Volunteering in Chicago

It’s no secret that I have been missing Bread for the City since I left in August. While I left six months ago, I still think about Bread for the City daily, about memories with clients, with coworkers, and with my JVC house. I am ruined for life and can never look at the world the same way. Indeed, I have written about this experience many times and have referred to the word, accompaniment. My time at Gonzaga trained me to strive to accompany others in the service we do, to recognize how we are mutually indebted, and to help us realize that we aren’t heroes in the work we do. And, the attorneys at Bread for the City taught me this same lesson day by day when I would meet with our clients. In fact, I believe my own viewpoint shifted as I watched myself understand what it means to truly be in relationships with others, and to suspend my own hero complex.

This repositioning of my own viewpoints has left me craving relationships with clients. Graduate school can be isolated, and my days are often full of me in my apartment reading sociological books and articles. I love my work and find a different type of fulfillment in it. Yet, because I feel my viewpoint seems to be with the client of Bread for the City, it is sometimes hard to always know how to juggle a life that is now focused purely on my own academic development. I was glad when a fellow friend in graduate school suggested we start volunteering and we found a program affiliated with Loyola. We signed up to go once a week with other Loyola students to a local soup kitchen. I became excited with this new opportunity to try and be in relationship with clients and to leave academia for a couple of hours.

I have to admit, being away from Bread for the City now for six months, I found that I was nervous about my accompaniment skills. Bread for the City gave me the opportunity to practice them forty plus hours each week; in addition, I would go home to a house full of others trying to practice and dinner conversation was frequently about how to be more present with our clients. Not doing this for six months left me nervous about my own abilities and I found myself nervous and anxious at our service placement tonight.

Beginning a new service placement is always difficult and uncomfortable, especially when trying to practice accompaniment rather than service as a heroic deed. We arrived to a shelter that looked nothing like Miriam’s Kitchen, the place I was used to in D.C. The walls were painted a pale yellow that did not emulate feelings of glowing sunshine, but rather of mediocrity. We awkwardly stood around until we were told to just hang out in the kitchen while the guests set up the tables.

The next step made me feel joyous as we were instructed to simply sit with guests. I was struck with how difficult accompaniment is initially. While the guests I sat with were friendly, I found myself unsure what to share of myself. What questions should I ask? How can I be open and honest, but not offensive? How can I talk without displaying my privilege so candidly? I found it was easiest for me to ask questions about the city, as I am new here. I asked Johnny about where he grew up and where his favorite places were, and we laughed at how cold I was in the snow. Ok, perhaps this is an entry into that accompaniment is about.

We then were told to come help serve the meal, and I must admit, this made my heart sick. The director, probably not maliciously, announced our group name, and the group of guests applauded for our “generosity of time.” Heroism replaced accompaniment as now, our “sacrifice” is paraded to make us feel appreciated. Is this what service should be about?

We lined up to serve the meal – I was horrified to see such a undignified meal: white rice not cooked adequately, pork in a sauce that is mostly grease, beans in a gruel looking dish with hot dogs, and bread that looks like it is the cheapest hamburger quality the supermarket sells. No, this is not the dinner of Miriam’s, where Steve spends time perfecting the meals so that the guests can have the most dignifying meal. This isn’t Miriam’s Kitchen, where Adam and Kierstin conduct outreach to guests, making artwork and sharing coffee and laughs.

No, this is not accompaniment. This is white guilt repackaged as charity, as a heroism done, a pat on the back for helping the homeless.

If it weren’t enough, as we were ready to leave, the guests applauded us, to once again, give us a trophy to stroke our egos and inform us, that yes, we are actually superior, generous, wealthy, and perfect citizens.

Where does this leave us in the interaction? Certainly not mutually indebted. Rather, I have become the hero whose charity is paraded for all to see. And the guest as “other” has become reinforced and solidified. I am able to leave this hell to return to my luxurious life of entitlement. I can feel good about this too, for I have given to “the homeless.” And the other is left to continue a life of oppression.

And I have signed up to participate in this week after week for the next semester.

But yet – it doesn’t seem right to quit. Surely, perhaps, accompaniment and dignity can happen if our group works at it. Perhaps the ideal models of Bread for the City and Miriam’s Kitchen will never be actualized again. But perhaps, I need to strive to live this model so that others can see its power in building kinship with one another.

It’s not time to give up hope, but to remember to be faithful and continue growing toward a vision of simply us.

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Ideas and context, as always, were taken from these sources:

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

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

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.

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

JVC is founded on four core values - community, social justice, spirituality, and simple living. This fourth value, also known as simplicity, has in many ways been the most challenging for me. Sure, in some ways I have mastered financial simplicity, and now even find myself saving some of my $85 stipend each month for future months when I anticipate increased costs.

So there is financial simplicity, something that most think of when hearing about my experience. I too wonder what it means to live a simple lifestyle in more ways than material wealth... Questions originating in my Human Ecology course my senior year return. Does simple lifestyle mean buying locally grown organic produce or shopping at the Farmer Market instead of conventional standard grocery stores? Does it mean lowering one's impact on society? How is it linked with faith?

In Human Ecology, we read an excerpt from Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and I must admit there was a heightened level of frustration that emerged, especially as both an economist and sociologist. For example, Kingsolver (and arguably, many of the authors we read) were not offering suggestions or solutions low income clients could financially adopt. Does it make sense for my SSI clients, receiving $661 in SSI, to spend an extra $1.00 so that they are certain a product is organic?

I must say, however, after reading a book review in the Global Citizen, an annual journal published by the Krista Foundation for Global Citizenship, I decided that perhaps I could give Kingsolver's book another try. I was surprised to find many of Kingsolver's ideas on simple living to be similar (if not the same) to the way I was raised. Just to name a few, I have included the following:

1. Eating Produce that is Locally in Season: Though California strawberries fill the produce section at Safeway, I distinctly remember my mother never buying strawberries outside the two-three week period our local Spooners Strawberry farm would have their ripe berries. Every summer, my mom would go to Spooners, sometimes daily during that entire season, to ensure we'd have more than our fill. Flat after flat, the brightest most vibrant red, most ripe, most juicy and flavorful strawberries would disappear hours after entering the Sharma family house. Spooner strawberries continue to be something our family (and city) look forward to with anticipation each year. I have to say, I agree with Kingsolver - as sad as it is to abstain from strawberries 11 months of the year, those few weeks of locally grown in-season Spooner berries are a highlight of each year.

2. Organic Farming: The term organic is a buzz-word in modern society - certified organic must be better, right? Even before it was popular, I was raised on our own home-grown organic produce from the Sharma family garden. And what's more, our summer meals were dictated by what was fresh that day, week, or month. Even today, when I come home during the summer, our meals focus around what is fresh and ready in the garden. If spinach is ready, we're having a spinach salad. if green beans are ready, that day's vegetable is green beans...

Which brings me to winter months...

3. Canning and planning for the winter: I remember summer day trips to Eastern Washington where we'd pick our tomatoes in the hot, scorching sun. Over the next few days, my mother would slave away in the kitchen washing, slicing, and canning hundreds of jars of tomatoes so that we'd have our own version of "canned tomatoes" all winter. The same was for vegetables, such as mixed vegetables, for fruits like peaches and pears, and even tuna fish. To plan for those months when blackberries would be a treat, my mother would pick blackberries during the summer, make multiple pies, and freeze them before baking them, so that come January, we could pull one out of the freezer and enjoy a taste of summer. Simple ideas such as these made us enjoy the blessings of summer all through the winter.

So perhaps Animal, Vegetable, Miracle doesn't address my low income clients, providing them a practical alternative exactly considering their income, but it isn't as revolutionary as I thought it would be when I picked up the book. In fact, in many ways, Kingsolver's experiment looks a lot like growing up at the Sharma family home.