these are a few of my favorite things...

so that everyone who usually likes to check on me to make sure that i don't starve can be reassured :) from the day i arrived in Southeast Europe, i have been quite well-fed, whether by my MCC supervisors, or by the kindergarten's beloved cook, or by my own fortunate finds at the mini-markets near my apartment, or the big outdoor pijaca with all the fresh produce stands, or various kafići ili pekare (cafes or bakeries) or other places. and i have found a lot of things to love... okay, get ready, you should really do some Google image searching to get an idea of what these things are like:

burek. pita zeljanica. pita krompiruša. pita sirnica.

čevapi/čevapčići.

kobasica. and other types of grilled mešano meso, mixed meats, on the roštilj.

ajvar. pavlaka. kajmak. any combination of these with bread ... mmm

pljeskavica. wow. American hamburgers never held too much appeal for me, but now i have another real reason to avoid them: this Serbian version is SO GOOD!!!

kukuruz pečeni. kesten pečeni.

pasulj prebranac. (my language teacher insisted that i take some of her homemade bean stew home with me one day, and it was incredible! such good flavor, and such a great comfort food as the temperatures drop and leaves turn colors :)

paradajz. krastavac. paprike.

kruška. jabuka. šljiva. breskva. kajsija. grožđe. mandarina. banana. (i have now made 3 successful - i think??? - loaves of banana bread :)

palačinke. (pogotovo sa eurokremom ili nutelom...especially with eurokrem or nutella... ojojoj)

pita sa jabukama. pita sa višnjama. pita od bundeva.

TURSKA KAFA. this really deserves its own whole post. or at least a new paragraph:

the kindergarten teachers were telling me that i have now become a 'Srpkinja domaćica', something like a Serbian homemaker, since i have learned to make turska kafa...so now, if you come visit me, i will put water on to boil in the džezva, and then stir in some heaping spoonfuls of the fine grounds, heat it again until the foam rises up, a thick, rich layer which i will skim off a bit for the bottom of each of our mugs, and let the grounds settle down before pouring it out for each of us, and we will sit and sip this divinely dark drink. oh turska kafa...my daily bread. ;)

or if you go out somewhere with me and we order turska kafa, it might look like this, served with a cute little cube of ratluk/rahatlokum/turkish delight:

mmm...

it's so easy being green...

especially with my newfound freedom of having a monthly transportation pass instead of having to find a kiosk and buy tickets every time i need to hop on a bus! feels so good...thanks to one of the kindergarten teachers who graciously took care of the process for me today and brought back my official Beograd transit system ID beautifully laminated with a space to put in the monthly ticket. yay!

so, now it is definitely easier to 'be green', in the sense of not wasting the paper of those tickets i would otherwise continue to buy, and the fact that i am traveling by public transportation vs. adding another individual gas-guzzling vehicle to the traffic jams, which i felt so guilty about doing every time i went into Philadelphia last year with our community van; however, that is not why i chose the title (which, if you're wondering, does refer to Kermit the Frog's lament that "it's not easy being green"). Zelena is actually the first color-name i learned, and still the easiest one for me to call to mind, for reasons that will become clear in the rest of my story. :)

i used my amazing pass for the first time this afternoon on the tram from the kindergarten to my language teacher's apartment, and during our session it turned out that i started having many amazing "aha!" moments of things clicking in the language center of my brain, sticking in my memory, and actually making sense when they came out of my mouth. i could also sense a significant decline in the number of times i felt compelled to fill in blanks with Spanish, although she still had to correct me to say ili instead of o for 'or'. there was much laughing involved, and some surprised/delighted looks on my teacher's face when i started making up my own sentences beyond what was in the book or what she initially asked, and even making some intentionally funny statements, as well as her patience and cooperation when i was trying to convey some slightly complicated ideas in a very roundabout way with my limited vocabulary. bravo! super! odlično! she tells me.

so maybe this will sound lame, but i know this was exactly how i needed to spend this friday evening: i felt like walking, so i decided to retrace all the steps we took last time i was escorted to church, to make sure i know my way there and back and have a sense of direction even if i decide to go a little off track. first i came from my language teacher's house to Zeleni Venac, a GREEN-domed plaza that serves as a hub for many buses, including the ones that take me to and from Zemun. from there the self-test was on. onto a popular pedestrian avenue, with numerous cafes and street artists and sladoled/icecream vendors. stopped to watch a guy create a glossy poster with spray paint techniques that eventually looked like some kind of graphic design with planets and pyramids and stars. kept going, past one fountain, past another fountain, then saw a brightly graffiti-covered wall that looked familiar, turned there, gained confidence a few blocks later when i passed a certain shop i recognized that sells fantastic fish sandwiches, i hear. :) somehow my mind's eye and body memory took me through every turn, just like we had done when i was half-blindly following my fast-walking friends the other day. past a park, around a couple of quick corners, down a residential street where i had to watch my feet for dog droppings, and finally i caught sight of a little blue placard with the street name on the corner of one building: Ulica...yesss, it's the right one!! SLAVA, HALELUJA!!! i wanted to jump up and down and punch the air in triumph and pride in myself, for now i really had a feel of exactly how far around that route was, and also had a very clear map in my head of how to return to the green dome by a much quicker way, permaneciendo (making permanent?) my personal landmarks in my conscious visual-verbal memory rather than just my subconscious bodily-kinetic memory. as i passed the church and read the sign, i gave it just a brief extra gaze and wink of gratitude, and continued on up the street, past a theatre and a monument, back to the pedestrian boulevard, and successfully through a little maze of turns and stairs at the point i had marked in my brain as a shortcut back to Zeleni Venac. now i was really on the verge of having my head float away like a helium balloon and my chest explode like a volcano with all the smiley feelings building up in there...

of course i kept a straight face...i feel like i'm constantly struggling to do that here...u Americi, my default setting when i pass someone on the street is to look at them and smile and possibly say hello, if they acknowledge me, too. not here...everyone seems so serious and professional, or if they're showing more emotion then it's solely focused on their friend or lover. i respect that, it could be a healthy thing, to not spread your emotional energy thin with trying to acknowledge every stranger on the street just for the sake of friendliness. although i think that can bring a certain joy and energy with it, as the effort to extend friendliness starting with a facial expression of goodwill can potentially cultivate a healthy outlook on life. ali, nema problema, mogu da učim, i can learn to contain myself, hopefully.

i think the moment of today i am most grateful for, however, was right when i was at the height of my pride-swell, halfway down the stairs that go under Zeleni Venac towards my bus stop, i glanced to the side and saw a little girl, probably 2 or 3 years old, with skin several shades darker than most of those swooshing past me, lying asleep in the arms of her mother who is sitting crouched against the side wall of the stairs, also more tanned than the norm, with uncombed dark hair...must be Roma. Gypsy. the wind in my sails quickly died down into a pang of silent guilt/misery/sympathy. as i understand their position (someone correct me please if i'm wrong or overstating this), their reputation and the often harsh conditions laid for their survival in society, they seem to be the European equivalent of the Indian 'untouchables' caste, the Dalits. for this little girl and her mother, life is not easy. the green dome and passageways under Zeleni Venac may provide a bit of shelter from harsh weather, but they don't get an EZPass out of the harshness of poverty and possibly homelessness. of course there are Roma who have 'made it' into a comfortable life and even fame as folk singers or politicians or scholars. but this lady sure looks like she hasn't made it, and God only knows if her daughter will get any better options.

meanwhile i get to my bus stop and board the bus with a heavy heart, yet also with hope. i am grateful to be working for an institution that puts a high priority on accepting special-needs and at-risk children, including Roma children, into its unique peace-cultivating education program. it is good to be reminded of how against-the-grain that is here; since it is all i have seen so far, it is hard for me to imagine the state-run kindergartens and schools where apparently there is much less care shown for kids who are 'different', and where a 'words not weapons' approach to conflicts is not necessarily modeled or expected to develop in the children. i am grateful that i get to be part of showing a different option, the peace-making option. the blessed option, that malo po malo, little by little can bring into being a bit of the dream of the blessed, beloved community, right here in Beograd. every morning when i enter this special kindergarten, i can sense that it already has.

and as the bus crossed the bridge, i was treated to a view of a sky ripening with various shades of pink and purple and peach, like a loving artist was just watercolor-painting them there as we rolled along, each passenger contained in their own private world, no way to tell who was noticing the beauty and who was just enduring their everyday routine ride home. i kept my secret awe held inside, all the way home, anchored by that green dome, the deep dark Dunav, i moj Gospod.

on a walk with one of my friends in Zemun

zdravo.beo...zemun...grad?

so, i have arrived. so, there's a little bit of confusion about 'where' i have arrived? well, i'll get there...let's first catch up on 'how' i arrived...

after a week of feeling like i fell into a little piece of heaven there in Akron, PA for the orientation together with 107 other young people coming from all around the world and going to all parts of the globe to serve with MCC for this year; a week of singing and praying and learning together in many languages and styles; a week of reflecting on MCC's peacemaking, relief, and development vision and how our particular assignments fit into those goals; a week of exchanging cultural insights with those coming from and going to Europe and the Middle East, particularly a new friend from Serbia, who will be working in PA this year; and a final night of dancing and laughing and hugging and packing and goodbye-ing, finally i was flying.

after a day of flying Philadelphia - Washington DC - Munich - Sarajevo, along with a fellow SALTer who is serving-and-learning in Sarajevo this year; after arriving in the airport and being picked up by the MCC-Southeast Europe program manager, finally i was touching the ground, seeing the sights, smelling the smells, hearing the sounds of this new land.

after a few days of orienting to the region, staying in an apartment with a stunning view of the surrounding hills and colorful houses and treasure chest of night lights of the city of Sarajevo; days of walking the shockingly scarred streets, with bullet-hole-studded buildings and mini-bomb-cratered sidewalks; days of wandering the old city markets with their mix of Turkish flavor and handicrafts reminding me of my journeys in Asia and Middle East as well as the modern, sophisticated cafe scene that fits my image of upscale Europe; days of listening to a soundtrack of church bells ringing and imams chanting their haunting calls to prayer; days of repeatedly telling my Sarajevo SALTer friend "you're so lucky you get to LIVE here!!!" and being told, "Anna, just wait until you see Belgrade, your city, you'll find things to love there, too", and agreeing, but still being slightly jealous; and a final day of learning about the programs and procedures of MCC-SEE and being welcomed into the home of the cutest bilingual little boy and his parents who are my MCC regional representatives, finally i was heading to my own assignment placement.

after a day of riding and roasting in a rattling bus for 8 hours through the hills of Bosna i Hercegovina, down onto the plains and across the border into Srbija; a day of starting to try to decipher signs written in the Cyrillic alphabet; after starting to see billboards and highway flyovers and traffic jams, finally i realized i was in Beograd, moj grad, my city.

after being met by my main supervisor here, and driving through the city with her for a while, and arriving at the apartment that i now call 'home', and being introduced to the area a little bit, i realized that it's not...exactly...in Beograd! umm....what??!

View Larger Map

so from what i've learned, ZEMUN, moj grad, developed as its own town until urban sprawl jumped the Danube and swallowed it into one continuous city area. however, Zemun still retains much of its own character and its residents have a certain pride about being from Zemun, not Beograd. but, luckily for me, it is well-connected with the Beograd public transit lines i will take to work, and it is a lovely place to walk and wander around, and i am looking forward to exploring more on both sides of the river.

so, i have arrived. so, there is a whole new world of learning to do: about the language; about the history and deeper elements of culture and values; about how to care for the children at the kindergarten and how to help the counseling center in its goals and development; and about myself of course.

and a bonus for those of you (you're not alone, i know at least a few ;-) who may still be wondering how far Serbia is from Siberia...

View Larger Map

zdravo.sarajevo.

i.miss.you.Camden.

things I will miss about Camden (in no particular order, and absolutely incomplete):

- walking the four blocks between my house and St. Anthony's every day, several times each way

- guys who lean out their pickup truck windows as they pass me on the street and shout out "God bless you, sweetheart!"

- ladies who sit on their front porch steps and greet me as i walk by with a "hey sweetie, how you doin?"

- little kids from my music classes and Peace Art program who yell and wave at me from their yards, "hi Miss Anna!"

- fresh garden vegetables from our backyard and from our plot in Brother Jerry's Garden across from the church and from the Mt. Ephraim produce stand

- Mexican rice and beans...Puerto Rican rice and beans...Dominican rice and beans...

- Marta's tamales, hot chocolate, and other refreshing drinks...

- anything baked or brewed or fondued by Father John

- living 5 minutes from Rita's Water Ice

- living 7 minutes from the Pennsauken Library

- yes, the view of the Philadelphia skyline is quite nice, but i wouldn't say it's the best thing about Camden as some have sarcastically stated. i'll just say it's nice.

- and so is the bridge between Camden and Philadelphia, which i will miss trekking across every so often

- living two blocks from a mural that i helped in the process of creation and celebration, which is literally a concrete testimony to how a community can live out peace and restore its streets to safety and beauty by taking care of ourselves, each other, and the earth, and a call to this community to step up and do that

- being able to sit with one of my ESL students after class and hear her story of seeing her mother and brother shot in front of her eyes in El Salvador, and of living in fear and wanting a better life for her children, and coming here to Camden and having her house broken into and herself held up at gunpoint for what little cash she had on hand, and then a few months ago breaking her foot and just the other day finding out that there's some bones out of place in it that the doctor can't fix (not sure if it's an impossibility issue or a money issue), but either way she might just always walk with a major limp...pray for 'Maria', por favor

- collaborating with CCOP and our local organizing committee to make a difference in the neighborhood with the numerous abandoned houses and the hazardous activities in the park

- weekly prayer and fun and everyday life with my housemates...always eye-opening experiences and conversations

- having the keys and knowing the tricks to open every door at the church, the friary, Francis House, Clare House..

- semi-weekly trips to the Treehouse coffee shop

- deejaying Eddie's concerts in the Francis House chapel, listening and watching his passionate, love-filled performances of Michael Jackson, Barry White, the Temptations, Earth Wind & Fire, Teddy Pendergrass, and more...telling his story of how he's survived growing up in Camden and living over three decades with HIV/AIDS, and watching the audiences' eyes widen at what a miracle this 'man in the mirror' is...

- planning and leading creative, interactive prayer services at Francis House and seeing the motto "Love Heals" lived out in our midst

- every prayer circle before every meal at Francis House, joining hands taking deep breaths, shouting out prayer requests, bowing our heads as a family and proclaiming together, "God, grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference. God's will, not ours, be done. Amen amen!"

- Tuesday evening prayer with the friars, reading from the daily Office, especially the Franciscan prayer for vocations, "God, help us to be people of prayer after the example of Francis and Clare. May our lives of prayer be our source of strength in serving the people of God."

- Tuesday evening dinner with the friars, cooked by Sue!

- the beautiful holistic multicultural prayer that is mass at St. Anthony's

- the First Baptist Church of Moorestown with their welcoming embrace to me as a new member

- lunches and spiritual food with Rene

- going on trips to Georgia and Washington DC to advocate for peace and justice with Father Jud

- going on trips to Lancaster and NYC and Long Beach Island to refresh our bodies and spirits with Father John

- coming home to Camden. knowing that I have a home there.

goodbye for now, Camden. i love you.

peace art: endings and beginnings

goodbyes and all sorts of little finish lines are starting to rain down from that dark cloud called 'the end of Anna's year in Camden'. the final session of the Camden Peace Art Project was held on Monday. St. Anthony of Padua school ended Tuesday, so no more Friday morning music classes with the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd graders. only a few weeks left until Francis House and ESL finish up.

and yet little seeds of new beginnings have sprouted from the same ground that tears up sometimes to think of leaving. the Peace Art mural unveiling and community rally was the first public action that i have had a hand (and a good chunk of my mind and heart invested, too) in actually organizing and emceeing!! rather than just participating or attending. possibly the beginning of a beautiful friendship, me and my buddy community organizing...i loved it! numbers in attendance were a little disappointing, because it was a weekday afternoon when a lot of people were still at work, and only a half day of school at St. Anthony's so we lost a lot of parents and kids who might have been there otherwise. but the message came through strong and clear, and apparently a few people thought it was worth listening to. !!!

the Philadelphia Inquirer ran an article on the front page of their South Jersey/B section;

the Catholic Star Herald gave us a pretty good review, too;

the Courier Post posted a series of photos here;

more photos can be found on the St. Anthony's Flickr photostream;

and there's a fantastic video on facebook that my boss, Katie Sullivan, program director of FVM, put together..don't think i can link to it, though..

so, Monday's celebration marked the culmination of our work, but only the beginning of the LOC's work to take back our park. we have to follow up with the city police who have put forth their intention of cooperation...we have to cuss out (politely) the county police and county parks management who assured us of their attendance and then called our organizer 20 minutes before the event and cancelled..because they're getting millions of dollars to put into renovating two waterfront parks...why would they care to come to an event that's trying to restore a little place in Cramer Hill? a little place with a big purpose, big needs, and big heart, which they obviously don't understand.

it's evident from the mural itself that this place is ready for new beginnings: the garden being tended, a kid being coached in baseball, a family posing in front of a sunrise, butterflies floating in the clouds, people holding hands around a beautiful tree...and these are not just pretty pictures, but these are the things that were 'won' from this process so far:

- Camden City Police Chief Thomson and representatives from the Mayor Redd office came together to publicly commit to keeping Von Nieda Park safe and clean.

- Camden City Police created bilingual flyers for the first time explaining illegal activities and fines in the park.

- Camden City Police will begin enforcing parking, littering, and public drinking ordinances in Von Nieda Park the weekend of July 10th, after a community relations campaign.

- Camden City Police impounded over 15 ATVs since the action County Parks Dept put up 10 new “No Parking/No Drinking/No Littering” signs around the park.

-Camden City Council passed an ordinance making parking illegal on the west side of 29th Street, where it has often been a hazardously congested area.

it's exciting that we have these commitments and possibilities, but i do confess my sadness that i won't be around for the next year to see it unfold...because, as some of you readers probably already know through different channels, i will be living in Belgrade, Serbia starting in mid-August! i'm excited to see what kind of mixture of darkness and light will be shed on my life there..and what kind of light and shadows i will be called to share...

dear friends, may we all take up our paintbrushes or pens or cameras or baseballs or soccer balls or whatever instruments of creativity and influence we are blessed to be able to use, and follow through on the call within us to care for the people around us.

peace art: insanity today. please pray. with a smile :)

Camden Peace Art Project has been working since the beginning of May with a local artist and our kids as well as kids from the Cramer Hill Little League to design and paint a community mural on the baseball building in our neighborhood park. This park has a reputation as a place where numerous drug deals happen daily, public drinking gets out of hand every weekend, hazardous parking and illegal vending and littering is rampant, and reckless ATV drivers endanger the people who come to enjoy the playground and sports fields.

So, we have taken this opportunity to collaborate with our church and local organizing committee and nearby residents to get a commitment from the city and county police that they will be more proactive in patrolling and enforcing the rules of the park so that we can preserve this community treasure as a safe, clean, and fun place for families to come. I have spent many hours this past week painting alongside the artist and kids of all ages, because TODAY, June 21, at 3:30 pm is the mural unveiling celebration and public rally.

It is already getting some attention, because a number of city officials and police representatives have agreed to come out and make a public commitment to taking action on these problems. Prayers are much needed for the success of this event and for continued cooperation of everyone to care for the park and to restore our streets.

This is the prayer on our hearts as organizers, from Isaiah 58:11-12,

"The LORD will guide you always;

he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land

and will strengthen your frame.

You will be like a well-watered garden,

like a spring whose waters never fail.

Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins

and will raise up the age-old foundations;

you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,

Restorer of Streets with Dwellings."

La paz y el arte, amigos :)

i.saw.Jesus.tossing.water.balloons.

yes, throwing and welcoming the splash of water balloons on a steamy day. and doing the Hokey Pokey and the Chicken Dance and the Electric Slide. and sipping orange soda. and jumping in puddles. and sitting on the steps or the curb, watching the fun, too tired or strung out to jump in. and standing under a tent roof surrounded by sound equipment and speakers. and running down the street trying to fly a flimsy kite for the first time ever.

all at the same time, you ask?! oh yes, there was a lot of Jesus to go around at the St. Francis Inn's annual block party on Sunday.

if you looked closely, you might have seen Jesus watching over a little one in a stroller, with a beautiful bulging belly indicating another one on the way.

you might have seen Jesus running around, threading through the legs of the grown-ups, popping all the balloons he can get his hands on and wading in the kiddie pool fully-clothed.

you might have seen Jesus wearing tight jeans and an undershirt, or perhaps a sundress, or a sweatsuit, each pulling off a near-perfect zombie impersonation to Michael Jackson's THRILLER.

you might have seen Jesus wearing an outrageous clown hat and a brown habit, spinning records to keep the party funky.

you might have heard Jesus telling the saga of his real life science fiction fantasy powers and self-proclaimed guardianship of the party and genuine pleasure to meet you in snatches of intelligible speech to anyone who will listen.

you might have even taken the hand of a 3-foot-tall Jesus in a flowery lavender dress and danced in a ring with her and her grandma, and twirled her around a couple of times.

maybe next year you'll be there to see Jesus with a camera around her neck, snapping hundreds of pictures of the precious and crazy and ordinary moments that burst open and splashed us all with life that afternoon.

(photos by Katie Sullivan :)

i.saw.Jesus.getting.his.fingernails.cut

and his time-worn face of love and struggle was reflected just as much in the face of the young lady who was wielding the fingernail clippers.

i won't give too many details, but just think, what if you had a stroke? and you were left without mobility in your left arm and leg? and without a job or the ability to get yourself to the grocery store or even across the street to buy a Pepsi? and you had to move to a more run-down house because you couldn't make the mortgage payments on yours anymore? and your family mostly ignored you and your only friends were the dog and the 6 or 7 cats you kept around the house for company? and your wheelchair started falling apart? and it started getting harder and harder to pay for electricity and food and even the water bill? and you've got these new young neighbors who stop by sometimes to chat and help you with yardwork and house projects and play with your cats and even give you some bakery bread and garden vegetables and other food surplus sometimes - but what if you still knew you might not be able to pay your bills? might not be able to buy food? might be evicted from your house? would you still be able to crack jokes? would you trust your new friends to help you find a social worker and some solutions? would you still want to live?

sometimes, our neighbor tells us, he doesn't.

and we don't exactly know what to do with that, except to keep going back. keep trying to make his life a little more livable, and keep trying to re-convince him that his life is worth living.

many images flicker across my memory-reel of these past few months, in and out of his house, hanging out on his porch, taking out his trash... many mischievous smiles and riotous laughs, many cat-teasing tricks and tender cat-cuddling moments, many half-hidden winces of struggle in moving from chair to door to stairs...

but the image that sticks is of Jesus getting his fingernails cut. and Jesus gently, determinedly cutting them. one smooth, coffee-colored, female face. one wrinkled, pale peach cream-colored, male face. both lit up when his stereo started belting out "Stand By Me". one light. one love. just one story, one rhythm among the riot of beats on these city streets.

will you join me in one prayer for this one precious life?

peace art: journey to an endangered garden

one lesson i've learned so far at St. Anthony's is that a family-inclusive, weekend field trip is always a tricky thing...as much as you send letters home, ask for permission slips by a certain date, and call parents to confirm that they understand what's going on, you STILL never know if the people who signed up will actually come or not, or if they'll show up with extra parents, step-parents, cousins, older siblings, babies... yes, we encountered all of these last Saturday when we offered free admission to the Camden Children's Garden for 30...well, that was our original, optomistic goal but it turned out to be OVER 70/SEVENTY/SETENTA children and family members.

Miss N. and I had our hands full and our brains on bilingual overload trying to coordinate this unexpectedly gigantic group of mostly-Spanish-speakers. we knew it was going to be crazy, from the first moment of loading them on the bus, getting lost on the way there, arriving and unloading and meeting some families who drove directly to the garden, gathering them together outside the gates, assigning small groups of kids to chaperones, getting a final head count, buying the extra tickets, explaining the details of the day, handing out the maps and tokens for various attractions around the park, plus the disposable cameras so that each child could take some 'artistic shots' of things that interested them. and then finding out that we forgot to count one group in that 'final count', so going back in to the office to buy their tickets and hand them their materials... what a relief once they were all finally waved through the gates and set free to roam around on their own (with their chaperones at all times, of course! right? well...lucky for us, the Children's Garden staff seemed to all be looking the other way when some of them started wandering without their assigned adults!)

after all of that initial craziness, as Miss N. and i found some shade in a somewhat 'hidden' corner of the garden to sit and breathe in, we just had to marvel at how somehow, there were almost eighty people enjoying this little haven of the worlds of nature and art and education and pure fun all blended together - people who otherwise couldn't necessarily afford such an experience for their whole families.

once we caught our breath enough to start walking around, we saw some kids learning how to transfer plants into pots; some kids sticking their hands in compost and finding worm friends; some kids riding a train through a garden; some wandering through the butterfly greenhouse; some hiding in dinosaur eggs; some creating collages from recycled materials; crawling through rock tunnels and hopping on log stepping stones in the 'fitness garden'; riding the garden carousel; playing hide-and-seek in an 'underground maze'; hanging out in a treehouse; licking popsicles in Peace Plaza; and snapping plenty of pictures everywhere they went.

it was a beautiful day, and a beautiful sight to see not only the wonders of this garden designedfor children, but even more exciting than that, to see the garden of children growing, exploring, discovering, right before our eyes.

and here, here is a glimpse for your eyes to see...

this place is Camden's hidden treasure...not always accessible to the most hardpressed families, but still there and trying its best to stay affordable, and still providing seeds, starter plants, lime, fertilizer, and gardening advice and support to hundreds of community gardeners around the city. the Camden Children's Garden has been serving the community for 26 years as a non-profit organization with funding from the state of New Jersey, fully matched by private donations and grants. the agreement with the state is such that the state is supposed to reimburse the Children's Garden for funds already spent, in three installments throughout the year. they received the first reimbursement last fall, and were supposed to receive the second one in February, but instead received a letter from the state in March saying that they would not receive any more payment.

WHATTTT are they thinking???? has anyone who controls that state money ever SEEN the Children's Garden or the children growing in it and because of it??? have they ever even driven through a corner of Camden to see the difference between the thousands of trash-strewn abandoned lots vs. the ones the Garden has helped rehabilitate into flourishing sites of urban agriculture that are helping to address hunger, obesity, and food security in one of the poorest cities in the country??? have they ever talked to any of the 7000 city residents who have taken part in the community gardening program just this year, or any of the 15 at-risk youth who have been employed each year in their job and leadership training program??? how can the Governor honor the Garden with a Community Hero Award at his inauguration in January 2010 and then yank their funding RETROACTIVELY less than a month later???

what do they expect the Garden to do? they can't just take back all the salaries that were paid to their employees' bank accounts; they can't just yank thousands of vegetables and greens and flowers out of hundreds of gardens around the city; they can't just go back and erase all their operating expenses for the past six months, for which they were promised reimbursement.

here's the real rundown if you're interested in a more technical account of the situation, or if you're interested in calling or writing the Governor's office on behalf of the Garden...por favor!!!http://www.njsacc.org/wordpress/?p=3872

paz y bien

i.saw.Jesus.blushing.today.

i was so proud of myself this morning. i got up, got ready, and was out the door TEN WHOLE MINUTES before the meeting was supposed to start! and it only takes FIVE minutes to walk there! i was so proud. i was gonna be there EARLY. and it was OPTIONAL, too, an optional seminar for current and alumni FVMs on fundraising and sharing our stories about the impact of this year on our lives. and i was gonna show up all ready and ON TIME, looking so responsible...

and then, just as i walk through the gate onto church property, five minutes early, i see a familiar face. a face that i saw and pitied my first week here, when he was asking at the friary door for food, and i was told that he came there all the time, he's homeless, we feed him sometimes and sometimes you just have to ignore him, and be careful because he's schizophrenic and can get violent sometimes. one of my first fist-clenching moments of frustration with the seeming futility of efforts to 'fix' Camden stemmed from being advised to ignore him when he was asking if he could use the bathroom. where else is the guy gonna go? if the church won't care for him, who will? if the church won't care for him, how will he know that Jesus does?

over the next several months, i would see him sometimes, strolling around the neighborhood or hanging out on the church steps, sometimes rocking out to a CD player, sometimes walking a dog. sometimes he seemed 'okay', apparently when he was being good about taking his 'good meds' for schizophrenia. sometimes he seemed strung-out, hard-as-nails, and downright angry, ready to lash out with obscenities if anyone so much as said hello. any spoken wish for him to "have a good day" or "take care" was met with muttering and resentful head-shaking - you don't understand, i CAN'T have a good day, i'm in CAMDEN and i can barely get by alive, much less take CARE, are you kidding me?

i heard that he sometimes had lapses back into the grip of his 'street meds', the ever-available destructive doses of tantalizing escape-tricks called 'crack' and whatever else. i think it was during one of these periods that i had one of my most electrifying encounters with him: i was walking the four blocks home from St. Anthony's one day, and saw him walking toward me, in the middle of the street, looking hard as nails, muttering to himself. it didn't seem like the time to start a conversation or be too bright and cheery, but i also didn't want to ignore him and possibly make him upset at that. i decided to try a simple friendly "hello" when he was a few feet away. at first he said nothing, then gathered up his breath and hurled a "FUCK YOU!" at me over his shoulder just as we passed. all i could do was keep walking, keep a calm exterior, keep heading home and hoping he was continuing on his own way in the other direction. inside i was reeling from the almost physical blow those violent words had produced in my gut. my trembling pounding heart somehow felt connected to every woman who has ever been demeaned, abused, belittled, threatened. i hurt more for him, for his mind clenched in anger that would lash out like that, than for whatever shock effect his words had on me.

the next time i saw him was at the Francis House Thanksgiving meal, where he still seemed to simmer with resentment at not being a part of all the tight-knit families around him, but at least he was civil to everyone, and barely acknowledged me when i walked around his chair at the table. i continued to see him sometimes, hanging around the friary, and we acknowledged each other with varying degrees of friendliness/grudgingness. i heard that he had been hurt by lots of females, that he didn't trust them anymore. okay, that makes sense, i thought. all i want is to be one tiny example of a female that is at least genuinely friendly and acknowledges him as a person with dignity and worth. Lord, show me how!

so i see this familiar face this morning. i haven't seen him around for a while lately, not since the week Brother Jerry died, beginning of March. he had a special relationship with Brother Jerry, one of those gruff-on-the-outside, but inside you know they've got some pretty deep soft spots for each other. Jerry was the one who most often signed off on the 'David Rivera feeding' record sheet. made him sandwiches, gave him bags of bread or boxes of pizza or salad stuff grown from his own garden. stood around and chatted with him for hours on nice days outside, or sat inside the church with him after daily mass in the morning, staying warm on brutal winter days. the last time i saw David was the day after Brother Jerry died, in the church parking lot, holding a bag of some food stuff. he looked like he had gotten a make-over, with a clean haircut, glasses, a baseball cap, and a hipster puffy green vest over black longsleeve shirt, i almost didn't recognize him apart from the usual layers of sweatshirts and greasy jeans.

we didn't talk that day in March; he was hunched over his food, and i had places to go, things to do, funeral music to get ready, etc. etc. besides, i didn't know what to say. i didn't know how he was taking the news of Brother Jerry's death, or whether he was even fully aware of it. so i kept my distance. and haven't seen him since.

until today. he was just standing there in the parking lot, with a pizza-box-full of cinnamon rolls that i recognized as a donation from a local bakery, which the church social worker had probably given him earlier that morning. great, he's got food for the day, i've got a few minutes to say hi to him and then i can be on my way, almost still on time for the FVM meeting. okay, he looks friendly today, more mellow than usual. i can do this.

"Hi, David! how are you?"

he does a double take. and starts talking, like i've never heard him talk before. i find out that he's diabetic, so he actually shouldn't eat all those cinnamon buns... i suggest that he can share them with his friends, and he looks at me like i'm crazy. tells me that he's forgotten how it feels to be around people, that every place he tries to stay, every female he tries to tell her he cares about, people just keep rejecting him, making an example of him as someone who just can't get anything right in life, who has no hope but to fuck himself up with drugs, but he doesn't want to do that anymore, he doesn't want to chase females, he just wants to be there for one person, but nobody seems to want to stay faithful to him, they all run off with other people and leave him out in the cold, again and again and again. he's standing there with this box of cinnamon rolls and is asking me, "hey, i don't know what to do. what do i do? you know, i don't usually do this, i don't ask females what to do, i don't even really know you, but i'm askin, what to do? what is there for me to do? ehh, i know you don't know, it's okay, sweetie. yo no se tampoco"

"and who are you, sweetie? i know i've seen you around, but what's your name, honey? i'm tellin you all this shit (excuse me, excuse my language) and don't even know your name, what's your name?"

i find out that he's about to turn 42, he has a daughter who's 21 and just had a baby girl, his granddaughter! and lives in North Camden, but he can barely see them. he has a cell phone, but it keeps breaking, and every time it breaks he has to walk all the way downtown to go to the place to fix it or get a new one. his ankles hurt from constantly walking. "would it help to put ice on them?" "honey, i don't have no ice. there's some people in a house down the street that sometimes let me use their refrigerator, but the same thing happens, they leave me out, they forget, i can't get in there. i don't have no ice. no lo tengo." "i'm sorry."

"man, why you standin here talkin to me?! don't you got things to do? i don't wanna be wastin your time, sweetie. man, you keep smilin, you're always smilin! you're makin me blush, sweetie, you see that?"

no, David, i don't really see it, but okay. and i can't help smiling! i know i'm blessed in a lot of ways, but even i've had some incredibly lonely times in my life, times when i've wondered why am i even alive, why does it matter, what's the point. and i know you can't always depend on people, even people you thought would always care and be there for you. but there's one Friend i've found...do you know him? isn't it CRAZY how GOD came to earth and had to be born in a stable with ANIMALS??! "i like animals" okay, me too. but then even in his life, he didn't really have a home, and people rejected him...isn't that crazy?? he knows what you're going through! he knows YOU!!! and loves you, David.

"i know, i know. you're makin me blush. but oh, man, these cinnamon rolls are getting heavy. what am i gonna do? i've got pizza somewhere that they gave me, too, but you can't live on just this stuff, you get sick... and i'm thirsty, too, you think i can get a drink?" i don't know David, maybe if you go to the park, maybe there's a water fountain there? [again, he gives me a look like i'm crazy, even though he had just said that he might go sit in the park]

every once in a while in the conversation, he throws out a phrase in Spanish, and one time he asks me, "comprendes?" and i say, "si, comprendo un poquito", and he's like "whoa! you got a cute accent there! how many languages you know?" "solo dos" "whoa, that is really cute. i mean it. you gotta talk more. that is a damn cute accent, excuse my language." now look who's blushing!

so, for over an hour, we stand there, talking, smiling, blushing. i'm getting a little hungry, because i had been planning to get to the meeting and take part in the coffee and refreshments. of course, this little soul-exchange has been more refreshing than any food or drink could be, but still, my stomach is growling a little. and he is holding a box full of way more cinnamon rolls than he can possibly eat. "David, can i have one of those?" "oh sure, sweetie, sorry, i didn't know you wanted one, i would have given you.." "oh don't worry, i didn't want one until just now. thank you!"

and so we break bread together. smiling. blushing. something incomprehensibly special has happened here. he insists i take another cinnamon roll to go with me, "take that one, the biggest one, in the middle, there you go sweetie". so now my fingers are all sticky, but i don't want to leave without some tangible touch to make this real.

"David, my fingers are sticky, i can't shake your hand" "oh sweetie, it don't matter, go ahead, shake my hand" "but - um - " [i try to lick my fingers off but i'm not fast enough] "David, can i just give you a hug instead?" "oh - sure - "

i will remember that moment forever, i hope. a moment of feeling so profoundly inadequate - i don't have the counseling skills, or the social work systems knowledge, or the medical contacts, or the authority with the church's resources to give him any tangible guidance or material things. but i could listen, human being to human being. i could assure him with all my heart that he is worth being alive, that he is and can be one of the good apples of Camden, that my hope is that he finds people who will consistently care about him and not pressure him to do things he doesn't want to do; that he can share his gift of singing with his baby granddaughter; that he continues to come to St. Anthony's when he is in need. "oh, i'll be back, sweetie, don't worry! you just made my day!" "David, YOU just made MY day."

and two blushing faces turn and walk on their way.

Resurrection Day: Marta's margaritas

mmm yes, Marta's margaritas definitely deserve a whole post to celebrate their deliciousness. or even just to celebrate their materialization, since she's been promising to make them for us for weeks. in the middle of a planning meeting for Stations of the Cross, she whipped her head around to face me and Chris: "you come, to my house, after Easter mass, I make margaritas, okay? you better come! si you no come, you retard! you come, i make margaritas. you coming?"

you should know that, besides being a master margarita-maker, Marta is also superwoman.

besides raising a son and a husband ;) and the tiniest, nippiest chihuahua i've ever seen ("she my daughter! you careful! si you hurt my daughter..."), she is also St. Anthony's go-to woman for every occasion. the changing of the banners and altar cloths, all the stunning flower and candle arrangements, the evergreen garlands hung near the rafters all around the sanctuary for the Advent season, the nativity scene complete with hay bales next to the altar for Christmas, the display of the cross and a pool of sand in front of the altar for Lent, the crosses planted in the ground all over the neighborhood park for Good Friday, the pool of water for the baptisms at the Easter Vigil, the costumes for every Bible story re-enactment, even the red paint striping Chris's body as he portrayed Jesus en la Via Crucis - all Marta's handiwork. she also oversees the community garden across the street from the church, coordinating the plots and the partnership with the Camden Children's Garden to provide the starter plants, and maintaining her own mini-farm during the spring and summer. and every time there is a reception or some deal with food and refreshments for the church, you can bet that Marta is behind it, coordinating the contributions and probably providing a vat of her own homemade cinnamon hot chocolate and a massive pot of tamales.

mmm yes, Marta's tamales. it might take another whole post to praise those. my mouth is watering now. chauuuu

Good Friday: mi hijo, mi hijo!

most of it is familiar by now. i sing. i sit. i stand. i kneel. i bow my head to receive a flinging of water from Father Jud. i sing again. sit again. stand. kneel. sit. stand. watch a line of people file forward to kiss the crucifix. sing again. hold hands to pray the Lord's prayer. share the sign of peace via hugs, handshakes, air-kisses, and the two-finger wave. sit. stand. sing. watch line of people file forward to receive the Eucharist. sit. kneel. stand. bow head to receive the benediction. cross myself because i really do want to be a living moving loving image of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. amen.

and then i am whisked downstairs and given a white robe. told to sit while several women hover around my head, wrapping it in a blue sheet, and draping another blue-green sheet around my shoulders. Maria, Maria. now you are ready. si? vamonos!

we go outside, to the front of the church where la gente, the people are gathering. a fire department van is parked on the curb, door open and microphone at the ready so the readings and reflections can be heard by the multitude. police were supposed to come at 1:30 and block off River Road so we could safely walk the route of La Via Crucis, Stations of the Cross, but they're late, so a few usher-men with muscles stand guard at the edge of the crowd, waving traffic past us slowly, one at a time.

la primera estacion: Jesus is condemned to death. Pilate asks what the people want and the crowd cries, "crucificalo! crucificalo!" i shake my head helplessly, "no, no".

the second station: Jesus carries his cross. los soldados, the soldiers prod him on with stinging flicks of rope. i follow several feet behind, surrounded by a group of similarly-draped women. wailing. someone i love is going to die.

la tercera estacion: Jesus falls for the first time. i feel the clatter of the cross on the pavement in my bones. the women around me whisper, "llora, llora mas fuerte, Maria; cry harder, Mary". it is not hard to do as they say.

the fourth station: Jesus meets his mother. me. by this time the women are holding me up, physically supporting me through the convulsions of mourning, protesting against what is being done to my son. suddenly i break out of their arms, screaming, "!MI HIJO! !MI HIJO!" grasping towards him, let me touch my son! but the soldiers push back, grab my arms and return me to my place with the women, who rub my back and soothe my shuddering frame. i didn't realize how much grief energy that would actually evoke from me. i kneel. Maria, Maria. madre de Dios. ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte, amen. we move on. the rest of the walk goes by in a blur of feet and grass dimly seen through the bunch of blue cloth that i can't tear away from my face as i whisper, ?porque, porque sufres mi hijo? why do you suffer, my son?

la quinta estacion: Simon of Cyrene carries the cross.

the sixth station: Veronica wipes the face of Jesus.

la septima estacion: Jesus falls the second time.

the eighth station: Jesus meets the weeping daughters of Jerusalem.

la novena estacion: Jesus falls the third time.

the tenth station: Jesus is stripped of his garments.

la undecima estacion: Jesus is nailed to the cross. crucified. the crowd is electrified. we women keep on weeping, weeping.

the twelfth station: Jesus dies on the cross.

la decimotercera estacion: Jesus' body is removed from the cross. and placed on MY LAP. "were you there when they crucified my Lord? oh sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble..."

the fourteenth station: Jesus is laid in the tomb and covered in incense.

INTENSE.

i had no idea it would be such an experience.

such an honor and such a penance.

may we all recognize and choose to walk the way of the cross in our lives.

may we take the chance,

may we walk, stand, sit, kneel, run, cry, dance

the way, because we know the story doesn't end there. see you on the path, amigos. ;)

peace art: welcome to the mural capital of the world

sometimes i've heard Camden described as the armpit of Philadelphia. well, if we're the armpit, and Philly is an arm, then it is an arm covered in the creations of a multitude of collaborative tattoo artists.

um, WHAT?? in other words, the city is a larger-than-life artistic playground, with sides of buildings serving as the canvases, and cooperating groups of kids, youth, seasoned painters, sculptors, mosaic makers, state penitentiary prisoners, homeless men and women, historians, musicians, physicians, maybe even politicians, students, social workers, photographers, families and whole communities, all participants in the process of designing and painting and putting these in place.

we held our first Family Saturday field trip today, which entailed loading 35 kids, parents/guardians, and Miss N. and I onto a chartered school bus, crossing the Ben Franklin Bridge into Philadelphia (it was the first time for 3 of the kids ever getting out of Camden!), picking up a tour guide from the Philadelphia Mural Arts Program, and roaming from center to north to south Philly, stopping frequently at the side of the road to take a closer look at a few of the thousands of massive creations that have earned Philadelphia the title "Mural Capital of the World."

at one set of murals we were able to get out of the bus and walk right up to them. these particular murals were done by artists in collaboration with a group of prison inmates and a group of victims of violent crimes. the first one we came up to was called 'healing walls (inmates journey)', and it depicts a collage of things that contributed to the destructive patterns of behavior in their lives. the second one is called 'healing walls (victims journey)', and it shows an array of both the suffering faces and the healing forces that have helped them.

in this little slideshow, you'll see some pics of the kids soaking in the tour, and then some pics of my own personal favorite murals in Philadelphia. if you want to see more and pick your own favs (and even visit them if you're in the area!) you can go to www.muralfarm.org. they have a pretty sweet search engine that'll show you any type of mural you want to see and the address so you can find it.

but look out Philly, you've got competition. some kids from Camden just saw some of your best-kept secrets, got the insider's scoop from a lovely lady named Lisa who knows all the ins and outs of mural-making, and now they have an inkling of how to set their own city on fire with the desire to cooperate and beautify their communities.

and, God willing, they may be able to participate in making a mural of their own! as soon as we stepped off the bus back home in Camden, after taking the lovely/crazy group photo you see in the middle of the slideshow, we took a walk down a couple blocks to the local park's Little League storage building and concession stand, which currently has blank off-white cinderblock walls. there's a non-profit that wants to grant us the money for an artist to work with our kids to design and create a mural on it, to brighten up the neighborhood and deter graffiti and foster community pride and spirit. SI DIOS QUIERE! POR FAVOR! SI SE PUEDE!!!!!!!

peace art: watercolor wildness

"okay, so you tried spreading the paint around with a dry brush, you know how that feels...now see what happens when you add more water...see how the color moves on the paper...now try making a straight line...now a wavy line...now make a pool of plain water on part of your paper and put a drop of paint in it, watch what happens...and what does it look like if you dip your brush in water, then in a color, then in water again, and let it drip onto the paper? how about if you take a wad of paper towel and blot it on? what if you wet the paper towel a little first? okay now with your brush again, try mixing colors, either on your paper or in the palette...try with more water, less water...just experiment! see what you can do with it! all the different possibilities..."

patiently and energetically my fellow volunteer and passionate teaching artist, Miss N., gave these instructions and modeled what she meant, as the children listened and followed along at our most recent session of the Camden Peace Art Project. i followed, too! i never knew there were so many variations of techniques and textures to be explored in the wonderful world of watercolors.

and afterwards we went home and were somehow inspired to cut apart N.'s creations from that session, rearrange them on poster-board, and then she painted more watercolor between them to bring them together, and inscribed Langston Hughes poems over them. what wisdom. what peace. what wildness. :)

skating.in.sync.

on the River Rink!

[that was our FVM fun night a few weeks ago]

[you should go]

peace art: pastels for haiti

"what does peace mean? peace means taking care of

what does peace mean? peace means taking care of

what does peace mean? peace means taking care of

ourselves, each other, and the earth!"

children circle around me, some singing, some hesitantly mouthing the words, some confidently shouting out this little piece that has become the theme song for the Camden Peace Art Project. after music time sitting on the floor, we move to the tables and my co-leader, Miss N., begins to tell us and show us how to use oil pastels...shading, stippling, cross-hatching, straight lines and curved lines and wavy lines...a whole new world of artistic technique opening up in front of our eyes!
children's eyes crinkle up with excitement and thinking as they get to pick out colors and create designs for crazy hair and crazy faces to practice the different techniques. when they're satisfied with their creations, we draw the children again into a circle on the floor to prepare them for their next project, which will not only bring them the joy of creating, but also (we hope) bring some peace and comfort to some others in our community.

"okay, does anyone remember what happened last week on a little island?" eager hands go up, but more-eager mouths blurt out, "Haiti!" "earthquake!" "tsunami?" "no, crazy" "people got hurt" "people's house fall down" "lots of people die" "people hungry". yes, children. can you see the hurt in my eyes? "and did you know that we have some families from Haiti right here in Camden? they live and go to school and go to church just down the road from us, and they probably have family and friends who got hurt or maybe died in the earthquake. so, how do you think they are feeling right now?" ... "how would you like to make a card that we can give to these families? what would you like to draw on it and write on it? here, you can use what you learned with the oil pastels...and here are some phrases you can write in French or Creole, to let them know you are thinking of them and praying for Haiti..."

you should have seen these crazy kids settle down and get to work. well, they were still pretty rowdy, but hey, they really put their hearts into those cards. one of my favorites, by one of the rowdiest kids in the room, just said "I LOVE YOU HAITI".

i know, of course, that Haiti STILL HURTS, that a few hand-colored cards from a crew of Hispanic kids in Camden to a few Haitian families in Camden is not even a drop in the bucket of all the healing water that is needed to soothe the pain of so many people and enable such a wounded nation to walk again... but in the meantime, and in light of my lack of direct access to make a concrete difference in that situation... i'm pretty proud of my Peace Art kids, and their gift to their neighbors: pastels for haiti.

all.the.arms.we.need.

i promised more information about the peace and justice gathering last month at Sacred Heart church, so here it is: a day of thinking/learning/praying about 'all the arms we need'.

the keynote speaker was Frida Berrigan, peace activist and Senior Program Associate of the Arms and Security Initiative at the New America Foundation. she spoke about the 'global arms trade', which is all a euphemism except for the 'global' part, which is pretty accurate. 'arms' is a blatant euphemism that really refers to advanced technology designed to kill and maim people and destroy property. 'trade' is something of a misnomer because it's not an equal playing field of exchange between countries; in reality, out of the $55 billion of weapons that are exchanged worldwide each year, the United States supplies 70% of those, and its closest competitor is Italy with a 3.7% share in that market. so, there's mostly one seller and lots of buyers. Frida had many more eye-opening things to say about the 'arms' and the 'trade', but mostly encouraged us to be curious about what's going on, and what is the difference between the arms that the nations think they need to design and produce and stockpile, vs. the kind of strong, true peacemaking arms we need way more of in this world.

the first workshop i went to was about women's spirituality and peacemaking. there was time and creative space for sharing how we as women have been negated by society, told we're not enough and we should be thinner.sexier.quieter.more modest.more shapely.more achievement-oriented.more practical.etc. then we joined in a ritual of remembering times when we have felt powerful as women. the session came from a small-group curriculum called 'Traveling with the Turtle' published by Pace e Bene, a Catholic peace and justice publishing company. we ended with a communal body-sculpture of ourselves in powerful positions, most with arms raised or arms around each other. all the arms we need.

there were images of turtles all over the room, in honor of this small group. i love turtles. my ideal style of living resonates with the intentional taking-time, the purposeful slowness, leading to wisdom because of the space for reflection in the midst of that life-giving pace of activity. also, one image in the room made me think of how turtles have to adapt to different environments. they have to learn to live and move and breathe and navigate equally well on land and in water. they spend their whole lives transitioning between these two, never fully belonging in either. like me! like all third culture kids!

the lunchtime literature tables included a local poetry and painting community, a conscientious objectors league, a campaign for establishing a 'department of peace' in the government, a used book sale, and author/Sacred Heart parishioner/Camden dweller Chris Haw selling and signing his book Jesus for President (co-written with friend Shane Claiborne)

the second session i chose was about the myth of redemptive violence, with stories and reflection questions interwoven with material from Walter Wink's theology of nonviolence shown in Jesus of the gospels. this workshop was led by Fr. Gerard Marable, an African American priest who has had several young male family members shot and killed in Camden, who is a prominent leader in CCOP, who is trying to merge his own parish with a primarily Hispanic parish, and is on the journey of discovering what it means to practice, promote, and pursue peace starting within his own inner violence and his relationships and his community and the world. he brought up an interesting question we have to ask ourselves, to test our cultural competence when we have these kinds of conversations - "who is in the room? and who is not in the room?" for example - he was one of the only black people at the entire gathering. most Sacred Heart members are aging middle class white people from the suburbs who come into the heart of Camden, the middle of a majorly black and hispanic neighborhood, and they do helpful work to serve in the community but not much success involving the community in taking over the work of serving within itself. some folks at this workshop came from a church in Philadelphia where the congregation appears to be 'very integrated', mostly black, some hispanic and some white, and very vibrant and inclusive worship times. but still, this elderly gentleman said, when they have their meetings of the Catholic Peace Fellowship, it's just a few white people who show up, and they're wondering why don't the black parishioners care about these issues. why, Father, when we were behind them in all the civil rights marches and struggles for equality in this country, why won't they stand with us in the justice issues of the world today? why?

my impulse was to ask, well, what are you doing that is somehow not inviting to them? fortunately Fr. Gerard was able to bring this realization to the table very diplomatically, that when we notice certain groups of people whose voices are not in the room, the first thing to do is examine ourselves and what it might be about us that is not inviting them into the room, not making it feel safe or meaningful to them to join in those conversations and efforts.

i wondered to what extent, too, it has to do simply with the life situations of the majority of the black parishioners as opposed to the relatively more affluent and comfortable white parishioners who freely choose to come in from the suburbs to attend these 'integrated' churches in impoverished neighborhoods. can you imagine what it feels like, when you're just trying to survive, just trying to meet the bottom-of-the-psychological-pyramid needs for food security, job security, and emotional security, trying to find support in your immediately-surrounding relationships. all of those issues of nuclear disarmament and fair wages for farm workers in Florida and stopping the far-away war in Afghanistan...seem so distant, so luxurious to worry about when all you can do is work to survive and provide for your family. not that people in poverty are not capable of thinking compassionately and acting to help others beyond their immediate surroundings - they absolutely are capable! and often when issues are presented in a meaningful way, with a deserved sense of urgency and magnitude of need, people who have very little themselves may very well be, proportionately, the more generous to the causes. but if you're talking about bi-monthly meetings with agendas and assignments and action steps toward the distant and relatively abstract goals of ending a war or making peace in the middle east or gaining justice for immigrants or even registering people as conscientious objectors...that may just not seem to matter as much as getting food on the table so that your child is not crying with hunger pains that night or getting frostbite from lack of gloves or boots you couldn't buy that month. what do you think? am i being too simplistic or stereotypical here? there's the people who feel like they don't have all the arms they need to just get through each day, and then there's the people who have arms to spare to lift up all these worthy causes in the world, but not enough to just walk arm in arm alongside their neighbors, their brothers and sisters they clamor to see and embrace in church but turn a blind eye to the kind of homes and jobs and financial situations they go back to after mass. and there's all kinds of others in between and even further extremes. and yet we mostly all have good intentions, we all want to care, we all want to share our arms with somebody, somehow...

and the day concluded with a prayer service honoring a variety of our brothers and sisters in history who have given their arms, their hearts and minds and ears and voices, and even their lives given up in the process of making peace and working for justice, in the hopes that we may do the same, in our own ways, times, and places.

amen.