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!!!!!!!