Do You Know What I Know?

Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king, “Do you know what I know? In your palace wall mighty king, do you know what I know? A child, a child shivers in the cold. Let us bring him silver and gold.”

Lately, I’ve thought about the fanfare, the trumpeting angels, the spectacular birth announcement of Jesus Christ that terrified shepherds in the night.  The Star of Bethlehem, the Angel Gabriel, all of these fantastic signs.  It only now has dawned on me, that God had to do this, what with Jesus being born in the margins and laid in a feeding trough.  How else would anyone know that the words of ancient prophets were being fulfilled?  Had he been born in an earthly palace, there would have been parades and pomps and circumstances with all the trimmings.  But, Jesus was born in the outskirts, and the heavenly and celestial birth announcement was noticed by the poor shepherd boys, out of town.

 

And, then, as this song that we hear in every shopping mall in every city every December, the news of Jesus’ birth had to also come from the bottom up, in terms of human hierarchy.  The shepherd boy asks, “do you know what I know?” to a king.  And what’s amazing, in this song anyway, is that this earthly king listens.  Listens, and spreads the word of this upside-down Kingdom.

Listening.  Do you hear what I hear?  Do you see what I see?  Do you know what I know?  Maybe 2013 we can work on listening, that we might know what others know, see what others see, know how one another live.  There is a flurry of discussions right now, rightfully so, about gun controls and safety and mental health and why, why, why?  And I’m impressed, actually, that people are talking about having real, civil, discourse.  Talking about it, anyway.  But to do this, we will have to not only spout our mouths off, but we will have to listen.  2^nd Amendment die-hards need to listen, really listen, to the voices of people affected by gun tragedies.  Anti-gun folks ought to listen to histories of hunting families, especially those that do so with respect and a sense of balance.  Anglo folks, especially those who believe racism is over, ought to listen to what it means to not be white in today’s United States, from those who have to think about that day in and day out.  People adamantly against Mexican immigration ought to listen to a father doing anything he can to provide for his family, and try not to refer to him as an illegal alien.  Christians ought to listen to the ideas of Jews and Muslims, which doesn’t mean we adopt the same beliefs, but dear Lord, we should be able to listen.

 

I ought to listen to my wife, what it means to be the mother of two, more than I currently do.

Do you know what I know?  Do I know what you know?  Is there a place we can sit down and listen to one another?

Thankfully, Jesus has already set that table. 

Merry Christmas Everyone,

Matthew

Thoughts on Welcome, by Callie

Harvest Festival at the Community House!

For Thanksgiving our house hosted a party for the neighborhood and any friends and church people who wanted to come. We made tons of food and everyone brought goodies to share. We did a cake walk, doughnut eating competition (pictured above), and pinata! Lots of people showed up including some young folks who are involved in similar programs like DOOR around the city. We all had a wonderful time!

Getting to know the neighbors and neighborhood here around Gregory Ave. has been one of the most fulfilling and enjoyable aspects of my time here so far. From the moment I walked through the gate for the first time, our neighbors welcomed me with open arms and warm hearts. Our mission as Dwellers is to create a space of openness and hospitality for the people we live alongside. Since coming here, though, the sweet people of this neighborhood have done more to make me feel at home than I could ever do for them. I am so grateful for them and for the hard work and dedication of past Dwellers to make this place what it is and build the reputation of this house as a place of welcome. 

Posted on Nove

No Person is Illegal, by Savanah

To sum up the past two weeks in a blog post would be impossible. I felt so many emotions and saw so many things that it is overwhelming to go back and try to summarize. Here are a few things I got to experience:

I got the opportunity to go to Tuscon, AZ and meet young adults taking a year similar to mine from all over the country. I learned about the injustices that surround migrant workers; I visited Nogales and met people that had so little, but had such big hearts. I heard and attempted to understand a language so different from my own. I met a man running for his life from horror to hope and felt the pain when he felt he had nothing left. I met a girl my age who instead of getting the opportunity to go to college, works at a factory making items that I use and don’t appreciate. I watched as seventy people were chained together, belts and shoelaces were removed and they were walked to the front of a room to simultaneously hear their fate and sentence. I watched so many people in the past week ignore the problems that were in front of their faces, yet I also met a small few that were facing them head on. I cried, I laughed, I experienced and I changed. And I am still changing and still struggling.

One thing I have been having a lot of trouble with is trying to find love and compassion for people that honestly, I don’t want to love. People like the public defenders at Operation Streamline who ignored their clients, called them names like, “third to left” and used hand sanitizer after they even brushed by a client. People like the border control who racially profile, make sometimes questionable judgments and often do things that I do not believe I could ever do. People like the politicians that make laws like the Real ID Act that allows any law to be broken as long as it is for the cause of Homeland Security; even if it means making animal populations go extinct, tearing down national parks, and forcing migrants to go through the most horrendous parts of the desert just to make them struggle. I have a lot of trouble find love and respect and compassion for these people who seem so uncompassionate for others.

I am also struggling to ignore a terrible thing called “pity” and focus on a more beautiful thing called “compassion.” I have to stop thinking about the horrors I saw and the terrible things people have to live with and focus instead on fighting the injustices and also remembering the beautiful things others get to have that I don’t. I met a boy a little older than me in Nogales who had crossed the border many years ago and spent the majority of his teenage years in California. His family and friends are all there, yet he is here. I asked him why and he said, “Even though the city is ugly, it is still my home.” He understands the horrible things that go on and many of the difficult conditions that he has to live in, but he embraces it because he sees the beauty in living in a city with so much culture, fearlessness and hope. He sees potential in his city. And that is why he doesn’t need my pity, but he may like some compassion.

I have given you, reading this, a lot of vague details of my trip and not many concrete facts or stories. That is for a purpose. I think you have to see it for yourself and experience it for yourself to understand. I could write of injustices here and you may feel pity, but that’s not what people anywhere want. That’s not what I want for people everywhere. We all want respect. That is what everyone wants. We want change. But I am struggling with finding where exactly this change and respect can come from. I found so many similarities between the undocumented workers and the homeless population I work with every day. The fear (Border Control or LAPD), the lack of a home, the lack of respect, the lack of a voice, the feeling of unworthiness. I am not asking anyone who reads this to go advocate, or donate money, or spend a year serving or feel obligated to do anything. What I ask of each of you is to find a little love and respect in your life to people or a person that you have trouble loving and respecting. If that means undocumented immigrants, fine. If that means someone who is homeless, fine. If that means someone of a different race, religion, sexual orientation, or culture, fine. If that means someone with a mental, substance, physical or emotional disability or illness, fine. Just find a person that is hard to love and love them. That is what I ask. And that is what I learned this week. And am still learning.

The Center at Blessed Sacrament, by Rena

The Center at Blessed Sacrament

I love The Center at Blessed Sacrament (formerly known as Social Services at Blessed Sacrament before the name change last week). Last Thursday we held a fundraiser for The Center where supporters from across Los Angeles gathered together to share stories, eat hors d’oeuvres, munch on brownies that I made in the ovens at the parish building earlier in the day, and write a check to the organization where I’m a proud member of the staff.

I’ve had the pleasure of leading a few groups since my last blog post and I’m still in the process of training to be a regular leader of the Morning Mindset group. Last Friday, I co-led a group titled Weekly Wrap Up where we circled the room and discussed our highs and lows of the week. Participants who are homeless exchanged information with recently housed individuals giving advice about finding housing and jobs and I even witnessed the birth of a new friendship between two participants who realized similarities and agreed to meet up outside of the Center to hang out!

This past week I also witnessed my first serious altercation at the workplace that resulted in two participants being suspended from the Center for the week because of a minor fight that took place in the building.  Luckily, no one was hurt and I even had the chance to talk to a young woman, who I will call Daisy, who was somewhat involved in the event.  Daisy is 23 and is staying occasionally on the streets or crashing at friends’ places.  She does have a source of income and has mentioned a more permanent housing situation that seems promising. Daisy attends the women’s group and the art and imagination group, among others. Recently she’s received two tickets for sleeping on the sidewalks during the day while watching her friends’ belongings. I haven’t seen Daisy in over a week and I hope that means she’s been busy at work – regardless, prayers for this young woman would be much appreciated. The women that visit The Center at Blessed Sacrament are few and far between and those that are my age are almost non-existent. It has been exciting to see Daisy walk through our doors and I hope that I can touch her life in some way in the future and allow her touch mine as well.

In the past several weeks as a community we have gone on several adventures outside of our workweek!  We have spent a weekend on an all-church retreat at Forest Home where we heard truth from Jim Edwards, spent an afternoon zip lining and rock wall climbing, and strengthened the relationships within our own house community. We’ve also attended a couple free comedy shows, a play titled The King of the Desert, were welcomed into several homes for dinners and desserts, and were part of a live audience for the Conan show. We may be living simply in the land of fame and fortune on our tight budget, but we are definitely afforded many opportunities by so many generous people in this community and beyond.

Hope For A Home, by Savanah

I have a lot I can talk about. Hollywood has been extremely challenging, eye-opening and important. Just this past week I have dealt with giant, difficult issues that have made me grow in so many directions and have changed the way I view the world. I want to share one story that I got to experience this week that gave me hope and happiness, while also made me question the traditional ways things are always done.

            I met Lonnie (not his real name) on Wednesday when I, along with two co-workers, went to bring him to the DMV to get a California State ID. I never realized how important identification was in a person’s life until I heard about it firsthand. To board a plane, use a credit card, rent a house, get a bank account, go to a bar, buy cigarettes or even get a library card, you need to have some form of identification. I assumed that this was an easy process and most people could simply stop by a DMV and the rest would handle itself. For those who are homeless or those who are in the US illegally, the simple process becomes immensely complex.

            At the DMV, I happened to sit down right next to Lonnie and for about twenty minutes, I was privileged enough to hear Lonnie’s story through his own slurred speech and crooked teeth. He explained that he was a veteran who fought in the Vietnam War. He was a father to two daughters he adopted as babies. He was a husband and an adulterer. He was a friend and a brother. He was all of these things, but who is he now? He considers himself nobody. He is homeless. For many years he slept in the same cardboard box in front of an old building just blocks away from our community house. I don’t know exactly how Lonnie got to this point, but it was a mixture of mental illness, lack of benefits and support from being a veteran and a nasty divorce. Lonnie would say hi to the outreach workers, but would never take in their offers to get shelter or receive services. That all changed on a really lucky day of a street sweep. During these “sweeps” the LAPD clears an area of homeless people and calls in PATH to help advocate for the homeless and help talk them into going into shelter. Otherwise, often, the LAPD will arrest them. It was during one of these days that Lonnie finally felt ready and trusting enough to get into shelter.

            After many months of working with services, receiving medication and working hard with a case manager, Lonnie was on his way to permanent housing. The first big step?An identification card. This card to Lonnie means that he is no longer nobody. He can now prove to others along with himself that he is a person with feelings, emotions, ideas and dreams. This identification card is also the next step towards housing.

            After waiting for about two hours, Lonnie fills out the paperwork and goes up to the front. You can tell he is nervous, but he has three people next to him to support him. It is extremely important that the three of us (A veteran worker, my co-workers and I) are there. It is very obvious that if he would have went alone, treatment would have been very different than when we all were next to him in our PATH shirts. He fills out all the proper paperwork and hands them to the clerk. The clerk look them over and tells us that he needs an official document that is stamped by the VA to be able to give him an ID. We all look sullen, thank him, and start to walk away, thinking, maybe another day. Just then, Lonnie pulls out of his wallet a tiny, shrunk up piece of paper folded multiple times. He opens it up and there he has the exact document stamp and all! The clerk takes it in the back for a long time, comes back and says that they’ll accept it. To boot, he waved the fee. Lonnie had a big smile when he took his ID photo.

            That old building a few blocks from our house that Lonnie slept outside of for so many years is now turning into permanent housing through a partner organization of PATH’s. Lonnie is the first on that list for an apartment.

boundless compassion, by Kendra

i wanted to share a story about one of our guests at MFP.to respect him & his personal life, i will change his name.jimmy is a regular at MFP. always one of the first to line up outside of our gate for afternoon services.23 years old, been without a home & living on the streets for 5 years or so.truly a polite & respectful guy (which we don’t see too often),rarely causing trouble on the dayfloor & always up to chat.i connect with jimmy day one of work & we start talking about life.my life; his.he tells me (a number of years ago) that he’s been hit in the back of the head with a baseball bat & had some brain damage.still suffers from memory loss.unable to work & is in the process of collecting SSI.jimmy’s daily life is something unimaginable for me.the things he sees & feels.we talk abut him feeling like a reject, a loser, a failure.how people pass him on hollywood boulevard & think, what a waste of a person.when he collects SSI for the month, he gives what he can to his homeless friends.many of them older; he respects the elderly who just can’t seem to get themselves out of a rut.much of our time together, i’m a listener.jimmy might be one of the strongest people i’ve ever met, who has more value in this world than he will ever know; because he was made in the image of God & is loved.as he was leaving today; i left him with this, “not everyone in society thinks you’re a waste.not everyone walks by you & thinks you’re a worthless piece of crap.you’re a reminder for me to be kind.you’re one of the least selfish people i know.be safe & know that there is one person in this world who cares about you.” MFP is full of jimmys; young people who feel absolutely worthless in this world.

compassion is not about the healer & the wounded.it’s a covenant between equals.al sharpton always says, “we’re all created equal, but we don’t all end up equal.”

Robert, by Drew

The name used below has been changed to protect the individual’s privacy.

                I want to tell you the story of a young man named Robert.  Robert is a participant at The Center at Blessed Sacrament, a drop in center for homeless individuals to participate in community groups.  I first met him in a mindfulness meditation group and was quickly intrigued by his strong diction and sensitivity to others as the topic of having a positive attitude in negative circumstances was discussed. 

                Speaking with Robert after the group ended I learned he had been homeless in Hollywood for three months.  Coming from an abusive family in Georgia, he worked hard and achieved much in his young life with little outside support.  He was on a football scholarship at Missouri State University where he was pursuing becoming a medical doctor. 

                However, despite all this accomplishment, Robert still felt unfulfilled and decided to pursue his love of the arts in Hollywood.  Giving away everything he had, he moved to LA with $300 in his pocket.  He wanted what so many like him have come here for: to become an actor.  He later admitted to me that as his plane touched down at LAX and the gravity of his decision fell upon him, he knew he would sleep on the street that night. 

                It is now three months later and Robert is sipping coffee and eating donuts in our homeless care facility.  At 22-years-old and full of potential and ambition, his circumstance bewilders me.  I ask myself, “Isn’t homelessness reserved for the mentally ill, downtrodden, antisocial, unmotivated people?  How can someone like this fall so low?” 

                Robert has invented a theory I like to call Robert’s Hierarchy of Needs.  Unlike Maslow’s, which begins with life’s most fundamental components for contentedness, Robert’s works backwards, peeling away the excess down to what is most essential to be content.  Because he does not have bills to pay, work to be on time to, or money to manage, he is able to live more freely. Without these little human stresses, Robert is actually content in a way he never has been before.  Once all you have to worry about is finding food and shelter, your natural survival instincts take over and keep you alive, he says.

                While Robert is doing all right for now, the dangers of drugs, alcohol, and violence on the street has proven time and time again to be inevitable.  He is currently applying for jobs and searching for avenues to use his artistic abilities. 

                Life in Hollywood proves to be challenging for me as well.  This week, my computer was stolen from our house.  We have also had other major thefts and some illnesses.  But, amidst the hardship, there is a sense of peace.  Maybe I am better understanding my own hierarchy of needs. 

                This city is damaged and in need of healing and I am not sure I can do anything to help it.  But I can at least listen to someone like Robert share his story while he finishes his donut. 

Drew is a current Dweller in Hollywood.  More about the work he and his intentional community are doing: www.facebook.com/DOORHollywoodDwell