Today was a day on which I felt myself sinking into the sin of despair, that mire of hopelessness that sucks all light and goodness out of life. Being in the shelter had started to get to me. The long histories of abuse, the endless stories of relationships broken by violence, the perpetual state of crisis so many of our clients seem to exist in - coupled with my own inability to do anything that seemed remotely helpful in so many situations - were enough to make me wonder if any of us humans were worth saving, if we could do the sort of things to one another that landed some of us in domestic violence shelters.

It was precisely the kind of spiritual crisis that I did not want to have - it seemed trite, almost, to have my faith shaken by confrontations with suffering. But I was having it anyway. The God who was incarnated in the expansively compassionate Christ seemed so very far away from this shelter filled with beaten-down women, fatherless children, and frazzled staff. Where was that Love who healed the crippled with a single touch, who raised the dead with a single word? Where was that Love who, as today's Gospel recounts, sat upon hilltops and welcomed all the weary and the weak? I started to wonder if maybe we were just too far gone down here on Earth for that Love to reach us anymore.

Towards the end of the day, I was walking through the hallway when I spotted a small form walking ahead of me. It's never a good thing to find kids roaming around the shelter unsupervised, but this particular child was notorious for wandering into open offices and causing all manner of trouble. He'd been, in fact, the subject of several unsettling conversations I'd had with behavioral health specialists recently.

Somewhat warily, I asked him where he was headed.

"To find the lady," he said.

Hm, the lady. Not the most helpful descriptor in a battered women's shelter with a 100-bed capacity.

"What lady?" I asked.

"The new lady with the glasses and the stick," he replied. "I think she's in the TV room."

Glasses and stick - he could only be talking about the blind woman who had recently entered the shelter. And sure enough, when we turned into the TV room, there she was, sitting alone on the couch, her face turned towards the glowing television she could not see.

"Santa's here," the boy said as he walked up to her, referring to the Christmas party that was happening on the second floor. "You said to come get you when they started so you could come and listen to the music."

She smiled, clearly recognizing his voice. Unfolding her slim walking stick, she allowed him to accompany her out of the room and into the hallway. I followed along with them, touched by the polite directions and gentle guidance he offered her as they made their way to the elevator.

While we were standing in the elevator, riding up to the second floor, she smiled again and said to the boy, "Thank you for coming to get me. Thank you for not forgetting about me."

The elevator doors opened up to the second floor, and I let them get off together, the slow pace of his little-boy steps matching the rhythmic tapping of her stick against the linoleum floor. As I rode back down to the first floor alone, I suddenly realized how deeply I'd sunk into my despair that God had to send a 9-year old boy to remind me of His presence. I had to laugh, imaging Christ's answering chuckle as He lovingly admonished me, I'm right HERE, silly. I've ALWAYS been here and I'm always GOING to be here.

I'm grateful to have been reminded, during this first week of Advent, that Christ truly is Emmanuel, God-With-Us, even when I'm too stuck in my own despair to realize it. And I'm equally grateful to have been reminded that God abandons none of us - not a blind woman without a home, not an emotionally troubled boy who's spent his entire life in the system - not even a social work newbie like myself, who is struggling to reconcile the immense needs of her clients with the uncomfortable reality of her own limitations.

Human love grows weak, it's true. Human compassion has its limits. But God's love is eternally strong, and God's compassion is boundless. And just because God came down once in human flesh does not mean that God's presence does not come down into our lives each and every day, even if it's only in the tiniest of moments that we might just as soon have missed.

This week for Spirituality Night, our community spent some time in Lectio Divina, an ancient form of prayer that involves reading and reflecting on passages from scripture. Simply put, in Lectio Divina, one first reads a passage from scripture; then reflects upon that passage; then responds by opening oneself up to whatever interior changes God wishes to work through that passage; then finally rests in the peace of God's presence.

We chose as our passage today's Gospel reading, Luke 17: 20-25:

Asked by the Pharisees when the Kingdom of God would come,
Jesus said in reply, “The coming of the Kingdom of God cannot be observed,
and no one will announce, ‘Look, here it is,’ or, ‘There it is.’
For behold, the Kingdom of God is among you.”

Then he said to his disciples,
“The days will come when you will long to see
one of the days of the Son of Man,
but you will not see it.
There will be those who will say to you,
‘Look, there he is,’ or ‘Look, here he is.’
Do not go off, do not run in pursuit.
For just as lightning flashes
and lights up the sky from one side to the
other, so will the Son of Man be in his day.
But first he must suffer greatly and be rejected by this generation.”

This passage holds great meaning for me at this time in my life, when I am unsure of what path I am called to take, or what work I am meant to do. I am like those first disciples, longing to see Christ, but finding myself blind to his presence. And in my longing, I am vulnerable to all sorts of voices, most coming from within myself, saying "Look, there he is" - telling me that surely God is to be found in that place, or in this line of work, or in that way of life.

Day by day I am running down so many different roads, when what God asks of me is exactly the opposite - simply to be still, to be present, for the Kingdom of God can be found right here where I am, in this place, with these people.

In my prayer tonight, I felt God chiding me gently, saying slow down. Be present to me HERE. The last line of the passage struck me particularly hard - "But first he must suffer greatly and be rejected by this generation". Jesus suffered at the hands of those who did not recognize him for who he truly was. So often in my daily life, I am guilty of that same blindness. I am so consumed by searching for signs pointing to my life's purpose that I fail to recognize Christ in those around me - the members of my community, the women who pass through my office in the shelter, the people I see standing on street corners on my way to work. And when I do so, I miss altogether the true signs of my life's purpose.

Towards the end of our prayer time, I was greatly consoled by these words: "For just as lightening flashes and lights up the sky from one side to the other, so will the Son of Man be in his day". They seemed to embody the great hope that one day, all will be made clear. One day, the presence of God will burst forth in our lives with such power that we will not be able to miss it. One day, I will know the path that I am to take, the work I am to do, the life I am to lead.

And until the day, when lightening flashes within all corners of my soul, I will try to be still, to stay in the moment, to revere the presence of God in the people and places I find myself each day. Perhaps that is the paradoxical way to the Kingdom of God - a Kingdom whose coming cannot be observed, yet which ignites the sky with lightening bolts; a Kingdom whose all-consuming power is brought to birth in the quiet.

For the past few days, the steady stream of clients filing into my office to ask for SEPTA tokens has ceased - because SEPTA, the only source of public transportation in Philadelphia, is on strike. It's crazy how losing something as basic as the subway and the bus affects everyone's lives in this city.

My housemates have little option but to walk to work - although this morning I did drive one over to West Philly so that she could avoid the hour-long trek that she made yesterday. Having a car is a true blessing at this moment in time! Even the extra traffic on the road during rush hour is a small sacrifice compared to the challenges that many others are facing. I can't help thinking about the fact that this strike, while inconvenient for me, is likely to be seriously detrimental to those Philadelphia who are, as my roommate who works at a non-profit law agency said this morning, "one paycheck away from bankrupcy" - people who really can't afford to miss a day of work, but who are utterly dependent on public transportation to get there.

Yesterday was the Feast of All Saints. Concerns regarding H1N1 have prompted the Archbishop of Philadelphia to decree that, for the time being, parishioners are to celebrate Mass without any physical contact with one another - no shaking of hands at the sign of peace, no sharing of the cup at communion. You'd think that these restrictions would make for a less intimate service; yet last night, I experienced an incredible sense of joy and unity at the celebration of the Eucharist that no fear of flu could diminish.

I'd been struggling a bit that day with the news that the Vatican is designing special protocols by which to allow parishes on the more traditional end of the Anglican spectrum to enter into the Roman Catholic Church. The remnants of the liberal feminist in me is screaming that these people are leaving the Anglican communion because of women's ordination and openly gay priests, and only want in to Catholicism because of the Vatican's stalwart opposition to both. I couldn't help but wonder, if Rome is welcoming them with open arms, what does that say about the definition of the Catholic faith in the modern world? Are we nothing more than a bastion of patriarchy and heteronormativity? I'd said as much to a friend that very morning.

Yet just as I was exiting the pew to join the communion procession, I felt a sense of peace and joy come over me at the thought of those sisters and brothers of mine being invited to the same table I was about to approach. It was as if I heard Christ saying to them, as He was saying to me, Come, eat and be filled with the bread of eternal life. Come, struggle with one another and see that all your differences melt away in Me. And that is the beauty and the truth of the Feast of All Saints. It is the hope and the promise that one day, we shall all stand together in the presence of the greatest love any of us has ever known. We shall all join that multitude "from every nation, race, people, and tongue" and realize that everything that divided us on earth has been reconciled in the glory of heaven.

I walked up towards the altar with a ridiculous grin on my face, unable to conceal my joy and gratitude at the fact that with each step I was saying yes to the struggle that will lead us to that promise, and yes to every person - gay, straight, old, young, liberal, conservative, traditional, revisionist, faithful, skeptical - who is struggling with me.

Living in community is teaching me that true commitment goes deeper than personal affinity or political alignment. The radical truth of community life is that even when we disagree, even when we argue, even when we can't stand to be in the same room, we still rely on one another. We still get up each morning and recommit ourselves to sharing the same house, the same table, the same resources.

The Church, with its billions of members spread out across the globe, is as much a community as my six housemates and I. And as a member of that global community, I have just as much a responsibility towards my sisters and brothers in faith as I do towards my JVC companions. I owe them the same respect that places openness, listening, and acceptance before judgment, condemnation, and fear.

And in truth, the challenge of Christian discipleship goes even further - beyond the walls of the Church and out into the entire world. We are called to love even those who hate us, to do good even to those who harm us. I am called to love even the politician whose views I abhor, the client whose personality grates against mine, the driver who cuts me off in rush hour traffic.

On the scale of human suffering, these are minuscule examples - but even these are easier said than done. That is why I am so grateful for experiences like the one I had at Mass last night - spiritual consolations that still the workings of my petty human mind with the hand of grace, that remind me of what the struggles of faith and community are all about.

One of the greatest challenges of living in community has been navigating the intersections of seven very different personalities. Over the past two months, each of us has been been learning how the others communicate, relax, express affection, and react to stress (which is perhaps the most valuable piece of information when it comes to diffusing community conflicts!) As a group, we've been learning what "clean" means to each of us and who among us has the highest tolerance for messiness; who needs constant social interaction and who needs regular time alone.

At our last community night, we all took an informal Enneagram test to learn more about our personalities, in the hopes that doing so would help us to foster greater harmony in our community. The Enneagram groups personalities within 9 types, each assigned a number and a descriptor. Without naming any names, let me just say that we learned that our community is composed of a perfectionist (a One), a questioner (a Six), three adventurers (Sevens), a romantic (a Four), and a peacemaker (a Nine - good thing we've got at least one!)

I have to confess that I'm a huge fan of personality tests. I admit that it may be problematic to assign unique individuals to specific personality types on the basis of a few yes or no questions, but I also think it's pretty amazing how, in our community at least, most of results were pretty accurate. It was fun realizing that in just two months, we've gotten to know each other well enough to laugh at how aptly the type descriptions matched the idiosyncrasies of each of our personalities.

I've been trying to use some of the Enneagram's information about my personality to live in a healthier, happier manner. According to our amateur test, I am a romantic with strong perfectionist and peacemaker traits. One piece of advice that our Enneagram book gives to Fours is to "channel your feelings into creative activities". Working full-time in a domestic violence shelter often leaves me carrying a weight of sorrow, frustration, anger, and regret at the end of the week - a lot of feelings that could use some creative channeling. This weekend, I decided to direct my creative energies to the kitchen, and baked a (hopefully delicious) apple pie with a homemade butter-free crust. I followed a recipe I found online, but left out the cranberries, added cinnamon to the filling, and substituted the juice and zest from an orange for that of a lemon to give some added sweetness.

Our community just returned from our October Weekend Retreat, a chance for all of the JVC communities in the "southern" half of the East Coast to come together for a few days of prayer and relaxation. We joined the JV's from Raleigh, DC, Baltimore, Newark, and Camden at Our Lady of Mattaponi Retreat Center in Upper Marlboro, MD...otherwise known as the Dharma Initiative (Lost fans, see photo evidence below!)

It's not a good day at the shelter, even for a Monday. One of our residents passed away over the weekend from a drug overdose. She was 26. She'd been in and out of the shelter since she was 19. Sometimes she brought her children with her. Other times, like this most recent stay, they were in DHS custody. Staff members who knew her say that WAA was the closest she had to family.

There's a memorial service planned for tomorrow afternoon, where staff and residents will be invited to share prayers, poems, songs and memories, and to say a final good-bye. Having started here only a few weeks ago, I didn't know this particular woman; I've heard her mentioned at staff meetings, but can't put a face to the name. I keep thinking that here in this building are most of the people who did know her, and who know and care that she's gone.

It's a strange, sad day. Life goes on here as it always does. It's just another burden to bear for these women who, like their deceased sister, have endured far more than anyone should.

This week at work, I was officially assigned my first four clients! As a case manager, I'm responsible for accompanying these women during their time in the WAA shelter. Since an emergency shelter is not meant to be a permanent home for anyone, most of what my job involves is assessing my clients' current needs and then planning for the time when they will leave the shelter. We explore housing options (ranging from independent rentals to city-funded transitional housing programs), file for public benefits as needed, and discuss goals related to employment and education. Despite the 40 hours of training I just completed, this week has been filled with quite a bit of learning on my feet! I've had a crash course on the public benefits and public housing systems in Philadelphia, not to mention having my eyes opened to the tremendous obstacles that the combination of domestic violence and poverty can place in a person's path.

At times I find myself becoming overwhelmed by the multitude of burdens my clients have to carry each day - I can only imagine how they themselves must feel. Sometimes they'll tell me a fraction of it, in measured voices incongruous with the meaning of their words. Other times their pain and frustration finds other outlets, such as acts of aggression towards staff or fellow shelter residents.

It's a challenge to see my clients as whole people - not simply notes in a case file jotted down during a sixty minute intake, or the subject of incident reports written up after altercations with others, or the sum of impressions formed during brief encounters and conversations that can only reveal partial truths. But at the same time, it's such a paradoxically joyous challenge, one that is pushing me to break open the empty casings of appearance and circumstance in the hope of revealing the beauty and dignity within each person who passes through the shelter's doors.

Most of all, this job is deeply humbly. Every day I am confronted with problems I have no means of solving, systems I have no experience navigating, people I too often have no idea how to help. I am fortunate to have the support of my colleagues at the shelter - strong, compassionate individuals who understand the risks and rewards of this line of work, and who know that a team approach provides the best chance of serving the myriad needs of the women and children we are all there to support. Their wisdom helps to compensate for my inexperience. And through it all, I am trying to trust that God will make up the difference when even the best of our human wisdom, compassion, and strength falls short.

The organization I'm working for this year just produced a documentary on domestic violence. There were some interesting comments made by folks in the documentary about the connection between violence in homes and the violence seen on innercity streets. It's well documented that children exposed to domestic violence are more likely to become involved in situations of DV as adults, whether as victims or abusers, but we don't often talk about the less clear-cut connections between interpersonal violence and violence within larger communities - cities, nations, ethnic groups, religious sects. We don't connect the violence that we perpetrate against one another in the secret corners of our lives with the violence that manifests itself in gang wars and drive-by shootings; in suicide bombings and terrorist attacks; in global warfare and nuclear proliferation; in the structures and systems that dictate length and quality of life based on race, gender identity, nationality, citizenship, sexual orientation, language, class, religious beliefs, and a host of other factors that have nothing to do with each of our inherent worth and dignity as human beings.

I really think it's important to consider that the way we treat those closest to us in our daily lives has consequences for how we exist as a society and as a human family. It's interesting to consider that the first mention of violence in Genesis is a brutal act of interpersonal violence - the murder of one brother by another. Even the story of the first sin takes place within the context of an interpersonal relationship. I've heard it said that the true weight of Adam and Eve's sin came not from their disobedience of God's command, but from the deception they employed when questioned about it - Adam tries to pass the blame to Eve, who tries to pass it to the serpent. The first lies are told, bonds of sacred trust are broken, and humankind is cast out of paradises.

It helps me to think about that carpenter's son who came to remind us that our relationships with one another are a vital part of what constitutes our relationship with God. That man who made no distinction between love of God and love of neighbor; who was himself the victim of a violent state execution, but who reopened for us the gates of paradise, of that kingdom of love and light.

It may sound trite, but I really do hope and pray that if all of us are just a little more like him, we can begin to heal the hurt in our lives, our relationships, our nations, and our world.

Thursday night (in addition to being Taco Thursday) was Spirituality Night for our community. I've really been missing praying the Liturgy of the Hours lately, so I volunteered to create a reimagined version of Evening Prayer, using quotes and passages suggested by the community in place of the official psalms and readings. I have to say, I was rather pleased with how it all turned out :-) There's something so joyful about praying in community, especially in the call-and-response format of the Liturgy of the Hours. I love the safety and the sanctity created by the rhythm of our voices, by the intentionality of our words. It was also wonderful to share with my community a form of prayer that is so special to me, in a way that I hope allowed each one of us to find some meaning.

In other news, we've decided to be a bit more environmentally-conscious in our community by composting - or, more accurately, by joining a Philadelphia-based program that provides pick-up service for compostable organic waste (the perfect solution for composting neophytes like ourselves!) Our "collection container" was dropped off this evening. During the week we'll fill it with fruit cores, vegetable peels, coffee grinds, tea bags, egg shells, clean paper, and cardboard (plus a few surprising things like dryer and vacuum cleaner lint...) Every Thursday night, the guys who run the program will swing by our house to pick up our organic waste, which they'll take to what I'm assuming is their own giant compost pile. Instant composting, with none of the smell or the hassle - and for only $10/month! The company is called Bennett Compost (http://www.bennettcompost.com/), and while it only serves Philadelphia, it's a great idea that could easily be implemented in other cities. For much better information on the benefits of composting than I could possibly provide, check out the EPA's website: http://www.epa.gov/epawaste/conserve/rrr/composting/benefits.htm.

It's such a blessing to feel the different values of JVC coming together in unexpected ways - a spiritual exercise becomes an opportunity for community bonding; an aspect of simple living raises our consciousness towards issues of social justice. We're certainly not living quite as intentional, integrated lives as we could be all of the time - but in some moments, the beauty and value of this year-long experiment become so clear, enveloping my soul in joy and thanksgiving.

We've had an eventful Labor Day weekend here in the JVC Philly community! On the first Friday of every month, art galleries in Philadelphia hold free openings. Since this Friday happened to be the first Friday of September, and we are always looking for free things to do, we headed down to Old City to check out the art scene. I think I enjoyed seeing the wide range of gallery spaces almost as much as I did the artwork itself; my favorite was a converted bank from days of old.

There's nothing like a visit from two toddlers to brighten your mood on a workday morning! I just had the pleasure of entertaining two such persons in my office here at the shelter. They just wandered in while their mothers were speaking with their case managers, and we shared a few happy moments together.

I've been struggling a bit these past few days. Absorbing twenty-plus hours worth of depressing statistics about DV, all while trying to manage my own emotional response to that information, has had me wondering at times what good any of us can really do. But little children always make me feel so hopeful; they embody the promise of new life, of future promise. All they wanted was my attention for the moment, and that I could readily provide.

Today I'm so grateful that the shelter is here to provide safe haven for these children and their mothers. I'm learning in my training that interventions like DV shelters are not nearly enough to solve the problem of domestic violence, or to target its root causes, but also that they are desperately needed in our present reality. Today I'm grateful to be here, amidst people who are struggling against forces too often outside of their control. I'm grateful to be present enough to entertain two toddlers, to smile at the shelter's guests and say good morning, to help create a modicum of safety and stability in lives that have been unjustly subject to danger and chaos.

We cannot do everything, but we can do something, and hopefully, do it well...

Today was a great Sunday; beautiful weather after a few days of rain, and nothing important to get done! This morning I went for a run in Fairmount Park, which is about a mile from our house. It was really nice to get a little time in nature in the midst of the city, and to be reminded of how blessed I am to be able to walk amongst God's creation, all of which praises God just by being what God made it to be. Mornings like this make me marvel at the wonder of a Being Who orders both the white-hot furnaces of the stars and the elegant exchange of molecules in our bloodstreams - Who is more immense than our mind can conceive, yet so very close to each one of our hearts.














Later in the afternoon, two of my housemates and I walked down to Reading Terminal Market to buy some fresh produce. The market has a great selection of local and organic food, plus ethnic snack bars and free wi-fi. Not to mention some pretty cheap fruit and veggies - we spent a grand total of $12 for a week's worth of produce (helped by the fact that we still look enough like students to get automatic student discounts!)

Tonight we attended a 6:30 pm Mass at Old St. Joseph's church in Old City, the oldest Catholic church in Philadelphia, founded in 1733 by our beloved Jesuits. It seems like it draws a pretty young crowd, and the music was nice - but overall, no real sparks, for me at least. I think we might be sticking with it though, just for the excuse to venture into a nicer part of the city once a week! Church shopping is hard, especially because the last church I was part of I absolutely loved. But I think that part of this year is going to be about living into the Jesuit idea of finding God in all things - in my community, in the people I encounter at work, in the choices I am faced with daily. I love the ritual and tradition of the Mass, and know that Christ is present to us in a special way in the Eucharist, but I hope that this year I can be open enough and vulnerable enough to meet God everywhere that God is in this world.

On the way home from church we made a pit stop at Pat's (http://www.patskingofsteaks.com/), apparently the original producer of Philly cheese steaks. They seemed pretty serious about their cheese steaks, so I decided it was safer to not attempt to place a vegetarian order... Finding a vegetarian cheese steak will just have to be on my list of things to do before leaving Philadelphia!

Well, we've survived our first week in Philadelphia! I just came back from a neighborhood block party. It seems that our neighborhood is mostly families with young kids, with a couple of Jesuits and assorted sisters thrown in. We were fed some great food and had the chance to enjoy a lazy summer afternoon with our new neighbors.

I've spent most of my time this week at a mandatory domestic violence training that I need to complete before I can start taking on clients at the shelter. The training is spread out over three weeks and is being held in Center City at the Duane Morris building (definitely the nicest office space I'll be in all year!) We've got a great mix of people attending the training, including the new executive director of Women Against Abuse, a few crisis counselors from the shelter, a case manager at Sojourner House (WAA's transitional housing facility), administrative staff from the legal and advocacy departments, and one parole officer who works specifically with perpetrators of domestic violence. Staff members from WAA and other DV organizations based in Philadelphia have come in to give presentations on DV concerns in specific populations such as families, teens, and LGBTQI and immigrant communities; as well as on legal and mental health issues that we might encounter.

The training has actually been more difficult than I expected. Domestic violence is not a happy topic, and it can be really distressing to hear about its effects on victims and their children. It's also frightening to realize that no one, regardless of gender, race, class, age, sexual orientation, or nationality, is 100% safe from domestic violence. I'm glad that WAA provides strong institutional support for staff self-care. Friday was self-care day at the shelter; after a half-day of training, I arrived at the shelter just in time for ice cream sundaes in the dining room! I spent the rest of the afternoon helping to paint what will soon be the new staff lounge (formerly the children's art room - thanks to some generous donations, we've got a brand new art room for the kids, where they can work with art therapists.)

We also survived our first week of living in community! Navigating chore charts, bathroom schedules, and grocery lists for 7 people with a wide range of personal habits and food needs has been surprisingly uncomplicated, although I am trying to remember that we've lived together for a grand total of 12 days, and are probably still in the honeymoon phase of our community life!

On Tuesday night our support people, Brian and Elizabeth, came over with some wine and cheese for our first official Community Night (one of the requirements of JVC is that we dedicate one night per week to community and another night per week to spirituality). They talked with us about some of the things that went wrong in their JV communities, and encouraged us to start conversations now about issues like kitchen etiquette, technology use, and guest policies. Not the most stimulating of discussions, but definitely things we should be thinking about.

Overall, not a bad week. I still need to work out some transitional issues that come with moving to a new city, like finding a church that has the right mix of tradition, ritual, openness, social justice, and community (quite a tall order!) but for the most part, life is good! I feel like every day I discover something new and wonderful about living in a JV community, whether it's the subscription to the Catholic Worker that appeared on our doorstep, or the cookies that arrived from an FJV in Kentucky (thanks Sr. Jeana!), or the experience of throwing together a dinner made entirely from non-perishable food items left behind by last year's Philadelphia community. I'm sure the challenges of living simply and in community will become more apparent as the year goes on, but right now I'm grateful for the little blessings that come with this life.

The porch of Grady, the house where about half of us slept during Orientation.

So I'm finally living in Philadelphia! There's been a lot to take in over this past week, but I'll try to give a brief overview of the main events: