I don't know what it was like where you are, but Saturday and Sunday were Winnie the Pooh kinds of days - blustery enough to say "Oh bother!" We hope you didn't get blown away . . .
This week's Gram offers up some good news about our efforts to pay the drop-in center bills, a reminder about the Don Bisson workshop Compassion and the Self, and Steve's reflection on one of his teachers. We hope you'll take the time to give it all a look, maybe forward it to a friend and "like" us on Facebook.
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Our House fundraising passes halfway point
 Thanks to the generous contributions of so many of you, we've raised $9,600 of the
$17,100 we need to ensure that Our House stays open through May of next year. Click here to learn more about our fundraising efforts.You can also click here for more information, photos and testimonials about Our House, the area's only drop-in center committed to serving our homeless sisters and brothers.
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Doing for . . . and done for
I don't remember when we met, but I do remember the night we became friends.
It was about 2 a.m. one Saturday morning. The front window of our apartment was open at just the right angle so that when I slogged my way into the kitchen for a middle-of-the-night glass of water, I could see that someone or something was just outside the drop-in center door. I dressed and went downstairs and opened the door. There lying on the ground under a sheet was Yolanda.
"Yolanda! What are you doing here?"
"I didn't have anyplace else to go, Mister Steve."
"Well, you can't sleep on the ground out here. Come inside; you can sleep on the couch," I said beckoning her in. "See you in the morning."
"Thank you," she offered as I headed back up stairs.
Every time I see Yolanda, every time I think of her, I am reminded of that encounter and a song recorded several years ago by an extraordinary group called Pink Martini - Donde Estas Yolanda. The chorus goes like this:
Donde estas, donde estas, Yolanda Que paso, que paso, Yolanda Te busque, te busque, Yolanda Y no estas, y no estas Yolanda which translates into English:
Where are you, where are you, Yolanda ? What happened, What happened, Yolanda ? I looked for you, I looked for you, Yolanda and you're not there, you're not there, Yolanda. Brilliant and insightful, Yolanda struggles with some mental health and substance abuse issues. She has caseworkers and gets disability, but that doesn't mean much in a place where it's easy to abuse one's self and where mental health folks can only do so much for patients who are not always willing to accept help or advice.
Those realities had Yolanda out on the street Sunday morning when St. Ruth and I went out for a walk. "Donde estas Yolanda?" I thought as I watched her stand in the middle of the street in her full-length brown coat convincing a neighbor to give her a couple of dollars. "Where are you, Yolanda? What happened? I look for you and you're not there. What happened, Yolanda? What happened?"
She headed our way, telling us that her latest apartment will have two bedrooms, and asking for a couple of dollars to put into the offering plate when she went to church. "I don't have any money with me, Yolanda?"
"Okay, Mister Steve. That's alright," she said as she headed toward St. Patrick's.
As St. Ruth and I headed off on our walk, I wondered how that might relate to next Sunday's gospel story about Jesus' encounter with Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1-10). You're familiar with the story, I know. The scene is Jericho. Jesus comes to town and everyone wants to see him including the unpopular tax collector Zacchaeus, a little guy who climbs a tree so he can see Jesus. As he sees Jesus, Jesus sees Zacchaeus, tells him to come down because he wants to stay at his house. Zacchaeus says he tried hard to do the right thing and Jesus tells him salvation has come to "this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost." The crowd saw Zacchaeus one way. Jesus saw him in a very different light and, I think, helped Zacchaeus see himself a bit differently.
I think to myself that I want that for Yolanda. I want her to know that God sees her, loves her and wants her to be whole. Actually, I want that for me and for you. I want to see myself the way God sees me. I want you to see yourself as God sees you . . . I want us to see one another the way in which God sees us.
When we got home from our walk, I took a peek at Luke 6:20-31, the gospel reading that goes with All Saints Day. It's Luke's version of the Beatitudes plus other instructions: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.
The reading reminded me of what Walter Wink called "the gift of the enemy." His point was that our "enemies" a mirrors in which we can see ourselves more clearly (very Jungian!). And, in seeing ourselves more clearly, we can have compassion not only for ourselves but also for our "enemies." We can begin to see us in them, an important step in dissolving the stuff that separates us.
Yolanda came by again just before Sunday's sidewalk service. "Mister Steve, I have something here that must be worth at least five dollars," she said, reaching into a bag to pull out a dinner plate with roosters painted on it.
"Oh, Yolanda, that's lovely . . . but, we don't need a plate like that. How 'bout I loan you a couple of dollars until you sell the plate?" I asked as I struggled with Luke 6:30.
"Okay," she said as she pocketed the bills and headed off in search of a plate customer.
As for me, I was left to ponder Yolanda, the gospel, and God's unfathomable love and grace. Makes me think that when we do for others . . . we're done for.
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