Commencement Speech, Amate-Style

The following is a commencement address delivered by Jeff Peak, a 2008-2009 Amate House Alum. Jeff now works with Creighton University in Omaha, NE. Jeff shared these words with graduating seniors who were preparing to go on to serve with various service programs.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of 2011. Wear sunscreen.

This seems like a rather odd piece of advice to be giving to a bunch of graduates being missioned forth for life as a volunteer or in a religious community, but I stand by it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proven by scientists, and Baz Luhrmann wrote a song about it twelve years ago so it must be valid advice. The rest of my advice though, has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the beauty and freedom of your year. Or two years if you’re doing one of those programs. Or the rest of your life if that’s your thing. It’s a wonderfully liberating feeling to know that you’ll get back from a long day of work and there won’t be a huge pile of homework waiting for you with open arms. The open arms waiting for you will either be those of the rest of your community, or the stalker hiding in your bushes. Parents: it’s almost never a stalker in the bushes.

Write a letter every day. If you don’t have time for a letter, e-mails are fine. Phone calls are better. My relationship with Grandma flourished during my volunteer year because I was able to call her every Monday on the 15-minute walk home. Not only do letters or phone calls give you a chance to reflect on life and tell some amazing stories, but they serve as a constant reminder that there are others around the world also going on a journey of faith because of your volunteer experience.

Don’t worry about the future. It’s far too easy to become consumed with MCAT studying, applying for law school or other quote important things, that you miss out on the most meaningful things happening around you. There’s a terrible cliché about today being a gift and that’s why it’s called the present. But, you should try to unwrap that gift once in a while and see what it has to offer.

Pray. If that’s not your cup of tea, reflect or meditate, journal or contemplate. Find a way to meet your spiritual needs. It’s great being on fire to serve the world, but you’ll burn yourself out if you don’t occasionally take the time to stoke the fire.

Dance.

The best advice I learned about living in community, I read in a book by a Jesuit two years after I finished volunteering. One, you are not God. Two, this is not heaven. Three, don’t be an ass.

Compromise is important, but only if you know what in your life is non-negotiable. For some people in my community, this was the type of cheese that we bought at the store every week. For others, it was that we tried to live sustainably. It’s a certainly a challenge trying to meet everyone’s needs, but it’s better than hating your life because you’ve sacrificed what’s most important to you in order to make others happy.

Take lots of pictures, it’s a great way to keep wonderful memories alive.

Speaking of great pictures, keep your student ID. It may seems slightly dishonest using this card to get discounts at movies and other endeavors after you’ve graduated, but technically speaking, you never stop learning if you’re a student of life. This just helps allow you to get into some places for cheaper than it would normally cost. That being said…

Find cheap sources of fun. This may be playing hide and seek in a dark convent with your roommates, throwing a Frisbee as far as you can off the roof of your volunteer house, or just spending a relaxing night in your courtyard with friends and a bottle of cheap wine. Great memories aren’t just made because of the amount of money that you spend, but because of the people you are with.

Maybe you’ll marry. Maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t. I’d suggest not doing either during your year of service because it’s nearly impossible to raise the appropriate dowry on a volunteer stipend, and your community budget would certainly take a hit paying for diapers and baby food.

That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t love or care for others. Sharing your love with those you live with, those you work with, and members of the larger community is the most authentic way that you can give of yourself. And as the prayer of St. Francis says, it’s in giving that you receive.

Read.

Don’t break the stupid rule. What’s the stupid rule? Don’t be stupid. This isn’t advice from volunteering but rather from my mother and probably every mother sitting here in this church today. In my research, over 95 percent of injuries happen when one is being stupid. While this normally makes for a fantastic story in the future, make sure your volunteer program has health insurance and that you can take the physical, emotional, or spiritual implications of said stupidity.

You will not return from this experience as the same person who started it

Finally, wear sunscreen, and give hugs. You don’t have to do both simultaneously because that might make for a greasy and possibly unsatisfying experience. But there’s a saying, that we need four hugs a day for survival, eight hugs a day for maintenance, and twelve hugs a day for growth. Make sure to stockpile some from your family and loved ones today, tomorrow, and everyday until you leave so that you’ll always be able to meet your daily quota. Then, the least of your problems everyday is whether to use the SPF 30, or 45.

Thank you all, and God bless you on your future endeavors.

Embracing Transformation

The following is a reflection written by Carlos La Puente, one of this year's Little Village House Volunteers.

What's one of the hardest things about both Lent and Easter? Is it the fasting? Nah, that's small stuff compared to what I'm thinking. Is it the emotional roller coaster as we break through the passion narratives to get to the resurrection joy? I wouldn't say that's the hard part, all of that is a natural part of life.

So what is the hardest part? It's Jesus looking us square in the face, his eyes staring intently into ours, as he says, "You need to change."

"Wait a second," we think. "What are you talking about?"

"Take a look at my death and resurrection. I came back with a glorified body. It wasn't the same as the one before my death. Some of my closest friends didn't even recognize me! I changed. Do you remember what I said at the last supper?"

"Well, Jesus, you kind of said a lot of things. There was the institution of the Eucharist, of course. Uh, you told us that you'd go away but then send the Holy Spirit to help us. You also washed your friends' feet..."

"Stop right there," he says. "What did I tell you after that?"

"No servant is greater than his master."

"If you're going to be my disciple," Jesus says, "if you are going to walk the path of self-giving love like me, you're going to change. It's not a question for you to answer. I don't ask you if you want to follow me and then let things stay the same. If you want to continue this life of a loving Christian, you need to change. No questions asked."

"But don't you love me as I am?"

"Yes," he replies. "Of course I do. But I also know something you don't know."

"That's not a surprise. What is it?"

"You think you're happy now? Just wait for all the joy I'm going to pour into your life when you let me transform you."

"..."

"You trust me, don't you?" he continues. "Hey, I calmed the storms, I made the dead walk, I conquered death! And people are STILL talking about me thousands of years later. Now I'm telling you that if you let me change you, you will experience a glorified body and life like mine, and you'll be happier than you've ever been, happier than you ever could be without me. What do you say?"

"I say I think this is crazy."

"I know. Which is why I'm giving you 50 days of the Easter season to get used to the idea."

"Well, what do I need? Is there any prep-work that needs to be done?"

"You can hardly prepare yourself for this," he says. "But I will ask of you two things, the two things you'll find in all the stories of the saints. Without these two things you can still have a great success story, sure, but you won't have a holy, joy-filled story."

"Well, what are the two things?"

"Ready?" he asks. "It's simple, really. All I ask of you is humility and obedience. Those are the only two things I ask of you so that I can change you and so that your joy can finally be complete. You want to know what that's like? Forget all the cheap imitations, I'm ready to give you the real stuff. Are you?"

This is the hardest part about Lent and Easter. Watching Jesus come back, conquering death, rising from the tomb transformed. He looks at us and says, "Can I transform you, too?"

The hardest part is this question. Once we say yes, however... well, we saw what happened to the 12 disciples. The rest is history. Actually, the rest is more than just history. It's our story, we're living in it.

I, for one, hope to embrace this holy transformation. May God give us the grace to say yes.

In the Tomb

The following is a reflection that Volunteer Natalie Crary wrote as part of the South House's recent Stations of the Cross Prayer Service. Natalie's reflection was shared during Station 14: Jesus is laid in the tomb.

I like nature, that’s probably not a secret to anyone- particularly my housemates who might sometimes think I like trees more than I like people. In the student center where my office is we’re in the first stages of growing wheatgrass. So I’m really excited. Wheatgrass is the kind of stuff that health places are always trying to get you to add to nutritional shakes. According to the booklet on how to germinate it this will almost literally cure any type of disease you have because it harnesses the power of the sun and has something boldly called ‘living energy’ in it. Living energy! This is the stuff of miracles- if we can believe the hype.

But let me tell you, this miracle-wonder liver healer and lung replacement stuff doesn’t look like much right now. In fact I must confess a certain level of disappointment. The first two steps in the process don’t even have anything to do with planting, or growing or sunlight or water or any of the other cherished notions that science fair projects have drilled into my head. The first step is to soak the seeds overnight. Next you have to rinse them off and let them sit for about a day. These seeds are doing nothing for a full day!

So today I came in and rinsed them off and right now they are sitting on my desk in the process of ‘germination’. So I took a good look. And do you know what those seeds are doing? They are actually sprouting. I mean, literally they are just sitting in a watering container I took from the teachers’ lounge. But they have these little heads poking out of the shell, and they are doing this without any water or sunlight. The growth is small, hardly noticeable really.

I got really excited and showed some of my students. I am a very enthusiastic person, and when they saw the barely perceptible sprouts some of them snorted derisively, unimpressed. And maybe compared to what the wheatgrass is going to look like- tall, vibrant, and endlessly healthy- it’s not very noteworthy.

So I sat down to write this reflection. And I was thinking about how exactly I’m supposed to express all the weighty emotion of seeing the purest thing in the world (Jesus) laid to rest in a tomb with death. Of course that is not the end of things at all. Being laid in the tomb is solemn and grave and horrible, like burying hope. But it’s also just another step in the process of life.

And here’s what I think. Maybe being dormant and unobserved and silent and dark for a while is a good thing. Before the wheatgrass starts to grow, and before it can cure everyone’s problems, it needs to be stored in a dark, cool dry place. That’s pretty much exactly what a tomb is. So maybe Jesus is just tipping his hat some sort of natural order. Maybe while we mourn the death of the best human in history and while we weep that ‘God is dead’, maybe Jesus is wintering and lying fallow. And maybe we need that sorrow to help us realize how valuable Jesus is. So maybe the tomb isn’t as abject a symbol as I usually think. And cliché as it sounds, maybe burial is another part of life.

Being Present

The following is a reflection by Allison Schallock, one of this year's South House Volunteers.

During the course of a week, a month or a yearlong volunteer experience, I would imagine that many, like myself are faced with the question, “What difference am I making?” It’s hard to know whether or not the little tasks I have completed or the people I have interacted with are really “changed” because of my work. I used to think that service was about completely changing or “fixing” the way someone lived. Maybe service is not about that drastic change at all. Maybe it is about being present, listening and loving those who are struggling.

For example, take an eight year-old girl named Ariana. Ariana began this year with a lot of anger, attitude, and lack of motivation for anything and everything. She was a very unhappy child and often played off her frustrations as no big deal. Ariana would refuse to do school work, participate in class, or actively engage with anyone.

After about two months of school, the principal, assistant principal, second grade teacher and I had a meeting with Ariana and her mother. Once the door was shut, Ariana broke down and began to cry. She told us that she hurt inside and didn’t know why. Her 17 year-old brother would tease her and pick on her while watching her at home after school. Her mother worked and took night class in order to support her family and there was no other family around to watch Ariana. It was difficult for Ariana’s mother to manage the 17 year-old high school drop-out. But Ariana told us that she wanted to learn and be smart so she could go to high school and college someday. She wanted to be a doctor for babies. We reminded Ariana that we were here to help and that we all cared for her very much.

It was this emotional meeting that sparked a change in Ariana. From that day on, she came into class every morning with a smile on her face, ready and excited to learn. The most amazing part of this whole transformation was that Ariana was internally motivated. She was not influenced by stickers and candy, but she wanted this for herself. Ariana quickly became one of the most likeable students in our second grade class. She was positive, enthusiastic, and hardworking. She would tell silly stories and share her quirky comments. Ariana was always a bright spot in my day.

About two weeks ago, the old Ariana entered our classroom once again. The anger, bad attitude, and lack of motivation were back in full force. Fearing this abrupt change, I took Ariana out into the hallway to practice her math facts. I casually asked Ariana if everything was ok. She broke down into tears and eventually told me that her 17 year-old brother was bullying her again. He would come into her room while she was playing with her toys and cuss at her. He would call her fat, ugly and tell her that she was never going to be anything good. I can only imagine what this might feel like for anyone, let alone an innocent, impressionable eight year-old girl.

As I talked with Ariana, I found hugging her tight. I was not about to let her slip back into her old self. I asked Ariana if she believed what her brother said about her and she said no. I reminded Ariana how lucky she is to have teachers and friends who care for her so much. At the end of our discussion, I told her that no matter what happened, no matter how sad or angry she was, she had to believe in herself. I reminded her of how much I care about her, just the way she is. Ariana looked up at me with a huge smile on her face and said, “Ms. Schallock, no one ever told me that before.”

My time at The Academy of Saint Benedict the African has taught me that even though I cannot change or fix the way someone lives, I can provide hope in the midst of their hurt. Ariana is just one of many fearful and hurting students. While I can’t stop the violence, abuse, and alcoholism that take place in their neighborhoods and homes, I can be a teacher, a role model, a friend, and a shoulder to cry on through difficult times. I can provide a safe place for my students to learn and I can be a constant reminder that they are cared for.

The Doldrums of Winter vs. Amate House

The following is a reflection written by Mark Piper, one of this year's South House Volunteers.

The life of a volunteer can be paradoxical; both fun and vexing, fulfilling but still insatiable, joyful but also rancorous, what else would you expect, with long work weeks, little pay, a lot of hope and determination in the face of obstacles and frustrations strewn about us as we navigate our journey through Amate?

The word attitude never once appeared to be uttered by Jesus in the Gospels, but let’s be honest explicit or implied, attitude has a lot to do with how we handle life, students, clients, housemates, rules, set-backs, relationships...oh yes, and this little thing called winter.

For me a person who couldn’t be a Stoic even if I tried, the ups and downs of life as a volunteer seemed to have been exacerbated in the winter months. Long days felt longer when I left the house for work, in the dark at 7:15AM and when I left work for home at 4:30PM, the stress level of the clients I saw going through foreclosure seemed to pique at the Holiday Season, and it was so gosh darn cold, I think if we stayed inside any longer we would have had cabin fever. You cannot even imagine the things we discussed as we were snowed in for the “snowpocalypse” of 2011.

But, with all that being said, when you are a volunteer, especially one in Amate House when times get tough at home or at work, it’s hard to let the winter blues beat you down too badly as the attitude of servant leadership instilled in us from day one, seems to inhibit complaints to grow or fester, sadness from turning negative and frustration soon turns into laughable moments.

So while the life of a volunteer can be paradoxical, in the end it isn’t the events or emotions that define us or our service – in this winter I think for myself and for South House as a whole we’ve discovered it’s how we proactively prepared for and then how we let positive attitudes react to unfavorable weather or circumstances. If we can survive below normal temperatures, 20 inches of snow in 36 hours, living in the dark, with fickle heat, while still putting our best foot forward for the interest of those we serve (that’s why we’re here after all), I think in a battle royale between Old Man Winter and Amate House there is no match at all. With the attitudes instilled in all of us, my money is on Amate House, after all, winter is now gone… we’re all still here.

Politicians Vs. Volunteers

One of our alumni, Megan Sweas, has written an article for U.S. Catholic regarding the debate around the federal budget and the future of AmeriCorps.

Click here to read the U.S. Catholic article!

Winter Retreat 2011

The following is a reflection written by Vince Nigito, one of this year's North House Volunteers.

The idea of a retreat, I’m told, is part relaxation, part prayer. It’s, you know, spiritual. For some people it is a chance to reconnect with God, for others it’s a time to catch up on sleep. Last year, on our fall retreat, I made a valiant attempt to learn silence. I laid in a bunk bed after everyone else had fallen asleep, lit some candles, and stared at the coils that held the top bunk above me and concentrated, ignoring all wandering thought. Barely. But while it didn’t work, I let whatever I’d scribbled in my journal inform my theology for the rest of the year.

I was skeptical going into this retreat only because last year’s winter retreat had stressed me out so much. While this year’s theme was, “Vocation to Love,” from what I remember, last year’s was “OH GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE?”

I recall a speaker, on the subject of discernment, explaining that we see God as the most perfect version of ourselves, which is halting, because even though he was trying to tell us that maybe we already know the people we want to become, it left me feeling like I was talking to myself. Then he went on to say something along the lines of, “You know, hey, do what makes you feel good, right?” Which, while I’m paraphrasing (I believe the direct quote was, “follow breadcrumbs that are tasty”), still was not entirely helpful. I wanted a phone number I could call, at least.

I decided to stay at Amate then because it didn’t feel right to leave. Last year was a transition year. It was a transformative experience. This year would be something else, I thought. This year I was supposed to be confident. I was going to take what I had learned and use it to figure out where I was going. I applied to grad schools, and I was going to go to grad school, and I wasn’t going to think about grad school again until I heard back from them. But then I started thinking that maybe I’ll emerge from grad school in an equal headspace but more poor. How poor am I willing to be, and in what capacity? And maybe I’m supposed to stay here, or maybe I should do a lot more traveling. Maybe I should see a desert for the first time before I do anything else. And also, oh God, what am I doing with my life?

On the first night of retreat, we were shown a circular maze of tape on the ground. I’d been unfamiliar with the Labyrinth as a method of prayer, or anything that didn’t involve Muppets. It should be noted that I held back from making what would have been very hilarious jokes on at least three separate occasions, in the name of spirituality and sacred silence.

There were no wrong turns in the tape paths. The lines just winded around themselves so that anyone traveling through the labyrinth would go back and forth slowly inward until they reached the center, where they travel along the notched inner ring, and then back the way they came. We were told to walk slowly, making ourselves mindful of the journey, praying however we wished, pausing as we chose. I was beginning to think that this three part journey might be some sort of metaphor.

I was wary as I entered the Labyrinth. I looked around to see how people were walking to gauge what I should try to look like for the time being. A few people walked with eyes closed, breathing deeply. Others moved slowly, trying very hard to show in their faces just how meaningful and holy their inner monologue was. I’m sure I looked like a cross between the two: I closed my eyes, but any prayer other than practical has never been my strong suit.

But as I traveled through the maze, I found that it was indeed a metaphor. Whereas the first leg of my journey was riddled with angst, wondering if I was doing things right and why I was here and who I thought I was, by the time I got to the center, I wasn’t counting minutes. I didn’t mind that the way looped back on itself. Maybe it was just an exercise, or maybe it was a spiritual movement. I was, not at peace, but OK. I was on a journey. I was fulfilling my purpose as a person. My fears seemed all at once foolish, like me questioning how long it would take to get to the center, and very grounded. I can’t dismiss anything— not when everything I could do leads to something else.

I moved much slower in the third leg of the labyrinth. I thought of my elders, the people I work with—I visit lonely and isolated elders, and I sit with them, or take them to lunch. I eat a lot. It’s my job to be their friend, and through that friendship, I’ve taken a lot about how who we are effects who we’re going to be, and how so much time passes between then and now, even though I see so many things that they do in myself. I see so many habits I have that they couldn’t kick, and so many things they couldn’t get over, or so many things that I think are so important now that they’ve let recede like a wave. Things will be different when I’m old, I think, but maybe they’ll only have curved around the center. I hated to leave the labyrinth, I’d started to find a lot of comfort feeling the carpet on my feet and traveling along the tape, but I couldn’t very well wait around the exit.

I don’t like to think of anything as “solved,” because I still worry about things I worried about in high school, only less, or differently. Maybe I clung to the ground with my hands over my head waiting for the bomb, and it just occurred to me that it might take a little longer than I expected, and I should grab some coffee in the meantime. I’m in the first leg to the labyrinth. I’m nervous only because this is maybe the third decent sized step I’ve really taken on my own, and it’s the first time I’ve had to make a choice that wasn’t obvious. But there will be more steps. A few at least before I’m very old, and certainly enough while I’m young—That’s what my elders tell me at least: “Oh, you’re young.”

Maybe they’re right.

Anyway, winter retreat was nice. If you’re ever in the area, try the Labyrinth. It’ll rock your world.