The Meat Locker

Yesterday, I entered our large walk-in freezer to get some meat. When I tried to push the door open to exit, it was locked. I had been told that it was impossible to be locked in the freezer; that there was a fail safe mechanism that prevented it from happening. But here I was with the frozen chicken and no one could hear me yell or kick the door. I looked down at the handle. There were instructions written on the door that indicated that rotating the handle would open the door. I turned the handle, pushed, but nothing happened.
I have read enough books about people being stranded on top of high mountains like the Andes or K2 to know it takes awhile for hypothermia to kill a person. I was dressed in a turtleneck with a fleece vest, pants, socks and tennis shoes. After a few minutes, my hands were already pretty cold, but otherwise I felt okay. I jumped up and down a few times to warm myself. I said a prayer for help, and it had a calming effect. I took stock of what was in the freezer that could help me--nothing that I could see. There was no fire alarm, no way to turn the blower off. I had a cell phone, but no cell service at all. There was a seam around the door that would let air in, so I was not worried about suffocating. It was 3:15; the meal started at 4:30 and I already had been assigned a job. Would anyone come looking for me if I didn't show up? I decided to dial Mark's phone and place it at the door seam. While I could not hear if Mark answered, I just yelled into the phone that I was in the freezer. When the phone disconnected due to lack of service, I returned my attention to the door. There had to be a way to turn the lock and get out.

I visualized myself curled up, passed out on the floor, discovered by the cook the next morning. I hoped that a hardened Team member would find me, and not a sensitive coed from Sienna College who would be scarred for life by the event. I started rotating the handle once again, trying different positions. I kicked the door again, and suddenly it opened. I was free!

I went out into the dining room where only Mary, the coordinator and a former FVM were talking. I told her I had been locked in the freezer. About that time Mark arrived, wondering what I had called him about, and why had I hung up the phone on him. I have to admit, I had tears in my eyes of relief. I was never really in danger, and intellectually I knew that, but as my hands got colder, there was that insidious fear that I might not find a way out. I reflected quite a bit on how I had responded, my feelings while imprisoned, and Who and who I had called upon. I am not unhappy with my responses. The story of my trial quickly made the rounds, and several other staff members confessed they had also been locked in, some fairly recently. I can laugh at myself, but I am glad I know what to do if I ever have a repeat of the experience.

Scripture and Grace

Recently Father Michael gave a homily on the major sources of grace in our lives. He listed the Eucharist, the love of Jesus we get through our relationships with others, and the Holy Scriptures. At the time, I remember being a little uncomfortable with this. I certainly feel the presence of God in the Eucharist and regularly feel Him talking to me through other people. However, Father Michael suggested that we as Catholics do not read the Bible as much as we ought to, and as I examined my own life, I had to admit that he is right.

I (Mark) have never actually read the Bible cover to cover. Oh sure, I have read sections -- usually during retreats or other "special" times -- and I have read the passages associated with celebrations of the Eucharist. But, I have never sat down over a series of days, weeks, or months and read the Bible in its entirety, and so to begin to rectify this, my Lenten resolution is to read the New Testament during the next 40 days. It is, of course, still early in the process, but I am already pleasantly surprised at some of the insights that the Scriptures are giving me.

The first is how "dense" the 12 apostles were. According to Matthew's Gospel, Jesus performed numerous miracles early in His ministry. Included were the cures of the demonic man, Peter's mother-in-law, the leper, the paralyzed man on the Sabbath, the man with the withered hand, the demonic man in Geresa (the Legion of spirits went into the swine herd which then rushed into the sea and downed), the woman with the hemorrhage, and the raising of Jairius' daughter from the dead, not to mention the feeding of the 5000, the feeding of the 4000, the calming of the winds when the disciples' boat was about to sink and walking on water. And these are just the "special" miracles mentioned. There were many people who were cured by simply touching Jesus' clothes or were healed "en masse" when He made "teaching appearances" before vast crowds. Despite this, we see the apostles asking questions like, "Who is this that even the wind and waves obey him" and "who is the greatest among us?" Mark 25, verses 51 and 52 sum it up: "They were taken aback by these happenings for they had not understood about the loaves. On the contrary, their minds were completely closed of the meaning of the events."

In a similar fashion, Jesus on three separate occasions (Matthew 16: 21 - 22, Matthew 17: 22 - 23, and 20: 17 - 19) specifically tells the apostles that in Jerusalem, He will be handed over to the priests/scribes, condemned, and crucified but that He will rise after three days. On the first occasion, Peter tells Jesus that this surely cannot happen; in the second, the disciples are too afraid to question this; and in the third instance, James and John ask Jesus for a seat at His right and left in the Kingdom. No, the apostles are not exactly quick studies. Even at the crucifixion itself, Peter ("You are rock and upon this rock I will build my church!") bolts along with everyone else and denies Jesus three times. After all that the apostles had seen and done (curing people and casting out demons in Jesus' name), it is almost impossible to believe that they still lacked faith in Him, but this was the case. It took the appearance of Jesus to them after His resurrection to convince them of His divinity.

Another thing that I never realized was how insanely busy Jesus was during His public ministry.
As described in Mark's gospel, Jesus' life was series of public appearances to teach and heal the sick and to spar with the Jewish officials about the true meaning of God's will on Earth. In Mark, chapter 1, Jesus calls His disciples and then begins almost a non-stop "whistle-stop tour" of the area. He cures the demonic and Peter's mother-in-law, and many "from the whole town" of Capernaum, goes to the neighboring villages where he cures many along with the leper. He then returns to Capernaum and cures the paralytic who is lowered through the roof of the house where Jesus is preaching, spars with the Pharisees over the question of fasting and the Sabbath and cures the man with the withered hand and then withdraws to the Sea of Galilee. The crowd is so great that he must stand in the boat to avoid getting crushed as He teaches. He teaches and cures many and then tries to go to a quiet place across the lake. People hear about it and rush to the place whereupon Jesus has to teach them again. Then, He tries to withdraw to another place and once, again, the crowd catches up.

Reading these accounts over the early chapters of Mark's gospel is exhausting. It is simply incredible that so much was asked of Jesus. He, literally, had no time to rest. He was reduced to withdrawing to quiet places in the desert in the middle of the night and early morning before others were awake! Every place the Poor Man went, he was besieged by needy people, or authorities trying to trap him into a mistake.

All of this, I believe, has real lessons for us in our lives. First, it is OK for us to have doubts and to not be perfect in our faith journey. The 12 apostles were with Jesus every day for three years and still didn't get the point. We should be patient with ourselves and, like the disciples, rely on Jesus' mercy to ultimately convert us with His gift of faith. Second, we should serve others where we can but also take time to rest. Every so often, Jesus would withdraw "for a time" to pray and reconnect with the Father. This is a good example for us in our busy lives.

Stay tuned as I work my way through the New Testament. It is truly amazing what's in there!

Bird Number 662

Every now and then it is good to get away from the Inn and do something totally unrelated to the inner city poor. We have been happily surprised by the large birding community in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Delaware, and even joined a birding club. The Delaware Valley Ornithological Society (DVOC) has numerous field trips as well as two meetings each month. We decided to join a group heading to Canada over the President's Day weekend, despite weather forecasts of snow and temperatures near zero.

We left our house at 3 am Saturday morning and went to a Park and Ride Lot on the west side of Philly. From there it was a straight shot up the Pennsylvania Turnpike, through New York and across the border to Ontario. By 11 am we were in Ottawa, where we were met by a local birder. Mark and I had two birds we were "chasing": a duck called Barrow's Goldeneye, and an owl called the Northern Hawk Owl. Both had been seen frequently in the Ottawa area. The owl has been the #1 bird on Mark's "GO" list for some time, so seeing it would be very exciting.

Despite the best efforts of our local guide, neither bird appeared in Ottawa. At dusk we left the area, and headed farther south along Lake Ontario.

At 6:30 am Sunday we were out of the hotel and heading for a car ferry to take us to Amherst Island. Mark and I had visited there in 1984, and had an incredible experience viewing northern owls that had invaded the island due to a population explosion of voles (small rodents). However, this year there were no voles, and no owls either. The other 6 birders with us were very disappointed.

Our leader was still optimistic that we could find some other rarities. We visited a provincial park about an hour away and scanned hundreds of ducks sitting out in the water. After about an hour we were rewarded with a single male Barrow's Goldeneye. Mark and I were elated, as were most of the other birders--a new bird for the life list.

At dark we headed west to Gravenhurst and a hotel on the shore of a huge frozen lake. The hotel was full of Canadians on holiday with their snowmobiles. We also saw people ice sailing (the boat has sails but glides on the ice) and ice surfing. These Canadians are hardy souls.

At dinner we took a census of who had to go to work on Tuesday and who did not. One of the drivers, like us, had Tuesday off. Two other birders were unemployed. Mark suggested that we try again for the Hawk Owl at another location. It would add about two hours to the trip, but the owl had been seen reliably in a tree near a farm since November, and I had the directions. So after birding in Algonquin Provincial Park, half of the group headed for home and half went to find the owl, armed with our trusty GPS. Only Dennis had seen the owl before; it would be new for Dan, our driver, Mark and I.

We arrived at the location, and after about 10 minutes, Dennis saw the bird in a tree about 400 yards away. We got it in our spotting scope, and indeed it was the bird. However, it was backlit and one could not really make out the characteristics. We decided to get closer and drove up a side road. We relocated the bird, who kept flying off to find food and returning to its perch. Our second look was much better and we could see all the field marks. After about 30 minutes, we got back into the car and started our drive back to Philly. Mark and I got in at 1 am Tuesday, tired but fulfilled, and ready to meet the needs of the urban poor.

Health, Science, and Grace

It is often said that God's grace is best received and appreciated when we are at our lowest ebb in life because it is precisely at these moments that we truly surrender and stop trying to do things by ourselves. Recently, I experienced this first hand.

Many of you already know some of my (Mark) recent health history, and I apologize in advance for repeating myself. In February, 2007, right before my 60th birthday, I was diagnosed with early stage prostate cancer. As a logical, scientific person, I, of course, put my faith and trust in my doctors and medical science. I also had a logical, scientific "ace in the hole" -- Thea -- who tirelessly researched every possible treatment option. I even had a second "ace in the hole" -- my sister in law Theresa who is a senior administrator at the Cancer Center and Emory University -- who also tireless explored all aspects of the situation. Within a month or so, Thea and I had decided on radiation as the best treatment option for me (less chance of bad side effects and still a high cure rate), and in May I had the procedure done. As a believer in science, I figured that was it: cancer cured. Looking back at it, there was also a spiritual side to the situation. Many of my friends prayed for me; Father Bob (our parish priest) anointed me before the procedure; and I even had a spiritual "ace in the hole" -- the Maryvale Sisters prayed daily for me. But, significantly, I really did not ask God directly to heal me or truly believe that the spiritual side of things was important: I placed my trust in science.

Ninety days after the procedure, I had my first follow-up appointment: my PSA (a chemical marker indicative of prostate cancer) was half of what it had been before the radiation treatment. My Urologist and I were pleased. However, three months later, the PSA had increased to 3.1, a little worrisome. Then in February, 2008, the bombshell hit: my PSA had skyrocketed to 8.5. I remember my feeling of panic as the Urologist told me the news and recommended an immediate biopsy to see if the cancer had returned. We did the biopsy in March and found no cancer in the prostate, leaving an even more ominous possibility: the cancer could have spread beyond the prostate! My panic increased. My Hickory Urologist referred me to Duke for advanced testing and evaluation. In the midst of all this, I remember feeling, besides the panic, a feeling of betrayal. I had done everything right according to the science of the situation. Thea and I had researched the treatments; we had gotten second opinions and third opinions; we had considered the numbers and probabilities; and here I was not cured. This was not fair!

In May, prior to going to Duke for an aggressive biopsy, I got another PSA (mostly because Thea insisted!), and to the surprise of everyone (except Thea), the PSA was only 3.5. Even so, we opted to go ahead with the Duke tests. In June, I underwent the procedures and a week later got the results: no cancer had been found. Unfortunately, there were several serious side effects of the tests. First, my prostate became infected, and I had to be hospitalized for five days. Then, I got a secondary infection which required six months of follow up doctor visits both in Hickory and here in Philadelphia. Finally, in January, I noticed some troubling urological symptoms. I was referred to a Urologist here for more tests and evaluation.

All the while, I had been denying my situation. Yes, I had been going to the doctors and doing the "science", but I had also been avoiding doing a PSA test to see if the cancer was increasing. The truth is that I was terrified of the possibilities. I reasoned that, even if the 8.5 reading the year before was somehow a mistake (Thea had always thought this), the other readings (2.7 to 3.1 to 3.5) indicated problems. As I did my daily duties here at the St. Francis Inn and ministered to our clients, a part of me was always thinking about that. It was like a "shadow self" always lurking. However, I never actually asked God to cure me. Rather, I asked that "His will be done for me", and this always left me feeling anxious. Suppose His will for me was an early death!


At my initial visit to the Urologist last month, I decided to finally confront the situation and asked that a PSA be done. As the date for the follow up appointment approached my anxiety slowly ratcheted up. For the first time, I prayed to the Lord: "If it be your will, please let my PSA be no higher than 3.5." It felt like a selfish prayer, and I did not really place much faith in it. Over many years, I have rarely prayed for anything personal, always for others or for general things like relief for earthquake victims. Last Thursday, I went into the Urologist's office to get the results. My heart was pounding as Dr. Harmon came in. He began:"All good news today. Your CAT scan was negative; the urinalysis was all normal; and there is absolutely no evidence of any tumors of the bladder or kidney." I held my breath as I asked the all-important question:"What was the PSA?" He flipped pages of the reports and quickly responded: "1.3. That's a really nice drop!" Indeed. Tears fill my eyes and emotion welled up in my chest as I struggled to process this. I could not believe it: I thought that, at best, the PSA would be 3.5 and probably more like 5. Even right now as I write this, I get teary.

Now, as I look back from a week's perspective, I am struck by the irony of it all. I had trusted all along in the science, but the data and numbers led me to a torturous treatment route... unnecessary biopsies and all kinds of tests, infections, hospitalization, anxiety, thousands of dollars spent, and emotional trauma. Those with stronger faith (Thea, Sister Mary Norman, and others) had always placed more trust in God than I, and guess what, they were right. Since last Thursday, I have offered up a lot of prayers of thanksgiving. I feel as if a huge weight has been lifted.

I also feel a new trust in the power of prayer and in God's love for me. But mostly, I just feel thankful and ready to get out there and do God's work in the world. Praise the Lord.

Socks for the Homeless

The snow from last weekend's storm was just starting to melt, but now we have been hit with another major storm. Last Saturday, the 28 inches of snow was dry and powdery. However, today the new foot of snow is very heavy and wet. As a result, the homeless are getting very wet feet. Since they do not have access to washers or dryers, and since the shelters only open at night, these homeless people have wet socks that rub on their feet, resulting in severe blisters.
Today I met a man named Michael in this situation. I had him remove his socks, which I threw away, and dry his feet thoroughly. We put bandaids on all his blisters, then gave him dry socks. I gave him plastic bags to tie over his socks, and then he put on his shoes. Unfortunately, this was at noon. He would be out in the snow until 5 pm when he could enter a shelter. I gave him one more pair of dry socks to use the next day.
Because of Michael's story, Mark decided that we would give each guest at dinner tonight a pair of dry socks. We have 9 volunteers from St. Francis Parish in Raleigh, NC with us this week, and they sorted through socks, putting together a bin of clean socks to give away. We see it as such a small gesture, but one that has major consequences.

More Snow

It began snowing Friday evening and continued today until after the meal. We measured a foot in our yard. None of our local volunteers could make it in, and the busses were not running. However, we had a group of six students from Seton Hall College that had arrived early Friday. By making use of all the people who live here at the Inn and a few volunteers in the neighborhood who could walk to us, we were more than able to prepare and cook the food. We only had 110 guests show up. The snow had nearly stopped by 2 pm, so we should have a good crowd tomorrow.

Who is at the Door?

Yesterday evening I had office duty during the meal. It can be a relaxing job, with time to read or check email. On the other hand, it can be quite hectic, with the phone ringing, the doorbell ringing, guests wanting to use the phone and guests needing their mail checked. I like the job because it allows me to speak to guests one-on-one, and at the same time gives me something a little more challenging to do than chop onions.



The first guest of the evening was K., who was using our phone to subscribe to telephone service for himself. He was having the same problems many of us have experienced--an extensive menu, then "for____ push 1, for ___push 2, etc." When he finally reached a living, breathing representative, he was having trouble understanding the directions and could not write down the information quickly enough. I could tell he was getting increasingly frustrated. To add to his stress, there were 3 other people waiting to use the phone. I could relate to his situation, having tried to do something similar, but to compound the issue, K has been diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. Consequently, he became very agitated during the call in a way others might not be.



K. was followed by a young man who had resolved to leave town and get away from the life on the street that was wearing him down. He said he was going to Maine, but he desired to call a few people that had helped him during the past 3 years. He wanted to call his church and tell someone his decision, but was unable to find the phone number. I tried to help him with the phone directory, but the listing was not available. He left, resolving to go by in person the next day.



The next person I met was Felicia. She is very ill with liver disease, and recently was released from a rehab facility. I noticed when she came in that she was not wearing any gloves. I offered her a choice of pink, white or red gloves, and she giggled like a young girl when she selected the pink gloves. She stayed at the Inn to have a hot dinner.



I did not know the name of the next guest, but I have seen him several times at our morning service. He was calling his daughter. He obviously cared about her a great deal, and spent some time inquiring about her day and how things were going at school. At the end of the call he told her he loved her, and reminded her to pray, not just for things she wanted, but for all the needy people of the world. His daughter stays with her grandmother, and the guest spent some time talking with his mother as well. It was obvious that he wanted the best for his daughter, and that he was moving to a healthier stage in his life. He seemed to have spiritual strength that I have observed in many of the recovering addicts and alcoholics that come to the Inn.



There were other guests that evening that came for mail, aspirin, gloves and food. Some were curt and rude, but most were appreciative and left saying "God bless you." I think He did.

Use of Your Talents for the Lord

Thea and I almost didn't come to St. Francis Inn. As many of you know, we went through a rather involved discernment process regarding where we would do our year of service. We ended up with two strong possibilities -- the St. Francis Inn and the Christian Appalachian Project (CAP). We visited both, and came away with the feeling that CAP would use our individual talents and provide us with opportunities to learn new skills much better than the St. Francis Inn. CAP (located in a desperately-poor area of rural Kentucky) has a very broad ministry with many needs. Thea would have probably become a teacher for parenting classes and a consultant for the area's school teachers. I would have been doing fundraising classes and board retreats for the area's smaller non-profit organizations and learning how to build houses. Despite this, Thea and I felt called by the spirituality of the St. Francis Inn. We made the conscious decision to give up doing more "professional" tasks such as teaching and fundraising for living in community here at SFI and doing "lower level" tasks such as cleaning bathrooms, bagging bread, helping with cooking, and washing dishes. I loved the spirituality of the St. Francis Inn from the very first day we were here, but I felt sorry that I had left the opportunity for using my institutional talents behind. So be it, I thought.

Now, halfway through our time here at the Inn, I have to laugh at myself. God truly does work in mysterious ways! The first talent that I thought I left behind was music. At St. Aloysius (Hickory), we have a marvelous Contemporary Choir which I am privileged to be a small part of. Playing music at those masses is one of the true joys of my life. At St. Francis Inn, I figured I would be taking a year off from playing at mass because there is no music at the daily masses, and the Sunday masses are covered by Sister Mary and Barb who have been doing the music for years. Well, after a week or two here, Thea goaded me into asking Sr. Mary if she would like a keyboard to be part of her group. After some reflection, Mary agreed to give it a try, and she and I turn out to fit like hand and glove. I play the keyboard every week and do solo communion meditation music which many of our community have told me adds much to the mass. It all has been very much a joy for me. A couple of weeks ago, during one of our rehearsals, Barb said to me: "Your music is such a blessing to all of us." Mary responded, "That's because it is a form of prayer to him." So true.

So, OK, it wasn't too much of a stretch to think that I would be able to fit in musically at the St. Francis Inn, but I never thought that any of my museum director experience would be used. The Inn is a very spiritual space which runs on "controlled chaos". The basic idea is that the Lord will provide everything in His own good time. This is pretty foreign to my basic idea of life ("Pray like everything depends on God, and plan/work like everything depends on you!") and to Thea's ("Organize/plan the ****** out of every task, and nothing can possibly go wrong!"). Here at the Inn, everything is donated -- all the goods, all the food, all the handouts, and all the money. No one ever overtly asks for anything and there is never any organized fundraising. In fact, the staff and friars are almost "anti-fundraising" -- no one ever even talks about money.

So, you can imagine my surprise when, about a month ago, Fr. Michael came to me and asked me to speak to the Franciscan Volunteer Ministry (FVM) Associate Board about fundraising. Apparently during a sharing several months before, I had mentioned that in my former career I had loved to fund raise, and Father had filed it away in his memory. Last week, as we prepared for the meeting, he filled me in on the situation. The FVM program is 20 years old and places graduating college students in one year volunteer settings in several cities. The jobs include working at St. Francis Inn, doing school and prison ministry, working with AIDS patients etc. The program has always been supported 100% by the Franciscan Province (sort of like a large diocese), but the recent economic downturn has forced the Province to cut this support by about one-third. In order to continue, the FVM program will now have to raise some money. The FVM Executive Board, comprised mostly of Friars and religious, opted to form an Associate Bd. and to give it the task of raising the needed money. As Father and I talked about my presentation to the board, I asked who the members of the Associate Bd. are, he replied: "Well, there's me, and Walter, Sr. Kathleen, Fred, Lori, the site director from Camden, and ....... YOU..... but only if you want to!" I was floored: I had no idea that he wanted me to be a board member for the program, but it took me only a second to say "Yes!". (Fr. Micheal is a living saint: he has that effect on people.)

At our first meeting, the Associate Bd. came up with a whole menu of ideas, assigned tasks, and I am already hard at work on my job -- developing a plan to train our "fundraising adverse" staff and Friars on the subtle art of asking for money. Better yet, our plans call for the Associate Bd. to meet regularly during the next year which will provide Thea and me a number of opportunities to travel to Philly and to keep in contact with the community here at the Inn. It is really exciting -- I feel energized and vital, like I am in the right place at the right time to further God's kingdom.

I also feel a little embarrassed: how could I really believe that the Lord would not utilize the gifts which He has to me? Here's to another little step on Mark's journey toward faith and trust in God...