets for the meal. Most of the guests were adequately clothed, but one young mother arrived with her 3 children, the youngest being born last Saturday. Another woman was wearing flip flops. I had on two pairs of socks, and was ready to give her one of my pairs, but she took off before I could offer. One man, walking with a cane, came up to me and said he had a problem The tongue of his shoe was stuck down too far, and he needed it lifted out and the shoe retied. He was not agile enough to squat down, do it himself, and get back up. I told him I would do it, and was somewhat shocked to discover he didn't have a foot in the shoe. He was either an amputee or had a clubfoot. I fixed the shoe, and he was so grateful. It was a really humbling experience.
Finally, Mark got his first haircut today since arriving. There is a barber across the street who cuts hair for $5.00. He doesn't speak English, but he has pictures of men with various haircuts on the wall, and you point to one and he does the cut. I went along to watch, and try to intervene if the barber went crazy with the shears. The cut actually looks pretty good.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
It's a Girl!
We were very excited to hear that we are grandparents again. Our first grandaughter, Catherine Ann Zedek, was born today at 5:17. She was two weeks early, and weighed 5 pounds 9 ounces. Mom, Dad and baby are all doing well. We were sorry we could not be their for the birth, but we will be going to Georgia in about 10 days and will meet our little cherub at that time.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The Veteran Volunteer
There are lots of “characters” who are integral to the community that staff the St. Francis Inn. One of the first I met was Joe. He is a tall, thin, African American man with graying hair and beard. Joe moves carefully with obvious effort, and I quickly surmised that he lives in varying amounts of pain. For some reason, Joe and I quickly developed a bond. He’s at the Inn several days a week beginning at 6:30 am, and so for the first few days after Thea and I arrived, I would see him and say something like: “Another day with the same people -- It is amazing that we cannot get a better quality of volunteer here at the Inn!” He would come back with a quick retort, maybe something like: “I know, we are especially weak in volunteers from North Carolina!”
After we’d been here about two weeks, Joe asked a favor. Would I please drive him the VA Hospital for a procedure? He is on dialysis and one of the veins through which he gets his medicine was swollen. I said that I would be happy to do this, and early on a Wednesday morning, we headed out. As I drove, Joe told me his story. He grew up in Philadelphia and after high school enlisted in the Army. Soon he found himself in the middle of the Vietnam War, serving as an NCO on a Hawk missile battery during the middle 1960’s. One day, the jeep in which he and his missile crew were riding hit a land mine. The explosion was horrific, and the next thing Joe knew, he woke up in a hospital, having been in a coma for 4 days. His companions were killed, except for one who lost a leg.
Joe was shipped home to the west coast and spent nearly a year in rehab. There was internal damage to many organs including his kidneys; both legs were filled with shrapnel; and he had to learn to walk again. After finally being discharged from the hospital, Joe chose not to immediately go home: he did not want his family to see him in his weakened state. This gives you some insight into the strong, proud core of this dignified man. Instead, Joe worked his way across country as a ranch hand, and this allowed him to build up his strength.
Eventually he returned home with fully restored health and took a job with the Pennsylvania Rail Road. Unfortunately after working there eight years, there was a terrible accident: Joe was thrown from a moving train and experienced severe injuries including a mangled right leg which required surgery. Again he was disabled, this time permanently. After a period of convalescence, it became clear that he could no longer work, and so he settled down with his disability payments to live out his life, a life, which because of his various medical ailments which now included heart problems, knee pain, and kidney disease, seemed increasingly bleak.
But shortly thereafter, while riding the "El" (our nickname for the elevated train which is part of Philly’s subway) along Kensington Avenue, Joe noticed a long line of people queued up in front of an old building. Curious, he went back to the place –which turned out to be the St. Francis Inn – and asked what they did there. The staff explained, and Joe began volunteering as his health allowed. That was 18 years ago, and Joe is still here. He comes in on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. The other days he gets dialysis treatments: his war-damaged kidneys finally failed a couple of years ago.
When he is at the Inn, Joe does a variety of tasks, mostly having to do with bagging and processing the thousands of pieces of bread and baked goods that the Inn receives each week. He also is so knowledgeable about the Inn that he basically helps “train” all the volunteers --- such as Thea and me – who rotate in and out of the place.
As I write this, I am sitting in the Presbyterian Hospital of Philadelphia, waiting for Joe to finish yet another procedure. On the way here, Joe was cracking jokes, bantering with me and VA van driver assigned to us, and pointing out places of interest in Philly to me as we passed. I thought to myself how amazing this was. If I had as many medical concerns as Joe, I would be holed up in my house feeling sorry for myself, but this guy approaches life with a gritty smile, determination, and a positive, “get up and go” attitude. He even takes time, a significant amount of time each week, to help others. It is impressive.
Last time we were together, I asked Joe why he volunteers so much at the St. Francis Inn. His reply: “It keeps me going and gives me a reason to get up in the morning!” As I grow older, I certainly hope that I (and all of us) will always seek reasons to “get up in the morning”, even when it is far easier to sit and vegetate.
Certainly, this is God’s plan for Thea and me and if everyone did this, it would make our world a far better place.
After we’d been here about two weeks, Joe asked a favor. Would I please drive him the VA Hospital for a procedure? He is on dialysis and one of the veins through which he gets his medicine was swollen. I said that I would be happy to do this, and early on a Wednesday morning, we headed out. As I drove, Joe told me his story. He grew up in Philadelphia and after high school enlisted in the Army. Soon he found himself in the middle of the Vietnam War, serving as an NCO on a Hawk missile battery during the middle 1960’s. One day, the jeep in which he and his missile crew were riding hit a land mine. The explosion was horrific, and the next thing Joe knew, he woke up in a hospital, having been in a coma for 4 days. His companions were killed, except for one who lost a leg.
Joe was shipped home to the west coast and spent nearly a year in rehab. There was internal damage to many organs including his kidneys; both legs were filled with shrapnel; and he had to learn to walk again. After finally being discharged from the hospital, Joe chose not to immediately go home: he did not want his family to see him in his weakened state. This gives you some insight into the strong, proud core of this dignified man. Instead, Joe worked his way across country as a ranch hand, and this allowed him to build up his strength.
Eventually he returned home with fully restored health and took a job with the Pennsylvania Rail Road. Unfortunately after working there eight years, there was a terrible accident: Joe was thrown from a moving train and experienced severe injuries including a mangled right leg which required surgery. Again he was disabled, this time permanently. After a period of convalescence, it became clear that he could no longer work, and so he settled down with his disability payments to live out his life, a life, which because of his various medical ailments which now included heart problems, knee pain, and kidney disease, seemed increasingly bleak.
But shortly thereafter, while riding the "El" (our nickname for the elevated train which is part of Philly’s subway) along Kensington Avenue, Joe noticed a long line of people queued up in front of an old building. Curious, he went back to the place –which turned out to be the St. Francis Inn – and asked what they did there. The staff explained, and Joe began volunteering as his health allowed. That was 18 years ago, and Joe is still here. He comes in on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. The other days he gets dialysis treatments: his war-damaged kidneys finally failed a couple of years ago.
When he is at the Inn, Joe does a variety of tasks, mostly having to do with bagging and processing the thousands of pieces of bread and baked goods that the Inn receives each week. He also is so knowledgeable about the Inn that he basically helps “train” all the volunteers --- such as Thea and me – who rotate in and out of the place.
As I write this, I am sitting in the Presbyterian Hospital of Philadelphia, waiting for Joe to finish yet another procedure. On the way here, Joe was cracking jokes, bantering with me and VA van driver assigned to us, and pointing out places of interest in Philly to me as we passed. I thought to myself how amazing this was. If I had as many medical concerns as Joe, I would be holed up in my house feeling sorry for myself, but this guy approaches life with a gritty smile, determination, and a positive, “get up and go” attitude. He even takes time, a significant amount of time each week, to help others. It is impressive.
Last time we were together, I asked Joe why he volunteers so much at the St. Francis Inn. His reply: “It keeps me going and gives me a reason to get up in the morning!” As I grow older, I certainly hope that I (and all of us) will always seek reasons to “get up in the morning”, even when it is far easier to sit and vegetate.
Certainly, this is God’s plan for Thea and me and if everyone did this, it would make our world a far better place.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Cleanliness is next to Godliness
We have stated in our blog and various emails that much of the work here is very physical. The Inn does get inspected like any other restaurant, and we have certain standards of health and safety we have to meet. After every meal, we sweep, mop, wipe downn all tables, chairs, counters, remove garbage, recycle lots of plastic, cardboard, and aluminum. However, since we are open 7 days a week, we don't have the advantage of a closing to do more extensive cleaning. Therefore, we have "cleaning Mondays" on the first Monday of each month. This is when walls, the refrigerator, windows, stoves and other big items get cleaned. Due to Labor Day, we missed this day in September. So last Monday we had our first experience, and Mark and I were very happy to have a chance to make war on dirt. I chose to clean a rolling counter in and out, and to get the caked-on grime that covered two high chairs and booster chairs. Mark volunteered to get behind the two stoves, tilt skillet and large kettle. He was thin enough to get on the floor behind these appliances and scrub the accumulated grease, roaches and whatever else was back there. He worked over 3 hours on this area, and generally impressed the entire staff. Depending on whom we talked to, it had not been done for somewhere between 8 months and 2 years. When he emerged from his battle on filth, he looked like he had been in a war zone. His face and clothes were black, his hands were raw, and his muscles were sore. I wish I had my camera with me!
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Yes or No?
We need rules and laws. Society would be chaos without them. Even at a place like St. Francis Inn there are rules: meals are served only at specific times, the office is open on a fixed schedule, and so on. If a homeless person has a need outside of these times, we are not supposed to respond. Why? Because if there were no office hours, there would be a constant barrage of requests 24/7, and the institution would collapse. As it is, the Inn serves meals seven days per week and there are office hours every day of the year when we deal with all sorts of needs.
I (Mark)understand this -- I am basically a legalistic, rule-following person, EXCEPT when presented with the face of a person in need. Then, it is tough. For example, last week, I was walking near the St. Francis Inn when I was approached by a man asking for money. I always lean toward saying "yes and casting my bread on the water", and a quick look at the guy's cloths and demeanor seemed to indicate that he was really in need. But the Inn's rule is that you never give money to the homeless because it is often used to buy drugs or alcohol. So, I said "No", feeling guilty.
Several days later, Thea and I were in the Inn at 3 PM getting organized for the evening pick ups. The doorbell rang, but since it was outside of normal office hours, we didn't answer. A few minutes later, we had finished our tasks and left the to go to our house, next door. Two young men were standing outside, obviously the people who had rung the bell. They said that they were hungry, having walked several miles to the Inn, but had missed the meal. Was there any way that they could get something -- anything -- to eat. While I was still deciding on how to respond, Thea said " Sure!". And, instantly, my own reluctance vanished: why shouldn't we respond? We both knew that the next meal the Inn would be serving would not be until Monday afternoon @ 4:30 -- more than 24 hours in the future.
Quickly, Thea and I went back inside and in a few minutes had made a couple of roast beef sandwiches, assembled some packaged bread, desserts, and drink. We placed the whole thing in a plastic bag, tossed in a couple pieces of fruit and presented the meal to the two guys. Their thanks was genuine, eye to eye, heart to heart. I felt really blessed by the spirit of Christ in the response.
Reflecting on this issue today, I realize that rules are still necessary but that we must apply them in a spirit of love and compassion. There are many times when a "no" really is the best answer, but there are also times when the rules must be bent. Each instance and request is unique and must be evaluated given the situation.
I see all of the staff and volunteers at the St. Francis Inn, even the longtimers who have been here 20 and 30 years, struggling to keep a balance between "yes" & "no", using as their guide the example of Jesus and St. Frances. It is not such an easy thing to do, but I know that if we truly have the best interests of our clients at heart, Christ can work through each of us.
I (Mark)understand this -- I am basically a legalistic, rule-following person, EXCEPT when presented with the face of a person in need. Then, it is tough. For example, last week, I was walking near the St. Francis Inn when I was approached by a man asking for money. I always lean toward saying "yes and casting my bread on the water", and a quick look at the guy's cloths and demeanor seemed to indicate that he was really in need. But the Inn's rule is that you never give money to the homeless because it is often used to buy drugs or alcohol. So, I said "No", feeling guilty.
Several days later, Thea and I were in the Inn at 3 PM getting organized for the evening pick ups. The doorbell rang, but since it was outside of normal office hours, we didn't answer. A few minutes later, we had finished our tasks and left the to go to our house, next door. Two young men were standing outside, obviously the people who had rung the bell. They said that they were hungry, having walked several miles to the Inn, but had missed the meal. Was there any way that they could get something -- anything -- to eat. While I was still deciding on how to respond, Thea said " Sure!". And, instantly, my own reluctance vanished: why shouldn't we respond? We both knew that the next meal the Inn would be serving would not be until Monday afternoon @ 4:30 -- more than 24 hours in the future.
Quickly, Thea and I went back inside and in a few minutes had made a couple of roast beef sandwiches, assembled some packaged bread, desserts, and drink. We placed the whole thing in a plastic bag, tossed in a couple pieces of fruit and presented the meal to the two guys. Their thanks was genuine, eye to eye, heart to heart. I felt really blessed by the spirit of Christ in the response.
Reflecting on this issue today, I realize that rules are still necessary but that we must apply them in a spirit of love and compassion. There are many times when a "no" really is the best answer, but there are also times when the rules must be bent. Each instance and request is unique and must be evaluated given the situation.
I see all of the staff and volunteers at the St. Francis Inn, even the longtimers who have been here 20 and 30 years, struggling to keep a balance between "yes" & "no", using as their guide the example of Jesus and St. Frances. It is not such an easy thing to do, but I know that if we truly have the best interests of our clients at heart, Christ can work through each of us.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
The Guests, Part I
Mark and I have not talked specifically about any of the guests on this blog. We want to preserve their privacy, but at the same time they are very much a part of our lives here, much like my students were. We give to them, but they give us a great deal as well. So we have decided we will share some of their stories, but will change their names to protect their privacy.
The first or second day that I served a meal at the Inn, I noticed a man in his mid-fifties, with nicely cut gray hair. With his pressed khakis, Italian leather shoes and clean shirt, he looked more like a businessman on casual Friday than a person who needed a meal. The next time I saw him I introduced myself and told him I was from North Carolina. "Sean" is a native Philadelphian, and a living guidebook for places to see in the Philly area. He told us about the museums, gardens, churches, you name it. He had been to Charlotte on business in the past, so knew a little about that city. It turns out that "Sean's" parents became very ill, and he took a leave of absence from Chase Manhattan bank about a year ago to take care of them. When they died and he returned, the bank was laying people off and he lost his job. He is too young for social security or a retirement package without penalty, so he is trying to get by with unemployment money as long as he can. In a few months he can tap into his pension plan He has made a few friends among the other guests. One of these is "Harry." "Harry" is 85, lives nearby and is a WWII veteran. He served in the Navy in North Africa, Italy and the Pacific. He walks to the Inn, and spends some days at the senior citizen center downt he street. He brags that the other guests refer to "Sean" and himself as the "intelligentsia" because almost every question they are asked about sports or history they are able to answer. "Harry" has had numerous surgeries for cancer, but his mind is very good and he always has a funny story to tell. I think the Inn gives him a good social outlet.
I got to know "Jenny" at the Thrift Store when I was working one day. She is about 18 and has a one year old baby girl. She had a voucher from the Inn for baby clothes and household items like dishes,sheets, curtains, etc. She was very forthright about her past, doing drugs and getting pregnant. Once she discovered she was pregnant, she stopped taking drugs and has been drug-free. Unfortunately, the damage was done for her baby, who was born with one lung, reversed blood vessels and a faulty heart. Because the baby's illness and "Jenny" having to be home with her, she does get some state and federal money to help support them. She has rented an apartment with a basement and 2 bedrooms, and is planning to rent out the extra room and basement. She needed furniture, but we don't carry any. As luck would have it, the next time I saw her she had gotten furniture from a woman she had met on a bus who was in the process of moving to Florida. Last Wednesday the baby had open heart surgery to repair the heart. I have not seen "Jenny" since the surgery to learn the outcome.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Feast of St. Francis
October 4 is a special day to the Franciscan friars, sisters and lay people associated with the St. Francis Inn. Francis lived 800 years ago, but it is amazing how relevant his renunciation of possessions and power in medieval Italy is today in the United States and other consumer cultures. The Franciscans have two celebrations in his honor. The first occurred on the evening of Oct. 3. It is called the "Transitus" and celebrates Francis crossing over from life to eternal life. We went to the Motherhouse of the Franciscan Sisters of Philadelphia. They have a beautiful stone residence south of Philly near the Delaware border. The order was founded by Bishop (St.) John Neuman, and at its peak had 1500 sisters. Today there are about 450. We sat in their beautiful darkened chapel, and the Paschal candle was taken in procession to the front. Then an unlit candle, representing Francis, was carried forward and lit. Various sisters read parts of the Francis' biography depicting his last few days on earth and we sang a song written by one of the sisters that told of his life. Finally, when the part relating Francis' actual death was read, the candle was extinguished, but then a light was passed to each of us (we had tapers like on Holy Saturday)and we represented the followers of Francis. Francis heard the voice of Christ from the crucifix in San Damiano church, who said, "Repair my house." Francis came to realize that this did not mean just the physical building, but the people of God who needed attention. In 1206 they were the lepers and beggars. Today they are the homeless, those with AIDS, the immigrants, and others that our society casts out.
On Sunday, we started our day, as always, with the Eucharist. Br. Fred had decorated the altar beautifully with autumn flowers and pumpkins, gourds, etc. Mark, Barb and Sr. Mary led the music, including a rousing final hymn that was "Canticle of the Sun."
At the meal, we let the guests take home a whole dessert (an entire cake, pie, box of cookies, etc) as well as gave each child a book of his choice.
Finally, at 5:30 we had our own community meal. Mark made 12 lb of mashed potatoes, and I made broccoli casserole. We had a huge number of desserts as well.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Generosity
Druing my 30 years as a museum director I (Mark) certainly learned to rely on the generosity of others. My accommplishments were always underpinned by the gifts of people's time, talent, and funds. The same is true here, but even to a greater extent. The St. Francis Inn accepts no government funds or grants, allowing the governing "team" to make decisions solely on the basis of the needs of our clients, as the Holy Spirit directs. All of the food which we distribute to 300 - 400 people each day is donated; all of the funds which pay the stipends to the paid staff (the salaries are very low!) and help people with short term needs such as rent are donated; and all of the goods such as clothing (some of which is almost new)that are distributed through the St. Benedict's thrift store are given to us. Truly, God works through generous people. One of my jobs is "pick ups", i.e. driving our battered van to businesses to pick up their food donations. It is amazing to me how these generous firms donate, on a daily basis, enough food to fill the van. Every day...if one pick up is smaller than usual, another is always larger. I often ask myself why the businesses contribute: I mean if it was I who was running the bakery, I would simply make fewer loaves of bread and bagels and have less left over! Obviously,God works through these generous people, warming their hearts to the needs of those less fortunate. What a privilege it is to work with such community-minded people.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly
Philadelphia is made up of neighborhoods. Ours is called Kensington. It was once a thriving manufacturing center, with homes, shops and factories. Then the factories closed, the stores moved to the suburbs and buildings were abandoned. Other former factory neighborhoods like Fishtown, Port Richmond and Northern Liberties are nearby. Some of these neighborhoods are being revitalized. Factories are being renovated with lofts and condos sitting above art galleries and wine bars. There are signs of beauty in our neighborhood as well. An urban garden is present, a playground, pocket park and murals painted on the sides of buildings. Of course, there are also homeless people, drug deals, lots of trash, broken glass and graffiti.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Cheesesteak Wars
Saturday marked 4 weeks of being in Philly and we decided to celebrate by having a famous Philly Cheesesteak. We had been polling natives as to best cheesesteak. While Jim's in South Philly and Steve's in Northeast Philly got high ratings, we decided to go with the two that most people are familiar with-Pat's and Geno's. Since Geno has a sign that says that you must order in English, and that seems terribly un-Franciscan, we opted for the older stand, founded in 1930. (Just as an aside: the south Philly brand of English is almost unintelligible to me: "Yo! Where youse guys put da wadder ice wit my name on it?")
Legend says that the Oliveri brothers were hotdog vendors, and one day served a cab driver some chopped steak in a hotdog bun. The cabbie came back for more, it spread around, and soon the brothers realized they had a hit. They built a stand in South Philly, at the present location, in 1930. One day a bored cook put cheese on the sandwich, and a sensation was born. Geno's, across the intersection, didn't open until 1966. Both use Italian bread from the same bakery, and both cut the beef off a fresh (not frozen) hunk of beef. Neither have inside seating. The lines move fast, and when one gets to the window, the money (no credit or debit cards accepted) should be in hand and the order rehearsed. We had "2 cheesesteaks, with, whiz, to go." Translation: 2 cheesesteaks with fried onions and cheese whiz. One could order American, provolone or swiss cheese, and also mushrooms and/or peppers for an additional cost. A separate window takes orders for soda, fries or hot chocolate. The place is open until 2 am, and the current great nephew of the founders says the secret of the flavor is the 75 year old grill upon which the meat is cooked. Was it good? Yes. Was it the best Philly cheesesteak we ever had? Probably not. But the experience was priceless.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The Women's Center
Today was my first visit to the Thea Bowman Women's Center. Sister Xavier, a former college professor, has been running it since 1992. It is a daytime residence center, operating from 10-4 Monday-Friday. About 10-15 women of all ages will come each day. They shower, wash their clothes, have breakfast and lunch, and generally "hang out." On Tuesday and Thursday they have a guided group discussion, facilitated by Sister Xavier. Since today was my first visit, each woman told something about herself and something about the Center. The remarks about the Center were so positive--they felt peace here, it was a place they could get away from drugs and alcohol, they saw the other women and Sister as their family. Some of the women had been sober for 5-20 years. Others were still struggling with alcohol and drugs. One woman told me she raised 5 children and held a job until she was 40. Then from 40-50 she was drinking heavily. Today at 70, she has been sober for 20 years. She has helped raise grandchildren and even a great grandchild. She rides a bike to and from the center. Another woman told me she had a college degree and had been living in Florida with a husband and 2 children. She came to Philadelphia to visit her brother, and things got out of hand. She divorced her husband, started drinking and never made it back to Florida. That was 10 years ago. She has been sober 5 years. She loves to do crafts, and made me a friendship bracelet. She is also an epiletic, and worries that when she walks to the Center, she will have a seizure on the street and no one will help her.
I felt overwhelmed listening to these stories and those of the other women. What could I contribute to their lives? Other than praying for them, I felt at a loss.
I felt overwhelmed listening to these stories and those of the other women. What could I contribute to their lives? Other than praying for them, I felt at a loss.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Music, the Universal Connection
Moving to a new place is difficult. There are entirely new people, a new neighborhood, a huge, unfamiliar city to deal with. One of the things which keeps me (Mark) connected is music. The very first item I loaded into our car when we were packing for our trip up here was my keyboard, and one of the first connections I made upon arriving was with Sister Mary, who does the music for our weekly mass. Thea and I are only three weeks into our stay here in Philly, but already, I am a member of the St. Francis Inn's music group. Sister plays guitar and together we provide the music for mass. Last week, we sang "Servant Song" and the meditation was "Prayer of St. Francis" which I played as an instrumental. It was a great way for me to share my gift for music with our community. As I played the Alleluia for the Mass of Glory (the "Mark" Alleluia), I thought fondly of our wonderful Contemporary Choir at St. Al's and how much I miss playing with them. However, in a meaningful way, the fact that I am playing for the masses here connects me to those that I have (temporarily) left behind and to God in a very special way.
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