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?

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.

snow.havoc.means.skating.to.school.

the city of Camden is too poor to plow the streets. i don't think they even own snowplows. maybe we're not the only place in the country where this is true, but wow, it makes a big difference in the way things look and work after a snowstorm. it's basically up to the first brave souls who go out after the blizzard to beat it down as they drive through the drifts. sometimes those few, fortunate neighbors who have possession of a pick-up truck with a plow thing on the front will help clear up a path through part of the neighborhood to make it passable. hmm, what does 'passable' look like to you?

after 2 or so feet (somewhere between 25 and 27 inches) of snow fell this past weekend, 'passable' in our case means that the width of the neighborhood streets has shrunk by about half due to the cars parked on either side with several feet of snow surrounding them. in the remaining space, down the middle of the road, there is a rutted, uneven inch or three of slick packed-down snow/ice blanketing most of the road surface, with a few patches of pure slush and a couple blobs of open pavement peeking out like potholes. so, on my four-block walk from my house to the church/school where i taught ESL on monday morning, it was entirely possible to use my boots like ice-skates and slide almost the whole way on that slick layer of dirty white frozenness. and since sidewalk shoveling is not enforced in front of every house...the most dependable option really is to skate down the middle of the road to get to school and back.

of course, i won't be skating to school today or tomorrow, because everything's closed. we're supposed to get another foot or so today, and then it'll be another day or so before it's safe and 'passable' enough for everybody to come out from our snow-cocoons.

and the snowflakes keep falling...

eyes.of.a.child.

the other day i was playing frisbee with my housemates in the park a few blocks down from our house, and once after i passed it i looked over my shoulder, and there was a little boy about three feet high, looking wide-eyed at me with a futbol at his feet. he stared at me for a few seconds, then very calmly yet expectantly kicked the ball to me, so i took a time-out from frisbee to pass the soccer ball back and forth a few times with this audacious chiquito, little boy, before he wandered back to his friends and big brother, and i joined back into the frisbee circle. a few minutes later i glance behind me again and this kid is looking up at me and as soon as i meet his eyes he kicks the ball to me again, and we go through the same little game a few times, on and off again, until it's time for me to go back home. and the whole time i'm thinking, wow, in a neighborhood like this, how is this child still so trusting that he'll spontaneously share his soccer ball with a complete stranger, a grown-up(ish) white lady he's never seen before? how long will it be before that trust fades, gets disillusioned or violated? i mean, in that moment i was blessed somehow with the ability to mostly just savor the joy-drops of that innocent exchange, but now i can't help but wonder - how long before he notices the shattered glass on the sidewalks and the gunshots at night, before he gets offered weed or speed or worse? will his family be able to send him to a good school? will he stick it out and graduate, or will he drop out like 30% of students in Camden have done in recent years? will he find strong friendships among his peers, or will he search for his sense of belonging in a gang? will he gain a sense of accomplishment and adventure from his schoolwork and sports and other creative, constructive activities, or will he seek the darker thrills of getting drunk or high, of defacing neighborhood edifices, setting fire to abandoned buildings, or other destructive paths? how much choice will he feel like he has in the matter? will he be able to find a job? will he go to college? there's certainly hope for him, but also plenty of reasons for hopelessness, i'm learning.

my eyes have been opened to many reasons for these issues by participating in community actions and discussions with a local group called CCOP (Camden Churches Organized for People). i'm going tomorrrow to a church across town to join a troupe of my fellow Camden residents, pastors, priests, Franciscan friars, non-profit workers and volunteers, and children, to meet and dialogue with NJ governor Jon Corzine. here's my very brief, very broad-brushed synopsis of why:

seven years ago, Camden was deemed to be in a state of emergency, and control of the city was taken into state government hands. three years later (four years ago), leadership changed, promises were made, resources were found, and the people thought there might be reason to hope for better things for Camden. but here we are, coming up to another election season, and the leadership has not been accountable, promises have not been kept, resources have not reached the needs, and the people would like to remain hopeful, but the reasons seem few and dim except for our ultimate hope and faith in God's love in the midst of suffering. so, some faith-full citizens are determined to let their voices be heard, to speak up for those in Camden who live in fear and hurt and lack of opportunities. here's the media advisory about it; stay tuned for more about the 'why' and 'what' after it happens.

in the meantime, we pray, pray, pray...and turn our eyes upon Jesus who sees the child inside and the path ahead of all of us...

new.home.base.

here's what's been blowing my mind a little each day since august 15:

i live in Camden, New Jersey. this is a home of mine now. this is where i will sleep, eat, sing, dance, garden, teach, learn, cook, clean, speak, listen, walk, run, read the newspaper, surf the internet, drive a minivan, smile, cry, swing in the park, buy groceries, take out the trash, pray, and breathe for the next eleven months.

Camden is one of the poorest cities in the United States - for the past several years it has consistently ranked in the top 3 for crime and poverty. there are over 4000 abandoned properties scattered throughout the neighborhoods, where drugs are bought and sold like hot cakes. i live in Cramer Hill, which is in north Camden, probably one of the nicest sections, with an active community development corporation (the CHCDC) that has helped to create much safe and affordable housing, and yet just two blocks down the street from me is a row of three houses that have been sitting abandoned for about 20 years, during which multiple fires have burned out their insides, and if you just push on one of the sideboards with your pinky finger it flaps back and forth - this thing is ready to fall anytime. it's been labeled an 'imminent hazard' by the city since fall 2008, which means that it should have been demolished, at the absolute latest under LAW, by about 10 months ago. and yet it still stands. 'still stands tall', according to the Courier Post today which carried the story of the local churches' action to try to get the city to take care of this dirty business. i was there.

;-) i carried a banner and a cardboard bulldozer. you can read the story and look at pics here.

i have three housemates - one girl and two guys - who are working with the same program, Franciscan Volunteer Ministries. we like to drink tea and laugh together. i'm excited to get to know them more.

there's so much more i could say about my past 13 days of living here, and about what my day-to-day activities for this year may look like (my schedule is still kind of in process of being developed), but i mostly want to say that everyone i've met here has been wonderfully kind and welcoming. a neighbor down the street told us how he makes sure everybody puts their trash out so that it's easier for the trash man to pick it up. a lady from our church gave us an overflowing basketful of peppers and tomatoes and eggplants and canteloupe from her garden. a man at the HIV/AIDS hangout center gave us a heart-felt concert of Michael Jackson karaoke. the maintenance man at a recently-shut-down Catholic school across town lent us his truck and his own sweat and effort to help move all the textbooks, gym equipment, computers, and other useful materials to the school here, which hasn't had enough money to buy new things for years. so he helped us move it all, and then he gave us several bags of mocha cappuccino mix from the coffee company he works for. the lady who runs the HIV/AIDS ministry just brought pasta, rolls, and salad over for us for dinner, since we were working on that school job all day. our supervisor, Father John, canceled one of our meetings one day and just took us to a nature preserve on the banks of the Delaware river and we walked the trails and shore for a while.

i think it's gonna be a good journey.