the poor do not exist, pt.5

Continued...

Jesus himself also focused his attention on healing people at the deep spiritual level. This is obvious in his preaching and in stories like the one where he first responded to a paralytic's spiritual need, then told him to rise and walk, "that you may know that the Son of man has authority on earth to forgive sins." (Mk 2.10) But also in his other healings, Jesus made it very clear that the physical healing was an outward sign of what was happening in the person spiritually. "Your faith has made you well." (Lk 8.48, 17.19, 18.42) And when people did not come in the right spirit, Jesus did not offer physical healing (Mt 13.53-58, "And he did not do many mighty works there, because of their unbelief.") His response was similar when people came to him seeking only food (Jn 6.23-66); instead he gave them a challenging teaching. "After this many of his disciples drew back and no longer went about with him." Yet this didn't deter Jesus, because his focus was on our most important need; if people weren't willing to admit that need and address it, he let them go. Jesus wasn't fighting poverty, or solving the problem of the poor. He came to meet the deepest human need, a spiritual one, of which all other problems are merely symptoms.

Heather and I are leaving in May, and will be visiting the place where we may be serving next. It's the St. Francis Catholic Worker community in eastern Virginia, not far from Washington, D.C. They've been there over twelve years, out in the country, offering hospitality and spiritual retreats for poor people who want to heal and deepen their spiritual lives. I hope to be able to apply much of what I've learned here. Please pray for us, as we will for you.

That's it. It will probably appear in our upcoming newsletter. The full essay is available here (as an RTF file).

the poor do not exist, pt.4

Continued...

[Attention] is something anyone can give. And it responds to the deepest human need. It is often said that physical needs are the most immediate and therefore should be our first priority. But I have to question that based on my experience here. One night I was woken by the doorbell and found a woman on the porch. She was crying. She said her boyfriend had stolen her money for drugs and she had to go to court tomorrow and now she couldn't pay her fine and would go to jail, and when she got angry and yelled at him he called the police and they took her away and dropped her off here. "He smoked my freedom," she cried. I invited her in, then just listened and tried to calm her. "If I had a gun," she said grimly, "I'm not sure whether I'd shoot him or myself." I gave her something to eat and tried to get her to sleep, as it was after midnight. But she was just reaching her deepest grief. "And no ones cares," she repeated again and again. "No one cares."

Thinking about that later, I realized that she was expressing a spiritual need. A need for someone to care about her suffering. Perhaps ultimately a need for God to care. But it wasn't about her pressing needs to find a new place to live or a way to get food, or her fear of going to jail. Right in the midst of those very serious concerns, at her lowest point, the need that rose to the surface was a spiritual one.

While living here I've also spent some time learning about 12-step programs and attending an Al-Anon group. I was surprised to discover that these programs are primarily about spiritual growth. They recognize that our physical and emotional problems are often symptoms of a deeper spiritual need, so addressing this need becomes the way to recovery. I've even heard people express gratitude for the physical and emotional problems that convinced them to seek help, because they ended up finding healing for their much more important spiritual problems. And 12-step groups assist in this healing without fundraising or costly facilities. They simply share with one another what God has done for them, listen and pay attention, and support each other in community. This is the kind of help anyone could give. And it responds to the deepest, most fundamental human need.

continued...

(and another)

the poor do not exist, pt.3

Continued...

I also grew tired of spending so much effort trying to help a few people who didn't seem to be trying very hard themselves, or who were even undermining the help that was given. I know it's Catholic Worker tradition to "not discriminate between the deserving and undeserving poor." And I agree that is the best approach when we first encounter someone, before we've had time to discern the patterns of their life, before we understand the true nature of their needs. But once we get to know them it doesn't help to act as if we didn't, responding indiscriminately. Jesus didn't respond indiscriminately. To some he gave food (and to some no food, Jn 6.26ff), to some healing, to some forgiveness, to some a confusing saying, to some a rebuke. Loving does not mean responding indiscriminately, but finding the true need and being a part of God's response to that need.

I've learned this means asking questions. Maybe that's obvious. But when we sense that someone is in need we often stifle our questions. Perhaps because we don't want to embarrass them. Or pry. Or maybe we don't want to know the seriousness of their need, because then we would have to choose whether to get involved or turn our backs on them. I know I've shied away from people for this reason. But in my experience here at the Catholic Worker, I found that the people who were truly in need and looking for help were usually very willing to explain their situation. They were often relieved to simply find someone who was willing to listen to what they were going through. Someone who would pay attention. Simone Weil said that giving our full attention to someone who is suffering is "a very rare and difficult thing; it is almost a miracle; it is a miracle." Yet this is precisely what love is. Giving our full attention, not turning away.

continued...

the poor do not exist, pt.2

Continuing from yesterday:

The mistake of categorizing the poor inclines us to separate them from ourselves and also encourages the idea that we can meet their needs in some universal, generalized way. Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin challenged these tendencies in their teachings on personalism. They taught that poor people were not so different from ourselves and that we should meet them and offer help as one human being to another. They also taught that we should treat each person as a unique individual, with their own particular needs. Seeing the person in front of us and treating them as a person, just as we would anyone else.

The early Catholic Workers attempted to put this into practice by getting personally involved, by inviting needy people into their own home. These efforts were applauded by many. But, while this inspired other "houses of hospitality" and got many others involved as volunteers, in most communities the house of hospitality has become one more place delegated to care for the poor. Instead of caring for the poor person personally, people now refer them to the Catholic Worker house.

That's been my experience here. We've had people referred to us by the police, the hospital, the bus station, social workers, even their own family and friends. One evening, a woman called trying to refer a homeless woman and her two young children. When I told her all our beds were full, she got indignant, saying she had tried all the other shelters and why wasn't there any space for this mother and her children, did I want them to sleep on the street? She went on and on, even threatening to "write a letter to the editor." Her indignation was beginning to irritate me. So I came right out and asked her, "Why don't you take them in yourself?" She stopped. Then said, quietly, "I don't know them." (We did let them sleep on the couch that night, then found something more suitable for them the next day.) That indignant woman had begun to get personally involved, but not yet to the point of actually welcoming the stranger.

Eventually I grew tired and overwhelmed by the constant referrals. It concentrated those with big needs and big problems all in one place, which is not good for anyone, and they just kept coming. We had to turn many away because we just didn't have room. It reminded me of the overworked, overwhelmed pastor. Why are needs always referred to the pastor? Didn't Jesus teach all of us to love our neighbors whenever and wherever we meet them?

continued...

what I learned at the Catholic Worker

Yesterday I had an idea for an article for the upcoming newsletter (the last one we'll be here for). About what I've learned here. I think I'll post it as I write it:

The poor do not exist
and other things I learned at the Catholic Worker


The poor do not exist. This has become quite clear to me during these seven months living and working at the Catholic Worker.

There is always much debate about "the poor." The problem of the poor. How to care for the poor. A preferential option for the poor. Jesus is often said to have called the poor blessed. (What he actually said was "Blessed are you poor," speaking to his disciples. Lk 6.20) But when I moved into a house with those labeled "the poor," and began to get to know them, I could no longer lump them together so easily. These women I lived with were not the poor. These men who came to the door again and again were not the poor. They were people, as individual and diverse as anyone else. They were not all alcoholics or thieves or liars. They were not all irresponsible. But they also were not all simply victims of society, of unjust systems, held down by the rich and powerful. They were not all the same. Many had been burdened with difficult problems by others, though each responded in different ways. Some seemed themselves to be the cause of their own worst problems, though of these some were beginning to change while others seemed stuck. Having met these unique people, I think it is a mistake to generalize and categorize them as "the poor." The poor do not exist.

continued...

"beautiful like the earth"

I've been noticing that the flowers sense that spring has arrived. It's always a hopeful sight, and makes me aware again of the insistent life in growing things.

So I was in the right mood this morning to really enjoy the short story that Heather has been revising. Here's an excerpt (the main character here is Eve in the garden of Eden; "Ya" is her name for God):

I stood by the water feeling the drops slide off my skin, feeling the sun's light calling them into the air, and looked. In the water I could see the sky and the trees, but moving, always moving, and the light moved so quickly on it, so joyfully, like his eyes on my face, that it made me want to do something. To move my feet on the earth as the light moves on the water, move my hands in the air as the swallows move in the sky. To dance.

When he came to the water I showed him. I showed him, and the water ran down his cheeks and the sun danced on it, and he was beautiful. He said I was beautiful like the sky and the leaves in the wind and the light on the water, but more. Then he said “more” again, and then again, and I kissed him.

He is beautiful like the earth. When he lies asleep on it I don't see a man asleep on the earth, I see the earth sleeping, deep and rich and brown, dreaming of the roots of trees reaching down like fingers. His fingers hold the earth when he sleeps, and I run my fingers through his hair, thick as grass and black as the earth and the sky when the sun is gone.

He does not see me then; I see him and he does not see me. The first time I woke in the night and found him sleeping there was a strange feeling in my chest, as if a hand inside was clasping itself too tight. I looked at him and he was not-there. Beside him there was a vine climbing a tree, a vine with tiny white flowers that have red in their depths; but now under the black starred sky the flowers too were not-there. Closed like a closed hand, pointed and white: no red, the depths hidden. And in his face that lay just under them there was no him, his mouth and his eyes were closed and he did not see me nor know I was there; his depths were hidden like the red heart of the flowers. I thought that if I looked away and then looked back he would be not there at all. He would dissolve and fall back into earth, and I would be left alone in the blackness of the sky.

It happened in the time it takes a bird to fly from one tree to another, or an otter to slide down the brown bank into the water. I woke, and looked, and the hand tightened in my chest, and then a bird called three high short calls that were like three stars, and I looked up. The shadow of wings over the river; the bird called again, and the stars danced on the dark smooth skin of the river, and I remembered that Ya saw us both.

more on the strange situation

Thinking more about the recent CPT hostage situation, I recalled something interesting. When Erin was telling me about her work with CPT in Colombia, she said they were able to offer some protection to the people there (even though they carried no arms) because they were American citizens, and the local militias were very reluctant to attack American citizens because of the political and possibly military response it would cause. So even though the CPTers were not happy with the U.S. contribution to the problems in that area, they were able to take advantage of their U.S. citizenship to help the local people. From the stories I've read of their work in Palestine, they seem to use the same principle there. And even in Iraq, I believe, they were able to gain better access to U.S. officials because of their citizenship (and also their willingness to use the press) in order to get information about Iraqi detainees.

But as I thought about the hostage situation, I realized that the reason the hostage-takers took the CPT members was precisely their U.S. citizenship. The "Swords of Righteousness Brigade" weren't against the work of CPT. Many other Arab and Iraqi groups supported the CPT work and pled for their release. But the hostage-takers didn't seem interested in what CPT was doing or saying. They were interested in getting at the U.S. forces and forcing them to release Iraqi prisoners, so they kidnapped U.S. citizens and used the media to pressure the U.S. to give in to their demands.

Thus the tool that CPT had used for their protection (and the protection of others) had suddenly become the precise cause for their being attacked.

This also reminds me of my recent struggles here. I thought I was being given access to a great resource to help others: the money and use of this facility. And it did seem to be able to offer some help. But it also became the reason for people attacking me, not because they had anything against me but because they wanted the money and access to the house. (Just yesterday a woman was threatening me because I told her the house was full.) It was a power I thought I needed to do good, but it was a human power, and many others are interested in using that human power for their own purposes. When I took up that power I suffered because of it.

I keep remembering Jesus' words, "Those who take up the sword will perish by the sword." Perhaps that applies to the other forms of human power as well.

a very strange situation

Yesterday the three remaining CPT hostages in Iraq were rescued by the military. They had been held a long time, and one of them had been executed, causing much grief and worry and prayer among people I know. Thank God that the others are free.

I've thought about this quite a bit. Because it sets up a very strange situation: CPT went to help the Iraqi people, strongly criticizing the U.S. as the oppressor, but then found that the greatest threat to their lives came from among the Iraqi people, and they were subsequently rescued by the U.S. military. When CPT initially issued a statement after the rescue operation, perhaps befuddled by the strangeness and unexpectedness of the situation, they didn't even thank their rescuers but again criticized the occupying forces, basically blaming them for the kidnapping. (I was pleased to see they added a statement of thanks yesterday evening.)

As I thought about it, their situation reminded me of my own. I've also found it strange to have come here to help the poor, seeing them as victims of an oppressive society, and then find that I suffer most, not at the hands of the oppressive society, but because of some of the very people I've come to help. And when I compare that to Jesus' suffering, I wonder why it looks different. [In an online discussion I said it's like trying to imagine Jesus being captured by a rogue group of zealots and then being recued by the Romans.] In a previous journal entry, I wrote:

Those who came to attack Jesus were those in power, who felt threatened by him. These were his persecutors, who he rebuked. He was not caught in the strange situation that I've often faced here, of being attacked by a person I'm trying to help, or dealing with a demanding beggar. Or providing food and shelter to someone who will go off and use drugs as soon as the next opportunity arises. But, as I've said before, Jesus put himself in a different position. What he offered did not draw the demanding beggars...

Not that I'm trying to put all the blame on the poor (or the Iraqis) or trying to justify the oppressors. But I do think it doesn't work to simply take sides. There are many among the poor (and the Iraqis) who are a big part of the problem, just as the oppressors are a big part of the problem.

I think recognizing this will help avoid the confusion of finding ourselves in such a situation as this. And also trying to follow Jesus' example more closely. I don't see Jesus getting into such strange situations; but I need to think about this some more.

not paying enough attention

I was really caught off-guard last night. Maybe because I've been focusing too much on our next step--a good letter came from the Mahoneys yesterday, with pictures--and not enough on the situation I'm still in.

A guy I'd gotten to know a little during my time here showed up last night and asked for me. He had recently come back into town after a serious suicide attempt, his left wrist still deeply gouged though it was mostly healed. They'd had to use staples to close the wound. And he was saying he was depressed again, wanting to talk to someone. I sat with him for a few minutes, heard that this had been his thirteenth suicide attempt, and suddenly felt I was in way over my head.

I listened to him a bit more, and mentioned my 12-step experience and asked him if he'd considered a group like that. At the same time I helped him call a local pastor he knew (who wasn't home) and the local suicide-prevention crisis line. That call didn't seem to go very well. After talking a while he grew frustrated and hung up, storming off. I couldn't stop him.

I've been praying he made it through the night. And I don't blame myself, though I felt my response wasn't the best. It was just too much for someone with my lack of experience. But I hope I can do better next time, maybe with this guy if he shows up again or maybe with someone else. I should have offered him dinner and sat with him, or took a walk with him, probably the crisis line was a good idea but I should have offered more as well. Maybe if we had had more time together I could have thought up something better to say (like pointing out that God had saved his life thirteen times now, maybe he doesn't want him to die yet). It was important enough that I should have just set aside my plans for the rest of the evening; after he left I couldn't think of anything else anyway. Probably just giving him attention for a while would have been the best anyone could have done for him. I was just overwhelmed by the severity of the need. But that's the kind of helping I'd like to offer; that's what I've been saying recently, right?

And now I remember this passage from Waiting for God, by Simone Weil:

Not only does the love of God have attention for its substance; the love of neighbor, which we know to be the same love, is made of this same substance. Those who are unhappy have no need for anything in this world but people capable of giving them their attention. The capacity to give one's attention to a sufferer is a very rare and difficult thing; it is almost a miracle; it is a miracle. Nearly all those who think they have this capacity do not possess it. Warmth of heart, impulsiveness, pity are not enough.

In the first legend of the Grail, it is said that the Grail (the miraculous vessel that satisfies all hunger by virtue of the consecrated Host) belongs to the first comer who asks the guardian of the vessel, a king three-quarters paralyzed by the most painful wound, "What are you going through?"

The love of neighbor in all its fullness simply means being able to say to him: "What are you going through?" It is a recognition that the sufferer exists, not only as a unit in a collection, or a specimen from a social category labeled "unfortunate," but as a person, exactly like us, who was one day stamped with a special mark by affliction. For this reason it is enough, but indispensable, to know how to look at that person in a certain way.

This way of looking is first of all attentive. The soul empties itself of all its own contents in order to receive into itself the being it is looking at, just as he is, in all his truth.

Only those who are capable of attention can do this.

I expect I'll get another chance before long...