Beneficiaries and Aging

Grandma Hazel Ruth, a volunteer for the Foster Grandparent Program, stepped into my office today to fill out some paperwork. One of the forms she needed to complete was an insurance beneficiary form. The purpose of the form is to designate an individual who would receive some monetary compensation in the case of the her death while under the Foster Grandparent program.

Hazel Ruth looked at the form with a puzzled expression. She blurted, "Well I can't fill this out." Inquisitive, I ask her why.

"Well I have no one to designate as a beneficiary."

I find Grandma Hazel Ruth to be one of the sharper volunteers in the program so I hesitate to explain to her some possible options, such as family members or close friends. My hesitation proves wise as she continues, "I don't have anyone who would receive this money. My son told me not to give him any money or put his name on any forms because it creates complications with the Sherrif's Department, his employer."

"Grandma Hazel Ruth, who did you have on your form last year," I question.

"Well I had my teacher from the classroom I work in because she was the person I knew the best. I suppose she was my closest friend. The problem is that the teacher has left the school and I am working with someone new. I would guess the new teacher would find it odd if I designated her as my insurance beneficiary. I don't know anyone well enough to put on this form."

We decided to leave the form blank but the whole encounter struck me with profundity. Age and relocation brought with it isolation and lack of intimate relationships. Besides the time that Grandma Hazel Ruth spends at a transitional homeless shelter in downtown San Diego, she doesn't spend time with other human beings. If she does, she doesn't really know them and they don't know her. Those relationships at her place of volunteering, 15 hours per week, are the most important relationships in her life. I hope someone is there to be on my insurance beneficiary form when I am old.

Introspective Questions

I have been working on applications for international volunteering. Primarily I have been looking into organizations that do peace-related work in the third world. One of the Christian organizations I am applying for asked a few questions in the application that caught me off guard. It's not often that I think about the tenets of my faith, about what I truly believe. It took me quite awhile to shed all the layers of thoughts in my head, and here's what I came up with...

What do Jesus Christ and the Christian faith mean to you?

The Christian faith and the person of Jesus Christ provide me with hope. Amidst a world with so much pain, struggle, and suffering, I know that redemption and restoration lies in Christ. Death will not have the last word; on the contrary, the kingdom of God is at hand, and coming in its fullness, and life in its fullness will reign supreme. This hope that lies in Christ compels me to work towards the restoration of creation, by loving human beings and caring for the Creation.

What is your concept of Christian witness?

God is love. Therefore I believe Christian witness to be the demonstration of that love. Christ’s ministry was to serve the least of these with unconditional love, and as imitators of Christ, that is our Christian witness, to serve others with the love that is God.

Describe significant factors in your development as a Christian. Explain how this related to your desire to serve.

The majority of my development as a Christian came during the years of my undergraduate studies. Through my study of theology, as well as sociology, I was challenged to step outside my wealthy-suburban-American paradigm and see the world through a different lens. My studies, coupled with various experiences with the homeless, the developmentally disabled, refugees and immigrants, the mentally ill, and other marginalized populations, tore my beliefs regarding Christianity to their foundations.

I began to struggle with the disparity between a North American Christian’s lifestyle compared with that of a Christian in the third world. I saw beliefs taking precedence over actions and this became a concern for me. Rather than excepting the primacy of belief, I came to understand loving others with the love of Christ as the primary display of my faith. Maybe the most important aspect isn’t the specific belief I hold about the trinity, but maybe what’s most important is emulating the life of Christ and proclaiming freedom, liberation, and restoration to humanity through works of mercy, justice, and love.

As I continued to gain knowledge about the disparity between the haves and the have-nots, the first world and the third world, the majority and the minority, I desired to make a difference. I desire to be an instrument of God’s justice and peace to those in the world who need it most.

What is your attitude toward the use of force in resolving conflicts or achieving objectives, whether personal, group or national? What is your attitude toward the military and participation in war?

I am vehemently opposed to the use of force in resolving conflicts. The ends do not justify the means; but instead, the means are inextricably tied to the ends.

I believe that violence will not overcome violence, but will instead breed greater violence. Contrastingly, love will overcome violence and when love has won its victory, peace will reign.

I believe that we are all created in God’s image and I see violence towards my neighbor as contrary to the message of Jesus Christ and to the will of God.

In terms of the military and participation in war, I am opposed. In participating in the military my primary allegiance would be with the United States of America, which I believe is sinful. My primary allegiance should not be to any nation-state which is defined by artificial borders and people groups; instead, my allegiance is to the kingdom of God. The purpose of the military is to protect the interests of a nation-state through the use of coercive violence; I believe this institution to be the single greatest purveyor of evil in the world. My participation in the military would contradict my allegiance to the kingdom of God, and would also contradict my brotherhood and sisterhood to my fellow human beings.

Mi Casa es su Casa

I work for an agency called Catholic Charities. Casa San Juan is a program of Catholic Charities that operates a facility that houses undocumented persons going through immigration trials as material witnesses. These persons are in the custody of the US Attorney and are being held to testify against smugglers from Mexico.

Recently, I had the privilege of visiting this facility. I was graciously given a tour of the building which consisted largely of rooms filled with beds for the residents. A common room, kitchen, and dining room were located downstairs, and were where the residents spent most of their time. Each resident usually spends approximately 3 weeks at Casa San Juan as they await their date in court to testify. These individuals are testifying against individuals involved in the smuggling business, often times against the very drivers who crammed them into compartments built into trunks, seats, and engines to elude detection. These precarious transportation arrangements don’t uncommonly result in serious injury.

As I walked through the halls, heard the stories, and saw the faces of those housed there, I was struck by their humanity. I saw past their numbered sweatsuits and noticed their smiles, even if they were smiles and giggles at the white boy touring their temporary apartment. Their stories were real and their reasons for attempting an illegal border crossing seemed compulsory. The dream of being able to provide for their hungry children was too close at hand to forget. $1500 will get you a shot at the United States, and the “American Dream.” However ill-informed their notion of the American Dream may be, their impetus for attempting to cross the border seemed noble in many cases I heard.

What was most beautiful at Casa San Juan, besides the faces of the women and children, was the display of hospitality. Hospitality is complicated and profound, and something that Jacques Derrida has taught me a lot about. It was refreshing to experience an environment where those who have been apprehended by border officials are treated as people who are inherently deserving of dignity and respect and utmost hospitality. So often politicians and media personnel, and the whole of society, lose sight of the fact that undocumented immigrants are as much human as any of us. Unfortunately, they are simply labeled as 'illegal aliens.' There are certainly (created and false) distinctions between the women staying there and those of us who live in San Diego. They must wear sweat suits, they are at the beck and call of attorneys and officers, and they have experienced an often-harrowing journey to the United States. But it seems that many barriers between 'us' and 'them' have been pulled down at Casa San Juan. It's profound that the 'us and them' distinction is blurred at Casa San Juan given that the immigration system is built upon that distinction.

The mission statement of Casa San Juan is profound: Casa San Juan exists to provide housing in a home like setting, treating its residents with dignity and respecting individuals cultures while creating an environment that gives hope.

Hospitality shown to the undocumented persons housed at Casa San Juan is hopeful. Hope amidst a time of crisis. I believe that hospitality and hope is a glimpse of what our world was intended to be.

A Complex Web

I've often thought about the complications that are abundant in this world. Events that take place in our world often effect more than one person. Those people may have very different experiences from the same event. Among those affected, there are those who benefit from a particular situation, alongside a group of people who experience the pangs of discomfort. These events can be anything from political maneuvers, to corporate policy-making, to sporting events, and even to the event of rain falling from the sky.
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Last Saturday, the skies opened up in San Diego, and the rain came down. It's not often that San Diego experiences rain for the majority of any given day. It's especially rare for rain drops to fall that do much more than mist your windshield.

As I sat in my house last Saturday and watched Ocean Beachians scamper to find cover from the rains, I reveled in the moment. I had been in a funk for a few days, and it seemed the rain might be enough of a surprise to pull me out of my stupor. I ran upstairs and threw on my running shoes and sprinted out the door, all the way to the end of Sunset Cliffs. About a mile from my house, it began to dump, and any notion of staying somewhat dry was washed away with the downpour. As my shoes, socks, t-shirt, and shorts (all of which were white, whoops) became saturated, I continued on, embracing the rain. There was an amazing moment when a smile uncontrollably came over me, and I lifted out my arms to my side, looking skyward. It was a moment when I was grateful for a body that is capable of movement, grateful for the unexpected visit of the rain, grateful for the beauty of rain falling into the Pacific, and grateful for the refreshing coolness of the drops that fell on my face. It was one of my finest moments in quite awhile. Arriving back at the house, I stood on my lawn and smiled, as the rain found the few places on my clothes that weren't fully saturated.

It was beautiful. So much joy.

That same Saturday evening, as the rain continued to blanket the San Diego coastline, a man from Pacific Beach experienced the rain much differently than I had.

"A 39-year-old homeless man sleeping under a tractor-trailer rig in Bay Park was injured this morning after a worker got into the vehicle and drove over him. The accident happened at 6 a.m. on Morena Boulevard near Savannah Street, San Diego police said. The 49 year-old worker started the truck and let it idle for a while to warm up and then started to drive away, police said. He was unaware the man was underneath it, police said.

The victim is being treated at a hospital for a broken pelvis and possibly two broken legs, police said."

As I heard this story on Sunday morning, I sat in silence. My breathing stopped momentarily.

Dammit.

This man was trying to find a quick solution to the unexpected rains. His lack of adequate shelter led him a nearby trailer-truck that provided escape from the rains. The rest he found under the truck was tragically interrupted.

It was ugly. So much suffering.
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I realized how complicated our world can be. Our world is this messy collection of beauty and pain, joy and suffering. It's so damn complicated. The joy that I found in the beauty of the rain juxtaposed with the immense suffering that my fellow human experienced is more than I can understand.

The complexity of this man's body being crushed by the only shelter he could find is so twisted. I writhe for this man and for his circumstances, and I'm pissed. The stupid rain.

Quite a play...

I haven't posted in awhile, so I probably lost all my readership..haha.

Here is a play from Division III football. Absolutely incredible.

http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2007/football/ncaa/10/28/trinity.lateralapalooza.ap/index.html

Hopefully, I will get to writing something soon.

Serving the poor (and living the part?)

A few days ago, one of my coworkers was describing the Catholic Charities office in El Centro, CA. Apparently the interior and exterior of the building have aged from years of use. The inside of the building was especially cluttered, looking as if the janitor had neglected his duties for several weeks. Upon further investigation, my coworker found that the vacuum being used was janky at best. Apparently, it was busted and had been temporarily fixed with some good ol’ duct tape. Sounds reasonable. I guess the duct tape wasn’t performing up to it’s billing, and hence, neither was the vacuum.

My coworker came down on the man responsible for cleaning the building and told him to purchase a new vacuum. She proceeded to tell him, “We serve the poor, but we don’t have to live the part.”

That really got me thinking. Serving the poor, but not living the part…serving the poor, but only until the clock strikes 5pm?

Paulo Friere would argue that serving the poor but not living the part would not classify as an act of solidarity. Freire defines solidarity as a radical posture. Serving the poor from 8-5 and then escaping to my furnished dwelling while the poor sleep outside my office is certainly not a radical posture. Serving the poor yet willfully maintaining a distinction between the poor whom I serve and myself is anything but radical.

Serving the poor but remaining socioeconomically distinct from the poor seems half-hearted. I can’t seem to reconcile serving the poor yet remaining economically, socially, and geographically distinct from them. It seems that to be in solidarity with the poor requires one’s life. Solidarity is a radical posture of love.

Living in solidarity with others is probably the single most difficult thing I have ever tried. I reflect on it to question and challenge the way in which I live. Somehow I have to reconcile that with the way the poor live.

Larry

Sometimes the world is too complicated. Larry, a homeless man, asked me for food today while I was taking a break at work. I obliged and bought Larry a sandwich, he was thankful. Helen, a kind woman who owns the Heavenly Market and Deli below Catholic Charities, told me that Larry has convinced several people to buy him food in the last week. Her view of the situation was that buying Larry lunch wasn’t a solution. He needed to go down to Father Joe’s or another facility that could give him food and shelter and provide him a long-term fix.

I understand that viewpoint, but here’s the problem…the man was hungry, and I had a $20 in my wallet. Yeah, an egg salad sandwich won’t change Larry’s life. It doesn’t give him the shelter, food security, or health care that he needs. But it was a meal and he was hungry.

So anyway, I buy Larry lunch. But Helen’s right, it’s not a solution. Larry will be on the streets next week. Larry had the look of an addict. He’s probably been on the streets a long time. A sandwich isn’t his answer, but it was at the moment because he was hungry.

It’s hard to know how to help people. Larry is hungry and homeless, but people argue about how to help him. Helen, who’s worked in that market for 20 years, said that buying him a lunch was a sweet thing to do, but it won’t really help him in the long run, she’s seen his type hundreds of times. Maybe Helen’s right. Maybe an egg salad sandwich doesn’t mean more than a few hours of sustenance. So be it.

I probably won’t ever see Larry again. Maybe I failed Larry by sending him on his way without getting to the heart of what his needs are. Nevertheless, I am glad Helen and I could help him (she insisted on covering half of his lunch). Answers seem few and far between when it comes to poverty and homelessness.

Tangent time: You know what’s messed up? I offered Larry an apple and he had to politely refuse because his teeth are in such bad shape that he can’t bite into a whole apple with losing teeth or experiencing pain from all of his loose teeth.