Saying No

            The man waved Andrew and me down as we were walking to Andre House this morning.  He warned us that everything was closed so that we could not get any services where we were headed.  Andrew and I responded that we worked at Andre House, and that even if everything else was closed, we would be open for dinner.  He then asked for some spare charge.  We responded that we don’t carry cash (a lie) but that we provide plenty of services at our facility which is open most of the day.  He persisted though, noticing my sun glasses and asking for them. I refused as politely as possible, but if I had been thinking, I simply would have told him that we have sun glasses at Andre House.  I cut the conversation short, telling the man that we had to get to the hospitality center in order to prepare to open for the day, and said I hoped we would see him later.

            I have always been torn when a poor person asks me for money.  I want to help the poor, but I want it to be substantive help; I do not want to enable them or have the money used for vices like drinking; I want to build up their lives, their dignity.  This incident was the first time that I knew how to answer the man.  He seemed either a bit tipsy or mentally unstable, so there is a good chance any donation I would have made would have gone to drugs or alcohol.  Additionally, he was only a few blocks away from a number of Phoenix’s social service agencies.  Right next to Andre House is St. Vincent de Paul which provides free breakfast and lunch, not to mention CASS (Central Arizona Shelter Services), the LDRC (Lodestar Day Resource Center), and St Joseph the Worker (job training and placement).  He had plenty of resources to provide for his basic needs without asking for money.  Saying no was easy.

            I have heard of two of the regular guests at Andre House going across town to panhandle for beer money.  The money they get only makes our job harder because dealing with drunks is as trying as it gets.  If I want to give money to the poor from now on, I will forgo handouts and instead donate to established service providers.  Then, I know my resources will be used to better the lives of many, instead of possibly eating away at the life of one.

Getting Feisty over Food

When it comes to basic necessities, people can let their animal instincts show.  On a weekly basis, I see this in one place specifically: the Food Bank.

That's right, as feisty the guests can be when food is on the line, the social service organizations are in even fiestier competition at the food bank.  Things can get especially testy on Wednesday mornings, when I go, since there are as many as 8 organizations waiting outside for the facility to open.  Once we are inside, it's a free for all; survival of the fittest; no mercy!  You  have to be aggressive with where you park your cart so you can quickly shuttle crates to it.  You have to watch out for "Fort Guy" who will build a fort of crates around his cart before loading anything onto it.  Once he has touched a crate, it is basically his, so you are better off not even looking at his crates.

The aggressiveness probably seems ridiculous.  We are all doing the same ministry of feeding the hungry, just to slightly different communities.  However, we want to ensure the best meal possible.  Andre House has a reputation for good food in the community and we don't want to ruin it.  (I have even heard we are on the restaurant review site Urban Spoon!)  Sometimes there is only a crate of two of an all important ingredient like lettuce or tomatoes and we want to make sure we claim it.  Usually, finding ingredients involves digging through dozens crates to find as many peppers as possible.  On bad days, we are stuck with crates of brown bananas.

Almost all the food I have eaten in my time here has come from the Food Bank.  I have learned not to look at the expiration dates of food, instead going by smell.  So yes, I have eaten past expiration food, a lot of it (although I drew the line at food bank this morning when I saw milk that expired in May), and it has not killed me yet.  I will concede that I feel much better when it is not my day at food bank so I do not see what the food looked like before it was prepared.

A large percentage of the Food Bank supplies are items discarded by grocery stores, but are still edible.  While it is understandable that certain health safety standards need to be followed by grocers, it is incredible how much good food goes uneaten.  Too often, it sits on a shelf for too long and then rots and is discarded.  The dichotomy of people going hungry while food rots on shelf has no easy solution, but I think Andre House at least does its part by using this second hand food.

Everyone Makes Mistakes

I have made many mistakes during my time here.  Such is the process of learning a new system.  Some have been more costly than others.  I stepped on and broke a woman's glasses in clothes' closet my first week here on the day she had a job interview (and to what will be my dad's mortification, I did not immediatly accept responsibility and instead got someone else blamed.  I cretainly learned my lesson there).

I figured that the severity and quantity of my mistakes would decrease the longer I was here.  Honestly, since I am a perfectionist, I expected to just stop making mistakes at a point.  However, Brother Richard, who has been here 25 years, makes mistakes too, one of which led to a transitional house guest getting heat exhaustion.

I was working the front gate at dinner yesterday with one of the regular volunteers.  He has more experience than me, but just likes to provide a formidable presence with his 6'6", 200 pound frame, so I was in charge.  I have done front gate many times before, but it was very different since I had no other staff member to help me, kind of like having to swim where your feet can't touch bottom for the first time.  It's easy to have confidence you know there is a safety net to catch you, but when this net disappeared, so did my confidence.

An extended Latino family came to the center all wanting to eat together.  I initially gave them all family dining room passes, then checked with staff inside, changed my mind, and asked for some of the passes back.  They then said they all wanted to eat together, so I took back all the family dining passes and gave them regular ones.  They ended up being on a time constraint and leaving before eating, so the whole ordeal ended up being pointless.  It did end up causing me to forget to pass out a second set of tickets to those who had arrived after 5 o'clock (which is done to prevent cutting, which did happen), and somehow, a black man had convinced me that he was with the Latino family and was not giving up his family dining pass. (Trust me, he was a smooth talker but no excuses for falling for it).  This is not to mention the fact that I got yelled at by a man for kicking him off of the handicap bench when a man with a walker needed a seat.

Initially downcast at the chaos that had ensued, the volunteer told me that my problem was that I was not confident in my decisions.  Even if I do the opposite of what the staff always does, it is better for me to be consistent, otherwise my wishy-washyness quickly causes me to lose authority in the eyes of the guest.  I ended up getting everything right policy wise, except forgetting the second ticket distribution, but in the process I had to disturb other staff from their jobs to get clarifications.  It would have been better to get chastised by the staff later than to lose face in front of the guest.  My real mistake was not getting the policy wrong, but lacking confidence in my decision making, which the guests noticed and pounced on.  Lesson learned.

Interesting People Update:  I met a man who told me he had "thrown the past twenty years of his life into a dope bag."  When I praised him for at least getting out of the bag, he replied that he was still addicted.  I offered him some Narcotics Anonymous literature, but he stated he already had the information.  I could not imagine walking in his shoes.

I met a man today who used to own a business in Mexico.  His ex-bosses were unhappy with his new business's success, so, being allied with a cartel, they kidnapped and tortured him. He is trying to get a job through family here now to rebuild his life. 

I'll end on a light note.  On our day off, Andrew was offered the services of one of our neighborhood businesswomen.  Taken aback by her offer of "pussy," he politely refused, leading her to conclude he was "homo."  An obvious conclusion.  Score 1 for Catholic moral teaching (or more likely decent taste).

The Stupidest Thing I Have Ever Done

I am not a risk taker by any means.  It takes a lot of pushing and prodding for me to do something with which I am uncomfortable.  I am also a rule-follower.  Therefore, it is highly unusual for me to break outside of my comfort zone, especially when it involves breaking a rule.

When it comes to hiking, I have grown a bit rebellious, mostly under the tutelage of a certain high school friend of mine.  Alec...I mean this friend...is an adventuring risk-taker,so when I am with him, I either join in his adventures or watch him have all the fun.  Gradually, my comfort zone has expanded around him, so rock climbing and off-trail hiking are no longer out of bounds for me.  Today, this almost came back to bite me, literally

This morning Andrew, Lauren, and I went hiking at Dreamy Draw Park.  First of all, we had quite the adventure getting there.  We blew past the exit and ended up fifteen miles northeast before stopping to ask for directions.  The park was worth the extra time, and I unfortunately neglected to bring a camera.

We took some trails in an attempt to get to the top of the mountains, but being unsatisfied with what was already blazed, we left the trail and trekked up a dry stream bed.  After hiking about ten minutes, we reached a ledge with a nice view.  Opposite of the ledge was a large cave that extended back into the mountain.  Cue the ominous music.

The original non-risk taker Vincent thought it was better not to explore the cave, since we were already off the trail having ignored at least one sign prohibiting off trail hiking and you never know what's in the cave.  But adventurous Vincent knew I would probably regret never going in the cave.  Adventurous Vincent won out.

The cave was littered with large flat rocks and I stayed on those in some sense of safety.  I entered about ten steps into the cave and could see about thirty feet back.  It looked like an old mining cave, and I wanted to explore further, but I decided against it.  As I turned around, I saw the snake.  It was curled up less than four feet away from me at the side of the cave.  I had walked past it to get in.

My heart came screeching to a halt.  I stared at it in shock.  Then, I realized the snake had not moved as I had walked past, so I breathed a half-second sigh of relief...until it started moving...and RATTLED!  I shot out of that cave as fast as humanly possible.

My heart raced for another good minute.  Andrew went to the entrance of the cave to try to take a picture, but quickly backed off.  Lauren, who is afraid of snakes, announced she had had enough adventure for one day, and I agreed.

We began working our way back to the trail when we passed another cave.  Andrew was the first to walk by.  He made it halfway before a large shifting sound came from the cave.  He was twenty feet down the mountain in half a second.  Lauren and I avoided the cave entirely and rejoined him.  We checked, and yes, there are bears in Arizona.  One can only imagine our euphoria when we reached pavement.

I learned a lot this morning.  First, I am one luck son of a gun.  The snake was easily within striking distance of  me. It wasn't large but rattlesnakes are fast!  I could have remained completely oblivious to it, even stepping on it.  Or it could have rattled before I saw it, sending me into a panic.  Thankfully, my guardian angel kept it asleep long enough for me to high tail it out of there.  I must have really pleased St. Francis somewhere along the line.

Second, I learned a lot about Arizona WILDlife.  Notice the emphasis on the WILD part, as in not in a zoo with glass between you and it.  Arizona has rattlesnakes and, while in hindsight, the second noise was probably just the echo of something much smaller, bears.   When telling my story at the center, a guest further chastised me, saying spiders like building practically invisible webs in caves, such that you don't notice them until the spider is biting your nose, not to mention the tarantulas on the floors of caves.

Most importantly, I learned no matter how cool the cave looks, if you are in rattlesnake country, there are rattlesnakes. Don't go in the cave!!!!!!!  And stay on the trail....most of the time.

Deep Thoughts

No, I have not blogged in three days, mostly because I have not had much of note to tell.  I have some good, deep stuff today though! And apologies to Mackenzie Kaser for not giving her a shout out for being my most responsive blog follower, (she gave me an earful for not getting mentioned, although I may have opened a can of worms in that all my blog followers will want to get shout outs). 

I will start off with another interesting guest at morning Mass story.  Instead of one of the priests always reflecting on the Gospel, different staff members are assigned to "preach."  This Tuesday, I gave the homily, focusing on the passage from the Gospel of Matthew about not putting "Pearls before swine."  With help from some online references, I explained how we are called to recognize what is holy and valuable before us and not be like swine who trample on everything.  Additionally, I explained that, though Jesus calls us not to judge, He wants us to be discerning and not mistreat something valuable by giving it to someone who will disrespect or abuse it.  I used examples of giving money to a known drunk at the center, or giving the Eucharist to a non-Catholic.  For an inexperienced preacher, I thought I did a pretty good job (actually it was probably just the Spirit doing a good job through me).

Turns out my homily had a practical application within fifteen minutes.  We were receiving the Eucharist when a guest in a cowboy hat struts ups, proclaims "by the power of the Blood of Christ," and sticks out his hand for the Cup.  The staff member was initially startled, but then explained to him that he could not receive because he had not prayed with us through Mass.  She added that she could further explain the theology later.  However, he simply stomped away, called us all hypocrites. and later tried to start a fight with another guest.  Through it all, I could not help but smile at the fact that my reflection had been almost prophetic, since the Eucharist (pearl) had not been given to someone who was not respecting it (swine).  Doctor of the Church, Here I come!

A totally separate incident this week also got me thinking.  I do laundry on Monday mornings.  Revolting does not even begin to describe the typical smell that emanates from the clothes (and explains why people are so desperate to sign up for one of the ten laundry spots each day).  This past Monday, I received two bags of laundry from a guest: one overflowing with dirty clothes, and the other containing only five pairs of socks that the guest wanted bleached.  Since we cannot mix guest's clothes, the ten socks had to be their own load.  Anywhere else, I would have seen this ten sock load as a waste, but not here.  Having his socks bleached is probably the closest thing to a luxury this man will have this week.

This got me thinking about necessities versus wants.  Guests will often thank us for our services, which is a product of our culture.  While gratitude is certainly polite, it insinuates that we have gone out of our way to do something unnecessary.  However, we are filling needs, which means what we do is necessary, not optional.  These people need to be fed, clothed, and bathed; it would be a sin not to and Matthew 25 suggests as much: "Whatever you do to the least of my people, you do unto me."  People are not obligated thank us for going out of our way, because we are doing the necessary, even if its just bleach to get a few socks extra clean.  

A second to last thought: dealing with guests here can be a bit trying at times, whether they want to bend rules, or are just plain impatient, obnoxious, drunk, belligerent etc.  It all got put in perspective today when I went out to lunch with some Notre Dame Alumni Club members and the other 3 ND summer service students in Phoenix.  Andrew is with me here at Andre House, but the two girls are working at Maggie's Place, a collection of homes that provide shelter for pregnant women.  As rewarding as their experience is, I could not imagine living in a house with multiple temperamental pregnant women.  I mean I have heard one is difficult enough, but 6?  God bless those girls!

Final note: I parallel parked a car today so well, I almost took a picture!

Never Gets Old

I met two very interesting people Saturday while working at the center.  I was working in the Pascente Office where guests come in to make phone calls, get hygiene products, medicine, and stay cool.  I was getting something in the cabinet, when a man behind me asked for help.  I turned around to find myself face to face with a man wearing jeans, no shirt, and an American flag bikini top.  It took me half a second to swallow my shock, but then I was somehow able to help him as I do all the other guests.

After that experience, a sweet lady came in and began talking to my while she waited for the phone.  She asked where I was from, and after I answered Akron, she told me she was also from Akron.  Turns out she grew up less than a mile from my house.  When she went to leave, I stuck out my hand, but she refused, instead saying, "No I'm giving you the love of God, son" and gave me a huge hug.  After being a tad homesick last week, it was refreshing to meet someone from my stomping grounds.

Some statistics for you: Breaking the Standard Model has over 800 views since its inception a month ago!  Thank you all so much!  Special shout out to Josephine and Kayla, who are my two followers. Additionally and amazingly, the blog has been view on 3 continents! (I think the Germans and Malaysians were a little lost)  That's just ridiculous!

Finally, a request: If you have any questions about my experience so far or anything you are dying to know, let me know by commenting, emailing, calling etc.  I'd love to know what you are interested in!

Journal 8 - Excessive Force

Someone told me a truck had arrived to deliver a shipment of cups and plastic ware.  I went up to the loading dock and opened the garage door.  Not seeing the truck, I leaned out and looked to the right.  To my surprise, I saw not a truck by three police cars with sirens blazing.  The officers had a man, who was screaming and yelling, face down on the pavement.  I processed the shipment and then went outside to figure out what had happened.  I watched as the man was picked up and dragged off the ground and stuck in the back of the car.  One of the guests remarked how hot the pavement must have been when the man was on the ground.  A fire truck pulled up, probably to treat the injuries of the detainee.  I eventually ascertained from talking to guests that the man was cited for public intoxication.  The man had taken a drink from a liquor bottle as the first cruiser had passed, causing the officer to stop, and apparently the drunk became belligerent.

            The incident struck me as odd that such a commotion would be the result of one drunk man.  The police had gone to excruciating lengths to arrest the man who had, for all intents and purposes, been minding his own business.  I was not even aware that public intoxication included simply drinking alcohol in public.  My experience so far suggests that the fact that the man was homeless had substantial a substantial effect on the police’s decision.  I saw people who were much drunker walking out of the baseball stadium Friday night, possibly to get into cars and drive, but they were not arrested.   This leads me to think that the cops enforce the law much more rigidly with the poor, and are looking for any excuse to “clean up” the streets of the homeless.  This is an egregious injustice.

            This is not a denunciation of any and every individual Phoenix police officer; “at issue is not the goodness of the individual person living within a given system.  Rather it is the system itself that is called into question” (Henriot 24).  Evidently, the criminal justice system of Phoenix has a much broader definition of criminal for the poor than for the rich.  Many of the guests to whom I have spoken agree that the system is biased and ineffective at bringing about reform of the individual.  Profiling is common, such as police asking for proof of ownership of a bike that looks too nice.  The issue could get even worse if the Arizona Senate passes SB 1070, legalizing profiling in order to detain illegal immigrants.  Additionally, convicted felons are barely aided in reintegrating into society and getting employment, with many ending up at our hospitality center.  However, as important and widespread as the issue of a lack of police fairness seems to be, very little is being done to confront it, aside from opposition to the contentious SB 1070.

            There are likely a multitude of reasons handicapping any action from being taken to pressure law enforcement to reform, but a lack of popular education seems to be the largest missing component.  People are certainly aware of the probably with many having experienced police injustice or excessive force first hand.  However, as explained by Geraldo Chavez, abuses cannot be fought if a wider analysis is not undertaken.  “A person that has consciousness about his/her situation but is alone is no one” (Gonzalez 95).  Many of homeless probably feel powerless when it comes to changing the system because they see themselves as alone.  Therefore, in order for real progress and change to be made, the collective conscious must be informed in a manner not unlike that of the Immokalee Workers to unify the poor in a directed struggle for justice.

Papago Park

Pictures from this morning's hike:

Moon at the top left, downtown to the right

The crevice we climbed up

I channeled my inner Alec Hyde to get  up this wall

As an additional note, one of the other summer staffers, Kayla, is keeping a blog as well.  She has worked on service projects in Africa and the Americas, so she brings a very insightful perspective to Andre House.  You can read her stuff at Tales from a Wandering Activist.  

Uncontrollable Quirks

One of the summer staffers leaves tomorrow, so last night a bunch of us went downtown to a club.  First of all, this definitely was not Legends.  Second, yes, your trusty blogger made a fool of himself with his white guy dancing.

More to the point, while we were waiting outside (we were unfortunately not on The List, whatever that is) one of the guests at Andre House came by.  He was easy to recognize because he has the unique habit of spontaneously dropping to his knees and then quickly getting back up.  He stuck around for a minute before moving on, so it was hardly a substantial encounter.

However, I could not help but realizing that, if I had not met him at the hospitality center, I would have thought the guy was a freak.  Instead, I just saw him doing what he always does.  It made me wonder how many times I have walked or driven by someone, who like this man, have an uncontrollable quirk, and I have judged them as a freak.  Andre House is full of people like this, who all have stories as to why they are as they are, such as the spastic woman who was a college basketball star until a car accident damaged her brain.  Its easy to respect them at Andre House or when I already know them, but hard when I don't their back story and I am away from a service site.  Its something I need to work on.  Is it something for you to work on?

A Day in the Life

Surprise! Two for one today!

Here's a summary of an untypical day earlier this week.

My day started off with Ronald.  Ronald once handed me a pair pants he had just changed out of, which I held on to until Andrew informed me he had a history of crapping in his pants.  Ronald decided to join us for our morning prayer service during which he spontaneously broke into the Our Father five different times (his abbreviated version at least). The first time, he was simply responding to the invocation "Let us Pray." Valerie, who was leading the service, patiently waited for him to finish, but before she could start, he began reciting it again.  One of the staff commented in the spirit of Pentecost that he was speaking in tongues. I guess a prayers is a prayer whenever it's said.

I did not have a set shift for the morning, so I covered the porter shift for Br. Richard.  A delivery truck showed up with a shipment of plasticware.  When I opened the receiving door, I looked out and saw not a delivery truck, but three police cars, a swarm of officers, and a screaming man on the ground being arrested.  A firetruck showed up later.  And what was it all for?  Public intoxication.  Really police?  I'll have more to say about them eventually.

That afternoon I worked in the front office and had a delightful conversation with a woman from Boston.  She told me she used to be on the other side of the soupline, but a move to Phoenix and a subsequent broken ankle kept her from getting a job and she soon ran out of savings.  She is gradually getting back on her feet, and told me she hopes to volunteer again soon.  Ultimately, she said she has gained a huge insight from having been homeless herself.  I have to admit that the best volunteers I know, such as our maintenance guy, were once in need themselves.

During dinner, I did not have a set job, so I floated around helping other people.  I had two interesting conversations.  One was with a young man while he charged up his ankle bracelet (yes that kind of ankle bracelet).  He expressed his frustration both for his past mistakes and the justice system.  His principle offenss was a non-contact sexual offense, when he was...wait for it.....11.  He said prison is not about reforming but about money.  He himself is trying to get his life back together after a spate of jail visits, but its hard when you are literally held captive around the ankles.

I also talked to a wheelchair bound Apache woman about Native American spirituality.  She explained how inherently similar their native spirituality is to Catholicism (I believe she is Catholic), and in some cases she said her people are closer to God because they are more open to the work of the Holy Spirit and constant conversation with God.  She even told me her name in her sacred language.  A fascinating discussion.

The Streets are Tricky in These Parts

            I took the back gate shift the other night, which required me to keep people from coming in and cups from going out.  I am able to use my judgment, which can make the job a little tricky, but the cup rule is as rigid as they come.  I had already gotten burned by a couple people who came in saying they were just looking for someone and ending up having extended conversations, so I felt the need to crack down.  A man began to exit the dining room with a cup, and I told him he needed to throw it out.  To my surprise he began to sob, saying all he wanted to do was take his cup for drink outside.  Caught off guard, I said yes, and for the first time really looked at him.  He had a bandage on his head holding a gauze pad in place and hospital bracelets on his wrist.  His face was cut up and his nose, which looked as if it had been flattened, was dripping a combination of blood and mucus.

            I asked if he needed anything or if he needed us to call someone for him.  He asked for napkins to blow his nosr, and when I came back he told me what had happened.  The night before, he and his girlfriend had gotten jumped by a gang.  He had received two fractures to his skull and a broken nose.  He had no idea where his girlfriend was, and he had left the hospital early to look for her.  Through the pain, he remained defiant, saying that since it had taken six men to beat him up, he had won the fight.  They were too scared to fight him one on one, so despite his injuries, he had won.  I did my best to comfort him, and told him I would look out for his girlfriend before he left.

            I had already gathered that this neighborhood was not the nicest part of town.  I have seen more arrests, fights, drunks and druggies than the rest of my life combined.  However, I had not seen anything like what this man had experienced before.  The severity and senselessness of violence made me sick, and my heart went out to the man.  I realized not only how difficult, but how dangerous life can be in this neighborhood.  A bad day for the guests is very different from my bad day, not only because of the severity but because of the compound effect little events can have.  For example, my first week here, I stepped on a woman's glasses in clothing closet, breaking them.  Whereas I would only have the mild inconvenience of an extra errand, her interview that day was jeopardized due to the broken glasses.  This is important to keep in mind when events that seem harmless to me set guests off.  The importance of patience cannot be stressed enough. And gratitude that I grew up in a neighborhood where I could walk and not fear ending up with a fractured skull.

Homer

Dinner at the transitional houses is one of my favorite parts of Andre House.  A mix of the staff, volunteers, and the guests at the transitional house all eat together.  While allowing me to get to know the other staff better, I find the greatest enjoyment in getting to know the guests, since we are equals more so at the transitional houses than at the hospitality center.  Most of the men and women are amicable conversationalists, and I have found we have much in common.  However, one guest, who I will call Homer, is bit different.

Homer’s first day at the hospitality center was my first day.  His trailer had burned down and he needed to get medication from his family when he walked into the Pascente Office.  He was eventually interviewed and admitted to the men’s transitional house.  He is an extremely skilled welder and quickly found a job that pays over thirty dollars an hour.  One would think that with stable housing and a job, Homer would be happy, but he is not.  He is in the middle of a messy separation with a former girlfriend as he tries to get visitation rights for the son he had with her.  The situation weighs on him heavily, making him moody and morose.  Additionally, his job requires a ridiculous commute that requires him getting up at three in the morning, making him extremely tired at the end of the day.  These factors combine to make him unappealing as company at dinner.

On a recent dinner, I decided that despite Homer’s mood and my desire to talk with other guests, I would join him at the table. Being in the middle of Compassion, I thought that at the very least I could make an attempt to show Homer the compassion about which Nouwen wrote.  As he told stories of his childhood, his mood gradually improved, and we laughed about the detentions he never showed his father and the brussel sprouts his mom made.  While not the most engaging conversation I could have had that night, I certainly found it enjoyable and knew that my presence and interest in him had raised Homer’s mood.

The effect I had on Homer was not permanent; a call from a family member that night about his situation put him back in a bad mood, but for a little while I was able to bring him some happiness. I think this is the difference that Rachel Naomi Remen makes between helping a and serving.  She writes “Fixing and helping are strategies to repair life.  We serve life not because it is broken but because it is holy” (Remen 62).  I did nothing to help Homer in that he remains in the same situation, but I believe I was able to serve him.  I met him where he was, and enabled him to see the good in his life.  This is acting as a true believer in God, because “if God is pure self-gift [loving service] then self-gift is the image in which we are made” (Himes 56).

            Despite the fact that I am made in the image of self-gift, it was not and rarely is easy for me to reach out in love.  It requires stepping out of my comfort zone and spending time with someone when initially desiring to be elsewhere.  I think the is the “inner displacement” about which Nouwen writes and to which I am called in my time here (Nouwen 70).  I did undergo a physical displacement to a totally different part of the country and different community.  As difficult as this was, I adjusted quickly and soon grew comfortable.  The real displacement to which I am called happens on a daily basis in instances like my conversation with Homer.  I accomplish real service and self-gift when I voluntarily spend time with guests outside of my assigned shifts.  This requires displacing myself from enjoyable rest, entertainment, or contact with family and friends, but I am called to do this because “the Gospels confront us with this persistent voice, inviting us to move from where it is comfortable (Nouwen 61).

How Vincent "The Enforcer" Was Born

The most mind-blowingly intense experience I have had yet at Andre House.  It is so intense, I have written it in 3 parts.

PART I: THE BIRTH OF A HERO

I am working middle gate, which collects guests’ meal tickets, allowing them to get in line for food.  I did not hear about this until later, but apparently a drug deal had gone a little sour out on the street.  The dealer had demanded payment earlier than initially announced, and the buyer had balked.  I am completely unaware of this, when in walk the two parties to get dinner.  They hand me their meal tickets and get in line next to each other.  I can tell they are disagreeing, but its nothing I had not seen before.  Then I notice that one of the men has a pistol sticking out of his belt.  This is when I realize how bad things could get.  The argument grows louder and more vulgar, so I walk over to try to get them to stop.  Both men are over six feet and have biceps the size of small cars.  I remain composed and tell them if they do not stop arguing, they will not be able to eat.  I am totally ignored.

At this point, some of the other guests have started backing up.  However, the men keep arguing, and I keep pleading.  Just as I decide that this has gone on long enough, the man with the pistol grabs for it.  Instinctively, a slam my fist into his stomach so hard, he drops the gun and doubles over.  I quickly locked his arms behind his back.  Unfortunately, I was unaware of the foot long blade the other man had.  Just as he drew it, my trusty friend Andrew came flying in and tackled him to the ground.  We dragged both men outside and held onto them until the cops arrived.*

THE END

 *Just kidding. Here's what actually happened

PART II:  THE BIRTH OF AN EGO

I am working middle gate, which collects guests’ meal tickets, allowing them to get in line for food.  The main rule that I have to enforce is that no ticket mean no meal with no exceptions.  I they lose their ticket they have to go to the back of the line and get another one.  Somewhere in the two hundreds, a man comes up and starts fumbling in his pockets for his ticket.  He grows frustrated, and I remind that if he cannot find it, he unfortunately has to get in the back of the line.  Then, the man behind him in line remarks that he does not have a ticket because he cut everyone in line.  Initially I believe the second man, until the first one finds his ticket, hands it to me, and then glares at the man behind him.

They end up getting in the same line for food, where they start making comments toward each other.  This goes on for a couple seconds, until apparently a line was crosses, and the second man turned around and locked eyes with his accuser.  This is when I stepped in, and told them if they did not stop arguing, neither of them would eat.  Totally ignoring me, the first one tells the second that he smells like beer.  I warn them again to no effect.  Finally, I manage to get eye contact with the guy in front and tell him he needs to switch lines.  He claims that he has not done anything, but I tell him to just get in the other line.  He gets in the other line without looking back, and the two men remain separate the rest of dinner.

And thus was born “Vincent the Enforcer”

 PART III: THAT'S A GOOD POINT FATHER

 I learned a number of things from this incident.  First and foremost, I can actually get adults to listen to me as a scrawny eighteen year old.  That was a stunning conclusion.  Second, having to think on my feet, I was able to say all the right things, something I did not have confidence in before.  More importantly, I did not say any of the wrong things, which kept me from appearing to take a side in the disagreement, thus the situation from getting worse.   Realizing that I could trust myself to solve this kind of issue gave me a huge confidence boost.

Additionally, my ego became inflated as I began to comprehend the magnitude of what I had accomplished.  My housemates were at first amused then annoyed at my boasting and incessant retelling of the story.  It reached a crescendo the next day when I was talking to Liz and Fr. Eric.  Liz asked Fr. Eric if having eight people working the dinner line was too many.  Fr. Eric answered no, and I commented that of course that was not too many because I had to be replaced, which would require at least four people in order for order to be maintained.  Liz rolled her eyes, but Fr. Eric stood up grabbed something off of this desk with a malicious smirk.  He put his hands behind his back and walked over to me.  Before I could react, he whipped a switch blade out and pointed it at my neck, so close that I could not see the blade.  Yes, you read that correctly, a priest held a knife at my throat.  Part of his reason for doing it was to be funny, but I suspect he also wanted to show me that even though I did a good job handling one situation, I could not get too cocky; some situations are beyond my ability.  Still, I never expected it would be a priest pulling a knife on me at Andre House. 

Loose Ends

I forgot to finish the orange juice story last night.  The night after the incident, Andrew returned to the hospitality center to find the juice sitting on a table, right where he left it before breaking up the fight.  Which only made the comment funnier!

If you cannot get enough Andre House (I know I can't!) here are some other websites that might interest you.

http://www.andrehouse.org/  the official Andre House website.  Info on what we do, how to donate, etc.

http://cscpriestsandbrothers.blogspot.com/ this is a blog for the entire Holy Cross community, so mostly unrelated to Andre House.  However, Fr. Eric, the Andre House director, submits a monthly post here, so I highly recommend scrolling down until you see the post about him and his backpack

Friend us on Facebook!  Search "Andre House of Arizona." Note that if you search for "Andre House" you will get a serious looking guy from Newark, who may or may not accept your request.

I went hiking again yesterday, but it was so intense that I did not bring a camera, but I promise I will next time! I do have this picture of Fr. Eric and Liz modeling some of the very practical clothes that get donated to Andre House for the homeless.

As a bit of a public service announcement, next time you donate clothes, please think about how useful the clothes will be.  For example, dirty underwear is not useful.  I just get to pick it up and throw it out.  And  as poor as they are, they homeless have no interest in wearing your 80s clothes, no matter how cool you thought they were at the time

 Finally, I have the following video featuring a message from our resident rapper  Matt "Matty Lindogg" Linderman.

Word.

And just as a teaser, my next post will be about how I stopped a fight and got a knife pulled on me in the span of 24 hours! (yes mom, I'm fine)

Alcohol, Orange Juice, And Saturday Nights

I have a plethora of little stories, links, and even a video that have been collecting for the past week or so.  Each one is humorous, but also has a serious side.

Story 1: When I was younger, I used to have notorious tunnel vision when watching television.  I did not watch a lot, but when the TV was on in a room I was in, my entire being was focused on the screen.  These days I have switched from television to the internet; once I am on the internet, very little can get me off.  It's basically an addiction.  The issue in Phoenix is that the house at which I live has no internet, so I have to get my fix during breaks at the hospitality center.  I get off at 3 on Saturdays, so I usually spend, no, waste a couple hours after that on the internet.  This is usually not a problem, except this past Saturday, two hours into my session, Matt comes into the staff office and says he only has half the usual number of volunteers, so could I possibly help by passing out silverware, even though its part of my off time.  Of course, I jumped up to help out, since I am here to serve, not be on breaks.  But still, that's the last time I stay after on a Saturday.

Story 2:  In order for guests to be admitted to our transitional houses, they have to pass a screening and interview.  The interview is always done by a full time staff, but I am able to do the screening, since the questions are pre-written and its black and white if they meet the criteria.  The other day I was able to conduct my first interview.  It went like this:
"Hi I'm Vincent and I'll be screening you"
"(Name)"
"OK (name), the first requirement is that you have been clean and sober for a period of time.  How long have you been clean and sober?"
"About 24 hours...I am actually just coming down"
stunned pause.  "Ummmm, we actually require a couple months of sobriety, soooo you should probably check back later."
Apparently, this is not uncommon

Story 3: Rowdy or uncooperative guests are par for course.  Some stand out though.  The other night a ridiculously obnoxious woman, snatched a strip  of meal tickets from Br. Richard's hand and was promptly manned.  She loudly paraded around the outside of the center for the rest of dinner being obnoxious to absolutely everyone who was in the vicinity.  She was still at it when I left, and it only got worse after.  When Andrew came out after locking up, the woman and another guest were fighting.  Not arguing, fighting.  Andrew broke them up as much he he could and then called in the experts, who took the woman into custody.
Since he was a witness, Andrew had to stay after to give an account to the cops, so he only caught the end of dinner, and ended up just eating his food at the staff house.  When he got thirsty, he went out to his car to get the orange juice he had brought home with him.  Not finding it, he remembered that between the fight and the arrival of the cops, the woman had grabbed some of the ice he had.  Realizing what had probably happened to his juice, he walked into the house, through his keys to the ground and said
"B**** stole my juice, now I'm glad she went to jail!"
We fell on the floor laughing

Journal 5 - Rules

Every night, each of the two transitional houses is occupied by a staff member who functions in the same way that a resident assistant does.  Monday nights are my night to stay in the women’s house, and the job usually is easy.  I shut the house down for the night and then lock up in the morning after everyone leaves.  However, this last Monday did not go smoothly.

After everyone was in for the night but not asleep, the phone in the staff office rang.  I answered and the call was for one of the women.  Since at the Friday staff meeting, a big deal had been made about not allowing the women to use the staff office phone to make calls, I told the caller she needed to call back on the men’s house line.  After hanging up, I called one of the other staff members to check if I had handled the call appropriately.  To my horror, I found out that the women were able to receive calls on the line, just not make calls.  As soon as I hung up and apologized to the woman who had expected to receive the call, the Brother who was staying at the men’s house came over with the phone.  He was slightly ticked at the inconvenience of the call and I apologized to him as well.

Keeping the guests at Andre House content is near impossible, but consistency is one way we can achieve a peace.  The best way to achieve this consistency is to establish rules and rigidly adhere to them.   The problem with this method is that there are a lot of rules to remember, a problem I have dealt with extensively beyond this one incident.  I get frustrated when I apply the rules incorrectly or make up my own rules because I do not want to press an unnecessary burden on the other staff, who have to help clean up my messes, and the guests,  who usually know the rules better than I do, but have to obey my authority.

As inconvenient as the rules are to me, this incident gave me a new appreciation for how inconvenient they are to the guests, especially new ones.  They have to learn the intricacies of organizations in addition to the natural stresses that come with being homeless.  At Andre House alone, guests have to learn when different services are available, how early they need to line up for them, and how to properly navigate through the clothing closet or dinner line under the eye of a staff, myself included, who usually assume one is guilty until proven innocent.  Furthermore, they have a much smaller margin error than I do as well; at worst, I may get a stern talking to for enforcing rules improperly; at worst, guests will not be able to eat for the night if they do not follow the rules. The rules are in place for a reason, but remaining aware of how difficult it is to learn and adapt to them will help be more patient and understanding with guests.

Extreme Makeover: Homeless Edition

                I had an extremely enlightening discussion with one of the other staff members the other day about Andre House’s mission.  The topic was one of the most fundamental questions one can ask about social justice: does Andre House enable those it serves to remain in poverty or, more broadly, are we a part of the solution or the problem.  Here is a paraphrase of Liz’s answer.

               Enabling and empowering are two words that are often used to describe the effect that a social outreach organization has on the population which it serves.  They appear to opposites: enabling keeps people in poverty and empowering gets them out.  However, both terms rely on the bias that the individual’s situation is solely dependent on the organization.  Good organization will always empower people to leave poverty and bad organizations will keep them mired in it.

                However, individual choice plays an extremely important role in one’s lifestyle.  Andre House features people who are both enabled and empowered because that is how they choose to use our services.  One man who I met has a felony on his record and is raising a son on his own.  He lives one county south of Phoenix but is taking classes in the city to become certified in solar panel installation, so he stays at the homeless shelter and eats with us during the week, while heading home on weekends to his parents’ house.  He could be the poster-child of the man who does everything “right” to get out of poverty.  Another couple who I have met have been coming to Andre House for 6 years.  They are an example of those who lack the ambition to leave poverty.

                The fact of the matter is that some people simply prefer the homeless lifestyle.  They have no ambition to fit into the white picket fence, wife, and two kids mode of life, and we, as Andre House and as individuals, have really no right to force a traditional middle class life on them.   Andre House and a number of other organizations tried to do it once to a woman who had been homeless fifteen years, buying her an apartment and taking care of the bills.  However, she hated it, went back to the street and eventually died there, not, happy but probably content.

                Ultimately, the mission of Andre House is not to pull people out of poverty; our mission is to provide for their basic needs.  We are not professional social workers, or community organizers.  We are very amateur pharmacists, cooks, retail salespersons, and cleaners.  We feed, clothe, bathe, and heal, providing basic necessities.  We cannot force change in individuals if they themselves are not willing to change, but, even if they choose to stay the same, we will continue to care for them

                The most common length of time of time that a person is homeless is one day, followed by two days.  Therefore, most of the people we serve fall into this category of using us as an emergency safety net.  However, we do not feed based on why a person is there.  Just as God sends the sun on the just and the unjust, Andre House serves food to the enabled, the empowered, and everyone who comes in between.

God

Here is my latest academic journal entry for my SSLP.  Its fairly academic, a bit disjointed, and draws heavily from the books I am reading, which I highly recommend ( Compassion by Henri Nouwen and Doing the Truth in Love by Michael J. Himes).  I promise the next post will be more exciting!

One of the most important rules of serving the homeless that I have learned is never make an exception.  If one person gets preferential treatment for his or her particular situation, others will clamor for the same service, even if they do not possess the unique circumstances of the first person.  More than likely, conflict will ensue either among guests or between guests and staff.  Therefore, those people with legitimate issues end up being punished in order to ensure a universal application of rules, which has been frustrating for me in the past.

This week, I broke this rule.  Clothing Closet had taken much shorter than the two hours that are allotted to serve the forty people who sign up for it.  I was sitting in the front office, when a guest asked if he would be able to get some clothes today.  Initially, I followed the rule of no exceptions and told him we had already closed up the clothes for the day, but then I looked at the clock.  The official closing time of noon was still ten minute away, and I remembered that the maximum of forty people had not gotten clothes that morning.  After checking to make sure he had not received clothes in the past two weeks, I decided to let him into the Closet.  He was extremely appreciative and it felt good to be able to say yes to someone’s specific needs after having to say no most of my time here.

While the guest was not asking for anything extraordinary, it was still a bit of a stretch of protocol to let him into the closet.  I doubt any of the other staff members would have done the same thing (the guest suggested this himself).  However, I believe I did the right thing and would do the same thing again.  This was the perfect example of the confluence of tradition and experience, since I weighed my previous experiences with making exceptions and seeing other people handle similar situations, along with Church teaching on serving the poor.  Ultimately I applied both tradition and experience, and decided on an action that I believe was most in line with the mission of Andre House and Church teaching.

Though I did not take a typical course of action for a staff member, I do not believe I broke the rules, but rather applied them in a different way.  All the rules of Andre House are in place for a reason, although they may seem arbitrary to the guests.  I would be willing to guess they often feel as if their freedom is constricted by the rules.  This would not be unlike many people’s perceptions of God, who see Him more as an arbitrary lawmaker than a loving life-giver. As Michael Himes points out, “whatever you think of when you hear the word ‘God’ is not God,” so all human descriptors are insufficient explanations of God (Himes 9).  However, I believe that life-giver is among “the least wrong ways” to speak about God (Himes 10).  God’s love is what gives life to the world, making the image that Elizabeth Johnson uses of God as mother and glorified in women important (Johnson 15).
            The idea of God as loving life-giver extends far beyond comprehension based off human images of father and mother.  God as mother is a somewhat comprehensible image, but God as life-giver to the extent that He “chose in total freedom to suffer fully our pains” is mindboggling (Nouwen 15).  This completely compassionate God that Nouwen describes challenges my view of God, especially in that “self-emptying and humiliation are not a step away from God’s true nature” (Nouwen 25).  I have always understood the Cross as the ultimate sign of God’s love for humanity, but not that the Crucifixion was not a step away from God’s true nature.  This total “absolute unconditional self-gift” as being part of God is also difficult because of what it entails of me: to be Christ-like, I have to live this self-gift (Himes 14).

As incomprehensible as this love is, I can see it manifested daily at Andre House.  When we receive Eucharist each morning, I think about how vulnerable Christ is in my hands, how easy it would be for me to dishonor God by dropping Him.  However, God’s love brings Him into my hands in a humbling way in order to give me life.

I hate pigeons and find people interesting

This week, two applicants for staff next year are interviewing, which means they shadow the staff all week to see if Andre House is a good fit for them, and the staff simultaneously watches them to see if they will be a good fit.  As cool as the two guys are, I share a bedroom with them for the week, ending my enjoyable time as its single occupant.  Granted, the week I had it to myself was the longest I have ever gone with my own room, so I can't really complain.

Yesterday I got to go on the roof of Andre House.  The view of Phoenix was awesome. My job was not.  First we hosed the pigeon poop off of the solar panels.  Then was cleaned the pigeons nests out of the drains.  Finally we picked up the all dead pigeons that were baking on the roof.  I am very glad lunch did not include chicken or any other fowl.  Unfortunately, I was not present when Fr. Eric and Liz purposefully dropped one of the wet bags of pigeon remnants off the roof and watched it explode on the ground.

The past two days I have met some very interesting people.  Yesterday I was working in the front office, where one of my duties is to dial phone numbers so guests can make calls.  If I have no one else to help, I inevitably overhear some of the conversations.  Some people ask relatives for money, or let them know what they are up to.  I believe I have heard a couple people check in with parole officers (its pretty awkward to sit by them for that).  One guy spent the majority of his conversation trying to explain to his mother that his felony had been dropped to a misdemeanor, which she apparently was not understanding.  The winner of the most interesting conversation was the guy who was explaining to his relative that the Feds were after him because they thought he was a terrorist since he had wanted to be a nuclear scientist as a kid and had tried to study it.

Today, I talked to a guy who claimed to have studied "herbology," and was interested in cross-breeding pomegranate and marijuana so that the stuff would go down the throat easier or something (he said it as if I should be familiar with how marijuana smoking feels).  Anyway, he then demonstrated his acumen for plants by watering a number of our potted plants outside.
Another man I talked to briefly today had been in a two year coma after being shot in the back of the head.  I trust his veracity since he let what remained of the bullet hole.
Then, I heard second hand about a man who said he stole a tank in order to get discharged from the army.  And I don't mean air tank or fish tank.  I mean tank with guns and turrets.  Somehow he got exactly what he wanted and not jail time.
Finally, I heard about a man who had just got an apartment and was applying for jobs.  This is interesting because he apparently was not on his meds a month ago and was claiming to be Michael the Archangel.