What Remains: A Look Back on a Year in Chicago

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

It is a natural tendency of mine to spend a good amount of time in reflection, and this year spent in service has given me much to reflect on. In this time I have had many strong and ever-changing feelings and insights. One such insight continues to stare me down in the face and refuses to be forgotten or brushed aside. It is, simply, that sometimes living in Chicago bothers me. It challenges me and it forces me to see the world, not as I would like it to be, but as it really is. The shocking reality that I have come to know, is that Chicago, while beautiful and brilliant, is a broken city. It is broken by poverty, segregation, economic inequality, and violence. And that is something I have struggled with.

“I see a skyline that only half the city gets to touch.” This is a line that really stuck with me from a play I recently saw about the devastating effects of the violence that occurs on Chicago’s south and west sides. These words were especially jarring because of my own love for Chicago’s beautiful skyline. Since I was young, seeing the giant skyscrapers reflecting silvery light or brightening up the night sky has always filled me with a sense of wonder and awe. It stands as a symbol of all my hopes and dreams for the future, and its unwavering presence gives me comfort and confidence. Even after living here for nearly ten months, that view has never gotten old or tired for me. But as I thought about those words from the play, I tried to put myself in the place of someone living in a Chicago much different from the one I’ve come to love. Someone in a city that seems to show no mercy, no care or concern if you live or die. A city that has segregated you, failed your schools and your community, and seemingly left you to fend for yourself. In that situation, my beautiful skyline becomes nothing more than an ugly reminder. A reminder of a place that has hopelessly trapped you. What I see as a symbol of dreams and potential is only a tease of possibilities that are so incredibly far beyond reach. This realization has been one of my many struggles this year.

I struggle with the frustration of knowing that life is so difficult for half the people in this city. It is same sense of frustration I often feel when I find myself driving through different parts of Chicago, watching as the neat and orderly streets of affluent neighborhoods fade into run-down, poverty stricken ones, marveling at how a ten minute drive in one direction can lead me into a seemingly different world. It’s the frustration that I have as I see church after church nestled in between dilapidated, boarded up homes and wonder how the God who watches His faithful pack those churches each Sunday can be the same God who watches children gunned down as they play in the park or walk home from school.

I struggle to reconcile my faith with the world I see around me. At a mass at St. Sabina’s Church on the south side, I was blown away by the strength of the faith that surrounded me. The people present were not there out of some sense of obligation or right-doing, but out of a true need for spiritual strengthening. Here were people struggling with poverty, violence, and injustice, experiencing a deep and spiritual connection that I don’t know if I’ve ever felt. They had every reason in the world to abandon faith, but there they were. I was amazed and inspired and wondered if I’d ever be able to have such unwavering faith in God’s love for the world.

I struggle with my job. I meet with clients nearly every day, and as I listen to their stories I wonder how on earth they are able to get through each day with lives that are constantly thrown into chaos. I wonder what events in their past lead them to where they are today, knowing that at one time they were probably just like me, young and filled with hope as they began to make their way in the world. I marvel at the fact that in the Lakeview neighborhood, one of the nicest and most well off in the city, there are over two thousand individuals each month who come to the pantry to get basic necessities. And I continue to see many of the same faces month after month, realizing that we give only a temporary solution to a much bigger problem that’s way beyond our control.

Then there are all the folks coming in from other neighborhoods, where pantries are either non-existent or woefully inadequate at meeting needs of the community. These individuals are served once by Lakeview Pantry and then referred to a pantry closer to where they live. There was one client I spoke to, at the pantry for the first time, who had come over an hour by public transit from the far south side, just to get some food for her family. She was a young woman, my own age, a single mother with three children, the oldest not more than four. In that moment, I realized that, had my life circumstances been different, I could have been in her same situation. It was a jarring thought. I talked her through the process of getting food and then gave her a referral to another pantry, my heart heavy. All I could do was hope that the other pantry would be able to help her and her family. It’s hard to turn people away, but our food supply is limited and we simply can’t help everyone. There is more need in the city than we will ever be able to remedy. Realizing that has been a struggle too.

And as I think about these experiences, thoughts, and, especially, struggles that I’ve had, I’ve begun to recognize something else Chicago has shown me. Like the city itself, I too am broken. Broken by my doubts and insecurity, unsure of myself and my future. Broken by my inability to feel as though I’m truly making an impact. Broken by my seemingly endless lack of faith.

So, with the year coming to a close, what remains? What do I take with me after my realization of a broken city and a broken self? Well, what remains is, that in all honesty, we are all broken people, broken by different things at different times. And with that brokenness comes the opportunity for healing. That’s really what this year has been about, recognizing our brokenness and the brokenness around us and working towards healing. I am not naïve enough to think that by giving out food to a family once a month or by sitting down and helping a young women with her resume, that I can even begin to make a dent in the brokenness of Chicago. But maybe, just maybe for that family or that young woman, I can help them along the path to healing their own human brokenness. And in doing that I am brought to healing as well.

What remains is that one true definition of service, two lives coming together to heal the brokenness of life. What remains is the journey of a lifetime, that path of personal healing that we all find ourselves on.

This year has given me the tools to press on in that journey: a willingness to serve, a desire to learn and grow, a faith to deepen and explore, and a love for others that I never could have imagined. Now I can go with purpose and with hope on the path of healing, for myself, for those around me, and for this beautiful, broken city I’ve come to call home. I’m thankful for that, thankful for all this year has given me. Thankful for the chance to become whole. And that is what remains. 

True Gifts

The following is a reflection written by Hilary Froelich, one of this year's North House Volunteers. She shared this as a part of the North House community's Pentecost Reflections, which took place May 20th.

You know how you walked through all of your classes before the first day, peeking into the classrooms, mapping out where you would sit, how fast you would have to walk to get from one class to the next? When it comes time to actually go there, you already know what you’re doing, where you’re going. That’s how I felt walking up to North House on that first day of August. I was confident. Confident in both who I was as a person and how I thought I would live out my life this year, and also in the position I thought I would have at my service site. It was like my class list was already memorized. My life here in Chicago would be an extension of the incredible year I had just finished at John Carroll – the one where I found myself through singing, prayer, and every campus ministry activity known to students. It was my turn to be the campus minister, to provide my students at Jospehinum Academy with the peace and enlightenment I had received from campus ministry, to use my quiet leadership and listening skills to connect with my housemates. As Saint Ignatius would say, I was ready to “go forth and set the world on fire.”

My fire started to turn into brightly lit coals, however, as I discovered that many high school girls aren’t using their faith life as a main topic of conversation. My attempts to start a youth group failed. Finding girls who would willingly stand up at the podium during Mass to read was almost impossible and the Sacred Silence I had found so important during Mass at John Carroll was filled with muffled chatter and giggles. That perfect image I had of this year being an extension of last year? – not so perfect. I found myself feeling both restless and hopeful as the year continued. I knew I was supposed to be at Josephinum, but my heart felt like it was constantly searching for something more, some sort of bigger fulfillment. I started spending more time in classrooms and less time in the front office, hoping to figure out just what it was that these girls needed in order to open up their hearts to faith and spirituality. I didn’t find anything to help them in their faith, but they certainly helped me.

My relationships with the girls began to blossom. I realized they didn’t need me to be a campus minister; they just needed my listening ear. Every day I was hearing about boy problems, school struggles, what they were doing over the weekend. My heart was being opened up for them, and I was drinking in all of their words, trying to love them as best as I could. I don’t know that I realized it as it was happening, but when I started working on retreats for each grade level second semester I knew what the girls would want, what sort of activities were going to be beneficial to them, which reflections and prayers would help them to open their minds and hearts. I’m not sure where this new courage and faith came from, but it was something I knew I needed to embrace and explore. I didn’t need to be the all-star campus minister; everything with campus ministry didn’t need to go perfectly to my plan. I just needed to be whatever my students needed me to be – a listener, a supporter, a shoulder to cry on, or a smiling face. My time at Josephinum has been a journey. I’ve walked with many people, but the Holy Spirit has always been by my side. It’s sometimes hard to recognize those difficult moments, where all you feel is lost, as a moment of grace, pointing you back towards the Lord. In Luke 24:13-35, we hear about the Road to Emmaus. The two men walking were filled with grief because the Lord had been gone; they didn’t realize that the man walking with them was, in fact, Jesus. Jesus has been walking with me throughout my year at Josephinum, I just needed the fire in my students’ eyes to recognize He was there. 

Hopefully Waiting for the New

The following is a reflection written by Joe Ahlers, one of this year's North House Volunteers. He shared this as a part of the North House community's Pentecost Reflections, which took place May 20th.

When I walk into the Marjorie Kovler Center, I’m immediately surrounded by individuals who truly know what it means to grieve for the old but wait hopefully for the new.  The clients of the Kovler Center have experienced and survived the worst sort of cruelty that humankind can inflict on one another; physical and psychological torture.  Even after almost a year of having been exposed to a darker world that I didn’t even really know existed, the shock and hopelessness I feel when I hear or read a client’s torture experience has not worn off.  But there are certain individuals’ stories that really spoke to me when I thought about waiting in anticipation of the ascension. 

One such experience belongs to a survivor that I’ll call “Sean”.  I first met him when he walked into the Kovler Center a few days after I first started there.  Like many of the Kovler Center’s clients, Sean comes from Sub-Saharan Africa; more specifically from the former British colony of Nigeria.  When Sean first came walked in, I will admit that I was more than just a little intimated by him.  To put it mildly, Sean is a “big man”, tall and built in such a way that I wouldn’t doubt him if he introduced himself as the 3^rd string middle linebacker of the Chicago Bears.  But when I started talking to Sean about his experience in his homeland, what really caught me by surprise about him was not his physique, but rather how soon into our conversation he started to break down and cry.  Sean explained to me that this was the first time that he had talked about the horrific events in his homeland and he simply could not contain the flood of emotions that he was experiencing.  He went on to say that he was a middle class laborer in his native city in Northern Nigeria, with a new wife and a 1 year old daughter.  He said the trouble started when an Islamic extremist group, Boko Haram, started to become active in and around the area in which he lived.  Sean told me that he was a practicing Christian in a part of the country where very few did.  He told me that one night five armed men came to house and started to threaten his family if they would not convert to Islam.  To further scare him, they threw his baby daughter in a tub of water and would not let him rescue her.  Sean said he’s never been terrified or helpless in his life.  The armed men let him go to his daughter after 30 terrifying seconds, where he found her shaken up but alright.  The men then left but warned that they would return.   Sean immediately took his wife and daughter and fled to Chicago to live with his mother in law, where he learned about the Kovler Center a few weeks later.          

Sean left his entire life, culture, customs, and anyone he’s ever known behind, and was severely traumatized by his experience.  But with the help of his family, the Kovler Center, and his own resilience and hopefulness, Sean was able to start to feel whole again.  A few months after I first met him, he told us that his wife was pregnant.  A few weeks ago, his wife gave birth to a healthy baby boy with a huge mop of thick black curly hair that looks like he’ll be just as big as his father one day. 

This is just one example to me of grieving the old and waiting hopefully for the new.  Although I can never imagine what it feels like to leave behind everything and start over in a new world like our clients do, I’d like to think like that serving for two years has been a small taste of their experience.  I think we all feel some sort of grief for the friends, family, and lives we left behind when we entered this weird and wonderful experience called Amate House.  I for one still miss times where the world seemed so much simpler and pure.  Although I still find myself fairly anxious when I think about the impending storm of what staff likes to call “life after Amate”, I know that I will have the countless stories of strength and resilience of people like Sean and the support of eight other housemates to help guide me through whatever comes next.

New Beginnings

The following is a reflection written by Liz Glasgow, one of this year's North House Volunteers. She shared this as a part of the North House community's Pentecost Reflections, which took place last Wednesday.

I often say that my senior year of college was the best worst year of my life. My family was going through many difficulties with my sweet grandma being sick and eventually passing away but also my brother getting into a destructive relationship and dealing with countless heart problems. With all this going on I was on an emotion roller coaster. Every time I thought okay we are on the up and up something would happen and I would be heading down.

 By my junior year of college all my friend groups had merged into one mega group to make an amazing group of friends that we liked to call “The Framily.” We have a patent on the name and even have T-shirts. Kidding we didn't patent the name but we did have T-shirts. We were always down for an adventure, constantly on the go, and could always be found together. I would walk into the cafeteria and people I would hardly know would tell me where my friends were sitting. Anytime one of the plummeting roller coaster dives got me they would all help pick me back up. They did this with camping trips, weekends in Chicago, watching endless hours of the OC, Frisbee in the park, and late night adventures. They keep me seeing the bright side of life. I was having bad days but I certainly had a beautiful life. As college came to a close I was like “Man there goes the best years of my life.” I knew I would still have those friendships but it would never be quite the same.

My next big adventure was a year of service…in Florida. Many of you may notice that as we stand in the courtyard that we are not in Florida. Through a rather weird turn of events (aka sketchy people) I realized in the very end of June that Florida was not the best idea, so through trusty Google I found the old Amate! I was pumped about living in the city I had always visited and gone a little wild. I was also super excited about making wonderful new friends.

The main difference about college and Amate is college you pick your friends and Amate the staff picks them for you. There were times those first couple months when I wondered what had I gotten myself into. There were what felt like endless conversations about groceries, how to handle conflict, and how we should handle chores. I would call my friends from college and of course my mother, and tell them how strange these new people I was living with were.  However, slowly but surely I found myself calling to tell them about how amazing they were. I would tell them about our drives to Sonic, our walks, trips around the city, and endless nights giggle in this place I now call home.

When I have a bad day I look forward to coming home and encouraged by my homies. When I have an embarrassing thing happen to me or a funny story I can almost picture how each of them will react now when I tell them the story. They became the people riding the roller coaster along with me and helping through my ups and downs. We enjoy the ride of life together, and honestly you can never have too many people doing life along side you. I’m happy to say that my Easter Sunday came in form of 8 other people. 

Looking Back on Two Years

The following is a reflection written by Mary Kate O'Connell, one of our five second year Volunteers. She currently lives in McKinley Park in our South House Community.


When I think about the last two years that I've spent as an Amate House volunteer, one word really jumps to the forefront: gratitude. I'm so grateful in so many ways -- to my family for supporting me when I told them that I wanted to work for no money and live eight hundred miles away from them for yet another year; to my site supervisors and coworkers who taught me so much about the importance of helping people find a safe place to call home; to the refugees and immigrants I've worked with who have taught me a profound amount about resilience and keeping your face towards the sun in the toughest of times; to the Amate House staff and various spiritual and professional development mentors for being beyond supportive and committed to helping me become the person I am.

Mostly, though, I am thankful for the nineteen people that I have lived with in these last two years. I'm so lucky to have been thrown into communities with nineteen people that have challenged me, made me examine myself, and made me better. An Amate House alum who had since moved on to another program where he lived in community told me that while other volunteer programs try to build community, Amate House actually does it. And while it’s true that Amate puts many things in place in the hopes of fostering community, all the work is not done for you. It is so easy to check out and coast through. The really important moments are not picturesque and beautiful – posing for a picture in front of the skyline all dressed up during Amate Magic, or cruising down the Chicago River on a warm night in August. The important moments are had around the dinner table after an exceptionally tough day, or when someone is giving their lifeline and can’t quite get through the rocky parts. There’s an Arab proverb that says, “Sunshine all the time makes a desert,” and I've learned to be thankful for the rain.

Now, dear Amate House blog reader, if you could do me the kindness of letting me address my nineteen current and former housemates directly, I would continue to be endlessly grateful. If you’re an Amate House Alum or if you've lived in a community at all, I’m sure you've wished for this public opportunity to say some things to your community members. I’m just fortunate enough to get the chance and I’m taking advantage of it:

To the first community I was a part of: I really just can’t thank you guys enough. When I first started Amate, I kind of thought that I had it all figured out. I was here to work with refugees because that was the coolest sounding option that I had and, sure, I would live with, like, a thousand other people, but that’s a drawback I could overlook. On my first day with the eleven of you, I thought, “Oh God, this is not at all how I pictured my year in Chicago to go.” Turns out the sweetness of the Midwest has not at all seeped into New Jersey, and the cultural shift was overwhelming. So while I was kind of floundering and trying to get my grip on how I would fit in to this new strange group, you all just accepted my roughness around the edges. I think that we could all agree that community didn't necessarily come naturally to us – we were always working at it. However, this is one of the reasons why I love you all so fully and you’re all so dear to me. The fact that we were always working over it and sweating over it made the year so much more meaningful. We all knew how important this group of people would be to us, and we all decided to get our hands dirty with the effort of making it work. I've said this to you guys a thousand times and I’ll say it a thousand times more: Thank you, I love you.

To my current community: I also can’t thank you guys enough… There’s a theme here. Off the bat, I knew I would love you guys. I fell in love even from some of your introduction emails. On the first night that we were all together, I remember looking around the table and not believing that this is who I would get to live with for the next year; I remember being astounded at my luck. And I have been so thankful every day that I decided to do another year of Amate. I can’t imagine my life if I had never met you all. Throughout these past ten months, I've had to stand back and catch my breath because we have had our fair share of beautiful and picturesque moments. I can’t count the times that I've turned to one of you and said, “Can you believe how lucky we are?” And, of course, we've had some rough moments, but those have been a small price to pay for the privilege of getting to spend the year with you all. So thank you guys for sharing your lives with me, you all are something else entirely and I’m lucky to experience this year with you.

To both of these communities as a whole: Thank you for hearing the dumb phrases that I say and adopting them as your own. Thank you for inquiring about my day when it’s probably clear that I had a very bad one. Thank you for asking me for advice when you’re not quite sure what to do. Thank you for eating the stuff I make for dinner even though it tastes the same every week. Thank you for bravely opening up about the big and small things in your life. Thank you for making me laugh – and I mean throw my head back, eyes closed laugh – every day for the last two years. Thank you for giving me a home and a family when I’m so far away from my home and family. Thank you for helping me be the person that I've always wanted to be.

Are you or someone you know looking for an experience like Mary Kate's? Amate House is still accepting applications for the 2015-16 Program Year! Download the Application here!

Amate Magic Volunteer Reflection

The following is a reflection by South House Volunteer Anna Paige Frein - she shared this reflection at this year's Amate Magic benefit dinner, held on April 17 at Chicago's Navy Pier Grand Ballroom.


Good evening everyone and thank you for celebrating Amate House with us tonight! We are so excited to have all of you here. My name is Anna Paige and I am a current Amate volunteer in South House. I have had the privilege of serving at St. Sabina Catholic Charities this year. St. Sabina is a part of Catholic Charities’ Emergency Assistance Department, so as an intake worker I primarily assess clients in the Auburn Gresham neighborhood for our food pantry and clothing program.

I decided to do a year of service a little over a year ago with a few personal goals in mind. I was finishing up my MSW and I knew that a year of service could provide some good social work experience, I wanted to continue growing in my Catholic faith while finding a way to incorporate it into a career path, and honestly as a born and raised Arkansan and an Arkansas Razorback alum, I was tired of the same old scenery so I thought Chicago would be a good change for a year.

I got my site assignment at St. Sabina around the time of the explosion of national news coverage of the gun violence on the south side of Chicago, and to be honest it intimidated me. I grew up in a small sleepy town in the delta where gun violence rarely occurs and where you can make the front page in the local newspaper for catching a 30 pound fish.  Many people back home would react with alarm and worry when I told them that I would be working in Chicago for a year. “Why would you wanna move up there, honey?”, they would ask with true concern in their voices.

Needless to say, I probably looked like a deer in the headlights on my first day at St. Sabina. In fact, my parents wanted to come with me to the agency when we first arrived in the city. My supervisor, Ms. Tillmon, promised that she would take good care of me throughout the year and she has definitely kept her promise by fostering both my professional and spiritual growth. Looking back now, I recognize that if I had never decided to do a year with Amate House then I would still hold that ignorant fear of communities like the south side of Chicago.

The only thing I would know about this part of the city is what the news stations repeated over and over again last summer. I wouldn’t know how resilient and faith filled most of the people are here. I wouldn’t have as strong an understanding of the struggle of poverty and the different levels of the human experience. I wouldn’t have met the homeless woman who came to me crying because people were making fun of her dirty clothes at the bus stop. I wouldn’t have met the single father who is always smiling even though he was just diagnosed with cancer. I wouldn’t have met the man with crippling arthritis who thanks God  for the ability to get out of bed and live another day.

And I am definitely not the only one who has had this experience this year. The fact that 26 other young volunteers from around the country decided to dedicate a year of their lives serving others is such a unique and beautiful thing.  Amate House introduced me to some of the most brilliant and courageous young adults around and I know that we have all been challenged and experienced growth because of this program. As we all embark on our different directions this June I know that we will all take a piece of Amate and each other with us.

Thank you again for supporting such an incredible program tonight. We hope you enjoy the rest of your evening!


Thanks to everyone who came out to support us at this year's Amate Magic! If you missed us that night, check out the feature video from the program below!




It's not to late to apply to be an Amate House Volunteer! Download the application at www.amatehouse.org/Volunteer/HowtoApply.aspx

The Twelfth Station: Jesus Dies on the Cross

The following is a Lenten reflection written by Danny Tortelli, one of this year's South House Volunteers.

Maybe a week before Thanksgiving break during my first year of Amate, I found myself standing in the cafeteria of Perspectives as a lunchroom chaperone. I wasn't in there long before an 8^th grade scholar of mine, Kenny, came up to me.

“Mr. Tortelli, you get my Turkey-gram?” With my mind in a million other places, it sadly took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about.  It was an assignment that was given to the middle school students in their Disciplined Life (or “character-building”) classes. Here, each student would write a turkey themed telegram to a staff member about how grateful they are for said individual. At the time I highly doubted I, as a first year volunteer teachers-assistant with a last name only 2 letters away from “tortilla”, would be receiving one of these kind and cute affirmations when it seemed only the well-seasoned, easier to pronounce staff members were getting them.

“No, I haven't,” I told him. “I don't have a desk for deliveries.” He laughed and shook my hand. “Oh, they're probably gonna deliver it right to you. I wrote one for you to say thanks for helping me on my math test.” At this point I didn't really care where it was, or if I ever got the chance to see it. The thought in itself was warming, but to get to the heart of why this Turkey-gram meant so much, you need the whole story:

This same student had his fair share of setbacks. Behaviorally and academically, he struggled. Very cordial and kind when talking one-on-one, he would often zone out, talk to other students, or “explore” the fine inner-workings of writing utensils instead of paying attention to lessons when working alone.

At the end of my first day of interventions with him, it didn't look like we'd be going far that year. I spent as much time that first day getting him to stop cracking jokes and pens as I did rehashing algebra. Nearly every day after, we tried and tried again; working one-on-one after the teacher had given her directions, trying our hardest just to reinforce new material.

I had tried being more lighthearted with him in our one-on-ones, and even took him to other classrooms to get away from possible distractions. He responded better when the pressure of his classmates wasn’t as high, and I think he even grew to enjoy class a bit more. It became a point of familiarity for Kenny, or a checkpoint throughout his day, and mine. When we’d see each other in an earlier class he would always make sure to ask, "You gonna pull me out of math today?"

During those first few weeks, there were definitely moments of hope; good marks on class work, getting problems correct on homework, more participation in class and so on. He even began beating me to the punch with a lot of the practice problems and getting them done without my help. However, the progress often stalled and seemed marginal. There were just as many instances where he would be marked for things like “incorrect”, “incomplete”, “needs to show work”. Even after the third week of learning “how to find the missing side length of triangles”, it was a stretch to get him to identify which side is the hypotenuse. For those like me who shamefully can't remember on their own, a hypotenuse is the side opposite of the right angle.

As our triangle unit was ending, there was a looming two-part test that drew nearer and nearer. I was getting anxious: from my own bad math experiences to the realization that this student wasn't doing well in class, I couldn't help but be a little fearful. The day before the test, while working alone on a review sheet, he could barely answer the first two hypotenuse questions on his own, and even when he did they were incorrect.

I left our class thinking I'd failed him. This happens often to me at school. One day I leave believing I really made a break-through with a scholar, getting them to pick up their character and stay on point with grades, and the next they give up the effort, pick fights, talk back, and lose respect for everyone in the room, including themselves. Kenny could certainly be that kid at times. I assumed the next time we'd see each other it'd be with a fat “F” and a heavy chandelier holding over both our heads for the rest of the year.

It wasn't until he pulled me aside at the end of the next day to tell me how wrong I was:

“Mr. Tortelli, Ms. Reigelmeyer graded my test in class and said I got an A.”

He’s lying, I thought. “Say what?”

“Yeah, she graded it and said I better do just as good tomorrow on the next part.”

No way he passed… let alone aced it?! He cheated! He must have wrote the answers on his hands... something!

He reached to shake my hand. Clean as a whistle.

Meanwhile his teacher, hearing our conversation from her room, stepped out to congratulate the two of us and, more importantly, verify that “He’s telling the truth!”

I can’t talk about the death of Jesus as if I’ve ever witnessed or been part of something so tragic, but I can talk about the loss of hope. The ever pounding questions that rush through my head daily: “Am I getting through to this student?” “Am I a good enough role model?” “Am I the right role model?” “Will I, or even this school, ever be enough for these kids?” In a sense, there is that death: Inspiration, courage, the aforementioned hope. They can all disappear at the first sight of failure. It doesn’t take much for us to fall, but there are moments around you when you realize you’re doing alright.

In seeing Jesus on the cross, he carries his mission to its completion – despite the hardships, failures, and fear he must have faced, he is faithful to the very end. For me, the Turkey-gram itself was great, but more than anything it was a reminder that our work does go to some purpose. Kenny got an “A.” He thanked me, and I am so very grateful. Now a freshman in the High School of Technology one floor above us, four inches taller and about 30 pounds heavier, he continues to thank me at least once a week when he runs up to me on the way to my car after school, smiling ear to ear, and tackling me to the ground with a bear hug, shouting “Mr. Tortilla!”.

The story goes that Jesus died so that others may have a better tomorrow. While we should strive to never give up our hope, it’s reassuring, as I learned, that even if it does die for a day, it can still dawn a better tomorrow.

This reflection based off of an original story of mine, “gratitude in the grind”. You can read that post in it’s original entirety and more on my blog: Danbook

The Tenth Station: Jesus is Stripped of His Garments

The following is a Lenten reflection written by Anna Paige Frein, one of this year's South House Volunteers.

Here we see Jesus being stripped of his clothes symbolizing a stripping of not only his divinity but his human dignity. This is a final moment of humiliation for Christ on his journey to the cross. As the crowds gathered to mock him, He was left exposed and ashamed. Despite this humiliation, Christ continued in silence trusting the path of salvation before Him.

Throughout this past year at St. Sabina Emergency Assistance Department I have encountered clients who are on their own journey of suffering like Christ who have been stripped by the difficulties of the world and have come to a point of feeling exposed and ashamed. Some have been stripped of their income and feel ashamed because they have to use a food pantry to feed their families. Others have been stripped of their possessions and feel shame because they do not have a nice shirt to wear to a job interview. Still others have been stripped of steady employment and feel exposed because they have not been able to pay their rent and are facing eviction.

A few weeks ago a woman came to our food pantry looking for assistance. She had left a domestic violence situation the day before and all she had were the clothes on her back and a few dollars in her wallet. She had been stripped of her home, her relationship, and her self-respect and she did not know who to turn to because she felt too ashamed to ask her family members for help.

Many clients at St. Sabina admit to me that they are reluctant to ask for help because of the sense of shame associated with it, but the real shame today is that we often forget that we are all brothers and sisters in Christ. We forget how to love others for who they are because we are more concerned with what they have. At the end of the day if you take away money, clothes, possessions, or status then all we have left is our being. It is then that we discover that we are all equal and created in the image of God.

Admittedly, I have not personally felt the shame associated with being stripped of money, possessions, or status like my clients. I grew up in a stable home with parents who could always provide for me. So when I reflect on this station during Lent, I think about the things that I personally need to be stripped of in order to love unconditionally. These things include my pride, self-centeredness, and social prejudices. This helps remind me of our equality and our responsibility to love each other just as Christ taught us.

The Ninth Station: Jesus Falls the Third Time

The following is a Lenten reflection written by Adam Kretz, one of this year's South House Volunteers.

“The last fall is devastating; Jesus can barely proceed to the end. Summoning all his remaining strength, supported by his inner trust in God, Jesus collapses under the weight of the cross. His executioners look at him as a broken man, pathetic yet paying a price he deserves. They help him up so he can make it up the hill of crucifixion.”

I procrastinated as I always have in the past with writing assignments; the trouble is always in getting started. Intending to transmit an important and meaningful message while preparing myself to share something intimate in order to write that document. The How I've found is always the difficult part. It is the doing, the sacrificing of time. The decision to dedicate energy and attention to something on faith that is for a higher purpose, on faith that it is serving a greater good, it is a difficult and draining commitment. Finding a way to do all this in the span of an hour seems like futile effort. But that’s the thing about procrastination; it is not the act of putting things off as much as it is a way of rationalizing why not do something important, meaningful, vulnerable.

When I sat down to reflect on this ninth station I found myself feeling embarrassed and slightly ashamed of how little I actually know about this Man, this one true Son of God that I have lately been hearing so much about. Now I was baptized and raised as a Catholic, educated on the faith by my parents and by my religious education classes. After all these years I have only held on to a general idea of who Jesus was and why he died on the cross. I am no longer a Catholic and so I am less ashamed to admit to having watched a 2 and half minute video titled: Who is Jesus put out by the channel Bibles for America, which helped only confirm what I already knew about the story: that Jesus is God and the only son of God and that he lived an amazing life and helped many people before having to sacrifice himself in order to save all of us from going to hell.

At that pointed I stopped to think about this sacrifice through my new prism of faith. What would it mean for “God”, in the way that I understand “God” to kill itself? The sacrifice of a child of God who is also God, so that everything is better off, this is a very difficult thing for me to wrap my head around. It made me think of this idea of Opportunity Cost that’s found in Economics, that states when you choose to do one thing you cost yourself the opportunity do another. For a long time in my life I have been consumed by my gambling addiction and the many vices that come along with, the cigarettes, the partying,  the drugs, the tv and alcohol. So many distractions, but most dangerous part was what it took me away from. Which was a meaningful life. My addiction kept me from spending quality time with my family and friends, from working on my goals and dreams, all the things I care about most, instead I was shackled to the wall of the closest casino, stuck inside my prison, my hell. I stayed there for so many years chained up, distracted from the hard, difficult, uncomfortable things that were my footholds toward a better life. But before this year of service began I fought my way through the pain and pressures of my struggle that had always kept me down. I got beyond the next roll of the dice because I realized that I will never become the person I was meant to be if I am trapped behind the walls of temptation and indulgence.

Like many prodigious figures in history I only generally understand. Jesus for me is a beautiful example of this intentional faith based way of living and dying. I wonder to myself, what does it mean to be so committed to one’s relationship with God where you must sacrifice and trust even when it’s painful, even when others may not understand, even when you may not understand yourself?

In Station nine Jesus is at the point where he can physically no longer bear the weight of the cross. His muscles give out and the final moments of his life come to a close. For me this station is about understanding why it is sometimes necessary to deliberately push myself past pleasure and comfort in order to be put through pain, because the mission, the goal, the future I want for myself, my family, my friends, my fellow humans, is on the other side of that hurt, it is only a hurdle in the way, how you overcome it is in that trust and support from The Divine, The Infinite.

The Sixth Station: Veronica Wipes the Face of Jesus

The following is a Lenten reflection written by Paul Marsh, one of this year's South House Volunteers.

I majored in Economics in undergrad. The thing that really gets me going about Economics is that it offers mathematical proof of correct human behavior. One of the basic principles of free trade economics is the idea of comparative advantage, which basically states that no matter how many things you’re good at, you should focus on the thing you’re the best at, and then do that thing for other people. Let’s say we live in opposite land, where I’m great at both cooking and cleaning, and all of my South House roommates are terrible at them both. You’d think that if I were acting in my own best interest, I would just cook and clean for myself, while letting my roommates wallow in their own pathetic attempts to microwave toast. But actually, I’m better off if I do all of their cooking for them, and let them clean. In other words, the idea of “I don’t need your help” holds very little weight. Math backs this up. Math seriously says we should be nice to each other. We see this economic principle of comparative advantage at play in the sixth station, when Veronica wipes the sweat and blood off of Jesus’ face. Jesus could probably do this more efficiently than Veronica, because he is literally God. However, while Veronica is busy wiping, Jesus is able to spend that time performing a small yet beautiful miracle.

This idea of help being a two-way street is expressed most succinctly in the Prayer of St. Francis, with the line, “for it is in giving that we receive.” But we find it elsewhere in the Catholic faith, and often enough that it could be described as a tenet of Catholicism. I've experienced this tenet a lot this year in my work at Taller de Jose. As I've given my time to work with countless clients, many of them have given me things in return. My client Juan gave me a “Buy One, Get One” free card for Cheesie’s, which I was super pumped about until I noticed it had expired 2 years ago. Fernando gave me a very difficult Spanish test every time he mumbled on the phone. Luisa gave me a smelly hug. Jessica gave me a bottle of women's lotion. Mario gave me his life, when he promised he wouldn't kill himself. Linda gave me tacos from El Milagro, which, speaking of small yet beautiful miracles. If someone asked me to present them with everything I'd received at work this year, I wouldn't have much to show, since I ate the tacos in about 2 seconds. But the real gift that I have received this year is a better understanding of what it means to help. Helping is not just an action, it's a state of being. It's a community that we choose to enter in to once we learn, whether it's from our faith, from economics, from wherever, just how much we stand to gain by doing so.