Radical Response

In all honesty, the place in which I find myself here at the end of my year with the SSJ Mission Corps is one of half‐formed thoughts and feelings. It is a sort of blur of memories, stories, and emotions; some seemingly far too intense to express with words. There is much I have learned, and much I have lost; a lengthy list of insights and lessons learned from the people of this neighborhood and an even lengthier list of my own presumptions and initial ideas that have been lost and replaced with actual experiences of the reality of the poverty here. In my work this year I was given the opportunity to experience the poverty in this city at a closer distance than I had before, but the reality is I have never really been in it. I remain a guest a Kensington. I’d like to think that I shared in the life of the community here, arriving at a certain level of understanding as most guests do. The rather simple fact is that at the end of every day I had a comfortable and clean home to return to, complete with food to eat, clothes to wear, and a bed to sleep on. Most here do not. I also had a family home in Willow Grove to escape to on most weekends and enjoy a delicious meal or two. Many here have never even heard of Willow Grove. In reflection, I realize it was in this travel to and from Kensington and Willow Grove or other parts of the city that I was most deeply affected. It seems somewhat unbelievable that a twenty minute journey could offer such a striking transition in environment. With not even a quarter tank of gas, the gunshots, sirens, needles, trash, and noise become grass, clean sidewalks, trees, and quiet. In these moments of transition, I could not help but recognize the very obvious dichotomy within and around me. There was certainly growth in the realization of this and yet a profound struggle in the reconciliation.

In my position at Visitation Parish as the Coordinator of Social Outreach, I had a variety of opportunities to offer accompaniment, services, and support to the members of our Latino community here. As with all things, some days and experiences were profound, and others more routine and comfortably padded with a numbness to the suffering around me. The access to people’s homes and hearts given to me by my work was an incredible gift; an instant encounter with people often in their most vulnerable state. Some days there was only silence when I wanted words the most. Some days I was motivated only by a sense of duty to my work. Other days I was entirely broken by the sadness around me and motivated by a desire and love for human connection. It took several months for me to learn to walk with people’s sadness and not under it. Still, I am learning. So many days, people were constantly asking me for help and each day presented a choice; a choice to simply give to them the concrete object or service which they sought, or to really give authentically with love and from myself. It’s a decision between indifference and shared feeling.

Quickly, I discovered that when I entered into the suffering and brokenness of the people around me, there seemed a great sadness in the streets. It is a feeling I can not describe. It is in the trash under the El, in the empty eyes of the addicts shooting heroin, in the desperate expressions of the young prostitutes on the corners, in the drunken man passed out on the pavement, and the old woman struggling to cross the street alone. It is a sadness that permeates everything. It is a raw emotion I have never encountered. Here, the formalities that often allow us to see past the hurt have been stripped away by the poverty drugs and hunger revealing the raw emotions within people. I uncovered a deep desire within myself to experience this human suffering in solidarity, to walk with these people. This demanded a falling in love with the people and world around me. This too, meant bearing a part of their burden, feeling a part of their pain. This, I think, is a sacred love; a love that breaks us and leaves a piece of us behind. It is a love; however, that also sustains us.

As I approached the end of my time at Visitation it did not feel like an ending because so much love remains behind and so much love goes forth with me. My friend Dorian is a twenty four year old maintenance man and self‐proclaimed underground artist. Dorian came up from Mexico when he was fourteen, leaving his mother, two sisters, and two brothers behind. His twin sisters had kidney disease and his family could not afford the dialysis needed to keep them alive, so he came to the States to earn money for his sisters’ treatments. His one sister died the December after he left. From the day he arrived he has worked to earn money for his family. Just a year or two ago, doctors told Dorian that he too, has the same kidney disease. He has only one functioning kidney left, and he has decided to return to Mexico. I accompanied him to the doctor several times and witnessed as he was told lies regarding his state of health, in an attempt to avoid spending the money on treating a person who is uninsured. We were talking recently about his situation when he told me that, “El amor es más fuerte que todo” (Love is stronger than everything else). He is absolutely right. So, when Dorian returns to Mexico to his mom, and brothers, and only one sister, my love goes with him. And as I move on in my own life journey, I carry Dorian’s love with me. In this way, all that we have shared makes us a part of each other.

I remember at the end of a day in early May after visiting several people in their homes, and working in our food pantry, I returned home to realize I hadn’t washed my hands. There was a very particular smell to them, a smell that I almost initially failed to notice because it had become so familiar. It was the smell of Kensington, of people’s homes, of people on the streets, of poverty. It was not dirty. It was real. That day I had embraced the reality here in mind, body, and spirit. Despite the material poverty, there is a tangible richness of soul in the communities of this neighborhood. Sustained by the love and generosity of these people, I experienced the inextricable bond of Spirit and emotion within humanity. Each day I was prompted to delve into the mystery of suffering and justice. Surrounded constantly by the effects of our flawed immigration system, I was affirmed in my commitment to give voice to the Immigrant community. I realize that the more I learn, the less I find that can be easily explained. Although I am relentlessly questioning the meaning of suffering, faith, justice, and community, it seemed that some of the biggest answers came in some of the tiniest and simplest of moments this year.

By: Mary Beth Schluckebier (Mission Corps Volunteer 2009-2010)

*This article was taken from the Summer 2010 Newsletter, written and composed by the SSJ Mission Corps Volunteers