Sunday, September 16, 2012

Ruined for Life

I had planned on writing some sort of end-of-year posting about how I've been "ruined for life" by JVC, and how this experience will always be a part of me, how I hope to incorporate what I've learned into my life and career, etc. But as it turns out, applying to medical school is very time-consuming, being program manager of a culinary training program is pretty hard, and on top of that, Emily and I went a month without internet access. So instead, as a closing blog post (all five of my readers need some closure), I will share the speech I gave to about 2000 incoming students at Georgetown this week. I flew back to D.C. to speak at the New Student Orientation Closing Ceremony, which focused on Georgetown's Jesuit identity. It was great to be back, and especially great to have the opportunity to speak about my experiences over the past year, alongside one of my favorite professors, too. It's a bit more Georgetown-centric than my typical JVC reflection would have been, but enjoy, and thanks for reading this year.

Peace,
Carolyn

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I was invited here to speak to you because of my involvement in post-graduate service with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps (known to us insiders as “JVC”). This invitation is just the latest in a year of people praising me for “giving up a year of my life,” as though entering the Jesuit Volunteer Corps was akin to entering some alternate universe where I in fact just disappeared completely for a year. I can easily make my service sound impressive: During my volunteer year, I served about 25,000 restaurant-style meals to people experiencing homelessness. I worked with over 60 students of the Culinary Training Program during their job searches, about 70% of whom are now stably housed and employed in restaurants and catering companies in Los Angeles.

But it’s time that I come clean. I’m here to tell you tonight that my decision to join the Jesuit Volunteer Corps was actually a relatively selfish one. I got a taste of the transformative nature of living out Jesuit values in service of the poor while I was a student at Georgetown, and I wanted to continue that inner transformation. At Georgetown, I met professors, advisors and students who modeled genuine compassion, and I knew that JVC could help me become more like them. I was right in my assessment at graduation last May that I still had a lot of room for growth in the values that the Jesuits foster, but I could not have anticipated just how much a year of service and simple living in community could change me.

When I think back to all the things I learned in the past year from the clients experiencing homelessness at the Café and the unemployed clients in the Culinary Training Program, the line between service provider and service recipient is blurred.

I learned the endless power of compassion as I witnessed love between couples and siblings living together on the streets – in how one client would always pull the chair out for his girlfriend as they sat for lunch, or how two sisters bickered loudly during their meals but had each other’s backs once they left the café. I learned that generosity truly does not know the limits of economic status, as one culinary student receiving only $221 of general relief funds per month offered a ride to another who couldn’t afford a $5 bus pass. I learned the power of simple presence as a client thanked me profusely just for listening to her tell me through tears about her eviction notice, even though I had no financial resources and little consolation to offer. I learned that it’s more important to be loving than to be right, as I came to understand that, really, it won’t matter in a few days whether my housemate did the dishes on his assigned night.

In my year as a Jesuit Volunteer, I have learned valuable lessons of the heart that I hope never to forget. Through full-time service to the most marginalized, I have discovered the most genuine qualities within myself. Through living in a seven-volunteer community in a house that surely could not accommodate a seven-volunteer community, I have grown in patience and forgiveness. Through the sacrifice of living on a very small stipend, I have come to understand the real meaning of “needs versus wants.” This past year, I have felt as though I am in just the right place and that I am living as the most authentic version of myself. If it is through service that I can discover my best and most true self, then the only thing that makes sense to me is to use my talents and my education in service of others.

I can give credit to the past year of JVC for inching me closer to being the loving person I long to be, but I could not have known who or what I wanted to be without my experiences at Georgetown, and in particular without the tenets of Jesuit education guiding me. Many people, when they talk about Georgetown’s religious affiliation, do so with hesitancy and with qualifiers: “Well, Georgetown’s Catholic,” they say, “but, it’s really only if you want it to be.” Or, “Yea, Georgetown’s Jesuit, but you can pretty much ignore that if you want.”

It is true that you could easily go four years without stepping into Dahlgren Chapel, but the Jesuit values are so woven into Georgetown’s way of education that actually, they’re pretty hard to miss. You’ll see evidence of “cura personalis” – education of the whole person – in your professors’ commitment to your personal development. You’ll see the “men and women for others” thing not just in the obvious and numerous opportunities at the Center for Social Justice, but also in the way that social justice creeps its way into discussions in every class, from finance to physics. You’ll see it, too, in the expectation that you’ll use your education to advance the common good.

Yet where I think Georgetown’s Jesuit identity is most beautifully woven into the daily experience is in its emphasis on community. From the floor of your freshman residence hall, to the group from your alternative spring break trip, to the cheering section at a basketball game, community is where you least expect it, and where you most need it. Georgetown nurtures this myriad of miniature communities of shared experiences, interests and values -- all centered in a singular Hoya family.

And lucky for me, that Hoya sense of community doesn’t go away after graduation. On one casual Friday recently, I wore a Georgetown t-shirt to work, and one of our clients was just staring at me and cracking up. When I asked him what was so funny, he said, “You went to Georgetown, and now you’re working here?” – referring of course to the Bread and Roses Café where he was dining. I just laughed and gave him a proud Hoya “yes indeed!” but in that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to Georgetown for having led me down the path it did. As a matter of fact, 2600 miles away from here, in my small social service agency on Los Angeles’s Westside, there are three Hoyas on staff, second in number only to the UC grads…our basketball team may waver, but that’s a Georgetown stat that I can be proud of. I find myself in good company among Hoyas: No matter what year we graduated, we have all lived in the same spirit of Georgetown. We have all been similarly shaped by the unique experience of a Jesuit education.

With regard to your own forthcoming Georgetown education, I say to you: be selfish. Take advantage of the free-of-cost-but-life-changing lessons that service to the poor has to teach you. Engage with social justice issues in your classes in every department. Contribute to and appreciate the beauty of the Georgetown community. There is a lot to be learned; there are a lot of extraordinary people ready and willing to be your mentors; and there is a lot to be taken from this distinct experience at Georgetown. So go ahead and be selfish: Become the person this Jesuit institution is calling you to be. Hoya Saxa!



(pc Erika Cohen-Derr, who falls into the class of "extraordinary people ready to be mentors")

Saturday, August 4, 2012

Missed opportunities..

In my ongoing attempt to be present to my community and my clients this year, blogging has fallen to the wayside...and I had so many things I wanted to write about! But the year is ending, and so is my blog, so peruse my list of post ideas, and if anything sparks your interest, bring it up with me in conversation:

-the Sisyphean nature of social work (But, "One must imagine Sisyphus happy.")
-living on $100/month
-how to "win" JVC
-faith in politics
-charity vs. justice
-community and love among homeless
-viewing housing as a right, not a commodity
-community organizing, power (of people and of money)
-movements of silent retreat in Tucson
-tough clients ("Every social worker knows the feeling: you want to assist someone, but that person is a total turnoff...but yet, they are still one fo the 'least of my brothers and sisters' to which Jesus referred.")
-the blessing ($$) and curse of statistics in social work
-how do we achieve peace? (JVC Peace Vigil 2012)
-And the most-over-quoted-yet-still-striking social-justice-related quote: "When I feed the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist."


Bubble Gum Alley in San Luis Obispo, CA

Saturday, June 16, 2012

This I believe.

This week, we had a community/spirituality night entitled "This I Believe," based on the NPR radio series and the couple books out by the same title. As the introduction to the book says, "This I Believe offers a simple, if difficult invitation: Write a few hundred words expressing the core principles that guide your life -- your personal credo. ... This I Believe is an exercise in philosophical self-examination in a public context. It rises from the grass roots, where people can begin to listen to each other, one at a time." So we each wrote a short essay and read them out loud to each other, one at a time. The task was more difficult than I thought it would be, and I wish I had taken more time to complete my short essay (I wrote it at the end of a long work day, forgot to print it out or email it, then re-wrote it quickly when I got home), but here's what I came up with...

I doubt myself pretty frequently -- my decisions, my plans, my work, my views. Hell, just reading a well-written philosophical piece can temporarily unravel what I consider to be my firmly held beliefs. But I consistently believe in the value of two things: learning and giving. In learning about others, I learn, too, about myself. I seek to understand -- to understand what makes me who I am, you who you are, and them who they are. And in learning about people, I recognize our similarity and equality. I see that we are equal genders, races, ethnicities, cultures, sexual orientations, people. I see that we are uniquely gifted and flawed, myself included, and that these flaws unite us in humble humanity. 

And what's more, as I learn about the world we as people inhabit, I am inevitably drawn to the grandeur of a divine Creator. There are few things more beautiful to me than the mysteries and phenomena of biology -- the ever-turning circle of life, to be sure, but also the intricate turnings of the citric acid cycle, the blob-like-yet-perfectly-folded shape of a protein, the leap from electro-chemical nerve synapses to consciousness. When I marvel at these processes, I turn to God in humility, confusion and adoration. Learning makes me a better person. This I believe. I seek to learn and to marvel always, and to never close my mind to the possibility that I am completely and utterly wrong.

I believe just as assuredly in giving. After all, how can I respond to God's overflowing love in any other way than to be generous with my own love? In giving myself and my love to others -- family, friends and strangers -- I encounter the divine reality of relationship: that we are all a connected community of beings. In service, I encounter God, for it is in loving the unloved that I can most readily mimic God's example and that I can most faithfully bring about the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth. I believe that we can be the best versions of ourselves when we are giving that self away. Because in its essence, "giving" is not just a one-way process; in being present to one another, we become connected. I believe that in the balance of grasping versus sharing, it is sharing that will bring us peace and justice. I believe in giving. I hope that in my life, I will share rather than grasp, and give rather than keep.

I choose to invest my life, and my love, in learning and giving. In so doing, I will be reminded during my times of doubt and questioning of the goodness of God and the beauty of human connection.

Monday, May 21, 2012

ch-ch-ch-changes


As of last Friday, I am no longer working at Bread and Roses Café part-time and am instead working full-time in the culinary training program (CTP). I was part of the decision process in this move, and it comes after four and a half months of me trying to run the administrative side of CTP in just the few afternoon hours I have following Bread and Roses services. I'm looking forward to the chance to really be involved in making changes to the program and helping it reach its potential, but I will also miss Bread and Roses.

My interactions with clients at B&R were not in a case management context, and one could argue that Bread and Roses doesn't contribute too much toward St. Joseph Center's model of self-sufficiency. In the least, it's easy to argue that we lean more towards charity than social justice at B&R. This, though, is what made working at B&R fulfilling in such a unique way.

My stint as café manager was, more than anything else, a ministry of presence. I wasn't the person our clients went to for bus tokens or for help with an SSI application. I was never the one to come up with a harm reduction plan for a client's substance abuse. I wasn't even in charge of whether or not they were signed up for a meal. But, I was consistently present as a fellow person. On a daily basis, I affirmed our clients' dignity by paying attention to them. Perhaps for that 45 minutes that they spend dining at B&R, I could help them know that they are not defined by their present situation of experiencing homelessness. I affirmed their humanity simply by knowing their names. Names are so deeply personal, and the human ache to be known and loved can so easily be soothed by speaking to a person using his or her name.

At first I was hesitant to accept this shift of responsibilities; I wanted so badly (and so selfishly) to hold on to my last few months at Bread and Roses. In the words of Fr. Greg Boyle, "I knew that the poor had some privileged delivery system for giving me access to the gospel" (Tattoos on the Heart), and the clients we serve at Bread and Roses are among the most marginalized and poor, certainly more so than my clients in the Culinary Training Program.

But my faith in the potential of CTP as a program that can promote genuine change in a person's life compels me to let go of my fears -- of missing out on B&R experiences, of disappointing clients, of leaving volunteers in a lurch, and of being inadequate in CTP -- and to look forward. I do hope I am able to feel a sense of fulfillment in my work in CTP over the next few months. Even if I cannot always see the positive effects of our program (students tend to disappear once they receive their certificates), I can at least take pride in the fact that I have made some small but significant contributions to the curriculum and to the efficiency of the program's administration.

So, here's to a great last 11 weeks of JVC, wherever it may take me!


**Regarding the title of this post: I can't say the word "changes" without thinking of that David Bowie song, and in particular the Shrek 2 version of the song.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

24 hours in the car

All seven of us spent a total of 24 hours together in the car over the past week...it was a lot of riding- and driving-induced delirium. We had a silent retreat in Tucson and figured this was our chance to fit in a visit to the Grand Canyon, so last Friday after work, we hit the road.

We rolled into Grand Canyon National Park around 2:30 a.m. and had to leave for the sunrise by 4:45 a.m., so there wasn't much sleeping involved. But we piled on to the tarp of our tent (there's no way we could have gotten the tent set up in a reasonable amount of time), and slept under the stars in 39-degree weather. It was cold, but it was all worth it when we woke up for these views:






We also went on a quick hike into the canyon, about an hour round-trip. We would've loved to go further, but we had to make it to Tucson to meet the rest of the SoCal and Arizona JVs for a BBQ. Some highlights, including the appearance of Zig Zag the dashboard Zebra.





Never seen as many cacti as I did at Saguaro National Park in Tucson.





Soundtrack to our trip:


 




Sunday, April 8, 2012

The Crucified People

I decided to stick to my commitment to simple living by not flying home for Easter, a tough decision given that this is my first Easter away from family. But as the weekend has unfolded, I've come to see it as an opportunity to reconnect with the spiritual meaning of Easter that I frequently lose sight of when I'm sunbathing (read: sunburning) on the beach on family vacations (not that I have any regrets about that relaxation time). I attended both the Mass of the Lord's Supper on Thursday and the solemn Good Friday liturgy at St. Monica's Parish in Santa Monica, both of which were over two hours long but time well-spent. The liturgies, especially the music (I love Taize chants), were beautiful, but I am moved to reflect on one moment in particular.

On Friday, the homily was not spectacular -- a rare occurrence at St. Monica's -- and by the time we got to the intercessions and adoration of the cross, I wasn't really listening anymore. But I tried to re-center myself as I went forward to adore the cross and receive communion. When I returned to my seat, the couple sitting next to me had left, and someone else had filled it in: a Bread and Roses client. She isn't an everyday client, and she seemed to be in a mental state in which she didn't recognize me, so I just knelt next to her while she sat in the pew.

I immediately thought of a community night that Maria recently led on the topic of liberation theology, a class at Georgetown I regret not taking. I thought of how the cross, beyond its place as an event in history and its meaning for our salvation, must also take on another meaning in every historical setting now and in the future. The question we must ask ourselves is, "Who are the crucified?" Right here and now, who are we, as the people and structures of society, wrongfully oppressing and executing? And further, cui bono? Who stands to benefit from the way society is designed to allow these crucifixions? It is easy, I think, to consider these questions, but the greater challenge is to take it one step further and consider what these means in terms of salvation.

I like what Ignacio Ellacuría, S.J., writes: "It is indeed scandalous to hold the needy and the oppressed as the salvation of the world in history. It is scandalous for many believers who no longer think they see anything striking in the proclamation that the death of Jesus brought life to the world, but who cannot accept in theory, and much less in practice, that today this life-giving death goes by way of the oppressed part of humankind. ... It is easy to regard the oppressed and needy as those who are to be saved and liberated. but it is not easy to see them as saviors and liberators."


So as I prayed last Friday alongside my client, the passion took on a new and deeper meaning. I have a habit of understanding things intellectually long before I recognize their full emotional or spiritual significance, and this was just that: I think it was the first moment that I was truly able to see Jesus in the poor. I accompanied Jesus through the Passion that day in a more meaningful way than ever before.


I prayed for my client next to me, and for all my crucified clients: the mentally ill, the homeless, racial minorities, sexual minorities, and so many more. I prayed for the eyes to continue to see Jesus in those we serve at St. Joseph Center. And I prayed that the joy of Easter would give me strength to serve -- that the knowledge of God's triumphant power to bring life over death, hope over despair, and love over hatred would give me courage to work for peace and justice even amidst death, despair and hatred. May you, too, find life, hope and love this Easter season.

Friday, April 6, 2012

SPRING BREAK!

I am so excited to have a spring break. So. Excited. Everyone at St. Joseph Center demands that we call it "hiatus," rather than "break" or "vacation," but right now I am just relishing in this lovely 10 days I have to myself. I couldn't sleep this morning because I was so pumped about all that I want to do. Some call it not relaxing...I call it zealous self-care. Semantics.