It's just that simple.

Hello, everyone.

I just want to write a quick post because it's Holy Thursday and because I am missing you all, especially my lovely family, as Easter draws nearer. In fact, the Easter Bunny seems to have already found her way to Gresham. We JV's are obeying the instructions and waiting until Sunday to open up the two boxes of goodies, of course.

Anyway, this is one of my favorite days in the Liturgical year, and it always causes me to stop and think. Holy Thursday brings us the Gospel reading in which Jesus washes his disciples' feet, the true example of humility and servitude. And he commands us to love one another-- so simple, and yet so complicated to live out sometimes! Still, I am moved by the profound straight-forwardness of this mandate (hence, "Maundy" Thursday for some, AKA my favorite Protestant, Katharine) to be compassionate toward one another. Love, after all, is what transforms us. When you look someone in the eye or listen to someone's story, it's difficult to ignore the fact that we share a common humanity, that we are connected, that we are all a part of the same web of life and Body of Christ. Love is dangerous in this way, but that's what Jesus calls us to.

On that note, I suggest you check out a beautiful blog entry my dear housemate Colleen wrote for her organization, JOIN. It's called "The Four Letter Word," and you will find it here: http://joinpdxblog.blogspot.com/

Finally, I spent some time today reflecting on and retelling a story from November. The point of the interaction I experienced with this client resonates on this special day. Again I am reminded of this "ministry of presence" that we can all live each day in our interactions with one another. Be there. Be present. Be humble. Be love. Sometimes, it's that simple.

I'll leave you with this reflection and a reminder that I love you, miss you, and am praying that you have a blessed and happy Triduum and Easter celebration. I hope to Skype some of you... and I can't wait to see what E.B. brings our community!

Love,

Amanda

The reflection:

This was definitely not in my job description.

It was only November, but similar thoughts had already crossed my mind several times during my first few months at Catholic Charities-El Programa Hispano. Still, I had never felt quite this under-qualified. With a stack of papers strewn across the desk in front of me and a broken-hearted man across from me, I wondered where to begin.

José's eyes were heavy and his forehead wrinkled in exhaustion and stress. Moments before, he had walked in to our drop-in center and told the receptionist that he needed some help "making phone calls." Now, in a matter-of-fact tone that I never could have mustered given the circumstances-- and perhaps this was an indicator that he himself had not yet internalized this news-- he informed me of his brother's death that very morning in a rollover car accident. It wasn't what I expected to hear, and if I had been giving José anything less than my full attention before that moment, I was certainly fully present now.

It's hard enough, when I'm speaking my first language, to know what to say in these situations-- how was I supposed to offer my condolences in Spanish? I felt disarmed and overwhelmed, but José exuded a remarkable feeling of serenity even on one of the most difficult days of his life. I took a deep breath and realized that there was no one else but me to help him at that moment. We would just have to figure it out.


I called the police to find out where the body of José's brother had been taken. I talked to his brother's employer to ask about the situation, since the death was a result of a work accident. I spoke with directors of various funeral homes to find out about the cost and logistics of shipping a body to Mexico. So that he would feel more comfortable, I arranged for an interpreter to go to a funeral home with José to take care of the arrangements. Meanwhile, he called abroad a few times to talk to his brother's wife, and he presented me with an ID and birth certificate for this brother I had never met, whose face, staring out at me from an Oregon driver's license, still haunts me.

At some point amidst this long and laborious process, I paused and put down the phone and my pen. I looked at José, not only my client but a man who had lost his brother that very day. And the only words I could produce in any language were simply "¿Cómo se siente, usted?"-- How are you feeling? His response was simple, too. He was tired. This was hard. But he was the only one in Oregon, the only family his brother had in this country. He would have to figure it out, despite his lack of preparedness or qualifications. In this, we were quite similar. And it was impossible to avoid the connection I felt with this man, whose heavy heart and weary eyes moved me and reminded me of our shared humanity and vulnerability.


The nature of my short-term intervention work is such that I rarely get a chance to follow up with clients' situations. But, much to my delight, José returned to my office a few weeks ago. He told me that everything had gone as smoothly as possible and that his brother's body had arrived safely to Mexico, where the family had a lovely ceremony. It had been an intensive process, José told me, but he was doing alright.


Advocating fiercely for my clients energizes me, and I get a certain fulfillment out of arguing with immigration officials, unjust landlords, and insurance companies. When my clients are being taken advantage of, I spring into action and I'm in my element. But sometimes, a situation calls for less intensity and stubbornness. I struggled with how to help José because he didn't necessarily need someone to fight the system for him; he just needed someone to walk through it with him, to be there for him, to ask him how he was holding up.


Our work as Jesuit Volunteers seeking to live out the values of social justice, community, spirituality, and simplicity is sometimes quite uncomplicated: just be present. There may well be someone else better suited to the task, but I was the one sitting with José that day; likewise, he was the one trying his best to make arrangements in the wake of his brother's death. In these situations, what else can we do but toss our burden, our perceived inadequacy, and our self-doubt on the table and slowly, together, begin sifting through it all in search of some small light?