A Loan of Hope – The Interim Disability Program

It is almost Thanksgiving, a time for reflecting with close family and friends. Our reflections center on what we are thankful for, especially as we look on our many blessings over this past year.

One specific District program that is especially important to me is the Interim Disability Assistance (IDA) Program. IDA provides a small ($270) income each month to residents waiting the long months (even years) between their initial disability application and approval from the Social Security Administration. Clients I worked with applying for disability are unable to work, and thus depend on this program to have their basic necessities met. What is even better about this program is that the Social Security Administration repays the District government when a client receives a favorable decision.

When a special client of mine, Mr. S., was approved for his disability income after seeking legal representation at Bread for the City, he explained to me how crucial IDA had been to his stabilization. Chronically homeless and suffering from a long litany of impairments ranging from HIV to chronic leg pain to severe depression, IDA provided a “loan of hope” to Mr. S. He was proud to say that he was able to repay that loan, allowing someone else to have hope as they waited for their disability decision.

Another story that sticks with me is Anthony Brown, who was interviewed for Beyond Bread this spring when the Council made $6 million in cuts to the program.

Our city has already cut $100 million from the safety net programs that people like Anthony depend on. Rather than more cuts, let’s ask more of those who have suffered the least in the recession. Right now, DC’s top tax rate (8.5%) starts at $40,000 a year. An increase of one percentage point in the rate on the highest-earning 5% (those with income above $200,000) would bring in at least $65 million in new revenue. It’s a small contribution for high-income households, roughly equal to the price of a large coffee each day.

As you reflect on what you’re thankful for, take some time to consider what changes you would make in your budget, to ensure our city can invest in an economic recovery that includes everyone.

If you care about this issue, send an email to Chairman Gray and ask him to take a balanced approach and protect the programs you care about.

As we celebrate Thanksgiving together with our family and friends, I know I’ll be holding Bread for the City, Mr. S. and Anthony Brown, the IDA Program, and the SOS campaign close to my heart. I am thankful for IDA’s impact on the residents of DC, and for the ways Mr. S, Bread, and the SOS campaign had blessed me this year.

Searching for Meaning

I treasure those moments when you are reading for school and you suddenly find yourself captivated by the author’s reflections. Indeed, this was the ongoing experience I had when reading Jerome Baggett’s book, Sense of the Faithful, documenting how American Catholics today are living and negotiating their faith. In his rich ethnographic portrayal, Baggett eloquently describes the many ways Catholics are taking their faith seriously and grappling with the realities of a complex world. Particularly resonating to me was the following quote:

Though we may have lost the strongly prescribed identities that largely characterized tightly bounded societies of the past, in their place has emerged a generalized concern for individual authenticity. This language of authenticity reflects people’s still unextinguished desire to do the often difficult work of discovering a sense of meaningfulness that is now not so readily attainable (65).

Yes, it is difficult to discover a sense of meaningfulness, but it is inscribed on our hearts and offers us fulfillment and joy. It is this sense of meaningfulness that I crave in my own life – in my relationships, in my work, in my faith, and in my daily desire to follow God. It truly is an unextinguished desire for me.

As a former Jesuit Volunteer, I have spent time in the past reflecting on the writings of Dorothy Day, specifically from her book, The Long Loneliness. In her book, at the end, she writes, “We have all know the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community.”

I think that we find our sense of meaningfulness when we have a strong sense of community, one that strives to teach us authenticity. For, it is true, we learn how to love in community¸ and we are able to search for meaning. When I think back on my experiences – my faith-filled loving family, my still treasured friends from high school, the memories and community I experienced through Gonzaga University and the relationships I still hold, my experience with JVC in the District of Columbia, and now, here at Loyola Chicago, I can’t helped but think that Day is right – community has taught me what it means to love, and has made the “difficult work of discovering a sense of meaningfulness” that much easier.

It’s funny when you’re working on that slow literature review, when you’re looking out your window drinking your morning cup of coffee in the midst of our daily lives as graduate students, and you are suddenly struck by a passage from the literature you are reading. No – it’s not just relevant literature for your research proposal, but rather, it’s nurturing for your own self growth. It’s an affirmation of that Jesuit phrase that is etched into any Jesuit alumni’s heart, that yes, you can find God in all things. And it’s a reminder to continue to trust in God, and to continue sipping that cup of coffee, working on that literature proposal, know to always, as Teihard de Chardin, S.J. reminds us,

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.

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Works Cited

Baggett, Jerome P. 2009. Sense of the Faithful: How American Catholics Live Their Faith. New York: Oxford University Press.

Returning to Washington

During this trip to Washington, I didn’t see the White House, the National Mall, any Smithsonians, or even the dome of the Capital. I only once saw the Washington Monument, from on a hill a couple miles away. It was not the tourist visit to Washington, but a visit back to one’s home. It was a visit full of relationships, full of conversations, and full of reminiscing.

A good friend of mine believes that many of our life experiences are shared with people we care about and fade into the past. We find meaning in our lives by pointing to these reminiscable shared experiences, which in turn shape how we act in the present, and how we form and picture our future. These reminiscable shared experiences cause us to experience community in a powerful way as we reflect on who we are as individuals journeying through life, making sense of who we are.

This trip to Washington indulged me in the joys of reminiscable shared experiences. Looking back on our community experience, we laughed at the ridiculous stories that formed us as a community, we smiled on the challenges that pushed us farther than we could imagined, and we thanks God and one another that we are who we are today, because of those experiences. I couldn’t help but think, you are on to something my friend, could I have remembered this beautiful stories and laughed the way I did if it wasn’t with one another? Perhaps not. Perhaps they would have been forgotten, and erased forever. And yet, isn’t it beautiful that together we can return together and remember our experiences together and find joy and comfort in that experience?

Perhaps more beautiful is the fact that we reflect, we grow, we laugh, we cry, and we continue with our lives – we turn back to those times, and we allow them to shape who we are today and who we will be together. And we are thankful for those experiences, because they are woven into our existence, and are imprinted in our worldviews.

While I didn’t see the sites one typically goes to see in Washington, I saw what I believe might just be the more profound sites of the District of Columbia:

Vinoteca – a place of many conversations over glasses of wine, and a place we returned to have another laugh and another glass of wine

Himalyan Heritage – another special place where over Nepalese food, many conversations were had with one special friend – conversations that I still think about, and that still shape me today.

Starbucks on Georgia and Bryant – a place that had many coffee dates, that was frequented on the way to work, and that hold a special place in my heart.

Cleveland Park – a neighborhood where I went canvassing for change, that showed me the power of talking with others about our clients, and taught me a lesson in what it means to see ones heart be changed right in front of you

Azi’s – that small café that many Bread for the City friends spent many times at.

Pittango – a place where many conversations were had, not with coffee or wine, but with some gelato that rivals that of Florence, Italy.

130 Bryant – a home that was more than a home, but was a community

Bread for the City – a place that words cannot describe – a place that truly taught me accompaniment, a place that on the one hand, introduced me to the profound despair that is the result of our unequal society, and on the other hand, the joy that comes with knowing and being in relationship with the poor.

Indeed, these sites were instrumental sites that today are the keys of our reminiscable shared experiences in Washington. We returned to them because they are symbols of who we are – symbols of what Washington means to us, and symbols that fill our hearts with joy and renew our spirits. Yes – you were right my friend – these reminisciable shared experiences truly do have a special power.

Looking at Welfare Reform through Another Lens Besides My Own

Quadagno & Street (2005) state that the United States follows the neo-liberal model of government, especially in regards to our perspectives of individualism and individual rights. We are a country built on a model of self sufficiency and “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” language. It is easy to see in the discourse and criticisms of many of our urban poor: they need to work harder… they need to stop depending on welfare… I can’t believe I’m paying my taxes and working hard so that those poor people can just depend on the government. The comments are numerous, degrading, and continually divisive, but they reinforce our perspectives of individual rights.

Quadagno & Street continue to state that voluntarism is also highly valued in the United States. Voluntarism places an emphasis on private donations by individuals rather than governmental assistance as a means to redistribute income to lower income members of society. For example, leading economist Milton Friedman makes an argument for voluntarism in his book, Free to Choose. Essentially, Friedman argues that if taxes were lower, and governmental services for income maintenance and redistribution were privatized, people would have the altruistic desire to give more to charitable organizations to continue this work. Regardless if Friedman’s point is correct, voluntarism is not an effective means to achieving social justice; for, rather than creating a system of dependency on the government, the poor are dependent on charitable organizations that in turn are dependent on charitable and altruistic individuals. Dependency still exists; charity (giving from one’s surplus) perpetuates inequality as there is no structural level change happening. So, while valued in United States, it doesn’t seem that reliance on voluntarism is the correct social policy to achieve social justice.

Working at Bread for the City last year, I found myself often asking the question, how can we encourage those on welfare to find jobs and go back to work? I was asking this, not from a judging condemning viewpoint, but more so, from an attempt to reflect on how can we make policies that make sense and actually work, and that act as a safety net for those who are in need without creating cyclical dependency. Can we create any social justice with our conceptions of welfare policy?

However, I found it interesting to reflect on Orloff (2005)’s article on United States welfare reform. Orfloff argues that the 1996 Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act was an attempt to eliminate the social right for poor single mothers to care for their children full time. Instead, as Orloff writes, “Staying at home full time to care for children has come to be understood as something to be earned through one’s efforts in the labor market – as a reward from an employer who gives paid leave” (pp.109-110). Reflecting on this point sheds light into my own thoughts on TANF last year.

Turning to myself, raised in a two-parent household, my parents were able to make our family function happen on one income during my younger years. Yet, this was a choice they had simply by being a two parent household. And in fact, I believe those years having my mother at home shaped our family, the way I look at the world, and consequently, I cannot list all the benefits our family has experienced because of those years. For my mother, raising children full time was a full time job and right in our family, something that is denied to other lower income women, simply because they are low income.

So returning to the ideological rhetoric we commonly hear about welfare benefits and the “laziness” of “welfare queens,” it is interesting to see how my own middle class perspectives shaped my own understanding of welfare. Instead of thinking about the same model of child-rearing I experienced, I projected my own values of individualism and self sufficiency, middle class values drilled into me by the American process of socialization. In my own reflections (all with positive non-judgmental intentions), I too was contributing to the common statements that, because these women are poor, they don’t share the right my mother had to stay at home with their children.

Works Cited

Friedman, M. & Friedman, R. (1990). Free to choose: A personal statement. Orlando, FL: Harcourt.

Orloff, A. (2005). Examining US welfare reform: Power, gender, race, and the US policy legacy. Critical Social Policy, 22(1) 96-118.

Quadagno, J. & Street, D. (2005). Ideology and public policy: Antistatism in American welfare state transformation. The Journal of Policy History, 17(1) 52-71.

Power Differences between the Sociologist and the Public

Often, in the service experiences I’ve been reflecting over the past few years, the issue of power has come up – we the “white” individuals come into a community, one who is usually poor and a minority, and have money, skills, and other resources that we can give; the result is there is a power difference that is often unfair and perpetuates the inequality. And, if we aren’t careful, we find in many instances that people become dependent on the white man, and expect that the white man will come and save the day. This breeds in us a “hero complex” as Aaron Ausland describes in his article, Staying for Tea.

Ausland suggests that we change our frame of reference to one of accompaniment, in which a relationship is formed with those we serve; rather than dominating and dictating, we instead become “mutually indebted” – we recognize that we both have needs and in our relationship, we grow from one another. The relationship is not one sided; rather, we both have something to give, and indeed, there is a sense of transformation that happens, a transformation that is more whole and deep than the service itself (Ausland, 2005, p. 6).

I believe while it’s still a deep challenge for all of us as servants, it’s something that can be achieved in the service we do. For indeed, I developed relationships with clients at Bread for the City, and found myself being transformed by our interactions.

But is it as easy to translate to the dynamics of sociological research? A classmate of mine posed the question of the power struggle between the researcher and the public. The researcher comes in with the knowledge, the research project, and often in the eyes of the client, is at an elevated level. Is it possible then, to “Stay for Tea” in this situation? Time might not permit it, and the nature of research is not to develop a transformation relationship.

Now, it is true, sociologists are working for social justice, and so we have been transformed by the people and experiences we have had that have led us to where we are today. But, it seems to me that we might be reaping more benefits than we are giving in this research process: we are transformed by our interactions with the poor, we gain many insights that we translate in our research process, we write and publish papers, and our careers advance. Combined with the educational gap, we surely have more power than our clients in these research projects. How can we possibly equal the playing field?

Is doing the research simply enough to justify this power dynamic? Perhaps. My professor mentioned an example doing public sociological research on a domestic violence hotline: survivors of domestic violence expressed gratitude to the researchers, knowing that by improving the hotline, they and future victims would have better access to services and would therefore be better protected from their batterers. For these survivors, they were able to fulfill what Ragin calls is one of the primary goals of sociological research: “giving voice” (Ragin, 2011, p. 46). Often, Ragin describes, marginalized populations aren’t able to provide their voice and input into the research that goes into society. By these sociologists talking with these survivors of domestic violence, they were able to provide their own real perspective in a way that could change and improve services.

We also talked about ensuring that people recognize our gratitude through monetary compensation or by showing that their time is valuable and appreciated. Finally, by treating the clients with the highest dignity and respect, we can communicate to them how important they are to the work we are doing.

In the advocacy efforts I was part of at Bread, I saw that clients are not just interested in services that will help them; rather, they are interested in “giving their voice,” providing their perspectives so that injust structures may change, or at least be less injust. Many clients across many organizations joined advocates at the City Council building countless times to protest and advocate to city officials for better services and more concern for the poor. So, yes, in this sense, it seems true that clients, such as the domestic violence survivors, would feel comfort in knowing that they were part of greater advocacy efforts.

I still am stuck though; the options don’t seem great enough. Perhaps it’s because it’s not as holistic as Ausland’s model of accompaniment. Sociological research is different than service, and thus, must adhere to different rules, policies, and procedures. This makes it’s an official science and we need sociology to be professional and scientific so that it will be valid and respected. But, I am torn; I have spent many years now trying to develop a sense of accompaniment in the work I am doing. And, as Fr. Greg Boyle describes it, I have been striving develop a sense of kinship: no longer us and them, but just us (Boyle, 2005). Are we, as researchers, just creating a greater divide between us and them?

It’s the second week of graduate school. I have a lot to learn, a lot to experience, and many projects to complete. Perhaps as I continue to grow and learn, I’ll find new ways to accompany clients in research and build kinship.



Works Cited:

Ausland, A. (2005). Staying for tea: Five principles for the community service volunteer. The
Global Citizen 2 pp. 5-15.

Boyle, Gregory, SJ. (2005). The voices of those who sing. Spiritus5:1, 79-87.

Ragin, C.C. & Amoroso, L.M. (2011). Constructing Social Research. 2nd ed. Pine Forge Press.

The American Flag - A Cultural Object

In my Religion, Political Culture, and Ideology course, we began class with a reading by Wendy Griswold, attempting to define what culture is. Culture is such a vague term – people often think they know it when they see it or experience it, but struggle to give any formal definition of it. Griswold notes that there are different types of culture in society, and that elements of culture are expressed through cultural objects – objects in society that we assign meaning to. Culture becomes culture when we (as a group) assign some meaning to the object.

Griswold also states that cultural objects can have different meanings to different groups of people. This Labor Day, I point to the American flag as a symbol that, even in my own extended family, holds many different meanings.

Growing up in a relatively conservative active military family, the American flag served as a symbol of sacrifice and freedom, of democracy and of rights. The American flag was (and is) venerated by many family members as a tangible cultural object, one that stands for the many wars that have provided our citizens freedom. It is a cultural object that must be respected, for it in many ways represents so many values of American society.

I found myself at Mass today feeling cynical about this cultural symbol. It’s true – I haven’t always been the most patriotic in the same sense as this familial veneration of the flag. Singing “America the Beautiful” in a wealthy part of South Chicago, just minutes from a center of Chicago’s cyclical poverty and violence, images of my JVC experience reappeared in my mind. Can I really hold the same meaning that my fellow family members hold of the American flag when I see cyclical poverty and institutional racism so rampant in our society?

Being a patriot means being loyal to one’s country, being willing to serve one’s country. I believe I am a patriot in a different definition of the word. I’m willing and ready to serve my country, but that means domestically – serving those who are in need, fighting inequality in our institutions, speaking up about injustice in my conversations with family and friends. I believe this is another way of being loyal to one’s country – being loyal to people in the country society forgets to acknowledge as human.

When listening to the song today, when discussing my views of society, and when seeing the American flag, I held a different meaning of this cultural object. Instead of a testament to freedom, democracy, and sacrifice, I saw a country of irony, of segregation, of inequality, and of ignorance. When singing the words, “God shed His Grace on Thee,” I felt a mix of frustration and of humility. In many ways, we are dependent on God’s grace, and could use so much more trust and patience in this fight for equality and justice.

And perhaps, I too am the “Thee” in that verse. For I need just as much grace as our country. I recognize that it has taken me many years to understand the world and our country the way I do. I need that grace now to be humble, to be compassionate, to be patient, to be open, and to stop judging other views of the United States. For it is true – there has been much sacrifice for the luxuries I enjoy.

So as I continue on through school, I know that elements of cynicism will reemerge and challenge me. But – I must continue to return to God, asking for His Grace to be shed on me, and perhaps I will be able to stop judging and continue working for social justice.

It will only be by the grace of God.

Returning to Graduate School – Comparing the Abstract with the Concrete

In many ways, I think I will have an advantage in graduate school because of my year as a volunteer. Working at Bread for the City, I was able to link many sociological theories with the actual experiences of our clients. My exposure to poverty, institutional racism, and real relationships with our clients informs how I look at the world, and indeed, how I view stratification. My heart is transformed because of these real relationships. In many ways, it is this exposure with the concrete that will help in my graduate studies.

Yet in other ways, I believe my year away from academia poses different challenges as I begin my courses. Much theory seems to be abstract. For example, in my culture class, we began with a discussion of what defines culture, what culture looks like, and who creates culture. Ultimately, the readings and discussion pointed us towards meaning-making – that culture is our attempt to make meaning; something becomes a cultural object because it has assigned meaning.

This is the first of many discussions that, while important, are different from the type of discussions at Bread for the City. Our work at Bread focuses on the concrete because we saw poverty as real. Our advocacy was not founded on theories of sociology, but on the relationships we had with our clients, and the aggregation of the multiple client stories we listened to each day.

So now, in graduate school, I look at the world through the lenses of the abstract and the concrete. I continue to think about my client experience as a Jesuit Volunteer, the advocacy we undertook, and the ways I continue to be ruined for life. Yet at the same time, I return to many conversations of the abstract – looking at the theories of many sociologists who have come before me; it will be my job to examine that abstract, to interpret it, to critique it, and to add to the conversation.

So the ultimate challenge at Loyola University Chicago will be to synthesize the abstract and the concrete. By doing this, perhaps an even more fruitful dialogue will happen, and we will continue to work for a more just world

Change Happens on the Journey

During our Jesuit Volunteer Corps closing retreat, we talked about the concept of a pilgrimage or journey. In that journey, often, the growth happens throughout the journey, but it is realized after the journey is complete. In a talk given by Sharon of the JVC staff, she mentioned the Wise Men of the Gospel and said,

"The wisemen were changed by their experience of Jesus and took a different route home."

When I look back on this year and the journey of JVC, I am most radically changed in my understanding of what it means to accompany others, to live on solidarity, and to develop kinship.

The idea of accompanying someone suggest a journey is to be had. In fact, all relationships are a journey, full of pockets of what St. Ignatius calls consolation and desolation. On a journey with others, we sense the times when we can tangible feel the presence of God, and others where we have a striking fear or perception that God has been absent.

I began working with clients at Bread during the first days of my experience, and as you know, soon received my own caseload of persons applying for Social Security Disability benefits. Working with clients consistently began to open my eyes to the realities of accompaniment. In the past, I have reflecting on winning Mr. R's SSI case and watching him fill with hope. This man, suffering from a long discouraging litany of impairments, has been finally granted some solace on his journey. I too felt hope, and God's presence in these moments.

Throughout the year, I became much more comfortable with, and well equipped to understand the experiences of the clients we serve at Bread for the City, and the larger systemic and underlying hurdles that cause our clients? life experience. Perhaps these realizations made it easier to understand what it means to accompany others. When individuals would walk into Bread towards the end of the year, I felt myself able to simply accompany them through the complexities of the legal system.

Yet, these same moments on the journey - the same moments of consolation - have hinted at, and often have been smothered by the overwhelming presence of desolation. My clients live an experience muddled by a system of classism, sexism, and especially racism. Theirs (and arguably, our own) lives are tainted by a system that predisposes them to lives of inequality, increased disparity, disadvantages, prejudices, and cyclical poverty. How can I possible see or experience a loving God in the midst of such suffering and desolation?

It is in the moments working on Mr. R's case, when he says he too wants to go to the City Council to advocate on behalf of programs that have fostered growth and self-actualization in him

It is in the moments of goodbye, when Mr. J. tells me to "never quit the books," even if it is hard, and I promise him that I won't quit.

It is in the moments of simply being present during walk-ins, listening, sharing my experience, growing...

It is in these moments and the many more moments this year that I have most closely felt God. And it is precisely because I have seen the true and authentic humanity in people society pretends do not exist.

"The wisemen were changed by their experience of Jesus and took a different route home."

Indeed, I have been radically changed through my experience of accompaniment this year, and in the moments of consolation and desolation. It is because of this year that I know I must always continue to explore what it means to truly accompany others, and to always work to make positive social and structural change.

The Importance of Walking

Last Sunday was one of my last morning walks to St. Patricks, the Catholic Church I have been attending for the past year. Each Sunday morning, I wake up, get ready, and walk 45 minutes to go to Mass. It is clearly avoidable – there are buses and metro lines that go to St. Patricks as it is in the heart of downtown D.C. However, I have found something special about walking this year.

I used to take the metro and bus a lot more, especially when we were in the thick of the winter. Yet, perhaps partly out of financial necessity, and partly out of desire to see more of the city, I began walking more places.

There is something to be said about these walks. If I would have taken the metro or bus to Landlord-Tenant Court in April, I would have taken the same route and seen the same streets. Yet, instead of taking the bus down 7th/Georgia Ave, I walked down 4th Street from our home. In the process, I saw different housing developments, smiled at different people, and felt as if I knew one more piece of Washington.

Walking like this has almost become a sort of ritual for me. Despite the heat of July, I walked to Lindsy and Andrews near the Navy yard, exploring new parts of NE and Capitol Hill through the walk. I took different streets when walking back from Foggy Bottom, and from various meetings this year, and walked the neighborhoods of Shaw and Columbia Heights.

Washington is relatively small, and the portions that tourists see are only a fraction of the city. Tourists know only the Mall, the White House, and perhaps parts of downtown. By living north of Shaw, working at Bread for the City (in both NW and SE), I feel a real connection to the city of D.C. I see real people living their own life experience.

Looking past the stereotypes that emerge about the neighborhood I live in, and the many neighborhoods of our clients, walking has given me the opportunity to confirm that perhaps I feel more comfortable here, rather than in Georgetown or in a distant suburb. Perhaps it is because I’ve smiled at real residents of D.C., and felt myself truly at home.

It is from this experience of walking that I came to know the city. I hope that I will continue to do the same as I move onto my next few years in Chicago.

Reflections on Amiel

“The stationary condition is the beginning of the end” – Henri Frederic Amiel.

A few months ago, this quote appeared in our house on the side of a magazine. Since then, I have seen it often and been pondering its meaning and relevance in my life. Perhaps it has provoked an inner stirring in me instantly because it’s the end of my year as a Jesuit Volunteer. I am preparing to leave Washington, to travel to Chicago, and to begin a new life in my work at Loyola University Chicago.

Does it strike me because I perhaps have done all the growing I can for this year? That is certainly not true, for I’ve often found most growth happens after the experience. It happens when we take our experience, and we translate it into tangible goals for our lifestyle. It happens because we reflect, we discuss with our closest friends and family, and we discern its meaning and impact on us.

When something becomes stationary, it is no longer migratory or changing. It has a fixed position, and it remains in the same spot.

Am I in a stationary condition now? Are things not changing, fixed in one spot? While I have no context for Amiel’s quote, I suspect it has struck a strong chord with me because I perhaps have felt my life become stationary over these past couple of months. We have established our routine as a house – we have figured out how to save money, how make our food budget stretch farther and farther each week, and have found ease in the comfortability of our relationships with one another. We know our faults and know the blessings that each of us bring to one another.

Looking broader into the values of JVC, I know that I’ve become quite stationary in my job, my understanding of simplicity, and my faith. Though I still love my work and could continue finding fulfillment in my interactions with clients and coworkers, it has become stationary. In terms of simple living, I no longer find myself challenging how I live, or how we as a community live. And, in my faith, I have come to a routine that seems easy and does not give much additional growth.

Perhaps this is the key word – growth. When something is stationary, it isn’t growing. But – that’s not the right way to look at my JVC experience. For I am still growing in relationships – relationships in my house, my work, and my broader D.C. community. And, I am grappling with inequality, with racism, with fear, with our common American values each day as I walk into Bread for the City. I am still challenged by my interactions.

I think Amiel’s quote has reemerged in my reflections because something did become stationary, despite some growth that I still may experience. And, in that stationary state, I think Amiel was signaling that the end is soon – that it will be soon time to allow my life to change. And it is true. I am essentially done with my work at Bread for the City. I am saying my goodbyes in D.C. and preparing myself for our closing retreat, and really, for a vacation to Washington State and a move to Chicago, where life will not be stationary.

But what I grapple with now is how to strike the balance between allowing oneself to continue to always grow, and yet become comfortable – to establish relationships and a sense of normalcy without falling into a completely stationary state.

Perhaps then, when we are really living, we never reach the stationary condition, but only get close. It is like a curve that begins dramatically and begins to have a smaller slope as time goes by. It is not a parabola – the growth never reaches a point of regression; rather, it continue to increase and grow, but its growth becomes slower and approaches a state of stationary condition.

Is that what has happened here? Have I found myself experience less and less growth, or rather growth that is lower as this year has happened?

Perhaps. Perhaps we aren’t capable of reaching a purely stationary condition? Perhaps because I value growth, I can get close but can’t reach it.

Perhaps that is why leaving is so painful. I am still growing in my interactions with my housemates. I still love going to work each day. I still feel a sense of connection to Washington, and to the clients at Bread for the City.

But perhaps because the growth has slowed, perhaps that’s my equivalent of a stationary condition. And as Amiel says, it’s a sign. It’s the beginning of the end.

Alas, it is true. The end is in sight. The end of this experience, and the beginning of my reflections into how to take this experience and make it forever part of my lifestyle.

The Audacity to See Our Society as "Raceless"

Even as a sociologist, I began the Jesuit Volunteer Corps believing that we had moved to a raceless society – one in which we all have the same opportunities, and one in which we have moved passed any sort of prejudice. And when confronting with statistics of the overwhelming numbers of minorities who are poor in America’s urban centers, I had the audacity to simply label this as economic inequality and forget that race could or should be incorporated into the analysis.

Could I fully blame myself? Yes and no. Coming from a predominately white area where I myself was a minority, it was easy to dismiss the fact that racism exists; after all, I am not white, and look at me – I have successfully used my talents and middle class-instilled work ethic and social compass to not only “succeed,” but actually obtain almost everything I had ever asked for – with slim to in some cases no adversity.

Coming to Washington has slowly eroded the fantasy I held to be true. Even as quickly as getting off the plane at National Airport, I noticed that the people in business attire are most generally white, and the people in service jobs are indefinitely black. But, sure I thought, this is tied to economic inequality, and it is not racial inequality, for that doesn’t exist.

I work in NW Washington in an office that is in a predominately and historically African American neighborhood. I live just north of our office and walk to work each day. Our location also lends itself to other Latino/Hispanic clients, and I notice the rare white client who walks into Bread for legal assistance. But still, through this, everything must be tied to economic inequality only, for we are now a raceless society.

Nevermind that in my attempts to pretend that we are raceless, I still watched (to my horror) that I had my own prejudices that surfaced. We can blame a list of relevant factors and sources of this prejudice, but the fact is that I held prejudices that I didn’t even know were there. Working at Bread for the City has challenged me daily, and has helped destroy the prejudices and replace them with relationships with real people.

Even heading to Southeast Washington, across the Anacostia, where the deepest poverty perpetuates itself overtly, I still continued to believe that all our problems are tied to economic inequality. I remember my first visit to our Anacostia location. The blatant absence of any sort of commercial establishments (minus the plentiful liquor and corner stores) coupled with the hopelessness in the tone of the buildings and the fact that only African Americans were present should have been a clear signal that we cannot continue to see a raceless society. Even travelling back across the river, commenting on the contrast to the luxury condo buildings and the omnipresent cupola of the United States Capitol, I failed to see what should have been so clear.

After many more conversations, more visits to SE, more daily walks through my neighborhood, a sociological observation at Landlord-Tenant Court, media coverage, and inner reflections, I believe I had my grand epiphany in early June. For what should have been obvious in my courses at Gonzaga now finally made sense. There is a reason in modern sociological theory that race, gender, and class are tied together, and not viewed only independently of one another.

In the context of race, it now clear to me that the term “racism” applies to institutions in society. Institutions are racist because they give power to the views of the majority at the expense (and disadvantage) of the minority. The power reinforces the majority while condemning the minority. The very foundations of who we are as Americans is dependent on this system of power. The majority power has used African Americans in an exploitative manner since their original days in this country. Freed from slavery, they began their new lives without any of the wealth many others had been able to accumulate through prosperity, inheritance, and the advantages of being white in a racist society. Naturally, African Americans stayed in poverty and entered a life of a new slavery – this time as sharecroppers. And finally, when escaping this new type of slavery, African Americans headed towards the city where they faced new types of racism and segregation. When wealthier Americans fled cities for the suburbs in the 50s, African Americans were left without sufficient wealth and thus found themselves in the center of decay and fleeting capital. Even when having sufficient wealth to move to the suburbs, African Americans faced racist policies written into law, preventing them from actually achieving the American Dream.

Today – the result is so easy to see that it’s abhorrent to think that it wasn’t clear on my first visit to our SE office, when such an image was so blatant. Lack of capital resulted in neighborhood decay. Dependency grew. Poverty concentrated deeper and deeper, due to policies in housing and in prejudice of individual Americans. Lack of jobs in the urban centers, the coming of drugs, the fall of the American family, terrible schools, lack of tax base to provide services, hopelessness and mental illnesses, conditions of squalor, deep segregation, and perhaps a forgotten symptom – the apathy and lack of concern by the dominant power and society, has led to the state we are in today.

I can no longer believe that we have moved to a raceless society.

As a sociologist, I am partly ashamed to say that it has taken me this long to recognize the strong impact of race and power in the United States. But perhaps – it sheds light to the packaging of our middle class values – it is easy for us to believe we are in a raceless society when we live lives of privilege, wealth accumulation, affluent neighborhoods, and higher quality schools. Even when we come from families who are in the lower middle class, we still can look to the working class, working poor, and underclass as people below us who we continue working to avoid becoming. Our values become reinforced in the successes we experience, and we continue believing the American dream is equal, just, and gives equal opportunity to all. Others must not be taking advantage of the opportunity.

Our values are reinforced when we hear the word diversity. We cringe because it has been a buzz word and we become upset that someone might be an equal candidate (or more upsetting, worse than us) and we will lose our opportunity because the policy is favoring the African American over us. It is a power struggle and we are afraid we will lose. We know that the other has been oppressed, but we tell him that it was in the past. We tell her that it is not our fault. We rebuke the other for trying to give us guilt for the sins of the past. After all, if you only work as hard as I, you too will be at the same place. For you see, we are a raceless society now, a society of equal opportunity. Nevermind the 300 years of advantage I have over you. That is over now. What is important is that we both work hard, and let’s be honest, I have worked harder than you. I deserve it more.

And so, this is how we continue to perpetuate the great myth in our society that we live in a raceless society, a society that now is colorblind, a society that sees everyone as equals, a society that judges by merit and skills, not by skin color and economic class.

For a long time, I believed this great American myth. But, alas, after this year in Washington, the lie has become exposed. I can longer believe that we live in a raceless society.

Yet – I am not left alienated, hopeless, and powerlessness. No – the revelation is like a bittersweet taste. The bitterness floods my mind, heart, and soul, tempting me to turn to hopelessness. But, the taste of hope is sweet, and some enters me and convinces me that there is still hope. We can still fight for policy that combats a racist society. We can still confront the prejudices we don’t even know we have, just as I have this year. We can still work together to break down this great American myth and work for our brothers and sisters who are disadvantaged at our experience.

We can do it together, and we will. For now that the myth has been revealed as a fallacy in both our society and in our hearts, we can move towards establishing what we know is just.

Experience vs. Lifestyle

In less than one month, I am boarding a plane back to Seattle for a short vacation before heading to Chicago. In many ways, it seems unreal to think the year has gone by so rapidly. And yet, as I look back on many reflections, many conversations, and many thoughts I have had this year, the year becomes a rich pool of experiences that have shaped my perspectives and helped me grow in my understanding of society and myself.

The word experience stands out to me, in part because of an ongoing conversation I have been having with my good friend Liz. Looking at her own service experience in Georgia, she asserts, “Jubilee has taught me that I am not looking for good experiences anymore; rather, I am looking for ways to live the lifestyle I am looking for. It is not enough to have independent good experiences – but rather, it is time to live the lifestyle I want to have.”

Experience – a particular instance of personally encountering or undergoing something; all that is perceived, understood, and remembered.

Lifestyle – the habits, attitudes, tastes, moral standards, economic level, etc… that together constitute the mode of living of an individual or group; a way of life or style of living that reflects the attitudes and values of a person or group.

The Jesuit Volunteer Corps has been a one-year experience. Working at Bread for the City has given me experience, and has been a certain type of experience – a type of radically opening my understanding of the United States, of stretching my perspectives on race, economic inequality, and injustice. It has been an experience of learning a richer version of accompaniment, one that is sustained through longer term relationships with our clients.

The Jesuit Volunteer Corps has been an experience of living in a community of other Jesuit Volunteers – a community where we are interdependent, where we share all the money we have. It has been an experience in joy and challenge, an experience of sacrificing and of reflecting on what is actually pertinent to who we are and what is periphery.

The Jesuit Volunteer Corps is an experience in simplicity – in attempting to live on a quantity of money closer to what our clients might live on. It is an experience of lessening what we have, because we as more privileged members of society can make the choice to do so. It is an experience of developing a consciousness of the ways we impact the world, and then trying to lessen that impact.

The Jesuit Volunteer Corps is an experience of living faith, of reflecting on how our faith compels us to act, to work for justice. In this, it is an experience of dissonance, both inside of us, and around us. This dissonance is a challenge that we reflect on – with it, we discern the differences in faith perspectives in our community, in our churches, and in our work. The experience challenges us to either confirm or condemn what we believe, to strengthen and nurture, or to break open and confront. Our faith is innately individual; the experience calls us to find the communal elements and to share that faith with one another. It is a challenge; it is not always fun and easy, but it is life-giving and sustaining.

So this is the experience – the one year experience of the Jesuit Volunteer Corps. It is what I have perceived and understood from what I have encountered this year.

But as Liz points out, it is not enough to have these experiences in our lives. Liz and I are blessed enough to be able to point to many experiences that have been transformational. But what is the sum of these transformational experiences? Do we float to yet another transformational experience? Or do we take the sum of these experiences and make a lifestyle out of them?

Looking back on my year as a Jesuit Volunteer, I have been reflecting on how my experience as a JV will shape the lifestyle I would like to live. Perhaps easiest to describe is my pledge to incorporate aspects of simple living into my lifestyle. Challenged by the ideas of my community, my recollections of my childhood, and the experience as a whole, it seems much more practical to live a simple lifestyle. Of course, this year has forced me to reconsider and discern the purchases I make, and to truly consider need vs. want. But it has also made me reflect on what I am eating and the overall impact on the world I live in. Part of my lifestyle will continue to keep discerning what ways I want to live simply environmentally.

My experience compels me to want to continue to live a life where I am sharing my faith with others, and living with a sense of community. Returning to a previous reflection, I think the sense of community I take away is a community in which I feel invested – a community where I feel grounded and where I am in a circle of others who care about intentionality and who are committed to growth. Despite me not returning to a formal community setting, I know that I will continue to live this value in the relationship I share with my closest friends, and the ways I invest myself in my community, church, and city.

Finally, I cannot imagine my lifestyle without a commitment to social justice, and it is perhaps in this context that I see the others merge into one lifestyle. Working at Bread for the City has shown me the power of working for justice in a way that is life-giving and sustaining. I cannot imagine my understanding of the world, of inequality, and of humanity without taking into context my time here. I see my faith lived out in my connections with my clients and my understandings of the theories I learned in school, as well as my readings of the Gospel. I understand why it is important to live simply and to be intentional with money when I see the disparities between our clients and those living in Georgetown and Capitol Hill. I feel a sense of authenticity and purpose when I walk to work, and smile at the people I pass by in my neighborhood. It is the aggregate feeling of all of these that make me know that it is more important to work for justice than it is to be wealthy. I cannot imagine a lifestyle that is not working for justice and positive social change.

In many ways, the idea I have about my lifestyle is quite vague and needs continued reflection. But I suppose we can’t just have one idea of lifestyle. For if that is true, we become stagnant and begin to lose our sense of intentionality. I guess this is start as I continue to discern what my lifestyle will be like. I will re-evaluate, fill in those vague concepts, and continue to make sure that my lifestyle is reflecting that values I have experienced this year.

The Long Loneliness

“We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community” Dorothy Day

This quote, by Dorothy Day, has become a favorite for many Jesuit Volunteers. Jesuit Volunteers point to this quote as representative of the Jesuit Volunteer community experience. Rightly so, in many regards. In Dorothy Day’s book, The Long Loneliness¸ she talks about the formation of Catholic Worker homes for people to come to and experience community. Many Catholic Worker Houses around the country are now places of hospitality, and many foster the same sorts of community among their residents and guests that JVC aims to develop.

I think today’s American society knows this long loneliness Dorothy Day talks about in her book. Americans, I believe, in their state of hyper-individualism, often forget that we are interdependent, and consequently, often fall into a state of hopelessness, powerlessness, despair, and loneliness. I think this is manifested in the hyper materialism, and the complete focus American society has placed on the individual.

But is this Catholic Worker and Jesuit Volunteer concept of community practical, especially in a hyper-individualistic society?

Certainly, there are merits and blessings I have experienced living in community this year. Together, we live and work in the District, trying to work for social justice, live simply, and grow in our different spiritualities. It is a challenge and a blessing bound together in a common experience. We have shared all of our resources, shared our hearts, and our time with one another. We have experienced the challenge that comes with disagreements and disputes, and the joys that come with laughter and fond memories. We have voiced our struggles with our work, with the vast and deep-rooted social and economic injustice we see in our work and in our society. We have come to see each other as a community, as close friends travelling together on this part of our journey.

Our community experience is ending soon, and we will disperse onto our different paths. Though I think Dorothy Day is speaking about community in the context of experiences like JVC, I also think that community extends to a broader understanding than this. Taking from lessons learned from the blessings and challenges of this community experience, I envision living out the tenet of Community in many ways in my own lifestyle.

Dorothy Day says that the void of loneliness can be filled with love and community. I believe this community refers to the connections we make with one another in our lives. These connections are not just friendships of utility, as Aristotle would entitle them (friendships that give us what we need and in turn provide to others what they need), but true “good friendships,” friendships that are motivated out of love for the other, friendships that develop over time, friendships that encompass a mutual trust…

I believe in many ways, I have seen these friendships in the experience of community this year. I point to this type of friendships as the foundation of the Community I envision after JVC. I have seen these friendships develop with friends from high school, friends from Gonzaga, friends from Bread for the City, and friends from my Jesuit Volunteer house. Friendships that include sitting with a glass of wine or cup of coffee and enjoying a long conversation delving into our most inner hearts, desires, pains, and joys… friendships that are not contingent on what we can give one another, but are everlasting and from the heart… friendships that continue to give life, to nurture, and to encourage one another to become more authentic individuals.

Community happens in other ways too – I have experienced a sense of community in my work, in both the relationships with my coworkers and my clients. Working together each day, we have formed community in the way that we relate to one another, the way that we help each other grow, and the way that we strive to make the District a more just place for our clients.

I have experienced community this year in the relationships with other advocates I have met in the city. Working together on projects like the SE Preservation Project, the Fair Budget Coalition, IDA advocacy, and the Save Our Safety Net Campaign, I have shared my own passion with others who have the same vision, in hopes that together, our efforts will be magnified and more powerful. This collaboration has helped me feel as if DC is my community, the place I am settled, the place I feel a strong connection to. It is different than the Community I have experienced with my closest relationships, but it is has complemented the other relationships I have formed this year.

The sum of these relationships result in a feeling of community that creates connections with one another, helps us feel as if we are part of a community, fosters growth, and challenges us to become more authentically human. It is a sense of community made up of a variety of relationships, some reaching more intimately into who we are than others. I believe this community is innately sustainable outside of the Jesuit Volunteer experience or Catholic Worker lifestyle because it calls us to form relationships that cultivate self and communal growth. It is this growth, and this sense of community, that can cure the long loneliness that Dorothy Day speaks of.

Perhaps I won’t live in another JVC-type Community like I have this year, but I will live the value of community as I continue on with my life.

Questions and Faithfulness

Yesterday, in a meeting at the Department of Human Services, we discussed policy implementation and ideas for making the Homelessness Prevention and Rapid Re-Housing Program (HPRP) more effective and efficient. While it was interesting to sit through a meeting with city officials, and other non-profit providers from the city, my mind was racing with a collection of questions about the work we do here at Bread and across the City Government and NGO world:

How can you meet the level of need in the District of Columbia?

There is so much institutional racism that I never saw before this year. How can we help educate others and come up with solutions that begin to tackle this racism?

Is case management the answer? Why do some of us need case management while others do not?

How do we give people incentives to work? Incentives to stop relying on public assistance and move towards self sufficiency? Is self sufficiency only a concept for middle and upper classes?

Are we imposing our own ideas of success on others? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Can we make a program like HPRP actually help people reach their goals and become truly independent?

Does Social Work help? What does that help look like? Is Social Work helping us or is it helping the clients?

Why are so many people “disabled” in the District of Columbia? Are they all disabled? What helps some people work despite their pain and yet makes others want to stop working? How do people with their disabilities?

How do we show our wealthier members of society that these people aren’t just lazy, but that they are dependent because we’ve made them dependent?

How do we add job training and improve our education system so we don’t have so many people without any skills or work history?

How do we help people realize the skills gifts they’ve been given and encourage them to make some impact with those?

How can we meet the level of deep seated need for our poorest members of society?

Questions such as these and more spun through my head as I walked out of the meeting at DHS. Sitting in the meeting, I began to feel thoughts of hopelessness – can we really make an impact when the need is so great?

When I was in college, I realized that there is a state of American Hopelessness that persists in our society. In college, this was viewed towards the lens of middle and upperclass suburban adults who for whatever reason have become hyper-individualistic. And in some ways, I felt elements of hopelessness after I walked out of the meeting with DHS – with a need so great and such limited resources, is it truly possible to make an impact on others, to make some sort of positive social change?

I think this is another hopelessness that is occurring though. It is the hopelessness in many of the clients served by these programs. It is hopelessness that leads these clients to become dependent, to feel as if they cannot improve their lives and thus are trapped in their current situation. They are trapped because of both their hopelessness, and because of the structures of society that keep them trapped and hopeless. It is a cycle that is, for many of our clients, impossible to escape.

I would be a hypocrite, though, if I didn’t remember the words of Fr. Greg Boyle, when he quotes Mother Teresa. I will never forget, when asked how he is able to persevere through so much failure, his response: The key is to not measure in success, but in faithfulness.

Yes, Fr. Greg and Mother Teresa, you are right. It is true that we must measure in how faithful we are to our work, and how faithful we are to God. For this faithfulness will sustain us when we feel as if we are hopeless, as if the need is too great, and as if we are stuck not making any positive social change.

So then, remembering this thought, I take comfort in knowing that I have stayed faithful to my clients and to my work this year. It is my hope that as I continue to work here this next month, and head off to school after, that I will continue to see myself as a faithful servant. For me, as a task-minded, goal-oriented person, interacting with a system looking for quantifiable answers, it is sometimes hard not to get discouraged. But… when I change my perspective and look through the lens of faithfulness, suddenly success isn’t so hard to find.

Ruined and Transformed for Life

Over these past couple of weeks, I have come to see what it means to be “ruined for life,” one of JVC’s official taglines. I doubted this would apply to me when I began my year in JVC. In fact, I felt this had already happened to me in East LA… in my experiences meeting others in Europe… in Zambia… in my conversations with friends over coffee… and in the many other shaping experiences throughout my life. It is true – it did happen in high school, in college, and in those many experiences listed above. I attribute my family, my friends, my teachers, my mentors, my faith, and my experiences to be the guiding forces that have led me here, and have instilled in me this thirst for justice, and a deep hearted compassion for the poor.

Yet, it’s funny how true the statement, “ruined for life” really is. In my most recent encounters, I have found myself surprisingly changed, and cannot helped but reflect on this change. Perhaps a couple examples illustrate this most clearly:

A conversation in Maine about the causes of inequality left me unsatisfied, frustrated, and upset. Perspectives raised focused on the laziness of the poor, while neglecting any sort of criticism of the structural barriers that have oppressed and crushed them. Despite my attempts at advocacy, I found myself unsuccessful in showing structural level problems that leave many Americans beginning their lives without equal opportunity. No longer, though, am I upset because I have merely lost a discussion in which I feel passionate. No – it is no longer about me. It is about my clients. My outrage is not because of my pride, but because I picture my personal clients and point to their own lives as living testaments to society’s condemning of our poor.

Another conversation in Maine, reflecting on the simplicity of rural life (in contrast to the materialistic emphasis of the fast paced urban life) has resurfaced in many thoughts over these past weeks. Yes – it is true that living out in the country provides one with less distractions, more emphasis on the present, and less focus on material possessions and appearance. It is easy to contrast this with urban life. Challenged by this conversation, and entering the material shopping scene of downtown Portland, I found myself facing inner dissonance between the call to a simple lifestyle, and the temptations of life’s beautiful treasures. I continue to reflect on what it means to purchase responsibly, to consider what it means to live simply, and to examine my own true needs.

That same conversation, challenging my views of simplicity, and my desires to live an urban life, also forced me to reflect on my own clients – their life experience, and the lack of choices they face. It is true – I as a privileged member of society can decide what simplicity means to me, and whether I truly find myself in the most rural or urban places. Yet, trapped and segregated to the most destitute of neighborhoods in D.C., my clients mere choices forgo personal growth and are replaced with true questions of need in order to survive.

Institutional racism, a concept that seemed so abstract one year ago, now shines as bright as the North Star. No longer can I view society through a color-blind race-less society in which all races interact with equal opportunity and privilege. No – though I can appreciate the accomplishments we have made for our non-white citizens (especially as we see Barack Obama as our current president), it is impossible for me to ignore the institutional racism that has left my African American clients born into poor families with a lack of positive family structure, trapped in schools that consume the dreams of children and instead fester and perpetuate hopelessness, and continuing into adulthood engulfed with this hopelessness, find no escape from the cycle of poverty. This institutional racism persists and continues to deepen despite our thoughts that we have emerged into a new color-blind society.

And returning to themes of simplicity and social justice, I found myself in Georgetown this weekend indulging myself at JCrew. As I looked around Georgetown, in a way I haven’t felt yet, I experience our American culture in a way I haven’t quite noticed before. I was suddenly aware of the racial divide of Georgetown and the neighborhood of Anacostia. Sure, of course I’ve been to Georgetown, and course I’ve noticed it before. But more present this time, was a sickening feeling of our masking of poverty. Though I enjoyed my time in Georgetown, I felt a deeper awareness of the materialism that consumes us, and the individualistic mindset that forces us to keep our eyes on ourselves, insulated from problems just blocks away from us.

I walked into Bread for the City today, and felt a sense of ruth fill my soul. At home, I felt, seeing the clients who patiently wait until 9:00am on Monday morning. Seeing a familiar face as I meet with Ms. N and continue our journey through the process of the Social Security Administration. Here I feel at home. At home with the people of my neighborhood, and my work.

It is true – there are many who do not continue to take full responsibility for themselves, and I continue to see this in some people. What is greater, though, is the lack of responsibility that has been instilled in them, and the dependence society has fostered through our institutional racism, through our systems of inequity, and our focus on our individual mindset. It’s easier to keep our clients dependent because then we can criticize them. It’s easy to label them as lazy and rotten because then we can justify our own existence. It’s easy to do this because we don’t know the poor as true humans, but rather, as the inhuman lazy statistical poor.

And it is easy to continue to live lives of consumption of self investment only. It’s easy because it’s our culture, and though it initially feels satisfying, it leaves us quenched for more, for more, and for more.

Forever will I look at the world through the eyes of my experiences, but most especially, through my experience at Bread for the City. I continue to grasp what it means to grow closer to God, to find a way to live the words of the Gospel, and the words of Micah. It is true, I am ruined for life. But perhaps, more accurately, I am transformed for life. I continue to pray that I will live for and with my clients, that I will accompany them, and that I will grow closer to God who calls me to this work.

Additional Thoughts on Simplicity

I have been thinking a lot about what it means to live a simple lifestyle. It has been one year since I’ve headed to Zambia, and the Gonzaga-in-Zambezi daily blog has caused me to reflect on my own experience there, and the ways my life has changed since then.

It is easy to call Zambian life as simple. Simply put, the people of Zambezi aren’t generally attached to their cell phone at all times, aren’t watching hours of television or surfing the internet, and aren’t cluttering their lives with excess consumption like we find ourselves doing each day. Back in the United States, we struggled with the concept of need versus want in our daily choices.

I wonder if simple lifestyle fully takes into account the Zambian life experience. While in Zambia, I remember thinking that I had a lot less to worry about while in Zambia (I wasn’t thinking about finals or moving to Washington, DC, or the things I’ve cluttered my life with). Yet the realities of my worries seemed almost trivial in comparison to the Zambian worries. Mama Kuwatu shared with our students here daily journey to collect water from a source that is too contaminated for us to drink from – a hole in the ground where she waits to collect water and carry it back on her head. She grows her food and takes care of her many children. Despite the fact that her home is nice in comparison to others in Zambezi, it is still without heat and has a dirt floor and electricity. Is this simple? Or is it more to think about than I must think of? Perhaps my lifestyle, with its modern conveniences and comfort is simpler in a sense.

Yet it was also easy to see the Zambian life as more simple, without the distractions that are present in my life. Never have I felt as present as I felt in Zambezi – no cell phone, no internet to distract me. All I could focus on was the relationships present to me, and the ways I was growing there.

Here in JVC, I think we’re challenged to think of “simplicity of time,” a concept that refers being intentional with our time and the way we use it. This intentionality has become a game of tug-a-war: spending time communicating with friends and family via email, phone, and letters while staying ever present to the people in my house while staying present and active with the other relationships here in the city. Being present here is harder than that presence in Zambezi, and it becomes something that is chronically a challenge for me.

I think my conclusion from this year, and from my reflections on Zambia is that we both struggle with what it means to live a simple lifestyle. Based on our cultural and societal norms, simplicity has different meanings. Yet the goals are ultimately the same – by living a simple life, we become free to live more authentically real lives, lives that aren’t wrapped up in the complexities of our society.

The Value of Simplicity

This year has challenged me to explore what it means to live a simple lifestyle. When paired with the work we are doing in our placements, the value of living in community, and intentionality in our faith, there is a dynamic of both challenge and peace that come with living simply.

I have come to understand hat there are two main virtues in living a simple lifestyle. Perhaps most intuitively is the idea that living simply, in all aspects of the word, leads to more freedom from the realities of a consumerist and materialistic society. So often, our world tells us we need the newest product of everything. The newest product will make us happy. We need the newest style of clothing. Yet the message is false: for as soon as a new more stylish piece of clothing arrives in the fall, we will no longer be happy, but instead will crave what is new. The reality is that most of my clothes are just fine. In fact, I brought less than half of my clothing with me to JVC and I've been more than fine. I apparently don't need the rest, even if I may still want them.

I think there is something to be said about the way simplicity helps us understand who our clients are, and to understand their own life's journey. Each month, I am paid less than the SSI check my clients receive, and unlike them, I'm not receiving additional assistance like food stamps. Instead, most of my check has predetermined endpoints: rent, utilities, food, household items, and transportation. Eighty five dollars remain intact after our house bills are paid.

In some ways, simplicity, at least financially, has been especially challenging. The question becomes, what do I really need and how do I budget to make that happen? Perhaps I don't need another drink at our Legal Clinic Happy Hour, but I would enjoy another. I suppose I don't need Starbucks coffee beans, but Starbucks does taste a lot better than Folgers or ChocFull of Nuts.

The challenge becomes balancing the simplicity choices. The joy I have found is in the simple instances when I indulge into the luxuries I had previous found common. When thrown into the blend of many days of ChocFull of Nuts, suddenly Starbucks seems to taste better, richer, and it becomes much more enjoyable and special. Happy hour is filled with much more happiness and delight.

And, though maybe it's an exaggeration to say, but simplicity - the act of budgeting, of sacrificing, and of delaying our pleasures, gives me a little insight into the lives of our clients. The difference, however, is that I live in a house of other volunteers whose safety nets are tight and comprehensive. Our immediate safety net is in one another, and the contribution we bring to our household expenses each month. Our budget ensures that we will be challenged, yet successful in meeting our basic needs. An SSI check can't ensure that each month.

While I can't say I can understand all of my clients' daily experiences financially, I believe my challenge in simplicity has helped me move one step closer to empathizing with their difficulty and painful financial options they get to choose from each day. While it's clear that in many ways, my life will never be the same as my clients', at least this way I can try and accompany them on their life journeys.

Building a Human Safety Net

Standing at the Wilson building today, chanting phrases like “Save Our Safety Net,” holding a net, and the hands of fellow advocates from across the city, I felt renewed in my commitment to serving my clients each day. I have journeyed this year with clients like Mr. R., Ms. M., and Mr. J. I have sat down with them, listened to their stories, and together, we have gone to their Social Security disability hearings hoping to win them Social Security benefits. Each day at Bread for the City, I meet with walk-ins and take calls from many people across the city calling because they have found themselves in need of an attorney. I have listened to their stories and have seen the effects of both personal choices and structural inequalities.

In the last month, the Wilson building has become quite familiar to me. Together with Eli and Legal Clinic for the Homeless attorney Scott McNeilly, we have gone door to door to Council Members, asking them to reconsider the proposed cuts to IDA, the program our SSI clients need to survive each month. I have helped the Fair Budget Coalition plan a budget briefing on housing, and have attended a previous rally urging City Council members to vote for progressive tax reform so that our social safety net services might be spared in the $500 million of proposed budget cuts this year.

Today felt different than those previous visits to the Wilson building. Today we stood, holding hands and nets, circling the entire building. This literal joining of hands, the literal act of building a human safety net, was a public testament of how important these services are to our clients. It is more than just about progressive tax increases or fighting for what I believe is right. It’s about making sure our clients can simply live.

Standing around the Wilson building, seeing familiar faces of the advocates I’ve met this year, holding hands and passionately chanting, my heart was flooded with emotions of connection, passion, dedication, and increased vigor. I felt a sense of renewal and recommitment. I am here for my clients, and for the ways we are growing together.


For more information about the Save Our Safety Net Campaign or for more pictures of this rally, please click here.

Canvassing to Support the Save Our Safety Net Campaign

I’d consider myself someone who has mastered the art of fundraising – starting in high school with KEY Club, Caitlin and I weren’t afraid to ask anyone we’d ever met for money so that we could further some sort of Adopt-A-Family project or fundraising cause like Relay for Life. Through the different service experiences in both high school and college, I honed my ability to talk with people about why they needed to give money to my cause, whether it was for the East L.A. alternative spring break trip, or the Kennedale Park planting project.

That being said, canvassing is a different challenge. Unlike fundraising (mostly just asking for money), canvassing involves asking someone to commit their values in writing. For us, it involved going into an affluent neighborhood in D.C. to ask residents if they’d support a nominal (less than 1%) increase in income taxes for residents making over $200,000 each year. Hoping that these signatures would sway the votes of the City Council, we went door-to-door, explaining the mission and goals of the Save Our Safety Net Campaign***.



Half of the people we spoke with weren’t interested in the message. Understandably - who honestly wants to see their taxes increase, even if it is a nominal amount? Perhaps more powerful though, was other half of the people we talked with. The people who wrestled with the idea as we stood on their doorstep… the people who thought about our IDA clients and our clients needing job training and child care… about our homeless men, women, and families who depend on D.C.’s safety net during the winter months. Ultimately, whether it was out of an engrained belief in the needs of our poor, or a beautiful transformation when hearing the cries of our poor, these men and women signed the petition urging their council man or woman to raise their own taxes.

I think that during these moments – when I watched fellow D.C. residents wrestling with their own tax burden increasing so that they could guarantee that our city’s poor could afford to merely live – these moments were moments of social change. It wasn’t the social change I see each day at Bread for the City, the change that involves winning a battle at Landlord-Tenant Court or a change that involves a family receiving enough food for the rest of the month. Rather, this social change was a change in attitude, a change in heart. A change towards realizing our common humanity.

It is this change that makes me want to canvas again – so that both the social safety net will ensure our clients will have enough this next year, and so that our wealthier residents will have a transformation of heart.


***For more information about the Save Our Safety Net Campaign and for information on how to get involved, please click here.

A Home Visit with Eli and Rebecca

Rebecca, Eli, and I went on an adventure to Client X’s house last night. Client X is one of Bread for the City’s legal clients, and Client X lives in the Northeast section of the city. As we drove from our Southeast office across the Anacostia and back into Northeast, the area looked familiar. My roommate Jordan and I had biked to that very intersection during one of our biking expeditions a few weeks prior and had commented on the presence of stores, chain stores, etc… in an area we might not have expected them.

Perhaps one block from this area, an area whose façade looks like chain stores and development is the house of client X. From the outside façade of the client’s building, life looked normal and average – nothing out of the ordinary. As Eli opened the door of the apartment building, I was transported into another world – trash was the first thing I saw in the hallways of the building… cigarette butts lined the floors… We arrived at the top of the stairs to meet Client X, who told Eli to walk around back to meet. We walked back into the sunshine, around the building, and up a flight of stairs.

This morning I was fishing for a word to describe walking up those back stairs. I think eerie describes the way I felt walking into a home that had large holes in the walls… that was dark and messy. The doors had violent images of death and corpses graffitied on them. We stepped through a large pile of garbage as we walked in – that garbage could have been the home to rats and bed bugs for all I know. We handed Client X a bag of food, chatted for a second, and said goodbye.

This is the aspect of poverty I don’t have to see at Bread for the Cit. The image of Client X’s house is imprinted in my mind as a sign of mental illness, the effects of drugs and prostitution, lack of opportunity, hopelessness… the effects of the poverty cycle that is present in our society.

The funny part is that I was more struck here than I was in Zambia. Zambia, an African nation, a nation full of the images of absolute world poverty. Walking along the dirt streets of Zambezi, glances at homes with thatch roofs and no running water, with children wearing second or third hand clothing from America, with the people staring at the white outsiders. That is an image of poverty too, an image of some of the world’s most absolute poverty.

I think as Americans, with our media coverage, we’ve been conditioned to know that to be Africa. That is the African poverty we expect when we travel there. It is no surprise to us when we see it. Though it tugs at our hearts and we grapple with the site of the poverty, it is exactly what we expected to see.

I live in Washington, DC. The capital of the United States of America, the “richest country in the world.” I live in the same city as the U.S. Capitol building, the White House, the Smithsonian Institution Museums, the Memorials, and the National Monument. But I also live in a city where Client X lives perhaps worse than the people of Zambia. Client X’s home is just hidden by the brick exterior. Bricks are hard and sturdy. Bricks don’t reveal what is inside.

To borrow a phrase from Norman Maclean and adapt it to my own experience, I am haunted by the image of Client X’s house. I have not lost hope, however. Instead, my experience with Client X makes clear my vocation to act with justice, to love tenderly, to serve one another, and to walk humbly with God.

Save Our Saftey Net Mayor Fenty!

In the District of Columbia, yesterday marked an important day - the release of Mayor Fenty's Fiscal Year 2011 (FY11) budget. It is a budget that we have been nervous about all year - we have a current shortfall of $500 million dollars... how many cuts will be made to our low income District of Columbia clients? Will the budget be balanced or will it only involve budget cuts? Will our clients bear the largest burden of the budget cuts?

My involvement with the Fair Budget Coalition this year has taught me the importance of advocating to the D.C. Council for a more fair budget. I have watched advocates in both the Fair Budget Coalition*and the Save Our Safety Net Campaign* come together to urge the Council to remember our clients as they form the budget.

I have just spent some time reflecting on the Gospel call to serve one another - Jesus, as an example to us, washes the feet of his disciples and calls us to do the same. Yet, as I turn to Mayor Fenty's budget, I realize our leaders often don't hear this same call. Perhaps they may not share the faith I believe. However, my experience at Bread for the City has taught me that the Gospel call I feel stretches beyond my faith - it is inscribed in the hearts of my coworkers in words that are similar or different. Regadless of faith commitment, I have seen my coworkers as well as many advocates across the city reach into their own hearts to see a common humanity between themselves and the clients we serve. Our difference is that our families have often provided the safety net. But we still have the same needs, the same aspirations, and the same desire to be loved and fulfilled. We still have the same goals of sucess, the same need for adequate shelter and food and clothing.

Perhaps we forget this message when we find ourselves isolated in our neighborhoods... when we view Bread clients as the drug addicts and homeless and people away from us.... when we think of our clients as living in unsafe and scary neighborhoods...

But - it is my belief that the moment we spent more than thirty second driving
through and actually look into the eyes of our clients, engaging them in a real
conversation - it is in this moment that our hearts begin to see a common
humanity.

We are bonded together as one humanity - it is my hope that Mayor Fenty and Council Members will find this common humanity in their hearts just as we have in ours.

** For more information on this year's budget and the importance of advocating for our low income clients, please click on the following links to learn more about the Fair Budget Coalition and the Save Our Safety Net Campaign.

Triduum Reflections

It is now Triduum in the Church. Lent is over and we begin our final journey into Easter. Triduum is my favorite time in the Church calendar each year. For years we have attended Mass each night – Holy Thursday Mass, the Good Friday service, Easter Vigil, and finally, Easter Sunday. I have always loved the way these liturgies are intertwined and sewed together – attending all of them, the picture becomes clear of what these most important days of the year are about.

I attended Holy Thursday Mass last night at my church, St. Patrick’s in downtown Washington. During the Holy Thursday Mass at my church back at home, each year, we would sing the song, We Are Called – my favorite faith song. It echoes the words of Micah, calling us to act with justice, love tenderly, serve one another, and walk humbly with God (Micah 6:8). It is a Mass about service, about Jesus washing the feet of his disciples – of leading as a servant.

Cardinal McCarrick was the celebrant and I must say I haven’t seen my days in Europe. His homily focused on this message of service and of what it means to serve one another, something that is especially relevant to the life I am living right now. Some of the words stood out to me as they made me reflect on my work at Bread for the City and what it means to truly live this life of service to one another: We should look to serve one another even if their feet aren’t dirty… whatever it takes let us be servers…

In the literal sense, the story of washing the feet is pertinent to the Gospel because the people of Jesus’ time travelled through the Middle Eastern desert from one place to another, without concrete or asphalt pavements, without cars to drive (though I’m hopeful that they had camels which is extremely exciting!). Today, especially in Washington, this story is less literal, but the Gospel value is still true. I believe that when we serve other another, we come closer to Christ, just as he served his disciples in the story.

While the nature of service is often heavy and draining, it is also life giving. As I step back and reflect on my work serving our clients at Bread for the City – helping my Social Security clients prepare for their SSI/SSDI hearings, researching tenant displacement with our housing attorney, and meeting clients who come in each day for assistance, I believe I am also getting my own feet washed. I find that I am deeply fulfilled in the work I am doing at Bread and continue to serve willingly for both my clients and myself.

Cardinal McCarrick closed his homily with the words He shows us how to serve tonight. Tomorrow he will show us how to die. In all, he shows us how to love. When I reflect on the Triduum as a whole, I see that after all, it’s all about Christ’s love for us.

Life Happens Over Coffee

“One of life’s quiet excitements is to stand somewhat apart from yourself and watch yourself softly become the author of something beautiful.” Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It

Until today, I almost forgot how much I enjoy going to Starbucks and sitting with a cup of coffee and spending time by myself. Of course some of my favorite memories have been made at Starbucks with close friends – having a conversation over coffee, sharing our lives together, and exploring what it means to be human. I can point to countless cups of coffee that forever echo in my heart what it means to be in deep relationship with one another and what it means to look towards becoming the most authentic person we can become.

Yet, I also enjoy another side of Starbucks, the side I explored today by myself. The other Starbucks experience, sitting alone in a chair, sipping a cup of coffee, exploring my own self through a great book, through writing a letter to a friend, or through gazing out the window letting my thoughts float out the window and up to God. It is a break from life, a chance to reflect, and as Norman Maclean writes in A River Runs Through It, a chance to “watch yourself softly become the author of something beautiful.”

Balancing living in community and taking time for one’s self is a challenge. However, learning about this balance has helped me grow and treasure the times alone at Starbucks. I have found a connection with the Dupont Circle Starbucks, with the room of windows looking into the Circle. Sitting, sipping my bold coffee and reading A River Runs Through It today, I was captivated and taken not just to Missoula MT, but into myself. Perhaps in a way I haven’t had for a while, I stepped apart from my own life looked back into myself. In those moments, as I sat, sipping my coffee and journeying with Norman and Paul, I too was journeying with myself. I feel refreshed, ready for another week at Bread for the City.

Perhaps I shouldn’t wait so long to have another coffee by myself at Starbucks.

Two Different Washingtons

Last weekend, a high school friend of mine visited Washington with a couple of his college friends. The friends from college had never been to D.C. before, and as they are all Political Science majors, excitement radiated out of them. Travelling around Washington together, looking at the National Mall, the Monuments, the White House... I watched their education become personified as they recited Supreme Court cases, recounted stories of presidential blunders, and gossiped about various Congressional leaders. It was as if I was stepping into Disneyland... the Political Science major version.

I sometimes forget about this Washington. While my JVC house is active in exploring the city, seeing the Smithsonian museums, biking around the trails that outline the city, and walking the streets exploring the neighborhoods, sometimes I forget that this Washington is the same Washington that has been debating health care for many months now... it is the same Washington that houses the United States' leaders... it is the Washington of tourism, of monuments and memorials, of Congress and of the Supreme Court.

I think this is why the comments of the Political Science majors caught me so off-guard last week. Granted, when I originally came to Washington, D.C., this Washington was the Washington I knew and cannot fault their excitement. Yet, when one kept saying how exciting they were to be there and they wanted to return because of the great things happening nationally, I couldn't help but become a little sensitive and protective of Washington.

The Washington I now know is the Washington of Bread for the City... it is the Washington of the Fair Budget Coalition... the Washington of the $500 million budget deficit... the Washington of Shaw and LeDroit Park and Glover Park and Anacostia... the Washington of my clients.

It is a Washington of increasing inequality. The DC Fiscal Policy Institute recently released a report showing nearly 1 in 5 Washington residents now live in poverty. 11,000 district residents fell into poverty this past year, making the total number of residents in poverty to be 106,500. And... this figure is the federal poverty line, which means that many more District residents continue to struggle each month; they just aren't the official federal poverty level. It's also striking to note that the District's average income for Caucasian residents was $101,000 in 2008 while only $39,000 for African Americans.

The D.C. my friend and his college friends saw is a real Washington. It is a place that most see when they come to D.C., and it's unfair for me to judge their experience as naive or superficial. Yet, it's not the D.C. I see each day. The D.C. I see each day is a D.C. of increasing inequality and poverty. But, the D.C. I see is also one of advocates and clients joining hands to make an impact of poverty, both out on a client level and a social justice level. This D.C. is what keeps me inspired to continue doing the work I do each day. It is the D.C. that continues to help me explore my vocation and look towards making a positive impact on society.

To view the article written by Jenny Reed, DCPFI Policy Analyst, click here.

Reflections with Fr. Greg Boyle

My experiences travelling to East LA during college, both my sophomore and senior years, were places of some of the greatest growth. Being present in the community, attending Mass and Stations of the Cross, staying with Rosa and her family, and working in the Dolores Mission School helped shape my understanding of what it means to be in accompaniment with others.

Last night, we had the opportunity of seeing Fr. Greg Boyle of Homeboy Industries speaking on his new book, Tattoos on the Heart*. Many of the stories Fr. Greg shared were stories I had heard before. Yet sitting there, listening again, I was reminded of my own experience in East LA, and the many things he has said that have touched me.





“Long lay the world
In sin and error pinning
Till He appeared
And the soul felt its worth”

In multiple occasions, Fr. Greg has brought up this quote from the popular Christmas Carol, O Holy Night. He explains that while this quote is literally about the birth of Jesus, it should also be about our interactions with each person we meet. Isn’t that how it should be, that the soul feels its worth when we interact with someone?

Moving to another though, he discusses his vision of kinship – seeing a world that is “no longer us and them, but just us.” Just us – without divisions, without seeing others as the outsider or the inferior person, but as seeing all as full of worth and value.

I was first drawn to think about the people of East LA when hearing his comments. After all, the context of his words are about the gang members he works with each day. The images in my mind are of the streets near the Dolores Mission, of having lunch with Chino at Homeboy Industries, of talking with Rosa in her home…

Yet in another sense, I think about my own experience here at Bread for the City - aside from the service experiences in college like travelling to East LA, I can't really say I've spent long periods of time working with those who are low-income. Here I find myself deepening my understanding of "no longer us and them, but just us." Of course, there are still divisions. I return to my JVC house where we have enough money and don't have to worry about meals or paying our bills. Yes, we are living without many luxuries of society, but we are still comfortable. In many ways, my stipend is more than enough.

In other ways though, I still debate this us and them idea. Yes, it's true - I live in the potentially the same neighborhood as my clients, we shop at the same grocery store, and I interact with clients and walk-in individuals each day. I sit with them and listen to their story and try and give them some information. I work with my SSI clients so that together we can ensure they receive the benefits they are entitled to.

I think there are still many differences and I continue to think about them and reflect on them. I am still trying to grapple with this idea of living in solidarity and kinship with those I am working with. It is true that in one way, I'll continue to live my life the way I raised - still interesting in things such as the Smithsonians and getting a glass of wine at Vinoteca or cup of coffee at Starbucks... in other ways though, I think I am a few steps closer to understanding what Fr, Greg is talking about when he asks us to begin building kinship.


*100% of the proceeds from Fr. Greg's new book, Tattoos on the Heart, return to Homeboy Industries to support the continued efforts to help give hope to the gang members of Los Angeles. To learn more about the book, please click here.