This morning at mass, Father Pat made a simple observation. The early church was characterized by disciples and followers of Jesus "who loved one another". The book of Acts confirms this. The early Christians held their property in common; money and goods were distributed accordinging to each person's needs; non-believers knew the the early Christians by their love for one another. So, if that is the way things began, what changed? According to Father Pat, the problem was that beginning with the naming of the early followers as "Christians" (which happened at Antioch) and continuing as emperor Constantine made Chrisitianity the official religion of Rome, we became more interested in what we are called than in how we actually behave. As Christians, Father Pat continued, we ought to be concentrating on our behavior, as opposed to being "Catholic" or even "Christian".
That got me (Mark) thinking: how do I actually behave, when no one is looking? Do people look at me and say: "We know he is a Christian, not because of what he says, but because of what he does." Oh, I know that my immediate family and friends love me and think that I am a loving person -- at least I hope they do. But, the real question is: would a complete stranger know that I am Christian by my behavior? Do I "walk the walk" or simple talk a good game?
I meditated on this during my prayer time this morning, and I have to say that the "reviews" were mixed. I thought about the young woman I confronted about her littering in the CVS parking lot several months ago. I doubt that she would have thought my actions qualified me as a loving Christian. I thought about James, the young gay man I met at the St. Francis Inn two weeks ago, and how I had consoled him during a time of crisis in his life. He might vote "yes".
Then, a recent example from this past week popped into my head. Thea and I were at our daughter Angela's house. Cade, our three year old grandson was upset. It was late in the afternoon and he wanted to go to the park. Our daugher and son-in-law wanted to get going on dinner and the evening routine, which did NOT include a trip to the park. So, Thea and I suggested that we take Cade to the park for a few minutes. It wasn't in the plan for the day, but we could be a little flexible.
Since we needed the carseat, we took Angela's car. About halfway to the park, I glanced at the fuel gauge -- YIKES!!! We were not just low, we were running on fumes: the low fuel light was on and the needle was well to the LEFT of the red "E". Silently praying, I drove toward the park and turned in to the very first gas station I saw. We had never stopped at that station before for gas, and it wasn't the lowest price, but "any port in a storm".
As I began the fueling process, I became conscious of a young man approaching me. He was tall, dark hair...serious. "Sir, I am really embarrassed to ask you, but I need money." He related a whole, involved story of how he had come up from Mississippi to help out a friend whose mother was sick. When he got here, his friend didn't have any money, and the mother needed special treatment for a broken hip. They were on their way from Raleigh to Charlotte, but did not have enough gas to get there. A kind soul had already given them $5, but they would soon need more. Could I please give him $20 for gas?
Now, if there is one thing that our eight months at the St. Francis Inn has taught us, it is how to respond to " a hustle". Our guests at the Inn are professional hustlers. You cannot live on the street without knowing how to get money out of kind-hearted, but unsuspecting people. Thea and I have learned to "check things out" before we say "Yes", and our cardinal rule is "Never give money directly to the guests because it will invariably be used to buy drugs or alcohol." I was being asked by a complete stranger to violate this rule.
He could see that I was wary and so he pulled out his ID. I checked it: he was from Mississippi, and he was veteran, discharged in summer, 2009. I glanced at his car: there was an old woman in the passenger seat, motionless with her head drooping, as if in pain. I made careful eye contact with the young man -- he looked earnest, embarrassed, and a little desparate. In consulted my "inner voice" -- no warning bells sounded. With one final look at the ID, I pulled out my wallet and gave him a $20. I watched as he got into his car and pulled away. I thought for a moment that I'd been "hustled", but he was only moving to the other side of the gas pump to better access his fuel tank. I pumped my own gas, got into my vehicle, and proceeded to the park with Cade and Thea. I assume that he finished his own fueling and drove on to Charlotte.
As I pushed Cade on the park swing, I wondered if the man was "legit" or if he had just taken advantage of me. He insisted on taking my address, swearing that when he returned home, he would send me the money. As I reflect on this now, I realize that whether or not he repays me does not matter. In this one instance, I did actually did behave as a loving Christian. I believe that God acted through me to help another person who was in need. Chalk one up for the Holy Spirit.
Do I always act this way? Of course not. There are many instances when I, like everyone else, am selfish, self-centered, and downright mean. However, Jesus calls me and all of us to behave so much that people will know we are Christians by our love. It's a tough task, but with His Grace, that is what we are called to do, one day at a time, one person at a time, one "incident" at a time.
St. Francis puts it another way, "Preach the gospel at all times...if necessary, use words!"
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
We're BAAAACK
We returned today after 8 days of being in Raleigh. We were able to hold for the first time our newest granddaughter Reese. We saw 6 month old Catie for the first time since Christmas. We were amazed at the change in her, both in terms of her size and her development. She is almost crawling and reaches out and holds objects. We celebrated Cade's third birthday, and truly enjoyed his impish personality and his obsession with trains and earth moving equipment. He laughs hysterically with Mark pretends that he is the "Voice of the Cosmos" and tells Cade "Cade Poovey is a dingbat! That is all. "
However, when we returned today, we were excited to be back and hear the news of the Inn. Leo, one of the FVM's, wrote a play in iambic pentameter, gently spoofing the friars and their visitator. The visitator came by last week as part of a regular review of friars, and of course our guys here passed with flying colors. However, the play capitalized on the little idiosyncrasies that each friar exhibits, such as Br. Fred's desire to have everything clean and orderly. We have a big "X" made of tape on the floor of the kitchen where nothing is to be placed because it would block access to a shelf with trash bags. Br.Xavier tells the visitator about his scrap metal collection and how it is used to pay for tokens for the guests. Fr. Patrick talks about his antiwar demonstrations and why he needs money to make bail, and Fr. Bill waxes on about his travels to various parishes and his delight in baking bread and cakes. The play was performed this evening after Mass, and I laughed until I cried. Various team members showed their thespian skills by taking the parts of the friars. I think the play shows how comfortable people are with others in the community and how we can laugh with, not at, each other.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Dee
Yesterday Mark agreed to strip the wax off the dining room floor and apply new wax. He had to wait for the meal to be over before he and Rory could begin. I planned to walk the few blocks to the library and try to find a book on tape for our trip. Then I would walk the 1.5 miles to the bank to get some cash.
The library trip went fine, but I was really tired when I came home because of the limited sleep due to the fireworks. I decided to take a short nap, then walk to the bank. However, when I awoke it was already 4 pm. No problem, I thought, I can be there by 4:30 and the bank stays open to 5 pm. As I was leaving the house, I glanced toward the Inn. I saw Hector, a guest who stays at the corner all the time, with a woman. He was pointing at me. I figured the woman needed help, and no one would answer the door at the Inn since it was only Mark and Rory inside.
I walked over and realized I knew the woman. It was Dee, a 74 year old woman I had met last fall. She had been homeless, but had managed to get into very nice senior housing. At one point she had been "302'd": put into a mental hospital because she was considered a danger to herself or others. She had returned to her apartment after two weeks in the hospital. I had not seen her since February. She told me she had lost her housing and was on the street. She was trembling. I asked when she had last eaten and she said two days ago. She had her cane and the clothes on her back. She had slept the previous night at the subway station. In the past she had a rolling cart that contained her possessions, but she appeared to have lost it or had it stolen from her.
I got her some food from the Inn and some juice to drink. I moved her to the steps of our place since it was shady. After more discussion, I realized she needed a coat since the evening temperatures are still in the forties. I told her I had to go on an errand but would be back in an hour.
During my walk I considered what I could do for Dee. It seemed she had lost touch with reality. I knew she was estranged from a sister who lived in her building. I also knew she had a daughter and grandchildren who had wanted her to come live with them when she was homeless before, but she wanted nothing to do with them. I could not force her to return home or contact her family. I could give her some basic comforts and try to get her to return to the Inn for meals.
Upon my return, I found a nice cloth bag and put together some useful items: clean socks, a throw blanket, a towel, toothbrush, toothpaste and soap. I gave her some peanut butter and plastic knives, plus yogurt and spoons. She had already given away the bread I had given her earlier, although she claimed someone had taken it from her. I reminded her the meal was at 11:30 tomorrow. She slowly walked off toward the SEPTA station. I felt guilty I had not done more for her, but she is one of those cases that falls through the system. I know she gets social security checks, but where the money went is anyone's guess. It did occur to me that if I hadn't taken the nap, I would not have been coming out of my house at that time and no one would have been on the street to help her. So some good did come from the fireworks throwing after all.
The library trip went fine, but I was really tired when I came home because of the limited sleep due to the fireworks. I decided to take a short nap, then walk to the bank. However, when I awoke it was already 4 pm. No problem, I thought, I can be there by 4:30 and the bank stays open to 5 pm. As I was leaving the house, I glanced toward the Inn. I saw Hector, a guest who stays at the corner all the time, with a woman. He was pointing at me. I figured the woman needed help, and no one would answer the door at the Inn since it was only Mark and Rory inside.
I walked over and realized I knew the woman. It was Dee, a 74 year old woman I had met last fall. She had been homeless, but had managed to get into very nice senior housing. At one point she had been "302'd": put into a mental hospital because she was considered a danger to herself or others. She had returned to her apartment after two weeks in the hospital. I had not seen her since February. She told me she had lost her housing and was on the street. She was trembling. I asked when she had last eaten and she said two days ago. She had her cane and the clothes on her back. She had slept the previous night at the subway station. In the past she had a rolling cart that contained her possessions, but she appeared to have lost it or had it stolen from her.
I got her some food from the Inn and some juice to drink. I moved her to the steps of our place since it was shady. After more discussion, I realized she needed a coat since the evening temperatures are still in the forties. I told her I had to go on an errand but would be back in an hour.
During my walk I considered what I could do for Dee. It seemed she had lost touch with reality. I knew she was estranged from a sister who lived in her building. I also knew she had a daughter and grandchildren who had wanted her to come live with them when she was homeless before, but she wanted nothing to do with them. I could not force her to return home or contact her family. I could give her some basic comforts and try to get her to return to the Inn for meals.
Upon my return, I found a nice cloth bag and put together some useful items: clean socks, a throw blanket, a towel, toothbrush, toothpaste and soap. I gave her some peanut butter and plastic knives, plus yogurt and spoons. She had already given away the bread I had given her earlier, although she claimed someone had taken it from her. I reminded her the meal was at 11:30 tomorrow. She slowly walked off toward the SEPTA station. I felt guilty I had not done more for her, but she is one of those cases that falls through the system. I know she gets social security checks, but where the money went is anyone's guess. It did occur to me that if I hadn't taken the nap, I would not have been coming out of my house at that time and no one would have been on the street to help her. So some good did come from the fireworks throwing after all.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Explosions in the Dead of Night
A loud explosion sounded and the room lit up. I woke up, and my foggy brain tried to make sense of what was happening. There were thunderstorms in the forecast, but it didn't seem to be thunder and lightning. I decided to ignore whatever it was and return to sleep. At 4:45am I was awakened again. There was a loud "thud", then an explosion of light with sparks descending. The sound seemed to be coming from right outside my window. I decided that a branch must have fallen from a tree on top of the street light, breaking it and causing sparks. I tried to get back to sleep, but at 6 am there was another explosion. This time the sparks seemed to be on our upper story window and I woke Mark up, thinking the house might have been struck by lightning and was on fire. I looked out and saw Arnetta and another woman on the sidewalk. They weren't running away, so obviously there was no fire.
At this point I figured I would get up, go outside and see what was happening. Two guests were sleeping on the sidewalk at either side of the house, but there were no branches or pieces of glass. I put the Inn's garbage out on the street, then went into the Inn to move the wash. Later I returned to fold the towels and aprons. Fr. Michael came in for morning Mass, and remarked on the last explosion. I said maybe it was the light on the pole or a transformer exploding. Of course, if it was the transformer there would be no power, so that seemed a poor explanation.
Up the chapel, I got the true story. According to Arnetta, who had been out on the sidewalk all night, someone had been driving by and throwing lit fireworks at the sleeping guests. Father Michael chastised me for starting rumors about broken lights and transformers, and why did I think that was the source of the sound and light anyway? I told him that in the world I come from, when a loud explosion occurs followed by lots of sparks, it is either a lightning strike or an exploded transformer. Of course, I am not in that world.
I later learned that the homeless in the neighborhood are the target of groups of teens during the warmer months. Some of the boys have ridden by on their bicycles armed with baseball bats and strike at the sleeping guests. Sometimes they have thrown rocks or other objects at them. I asked if anyone cared, and the response was "We care." I remarked I was thinking more about law enforcement. Of course, it is difficult to get a license plate number from a bike, and in the dark it is hard to identify a perpetrator. "Where are their parents?" I persisted. Brother Xavier is always telling me in his Yoda-like manner that we have to remember that parental responsibility often disappears when the children are quite young and the kids are left to their own devices. They look to other units of support, and gangs are one way to feel like a family. Of all the experiences I have had so far, I find this the most upsetting because it is premeditated cruelty.
At this point I figured I would get up, go outside and see what was happening. Two guests were sleeping on the sidewalk at either side of the house, but there were no branches or pieces of glass. I put the Inn's garbage out on the street, then went into the Inn to move the wash. Later I returned to fold the towels and aprons. Fr. Michael came in for morning Mass, and remarked on the last explosion. I said maybe it was the light on the pole or a transformer exploding. Of course, if it was the transformer there would be no power, so that seemed a poor explanation.
Up the chapel, I got the true story. According to Arnetta, who had been out on the sidewalk all night, someone had been driving by and throwing lit fireworks at the sleeping guests. Father Michael chastised me for starting rumors about broken lights and transformers, and why did I think that was the source of the sound and light anyway? I told him that in the world I come from, when a loud explosion occurs followed by lots of sparks, it is either a lightning strike or an exploded transformer. Of course, I am not in that world.
I later learned that the homeless in the neighborhood are the target of groups of teens during the warmer months. Some of the boys have ridden by on their bicycles armed with baseball bats and strike at the sleeping guests. Sometimes they have thrown rocks or other objects at them. I asked if anyone cared, and the response was "We care." I remarked I was thinking more about law enforcement. Of course, it is difficult to get a license plate number from a bike, and in the dark it is hard to identify a perpetrator. "Where are their parents?" I persisted. Brother Xavier is always telling me in his Yoda-like manner that we have to remember that parental responsibility often disappears when the children are quite young and the kids are left to their own devices. They look to other units of support, and gangs are one way to feel like a family. Of all the experiences I have had so far, I find this the most upsetting because it is premeditated cruelty.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Reese Caroline Poovey has arrived!
We were blessed with another grandchild on April 13. Reese Caroline Poovey arrived at 4:30 am weighing 6 lb 7 oz and 19.25 inches long. Her mother Angela and dad Allen are doing well. Big brother Cade is very proud. We will be going to Raleigh in a few days and staying there for a week to help out. We can't wait to hold her.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Balance and Moderation and Fundraising
Balance and moderation have always been difficult for me (Mark). If a couple of cups of coffee in the morning give me good energy to start the day, why stop? How about four cups, or six, or eight? If a $100 contribution to a charity is good, maybe I should give them $250 or even $500. When I was Director of the Science Center, I used to get to work at 8:00. After I arrived, I would think to myself, “Maybe it would be better if I arrived at 7:30…or 7 am. When I left at 5:30pm each day, I would say (you guessed it), “Maybe I should be staying until 6 PM.”
This tendency toward extremes persists. Today I did my 4 mile run in 34 minutes, an average of 8:30 per mile. Instead of being happy with the time (oh, sure, it was pretty good), my immediate thought was “Wouldn’t it be great to be able to run that distance in only 32 minutes?” (Now THAT would be fast!)
My latest “addiction” (besides trying to run faster) is the FVM fundraising effort. Those of you who are regular readers know that a couple of months ago, I was “appointed” by Father Michael to the Franciscan Volunteer Ministry (FVM) Advisory Board. Our purpose is fundraising: the FVM program is 21 years old and, until this year, was entirely supported by the Eastern Province of Franciscan Friars. Unfortunately with the economic downturn, the Province has had to cut back its support, and so the FVM program must raise about one-third of its budget in order to keep going.
At the Associate Board’s first couple of meetings, the members brainstormed various steps that we needed to take. My piece of the pie was to design and deliver a fundraising “retreat” for the FVM’s professional staff (two people strong) and for current and past FVMs. With help of Katie Sullivan (the FVM’s Program Director), we set up a half-day FVM “Survive and Thrive” day for Saturday, April 10th. About a month ahead of time, I began work on the agenda. It would include an overview of the FVM program, a PowerPoint on fundraising techniques, some role playing and practice, and (most important) time for us to identify specific people and groups to which we could apply for funds. I spent several evenings working on the program. Invitations (actually e-vites on the internet) were sent to the 12 current FVMs and to 164 alums, and by the end of March, we had 17 positive responses.
As April 10th approached, I began to feel nervous. I know that I am a good speaker and an enthusiastic presenter, and, as insurance, I had also enlisted the aid of one of the other Associate Bd. members (Lori Springer, a bright, young, energetic Director of Development) to counterbalance my “grandfather” image. However, this is the FIRST TIME in the FVM program’s history that we would be actually asking for money. This represented a huge change in philosophy. Many times, Father Michael, the originator of the program, told me how much he hates the thought of fundraising, so much so, that he NEVER asks for money. In reviewing my meetings with some of the current and former FVMs, I realized that these young people are very strong on the relationship, spiritual, and affective side of life and (apparently, at least to my eyes), a little short on the aggressive, sales end of things. I thought to myself: “What in the world have I gotten myself into?”
Three nights before the retreat, I woke up in the middle of the night worrying. I couldn’t get back to sleep despite praying. The next night, at 3 am, my eyes flew wide open. I saw a huge flaw in the plans I had developed for the role playing. Immediately, I went down to the computer and for an hour, refined the plan. At 4 am, exhausted, I fell back to sleep.
The next morning, when I confided to Thea that I could not sleep, she was supportive but firm. “Mark, this is crazy. Who are you doing this for – God, or MARK?” Great question. When I spoke to Katie about my case of “nerves”, she calmly said “Just let the Spirit work, and things will be fine.” Good advice and I decided to do just that. Friday night before the retreat, I slept like a baby, and the retreat itself went like a dream. Sixteen of the seventeen rsvp’s actually showed up. The PowerPoint presentation went fantastic; the role playing and practice presentations were much better than I had any right to expect; and Lori Springer turned out to be a real pro, very inspirational. During one of our practice presentations, a member of the audience jumped up and went up to the speaker and said, “You were terrific, I am giving the first $20,” and handed her a donation for the program. Everyone cheered.
I arrived home tired, excited, and (unfortunately) unchanged. Immediately, I began to think about collating the evaluations to see how Lori and I (mainly “I”!) had done. Thea, who had been working at the Inn all day, was not amused. In fact, she was downright irritated that I did not want to spend what remained of the day with her. Chastened, I agreed to walk to the store and share how the retreat had gone. Later that evening, we watched a CD. BUT, the next day (Sunday) after Mass, I again sat down to collate the evaluations. Again, Thea rebelled: “Mark, I am really tired of you taking our free time together to do work. This is supposed to be an extra, fun thing for you to do. You are making it into a full time job!” Bingo. Again I put the evaluations aside. Thea and I went for another walk in the neighborhood and came home and watched the Masters. We both cried when Phil Mickelson won and embraced his ill wife (she has breast cancer) on the 18th green. That evening as I got ready for bed, I reflected on the day. I realized that instead of getting angry at Thea for not letting me look at the evaluations, I should have thanked her for wanting to spend time with me. It’s a real blessing after 36 years of marriage to have a wife that actually WANTS to spend leisure time with her husband.
So, this morning, finally, I got to review the evaluations from the fundraising retreat. They were excellent with many positive comments. There was only one mildly negative comment suggesting that the PowerPoint presentation could have been shorter and that we might have been better served to have more brainstorming from the group. I was elated at the feedback: many of the participants are enthusiastic about raising funds for the program and are planning to make and solicit donations. We now need to work to make sure that everyone follows through.
As I sit here reviewing this blog, I am amused by my behavior. In planning for the fundraising day, I thought that everything depended upon me. Of course, it did not. I thought that I was doing everything by myself. Obviously untrue. And I still believed that I should be perfect …ridiculous. I need to take Thea and Katie’s advice and “Let the Spirit work!” …Of course, it goes without saying that I also think that the one person was wrong: we didn’t need more brainstorming …
Just kidding!!!
This tendency toward extremes persists. Today I did my 4 mile run in 34 minutes, an average of 8:30 per mile. Instead of being happy with the time (oh, sure, it was pretty good), my immediate thought was “Wouldn’t it be great to be able to run that distance in only 32 minutes?” (Now THAT would be fast!)
My latest “addiction” (besides trying to run faster) is the FVM fundraising effort. Those of you who are regular readers know that a couple of months ago, I was “appointed” by Father Michael to the Franciscan Volunteer Ministry (FVM) Advisory Board. Our purpose is fundraising: the FVM program is 21 years old and, until this year, was entirely supported by the Eastern Province of Franciscan Friars. Unfortunately with the economic downturn, the Province has had to cut back its support, and so the FVM program must raise about one-third of its budget in order to keep going.
At the Associate Board’s first couple of meetings, the members brainstormed various steps that we needed to take. My piece of the pie was to design and deliver a fundraising “retreat” for the FVM’s professional staff (two people strong) and for current and past FVMs. With help of Katie Sullivan (the FVM’s Program Director), we set up a half-day FVM “Survive and Thrive” day for Saturday, April 10th. About a month ahead of time, I began work on the agenda. It would include an overview of the FVM program, a PowerPoint on fundraising techniques, some role playing and practice, and (most important) time for us to identify specific people and groups to which we could apply for funds. I spent several evenings working on the program. Invitations (actually e-vites on the internet) were sent to the 12 current FVMs and to 164 alums, and by the end of March, we had 17 positive responses.
As April 10th approached, I began to feel nervous. I know that I am a good speaker and an enthusiastic presenter, and, as insurance, I had also enlisted the aid of one of the other Associate Bd. members (Lori Springer, a bright, young, energetic Director of Development) to counterbalance my “grandfather” image. However, this is the FIRST TIME in the FVM program’s history that we would be actually asking for money. This represented a huge change in philosophy. Many times, Father Michael, the originator of the program, told me how much he hates the thought of fundraising, so much so, that he NEVER asks for money. In reviewing my meetings with some of the current and former FVMs, I realized that these young people are very strong on the relationship, spiritual, and affective side of life and (apparently, at least to my eyes), a little short on the aggressive, sales end of things. I thought to myself: “What in the world have I gotten myself into?”
Three nights before the retreat, I woke up in the middle of the night worrying. I couldn’t get back to sleep despite praying. The next night, at 3 am, my eyes flew wide open. I saw a huge flaw in the plans I had developed for the role playing. Immediately, I went down to the computer and for an hour, refined the plan. At 4 am, exhausted, I fell back to sleep.
The next morning, when I confided to Thea that I could not sleep, she was supportive but firm. “Mark, this is crazy. Who are you doing this for – God, or MARK?” Great question. When I spoke to Katie about my case of “nerves”, she calmly said “Just let the Spirit work, and things will be fine.” Good advice and I decided to do just that. Friday night before the retreat, I slept like a baby, and the retreat itself went like a dream. Sixteen of the seventeen rsvp’s actually showed up. The PowerPoint presentation went fantastic; the role playing and practice presentations were much better than I had any right to expect; and Lori Springer turned out to be a real pro, very inspirational. During one of our practice presentations, a member of the audience jumped up and went up to the speaker and said, “You were terrific, I am giving the first $20,” and handed her a donation for the program. Everyone cheered.
I arrived home tired, excited, and (unfortunately) unchanged. Immediately, I began to think about collating the evaluations to see how Lori and I (mainly “I”!) had done. Thea, who had been working at the Inn all day, was not amused. In fact, she was downright irritated that I did not want to spend what remained of the day with her. Chastened, I agreed to walk to the store and share how the retreat had gone. Later that evening, we watched a CD. BUT, the next day (Sunday) after Mass, I again sat down to collate the evaluations. Again, Thea rebelled: “Mark, I am really tired of you taking our free time together to do work. This is supposed to be an extra, fun thing for you to do. You are making it into a full time job!” Bingo. Again I put the evaluations aside. Thea and I went for another walk in the neighborhood and came home and watched the Masters. We both cried when Phil Mickelson won and embraced his ill wife (she has breast cancer) on the 18th green. That evening as I got ready for bed, I reflected on the day. I realized that instead of getting angry at Thea for not letting me look at the evaluations, I should have thanked her for wanting to spend time with me. It’s a real blessing after 36 years of marriage to have a wife that actually WANTS to spend leisure time with her husband.
So, this morning, finally, I got to review the evaluations from the fundraising retreat. They were excellent with many positive comments. There was only one mildly negative comment suggesting that the PowerPoint presentation could have been shorter and that we might have been better served to have more brainstorming from the group. I was elated at the feedback: many of the participants are enthusiastic about raising funds for the program and are planning to make and solicit donations. We now need to work to make sure that everyone follows through.
As I sit here reviewing this blog, I am amused by my behavior. In planning for the fundraising day, I thought that everything depended upon me. Of course, it did not. I thought that I was doing everything by myself. Obviously untrue. And I still believed that I should be perfect …ridiculous. I need to take Thea and Katie’s advice and “Let the Spirit work!” …Of course, it goes without saying that I also think that the one person was wrong: we didn’t need more brainstorming …
Just kidding!!!
Monday, April 12, 2010
Danny
Thea and I have written from time to time about the various "characters" that come to the St. Francis Inn. There's football-helmeted Harry, "Big Bill", the ex-state trooper, violent Leon (now being sought by police), Vito, Jimmie, and a host of others. One of the most enigmatic is Danny, not so affectionately called "Drunk Danny" by most of us.
Danny was one of the first of our guests that I knew by name when we arrived here. When he is sober (rare), he is very engaging. He's probably in his 40's but it's hard to tell because the ravages of alcohol, drugs, HIV, and street living have taken their toll. Before his decline, Danny had a wife, family, and a job, but for whatever reason, his fascination with drugs and alcohol ruined that part of his life. Since September, there has been a heart-wrenching progression in Danny's outward story. (As with all of us, it is really difficult to know what lies in his heart -- I am only telling you what I can see and observe.)
When Thea and I first arrived, Danny came to all the meals. I remember that he was fairly lucid, could carry on a conversation, and was not visibly drunk. He is, I believe, of Irish descent, and this probably contributed to his getting into lively verbal exchanges with some of the other guests. But, in those days, Danny was rarely too far "out of line". In sum, he was a colorful, a little rowdy, interesting guest.
As the fall progressed, Danny began his descent. He showed up at the Inn drunk more and more often. Sometimes, our staff judged him so drunk that he was banned from entering our yard because we feared that he would get into a fight with other guests. One horrible night in November, Leon, our neighborhood's "enforcer", saw Danny passed out drunk on our steps. Leon went ballistic and for no reason that I could think, beat the ***** out of him. Danny ended up bleeding profusely and Mary K (one of our current FVM's) and I patched him up until the ambulance arrived to take him to the hospital. A warrant was issued for Leon, who left the neighborhood that night and has not been seen since.
When Danny returned from the hospital, he looked much older. As winter continued, Danny drank more and more. On many occasions he came to the yard during meals and panhandled the staff and guests: "Hey, Man, can you give me $0.30 toward a token? I have got to take the El downtown for an important appointment." We all knew that Danny had NO important appointments -- he needed the money to buy a beer or heroin.
I remember one awful evening when Danny showed up drunk before a meal and tried to get money from Fr. Michael. Father responded with something like: "Danny, you are drunk, and I am NOT giving you any money for ANYTHING. I love you too much to give you money." Danny responded in an angry yelling voice: "So, you love me so much, well you have a funny way of showing it. I am only asking for a F****ing $0.30!" All of us watched as Danny, out of his mind with alcohol, approached person after person in the yard begging for a dime, a quarter, anything. Everyone rejected him. I remember feeling a deep sadness and pity for him. Eventually, Danny turned violent, cursing and yelling at everyone until some of the huge young guys from our AA program (directly across the street from the Inn) came over and literally dragged him away kicking and cursing.
About three weeks ago, I was on the gate and Danny came by. He looked horrible -- pasty, bloated face with several open sores, dirty, smelly clothes and body, no hair (fallen out as a result of the HIV) -- and, of course he was drunk out of his mind. I asked him if he wanted a meal (to go) because in his condition, I would not allow him in the yard. He responded, "No, man, I just want alcohol!" A few nights later, Danny was sitting on Thea and my house's front steps. The walls are thin, and I could hear him talking to Vito, who also frequents our front steps. "Vito", Danny said, "I'm dying. Got pneumonia, both lungs. I'm dying man....dying. Do you hear what I am saying, Man? I'm f***ing dying!"
I didn't see Danny for a couple of weeks after that. I feared the worst -- years of drinking and drugs had finally killed him. But, no... a few days ago, Brother Fred told me that Danny had stopped drinking! And, yesterday, as I handed out tickets for the meal, here comes Danny -- sober. I couldn't believe it. He certainly still looks sick, but he also looks so much better. His facial sores are healed; his color is pale, not grey; and he doesn't look so tired and on the verge of death. I greeted him: "Danny, you look great! How long have you been sober?" Danny smiled and said: "Nine days, man...haven't drunk in nine days!" I congratulated him, told him that he is in my prayers, and sent him inside to get his meal. I flashed on the courage that the man has to confront his demons in the face of so many obstacles. I wondered if I would stop drinking if my own death from HIV were fast approaching. Maybe, maybe not.
I don't know what will happen to Danny. He still has full blown HIV, and he still is dying. However, at least for now, he is sober and able to function. And, when you think about it, Danny is really no different than all of us. We have ups and downs; sometimes we handle our addictions and dark spots well, sometimes not so well. Sometimes we listen to God speaking in our lives, and at other times we block Him out with "legal drugs" like alcohol, tobacco, television, or mindless paperbacks. No, we are not so different from Danny.
I will continue to pray for Danny, realizing that I am also praying for myself, because there, but for the grace of God go I.
Danny was one of the first of our guests that I knew by name when we arrived here. When he is sober (rare), he is very engaging. He's probably in his 40's but it's hard to tell because the ravages of alcohol, drugs, HIV, and street living have taken their toll. Before his decline, Danny had a wife, family, and a job, but for whatever reason, his fascination with drugs and alcohol ruined that part of his life. Since September, there has been a heart-wrenching progression in Danny's outward story. (As with all of us, it is really difficult to know what lies in his heart -- I am only telling you what I can see and observe.)
When Thea and I first arrived, Danny came to all the meals. I remember that he was fairly lucid, could carry on a conversation, and was not visibly drunk. He is, I believe, of Irish descent, and this probably contributed to his getting into lively verbal exchanges with some of the other guests. But, in those days, Danny was rarely too far "out of line". In sum, he was a colorful, a little rowdy, interesting guest.
As the fall progressed, Danny began his descent. He showed up at the Inn drunk more and more often. Sometimes, our staff judged him so drunk that he was banned from entering our yard because we feared that he would get into a fight with other guests. One horrible night in November, Leon, our neighborhood's "enforcer", saw Danny passed out drunk on our steps. Leon went ballistic and for no reason that I could think, beat the ***** out of him. Danny ended up bleeding profusely and Mary K (one of our current FVM's) and I patched him up until the ambulance arrived to take him to the hospital. A warrant was issued for Leon, who left the neighborhood that night and has not been seen since.
When Danny returned from the hospital, he looked much older. As winter continued, Danny drank more and more. On many occasions he came to the yard during meals and panhandled the staff and guests: "Hey, Man, can you give me $0.30 toward a token? I have got to take the El downtown for an important appointment." We all knew that Danny had NO important appointments -- he needed the money to buy a beer or heroin.
I remember one awful evening when Danny showed up drunk before a meal and tried to get money from Fr. Michael. Father responded with something like: "Danny, you are drunk, and I am NOT giving you any money for ANYTHING. I love you too much to give you money." Danny responded in an angry yelling voice: "So, you love me so much, well you have a funny way of showing it. I am only asking for a F****ing $0.30!" All of us watched as Danny, out of his mind with alcohol, approached person after person in the yard begging for a dime, a quarter, anything. Everyone rejected him. I remember feeling a deep sadness and pity for him. Eventually, Danny turned violent, cursing and yelling at everyone until some of the huge young guys from our AA program (directly across the street from the Inn) came over and literally dragged him away kicking and cursing.
About three weeks ago, I was on the gate and Danny came by. He looked horrible -- pasty, bloated face with several open sores, dirty, smelly clothes and body, no hair (fallen out as a result of the HIV) -- and, of course he was drunk out of his mind. I asked him if he wanted a meal (to go) because in his condition, I would not allow him in the yard. He responded, "No, man, I just want alcohol!" A few nights later, Danny was sitting on Thea and my house's front steps. The walls are thin, and I could hear him talking to Vito, who also frequents our front steps. "Vito", Danny said, "I'm dying. Got pneumonia, both lungs. I'm dying man....dying. Do you hear what I am saying, Man? I'm f***ing dying!"
I didn't see Danny for a couple of weeks after that. I feared the worst -- years of drinking and drugs had finally killed him. But, no... a few days ago, Brother Fred told me that Danny had stopped drinking! And, yesterday, as I handed out tickets for the meal, here comes Danny -- sober. I couldn't believe it. He certainly still looks sick, but he also looks so much better. His facial sores are healed; his color is pale, not grey; and he doesn't look so tired and on the verge of death. I greeted him: "Danny, you look great! How long have you been sober?" Danny smiled and said: "Nine days, man...haven't drunk in nine days!" I congratulated him, told him that he is in my prayers, and sent him inside to get his meal. I flashed on the courage that the man has to confront his demons in the face of so many obstacles. I wondered if I would stop drinking if my own death from HIV were fast approaching. Maybe, maybe not.
I don't know what will happen to Danny. He still has full blown HIV, and he still is dying. However, at least for now, he is sober and able to function. And, when you think about it, Danny is really no different than all of us. We have ups and downs; sometimes we handle our addictions and dark spots well, sometimes not so well. Sometimes we listen to God speaking in our lives, and at other times we block Him out with "legal drugs" like alcohol, tobacco, television, or mindless paperbacks. No, we are not so different from Danny.
I will continue to pray for Danny, realizing that I am also praying for myself, because there, but for the grace of God go I.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Historical Philadelphia
There are many disadvantages with urban living. Philadelphia is the 5th largest city in America, and with its size comes substantial traffic, crime, litter and poverty. However, there are some amenities that occur as well: cultural events, mass transit, professional sports and historical monuments. This past year we had a visit from my sister Cecilia and her husband Robert. We found ourselves proudly taking them out for cheesesteaks, pointing out the beautiful skyline and bridges over the Delaware River, and traveling by the El to Center City. We visited the Old City, and marveled at the Liberty Bell's story. We had an excellent walking tour of the locations for the first and second Continental Congress. We saw Betsy Ross's house and the childhood home of Dolly Todd Madison. We also spent a day at Valley Forge Historical Park, thirty minutes outside of the city. We saw replicas of the huts where the Continental Army spent four months in the winter of 1778. We learned that 1 of 10 soldiers who wintered there died of disease, but that smallpox innoculations were given to the troops and so that dread disease did not cause many deaths. The Prussian Baron von Steuben drilled the troops through the winter so that by the spring, Washington's troops were able to fight in a more orderly and efficient manner. Once the British left Philadelphia, the Continental army followed them and ultimately defeated them with the help of the French. We felt a kinship with those men and women who lived over 200 years ago and had the desire to become independent of a distant government. If these people lived today we would call them rebels or perhaps anarchists. Through the lense of history, we call them patriots.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Alleluia, the Lord Has Risen
It has been interesting celebrating Lent and the three special days of Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday here in Philadelphia. Lent began with cold, gray weather and snow storms. Today, Easter Sunday, the city is in full bloom, the temperatures are near 70, and all of nature seems to have risen from dormancy. Here at the Inn our hearts are glad. We have tried to be steadfast in our Lenten sacrifices. We have had liturgies with music that reflected the theme of turning our hearts closer to God. We have remembered the Passion and Death of Our Lord. Now we are celebrating the triumph of life over death.
Yet there is still sadness in the world. Outside my door as I write this, Danny is stretched out on the sidewalk, perpetually drunk, dying of AIDS. We hear that someone was shot down the street a few days ago. Tiffany, a young mother of 4, comes to the Inn saying she is homeless. She has been tossed from her mother's house because she is perpetually high on drugs. Two members of the staff get her into a shelter. Two days later, she is back on the streets because she wouldn't follow the rules.
Yet my faith tells me that good does triumph over evil, that Jesus rose and promises eternal life. Somehow, the followers of the Risen Christ need to get that message across to the people of Kensington and all those who feel lost and forsaken.
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