On Tuesday and Wednesday, I gathered with Bishops: Dorsey (Pittsburgh), Scott (Fort Worth) and Charlie (South Carolina) in Pittsburgh for a conversation with Gay Jennings (President of the House of Deputies) and her Chancellor, Sally Johnson. This conversation was similar to the conversation with our Presiding Bishop Michael Curry two months prior. The impetus and intention of this conversation (as it was with the PB) was to ensure that the President of HODs is suitably informed regarding our respective narratives. In addition, these conversations were designed to explore the financial implications connected to each diocese and the possibilities for the best possible economic roadmap for the future which is resurrection rich.

Charlie (SC), Scott (FW), Dorsey (Pitt), Sally Johnson (Chancellor to Pres of HODs) and Gay Jennings (Pres of HODs)

Blessings

+David

I strongly believe that our present and our perspective is shaped from our past. This is why I am a late-comer in the diocesan Yellow Backpack Ministry.

During the past week, I gave out my first two backpacks. I was a late bloomer in many areas, such as learning to ride a bike, which I did the summer between eighth and ninth grades. Yes, I learned to ride a bike the summer before I entered high school. Likewise, I was the third shortest person in both my eighth grade graduation and my high school graduation. But I digress. My childhood and reflection therefrom left me torn with this ministry.

Being one of eleven children, although my parents both worked (my mom as a seamstress and my dad as a chef) we saw economic strain. I am proud to say, and usually boast or joke about, being a product of the public welfare system in Philadelphia. I clearly recall the blue tri-fold medical card that had all of our names, birthdates, and social security numbers. Mom always carried it in her purse as she marched a gaggle of kids to the local medical center for check-ups, household influenza outbreaks, and minor injuries. As siblings moved out and went on their own, government support decreased. Being number ten of eleven, I recall going to the block captain's house in the summer with my sister in order to get a free lunch provided by the city. I can clearly see the block of cheese I carried as my mom and I walked back from the same house. No cheese cutter at our house and using a butcher knife called for thick pieces of cheese. Take it from me, thick slices of cheese burn before they melt when making a grilled cheese sandwich.

One of the reasons we accepted government support was that my parents valued safety and faith, things that could not be provided by the public school system. Therefore, we all went to our local elementary parochial school. I think my parents got a good deal, as tuition was based on a sliding scale determined by the number of children in the school. I calculated that at our peak, my parents paid full tuition for one, partial for numbers two and three, while four of us attended for free. My parents were determined that we would have the opportunity to participate in all school activities and field trips. My classmates thought I was rich as I never complained about not having the new and latest, and was always one of the first to have his money in for field trips. Little did they know that my pants and blazers were worn by two older siblings.

This hand-me down situation followed me through high school. I think that my classmates realized that my family had to stretch our pennies to afford a decent education. In order to attend a parochial high school, the boys in my family had to work and use that money to pay for public transportation, lunch, activities fees, and clothing. Good thing that all I ate for lunch was a Tastykake Butterscotch Krimpits with two pints of milk. My classmates were genuinely concerned and asked why, but my response was always the same. "I'm not that hungry." By junior year, they simply wanted me to wolf down my "lunch" so that they could use the cartons to play carton ball, a game similar to basketball but using the fire escapes as the baskets.

Nonetheless, being number ten gave me the one opportunity of which my siblings may not have taken advantage, attending college. There was one caveat, my parents had no means to help me financially. I knew this early on, and with the help of one of my aunts and God, I was offered a full scholarship and attended a private Jesuit university. But my family's struggles stayed with me as I had to take public transportation to school and then to work in order to pay for books and other necessities. Upon graduating and being offered multiple teaching assistant positions at universities in and out of Pennsylvania, I felt that, with the help and grace of God, I was the first to be able to move beyond economic hardship, and join the middle class. Achieving this goal was written in my DNA as I perserved to be an example to my many nieces and nephews. They too can move on from the inner city honorably. It worked, but left me jaded.

As an adult, I realized that I carried the fear of speaking to the destitute. In my infantile experiential view, people out in the streets were mean and were out to hurt you. In my slightly mature view, which I have held for many years, I loathed these people, since I was living proof that you are capable of being in control of your destiny and life. These people are where they are because they want to be. Why should I give a damn? If they want help, they need to get working on it. I did it, so can they!

So as the Yellow Backpack Ministry began, I simply avoided taking a backpack. This past week that changed. I made a concerted effort to take one backpack that was filled. While running errands, I stopped at a dollar store. There was a man there asking for money. He did not reek of alcohol, but had obviously not bathed in days or changed his clothes. When he asked me for money, I blurted out, "I've got something better for you. A bag with things you can wear and eat. Wait right here." I don't think he had any intent on leaving as he seemed to have nowhere to go. It was my typical quick response. So I went to my car and pulled out the yellow backpack. I opened it to show the man what incredible things were to be had. I felt as if I were opening a new present for myself and wanted to show a friend. The man said to me sincerely that he could not accept such a gift. I responded that it was his and went into the store after offering him blessings. When I came out, he was gone. I decided then that I would take two yellow backpacks. This time one for a man and another for a woman.

Less than one week later, I was going into Joann Fabrics. I noticed a man looking through his things on the curb in the parking lot. When I came out, I saw that he had lined up the food he had on the ground, was breaking some pieces of wood he had, and was looking at some of his other belongings. Without thinking, I took the yellow backpack out of my trunk and squatted next to the man. I asked if I could offer him this backpack and opened it highlighting the new pack of socks, the food and toiletries. He smiled like I don't recall anyone smiling before. There was an embracing glow that brought tears to my eyes. He thanked me and after blessing him Ieft. I realized now that the sticks he was breaking were to eat the peanut butter from a jar he had on the ground.

As I drove away and turned the corner on McHenry, within one block I saw three more homeless people, two walking together with their goods, walking as if looking for a safe place to rest, or to avoid the police. The other was a woman who was being questioned by an officer.

Although my story may be long, and deal more with my perspective, my fears, and my inhibitions, I realize that I have taken the first step in the purpose of this ministry; namely giving items of need to people in need. Now, I have to take a major step. I must share in conversation with these other human beings. I must move from a naďve perspective that was shaped by my past to a developed view that has been shaped by my faith and belief that we are all God's children. He is in every one of us. He surrounds us with love and compassion. He asks that we be Christ to each other. Friends, let's not forget this life-changing ministry. Let's do God's work in our own little worlds; for it is in giving that we receive.