Christ is Risen, Indeed He is Risen!

“Christ is Risen, Indeed He is Risen!”

I love that this statement is in the present tense and we can proclaim this just as loudly today as the disciples could when they first encountered the Risen Christ. The risen Christ is present among us in our everyday, daily lives. We may not get to tangibly touch the wounds on his hands and feet like Thomas could to know for certain, but we can touch the wounds of those around us to have our own experience of turning from doubt to faith that Christ is really here, present among us. It is up to us to discover Him and to proclaim that He is risen!

As most of you know the SSJ Mission Corps has been on a hiatus from having active volunteers. So when I began this job, or ministry as I like to call it, I came in without volunteers to work with, to challenge, to be challenged by, and to be in relationship with, my favorite part about working in the field of ministry. I have often equated these past 7 months to Mary’s pregnancy as she was waiting for the joy and hope that the Christ child would bring the world. I work and wait for the joy and hope that having volunteers in the SSJ Mission Corps will bring; not only to my work but to the Kensington neighborhood in Philadelphia. During the Advent season I couldn’t help but feel a part of Mary’s story and reflect on the process and period of waiting. “Waiting in Joyful Hope” is one of my favorite “slogans” for advent as it truly is a time where we are reminded that our waiting is not in vain. Our waiting has purpose and meaning and, if truly looked for, depth! We can discover God in the darkest of places.

My friend recently shared this quote with my about St. Paul of the Cross: “If you asked St. Paul of the Cross today for some words of wisdom, he probably would point to a cross he usually carried and tell you to look at the world you live in, then look at yourself with this mystery of Jesus Christ in mind. Maybe he would say something like this:

“Are times bad? Is your church shaken? Is God nowhere to be seen? Well, what about my own lifetime? That dreadful time, when faith crumbled and God seemed to have abandoned his Son? Yet, God was never closer than in that dark moment, and God is close to you now. I found him first at a bad time, in an ordinary church, listening to an ordinary sermon. You can find him too. Don’t be afraid of the darkness. And be ready: God uses simple things to come to you.”

To which I reflected on the other day alongside the Gospel story of the road to Emmaus. On the road to Emmaus the disciples were feeling a loss of hope, one of the darkest places to be (at a loss of hope). Yet found Christ in the ordinary moment of walking with a stranger and breaking bread. Christ was closer than they ever could have imagined in one of the "darkest" moments of the Gospels (i.e. feeling a loss of hope...)—wow. It was in this dark moment that they found God; their hearts were opened to the possibility of Jesus among them and he was recognized in the simple act of breaking bread.  

I don’t like to admit it but most days I am tempted to give in to the “darkness” that I feel is pervading the future SSJ Mission Corps. However, when I look further into that supposed darkness I find a light and a hope greater than anything else, I find Christ. The same Christ that rose from the dead almost two thousand years ago is the same Christ that rises up today and every day. The Spirit is moving within all things so we can always find God no matter how dark things seem and we can say, 

“Christ is Risen, Indeed He is Risen!”

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

Grace & Gratitude That Drives Forward

Right before I began my current adventure with the Mission Corps I wrote a blog entry (www.beingmyvocation.blogspot.com) entitled: "The beginning of an end ends up at the beginning." It recounted the transition I would be undergoing in the months to follow and explained what
would dominate my blog for the majority of the coming year. Now as I near the end of my time with the Mission Corps, I could easily write a piece with the same title allover again.

As I look back on the year that has passed many thoughts come to mind. From moments of triumph and trial in my ministry at the Cardinal Bevilacqua Community Center at Visitation, to times of stress and success in community, the year has been full of grace and looking back on it my heart is filled with much gratitude. There is no way that last summer I could have fathomed the abundant grace that awaited me in Philadelphia. As our orientation drew to a close last August, I still really had no idea what my job would be for the year. Sure, I had a brief job description with five points on it, but the first four points on the list were so varied there was no telling what tasks would dominate my days. Then there was the fifth bullet on the description: "Whatever else is asked or needed." If that isn't a tall (and very ambiguous) order then I don't know what is.

But as the Sisters of St. Joseph are so apt to say- we're ready for any good work. Embracing that mission, I took to my ministry with a generous spirit and an openness to everything, especially the "whatever else", that was ahead of me. What awaited me was grace beyond my wildest imagination! In many ways, I can't describe the graces that I've been blessed to encounter personally throughout this year: It is the grace that hovers in the space between two people as one tells the other their most intimate needs; It is the moment when you are welcomed, not as a savior but as a friend and companion; It is the sense of witnessing subtle change as you watch trust replace timidity in a child who has disregarded you for hours of mandatory community service only to find a safe and comforting space in your presence. All of that has been grace and so much more. When I first wrote in the fall, I rejoiced that the choice I had made to come to Philadelphia
seemed to be the right one. I felt at peace with that decision and all of the subsequent decisions that were necessary to guide me here. Now, I can say that it was grace that led me thus far and, I believe, it is grace that leads me still.

God works small wonders each day. From observations of beauty as I walk to Visitation in the morning to hard-fought and tear-wrought lessons of surrender in serving others, living justly, and binding your lot in community- God never fails. Grace is abundant to the point that no matter how busy I find myself, it breaks through. This is nothing but a blessing. It has taught me to feel each moment and face the reality of a situation or relationship with honesty and compassion. Like many lessons, it has not been easy. Yet looking back on all that I have been allowed to experience and, ultimately, what I have opened my heart to experience, I wouldn't trade those lessons for the world. The grace I was familiar with before has been transformed in wondrous ways. I now find my heart open to conversion and ready to experience love in new ways. God has met me in the unknown and unfamiliar. Newness of being with and relating to the Divine arose and, despite my best predictions, the change I expected to occur and the lessons I anticipated learning were radically different and yet peacefully resplendent when they came to fruition.

For this and for this entire year, I give thanks. Just as there is no perfect way to capture the grace I've experienced this year, the gratitude I have for having lived it also escapes words. Suffice it to say that for each grace and blessing I am truly grateful-- to Kensington for allowing me to live and work in a neighborhood that has silently charmed me and allowed me to experience what it means to be stranger; to Sister Karen Owens, SSJ and the entire staff of the Bevilacqua Center for support, guidance, and the reassurance that no day at the Center will ever look like the one before; to the Sisters of St. Joseph of Chestnut Hill for the opportunity to share in your mission and the amazing witness that you bear as individuals and a congregation to the power of God's love to unite, heal, and transform in all situations; and finally to my community, Gabi and Barbara, for the many lessons they have taught me about life and about myself, chief among them being laugh; wash the
dishes that aren't yours; heart can go a long way; and if you spend too much time in your own head; laugh and get on with living.

As the beginning of an end ends up at the beginning, so do I. This year wasn't easy, nor did it promise to be, but it was the challenge I needed and the challenge I wanted. Taking all that I have learned in the Mission Corps, I move forward, excited for what comes next and ready to actively and attentively say "yes" to whatever that may bring. I can only hope that the place of gratitude and grace where I have ended up isn't an end at all, but another step in the wonderful journey I am already on.

By: Colleen Gibson (SSJ Mission Corps Volunteer 2010-2011)

*This post was taken from the Mission Corps Newsletter written in Summer 2011. It is a reflection from former volunteer Colleen Gibson on going forward after a year of service.