As I might have implied in my last posts, there have been time where I've really struggled to find community and sense of belonging in this city. Especially with young adult Catholics. More often than not, when attending a function where many young adults are present, it's been difficult, sometimes impossible, to engage them in some sort of conversation if they don't know you. People generally are nice and polite, yet they're also aloof and stand-offish. For example, last night I attended a talked hosted by the New Evangelization Society, and I sat next to a couple who were my age. Any attempts to engage them in conversation were met with one-, maybe two-, sentence answers, and there was very little reciprocation on their end in efforts to carry the burden of continuing the exchange. Perhaps I didn't ask the right questions, though I've found this interaction with this demographic to be quite typical in this city. If one aspect of the four-fold mission of the church is koinonia (intimacy, community, relationships, sharing) and this is the nature of young adults in the Church, then it really shouldn't be a surprise that other young adults are leaving. And, of course, I'm not suggesting that this might be the sole reason for young people to change religious affiliations; as indicated in the link, there are a myriad of motivations.
Anyway, I digress from the original intent of my reflection. As I was participating in this strained exchange of niceties, I realized that is was such a stark contrast to an experience earlier that afternoon, an experience indicative of what I feel is the true New Orleans culture. I was on my way back from a meeting in the Bywater to the office, and I figured I'd stop by the St. Roch Park to see if one of the residents I'd been working with for Fight the Blight Day was home. After knocking several times and hearing no response, I decided to walk around the park, to get a sense of its condition. Sans a little bit of litter and graffiti, it's fairly well-maintained. There was a gentleman sitting in a white car next to one of the baseball fields, and I waved hello. That initial wave turned into an hour-long conversation that was so effortless and fluid, so different from my experience later on that evening. The man was doing security detail for the St. Roch pool, for which the City is performing capital repairs so that it can be open for the summer and also, as this man revealed, for some sort of filming. He was from St. Roch and even attended Our Lady Star of the Sea, which is right next to the playground, until Katrina. Like many, he experience contractor fraud and the neighborhood recovery was lagging, so he moved Uptown to take care of his family house after his sister decided to move away.
I've been engaged in countless other meetings over the past few months in my work where conversations that I anticipate lasting a half-hour extend into the 1- to 2- hour range. With these people I barely know, the topics digress from my intended agenda into the realm of politics, economics, world affairs, history. Many times the other person is the who does all the talking, and I just sit and listen, fascinated and thankful that I am with someone who is willing to share their time and part of themselves with me.
I am so thankful for this job/volunteer opportunity. There were so many moments last fall where I was ready to give up on New Orleans, I was ready to leave and ship myself off to grad school because of experiences as I described earlier. But I've realized now those people don't truly emulate New Orleans culture and that I was about to give up on a misconception of this city that was fueled by the people with whom I chose to surround myself.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Neighboring and Social Capital
I've been working for HandsOn for about a month and a half, and I've been thinking over the last week or two that I haven't take the time to reflect and digest what I've been learning. So instead of taking advantage of New Orleans and what it has to offer tonight, I've decided to blog.
So part of my job is to promote this idea of "Neighboring" in the community that I'm serving. Essentially, the premise is that in low-income communities volunteerism is not often exhibited through one-day beautification events or alternative spring break groups, but by neighbors helping neighbors when needed. This type of volunteerism often isn't recognized or rewarded as being a true foundation for building community. "Volunteering" may not necessarily resonate with local residents, perhaps due to its association with out-of-town philanthropy or maybe due to it's association with court-ordered community service. My job is to try to tap into residents' motivations for neighboring and come up with ways for them to use their talents and skills on a broader scale to transform their neighborhoods.
This idea of neighboring has caused me to reflect on examples I've faced in my own life. The most recent one occurred just yesterday morning, when I made a request for a pick-up truck via Facebook so I could donate my futon for a Boys Hope Girls Hope fundraiser. I received a few responses: one friend suggested U-Haul, another offered his mini-pick-up, and a third expressed that he would have offered if he had one. The second respondent came through, and he graciously drove to my house from Metairie, helped me load his truck, and then dropped off the futon at the Boys Hope Girls Hope house. As someone who is now living off of a volunteer stipend, I don't necessarily have the luxury of renting a truck as I did with my Shell salary. So this simple act of helping out a friend in need really resonated with me and made me reflect on what volunteering means. Although my friend technically did "volunteer" to deliver my futon, Iwould not necessarily have seen it as such -- the term that most immediately came to mind was "helping out" and now, "neighboring".
This experience coupled with an article that offers a reflection on contacts versus friends then led me to think about social capital and my own struggles to identify those who are truly my friends versus those who are mere acquaintances. During my discernment on whether or not to leave Shell, I really struggled with the prospect of potentially losing social capital that I had gained through my networks established there. I had already felt a loss of connection with my JustFaith group after program completion, which subconsciously set the precedence of what to expect if I terminated my employment with Shell. A lot of it was due to personal insecurities and lack of faith in my friendships, and it manifested itself in some rather self-destructive behaviors, which I am thankful have not surfaced since I made my decision to accept my AmeriCorps offer.
In Fr. Mark Mossa's reflection, he alludes to situations in which:
This journey has thus brought me one step closer to having faith in God regarding social capital. Ultimately, what brought me peace in deciding to give up such a lucrative job for a service position is the trust that no matter what happens, God will bring someone into my life who will support me. He or she may not always be the person that I want it to be, but will be the person that I need.
Transitioning these reflections to my present situation, there have been mixed perceptions regarding residents' bank of social capital in the neighborhood I'm serving. Although there are little pockets of networks throughout the neighborhood, I get the sense that many people are somewhat on their own, and the "barn-raising" mentality seems to be lost. One resident told me that decades ago, people were very well networked in the neighborhood. Over time, residents move away for various reasons, and older residents have not necessarily made an effort to reach out to newer ones (and vice versa). For only a fleeting few months, I experienced an induced fear and isolation of not having a network to depend on. I cannot imagine what it feels like to live day in and day out struggling to make ends meet and doing it alone. I'm hoping that somehow over the next 10 1/2 months, I can contribute to the movement to create a community where people do not face this isolation. It's bad enough that people live in poverty, in neighborhoods rife with blight and crime -- why should it be made worse by them going through it alone?
So part of my job is to promote this idea of "Neighboring" in the community that I'm serving. Essentially, the premise is that in low-income communities volunteerism is not often exhibited through one-day beautification events or alternative spring break groups, but by neighbors helping neighbors when needed. This type of volunteerism often isn't recognized or rewarded as being a true foundation for building community. "Volunteering" may not necessarily resonate with local residents, perhaps due to its association with out-of-town philanthropy or maybe due to it's association with court-ordered community service. My job is to try to tap into residents' motivations for neighboring and come up with ways for them to use their talents and skills on a broader scale to transform their neighborhoods.
This idea of neighboring has caused me to reflect on examples I've faced in my own life. The most recent one occurred just yesterday morning, when I made a request for a pick-up truck via Facebook so I could donate my futon for a Boys Hope Girls Hope fundraiser. I received a few responses: one friend suggested U-Haul, another offered his mini-pick-up, and a third expressed that he would have offered if he had one. The second respondent came through, and he graciously drove to my house from Metairie, helped me load his truck, and then dropped off the futon at the Boys Hope Girls Hope house. As someone who is now living off of a volunteer stipend, I don't necessarily have the luxury of renting a truck as I did with my Shell salary. So this simple act of helping out a friend in need really resonated with me and made me reflect on what volunteering means. Although my friend technically did "volunteer" to deliver my futon, Iwould not necessarily have seen it as such -- the term that most immediately came to mind was "helping out" and now, "neighboring".
This experience coupled with an article that offers a reflection on contacts versus friends then led me to think about social capital and my own struggles to identify those who are truly my friends versus those who are mere acquaintances. During my discernment on whether or not to leave Shell, I really struggled with the prospect of potentially losing social capital that I had gained through my networks established there. I had already felt a loss of connection with my JustFaith group after program completion, which subconsciously set the precedence of what to expect if I terminated my employment with Shell. A lot of it was due to personal insecurities and lack of faith in my friendships, and it manifested itself in some rather self-destructive behaviors, which I am thankful have not surfaced since I made my decision to accept my AmeriCorps offer.
In Fr. Mark Mossa's reflection, he alludes to situations in which:
"a person whom we may have thought only an acquaintance or whom we hesitated to let get to close to us for some reason, really came through for us in the way a friend should (and maybe in a way other “friends” failed to)."I found this especially to be the case during my discernment process. Although some people that I thought that I could have depended on weren't present, some surprising friendships developed out of the whole experience (and I think other friendships deepened, as well), and I am so grateful that those people were in my life during that time. I don't think I would have gotten through it without you all.
This journey has thus brought me one step closer to having faith in God regarding social capital. Ultimately, what brought me peace in deciding to give up such a lucrative job for a service position is the trust that no matter what happens, God will bring someone into my life who will support me. He or she may not always be the person that I want it to be, but will be the person that I need.
Transitioning these reflections to my present situation, there have been mixed perceptions regarding residents' bank of social capital in the neighborhood I'm serving. Although there are little pockets of networks throughout the neighborhood, I get the sense that many people are somewhat on their own, and the "barn-raising" mentality seems to be lost. One resident told me that decades ago, people were very well networked in the neighborhood. Over time, residents move away for various reasons, and older residents have not necessarily made an effort to reach out to newer ones (and vice versa). For only a fleeting few months, I experienced an induced fear and isolation of not having a network to depend on. I cannot imagine what it feels like to live day in and day out struggling to make ends meet and doing it alone. I'm hoping that somehow over the next 10 1/2 months, I can contribute to the movement to create a community where people do not face this isolation. It's bad enough that people live in poverty, in neighborhoods rife with blight and crime -- why should it be made worse by them going through it alone?
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
To the Mountaintop through the Cross
"He also said to them, "Amen, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see that the kingdom of God has come in power." After six days Jesus took Peter, James, and John and led them up a high mountain apart by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no fuller on earth could bleach them. Then Elijah appeared to them along with Moses, and they were conversing with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus in reply, "Rabbi, it is good that we are here! Let us make three tents: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." He hardly knew what to say, they were so terrified. Then a cloud came, casting a shadow over them; then from the cloud came a voice, "This is my beloved Son. Listen to him." Suddenly, looking around, they no longer saw anyone but Jesus alone with them." - Mark 9:1-9
So February 15th marked my last day at Shell, which was a moment in the making for a long time.
Over the last few weeks prior to my departured, I'd received many accolades, referring to my courage and generosity, but to be quite honest, over the last few months, I've felt broken, uncertain, and scared.
I was introduced to St. John of the Cross over a year ago at a talk about Mother Teresa. Although I think I had heard this before the talk, my interest was piqued by the "dark night" that she had experienced throughout her ministry. Although my calling to leave Shell and go into AmeriCorps isn't quite as on par as starting the Missionaries of Charity, I feel that I'm in some sort of accord with what she had experienced.
My uncertainties with my leap of faith haven't really been founded on whether or not I would like my work -- I feel that I will and that it is where my talents and my passion lies. My uncertainty is founded on making this leap of faith and having no insurance of a safety net to catch me if I don't have the wings to fly. I've made some wonderful connections and friendships over these last 2 1/2 years in New Orleans, but I feel that this leap will be a true test of the strength of those friendships. I'm not sure if I want to test them, for fear of what the results might be, for fear of finding out who passes and who fails.
When I started this blog and was thinking about designing it, I immediately was drawn to a photo I had taken on Mount Tabor of the Church of the Transfiguration, which is now the background photo. During the week that I'd left Shell, I'd been praying and reflecting on the Marcan version of the Transfiguration narrative over the past week, in an attempt to make sense of how to relate these events to the current context of my life at this point.
Prior to the Transfiguration narrative, Jesus told the disciples of his fate, that this person that they believe to be their Messiah would be crucified on a cross. Given the understanding that they would have had of the Messiah and what it ought to be in terms of being the new deliverer this ought to have been a painful pill to swallow. And then, of course, six days later, Jesus takes them up the mountain and transfigures before them, revealing his divinity and confirming that he is the Son of God.
The part that resonated most in my reflection was not the fact that Peter wanted to build the tabernacles or tents, which is the part that is focused on most often (in my experience) during homilies and written reflections, but on how fleeting the experience was. I have paralleled this with my own recent experiences of feeling empty and alone and how the glimpses of hope and community that I see, many times in unexpected situations, are few and far between.
I've also been using this thinking to prepare for the future. As a results- and task-oriented person, I know that it will take time for relationships to build and for the fruits of my labor to mature. I'm preparing myself for resistance and frustration and regret over my decision. I hold fast to this Scripture to prepare myself for the obstacles that lie ahead.
Over the last few weeks prior to my departured, I'd received many accolades, referring to my courage and generosity, but to be quite honest, over the last few months, I've felt broken, uncertain, and scared.
I was introduced to St. John of the Cross over a year ago at a talk about Mother Teresa. Although I think I had heard this before the talk, my interest was piqued by the "dark night" that she had experienced throughout her ministry. Although my calling to leave Shell and go into AmeriCorps isn't quite as on par as starting the Missionaries of Charity, I feel that I'm in some sort of accord with what she had experienced.
My uncertainties with my leap of faith haven't really been founded on whether or not I would like my work -- I feel that I will and that it is where my talents and my passion lies. My uncertainty is founded on making this leap of faith and having no insurance of a safety net to catch me if I don't have the wings to fly. I've made some wonderful connections and friendships over these last 2 1/2 years in New Orleans, but I feel that this leap will be a true test of the strength of those friendships. I'm not sure if I want to test them, for fear of what the results might be, for fear of finding out who passes and who fails.
When I started this blog and was thinking about designing it, I immediately was drawn to a photo I had taken on Mount Tabor of the Church of the Transfiguration, which is now the background photo. During the week that I'd left Shell, I'd been praying and reflecting on the Marcan version of the Transfiguration narrative over the past week, in an attempt to make sense of how to relate these events to the current context of my life at this point.
Prior to the Transfiguration narrative, Jesus told the disciples of his fate, that this person that they believe to be their Messiah would be crucified on a cross. Given the understanding that they would have had of the Messiah and what it ought to be in terms of being the new deliverer this ought to have been a painful pill to swallow. And then, of course, six days later, Jesus takes them up the mountain and transfigures before them, revealing his divinity and confirming that he is the Son of God.
The part that resonated most in my reflection was not the fact that Peter wanted to build the tabernacles or tents, which is the part that is focused on most often (in my experience) during homilies and written reflections, but on how fleeting the experience was. I have paralleled this with my own recent experiences of feeling empty and alone and how the glimpses of hope and community that I see, many times in unexpected situations, are few and far between.
I've also been using this thinking to prepare for the future. As a results- and task-oriented person, I know that it will take time for relationships to build and for the fruits of my labor to mature. I'm preparing myself for resistance and frustration and regret over my decision. I hold fast to this Scripture to prepare myself for the obstacles that lie ahead.
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