By Another Way

Our First Dinner at Maria Skobtsova House

It was nearly 6 PM when we got back from the Jungle to begin preparations for dinner Monday evening. I was assigned to be assistant cook to Maria, but she switched with Brother Johannes and the two of us went shopping for the meal. The local Lido market was about 5 blocks away and we could choose from a fairly good and inexpensive variety of foods. Brother Johannes is vegetarian and that seems to be respected in how the house eats. We were accompanied on the trip to the market by Ibrahim a tall, smiling, young Syrian refugees who lives in the house and is working hard at learning his French.

On return to the house it was hard to find space to assist in the cooking since Ibrahim and Moein , took places at the table to help chop onions and garlic, grate carrots and make a salad. Lessons in Farsi were being given at the dinner table. Brother Johannes cooked the main meal, a layer of beans, peas, carrots and tomatoes cooked in a pan then into a baking dish. Eggs were put on top and the whole was baked until the eggs were cooked. This was Brother Johannes’ version of Afghan Eggs. It was served with a salad of lettuce tomatoes and onions. Shredded carrots were in a separate bowl as was the rice.

Fourteen of us squeezed around the large table. Seven volunteers and seven refugee-volunteers. Between us we spoke ten languages although, mercifully for me, the dinner conversation was primarily in English. The youth at the table was amazing. How long has it been since I was involved in “church work” where the people were not mostly older than I? Here, I am the eldest by at least 20 years.

Watch this video of all saying hello in their own languages!

The Tables Are Turned

We thought we came to Calais to show hospitality to the refugees encamped there. Tables were turned within the hour of our arrival at the Jungle.

The camp is as wretched looking as anything I have seen. Thousands of people, mostly young men, living under wooden shells, tarps, houses made of cardboard, and in tents. Space is tight and often the cause of disputes. We arrived with a minivan full of refugees from Secours Cathololique, where there is a drop-in center. We also transported a rebuilt bicycle donated to one of the men.

Our first stop was to park near the “church” a structure put together by Orthodox Christians to honor God with few resources but skill and love. Several women were praying and they all were fasting daily from midnight until 3 PM, from meat, cheese and milk in preparation for an upcoming Marian feast. The women all wore white knit shawls and hoods covering their heads as they prayed inside. The walls were tarps attached to the carpets below. Shoes were removed before entering. The walls were adorned with posters of icons duct taped to the tarp walls. But fine linens covered the altars, pulpit. Statues were also present, though not featured. We prayed, men to the left women to the right.

As we exited, we were invited to join the men is eating from a well work wok in which a combination of beans, onions and tomatoes had been prepared. We shared from a several loaves of bread, breaking off pieces to dip and eat. Before too long the wok was wiped clean of food. Two men who were deacons in the church invited us to afternoon tea at their home in the Jungle. We arrived to see them after touring other parts of the camp.

hands in a dish — Hands sharing from the common dish

Brother Johannes, Sheena and I entered the section of the camp where several Eritrean and Ethiopian Orthodox church members lived. We had been invited for afternoon tea. The best chairs were given to us as guests while our hosts pulled up log stumps, chair frames with no seats and large water jugs to sit on. The table was set. A pan of food (beans, corn and onions) were brought out several loaves of French bread and a larger loaf of bread as well. They poured clean water and took turns washing ours and their hands. We were called to prayer. A small piece of bread was broken from the larger loaf and one piece given to each person to eat. The longer loaves of bread were broken into larger pieces and distributed for all to take and eat from the common plate by wiping the bread through the food and by scooping the food with the bread to gather even more. We ate until the food was gone. We prayed again. Tea was poured for all of us. And as we drank together I experienced a sacred moment, an overwhelming sense of mutual respect. I felt so humbled to be shown such respect by people who in so many of our countries are treated like pariahs.

There are none so blind as they who will not see. May God forgive us for ignoring the richness of people on whom we have turned our backs.

Frank with Ethiopian and Eritrean hosts — Frank and Sr. Sheena with Ethiopian and Eritrean hosts

Arrived!

Sr. Sheena and I arrived at St. Maria Skobtsova House in Calais from our travels and a walk from the train station. The first ring of the doorbell brought no response proving momentary anxiety. The name of the house was in the window so we knew it was the right place. A second ring was answered by Maria, a Romanian volunteer social worker gaining experience for her advanced degree.

We had a pleasant conversation with Maria who filled us in on the workings of the house. She would be with us only a few days before her time was up and she returned home then back to school. Brother Johannes arrived, sweating in his blue habit as a member of the Good Shepherd Congregation.

We were quickly set up to stay in another studio apt. about 10 blocks away. Then we went for a walk with Brother Johannes to find some dinner.

Thank God for safe travel.

How do you do everybody, how do you do…?

Himself LaborDayLongBranch This is the reincarnation of an earlier blog started in 2011. When the time comes, the older posts will be found under archives. The need to live nonviolently was brought home to me powerfully during the Chapter meeting of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Peace (CSJP) in 2008. Since then I have read a lot, joined a few groups, taken a few actions and generally tried to examine my life and daily actions in the light of the Gospel call to love one another as we want and deserve to be loved . We CSJPs even have a card to help us in that daily reflection.

There have been ups and downs, but a trip to Calais, France to live and work with refugees has been a reason to write again. If these ramblings are of benefit you can let me know. If not, I am sorry, but I needed to write them anyway.

A Grieving Nation

grieving-madonna

We grieve at the news of the deaths of the school children and staff in Connecticut. The horror of the crime revolts us. We ask, “Why?”

Grief is abetter response than anger. Anger will seek to place blame elsewhere and seek some sort of revenge, a scapegoat. Was the shooter sick? Were the parents unfit? Was the school to blame? Eventually, a clue will be discovered, and a scapegoat blamed. It will seem to put this outrage to rest and allow us to go back to our normal routines.

One of my teachers of peace, John Dear, S.J shared on a retreat that here were only two emotions that were recommended in the Beatitudes: joy and grief. Anger had no place and needed to be converted to grief.

Grief takes us deeper and allows us to look for our own responsibility in all of this. Do our ‘normal routines’ insulate us from those who are marginalized… the poor, the mentally ill, the broken and outcast people in our communities? Are we doing all we can to keep all people connected and part of our community?

Grief ends the need to blame-ourselves or others. We may want to repent of our complicity in this tragedy. Do our ‘normal routines’ signal tacit support to the very violent society we live in? Have we become too jaded to think we can make a difference? We may be personally peaceful people, but do we express our discomfort/ outrage/ opposition to the violence all around us? If not, these tragedies will themselves become normal routines forcing us into narrower and narrower circles of engagement.

We risk being as insulated from the death of children in school shootings as we are already insulated from the deaths of children starved in our cities, or those killed by drone strikes in Pakistan and Afghanistan, or by economic sanctions in Iran. These are the children being killed in our name, for our “security.” Yet we let those tragedies continue unopposed.

We live in a culture birthed in, and deeply addicted to violence. From the massacre of Native Americans to the enslavement of African-Americans through lynching and its more legalized counterpart, the death penalty, by “winning” world wars and by “surgical” drone strikes we have been taught—and passed on—the myths of redemptive violence. “Might makes Right”

Children are raised on cartoons depicting violence as the solution to every conflict… brought to you by Hasbro’s GI Joe. For my generation, Popeye the sailor comes to mind. A can of spinach at the right time and you can rip Brutus limb from limb to save Olive Oil.

Today’s air waves are full of cop shows and detective series where the ‘good guy’ gets the ‘bad guy’ often through the use of deadly force. In the end, we are led to believe that violence saves us. And we believe it. Violence is the disease that is killing us.

And we wonder why a disturbed young man would turn to violence to fix his world?

Martin Luther King Jr. warned us the night before he was assassinated that our choice was no longer between violence and nonviolence but between nonviolence and non-existence.

Perhaps there is enough motivation in the deaths of these innocents to save us from ourselves. Maybe, through their intercession, we will come to see that there is no future in violence.

Nonviolence is not passivity in the face of violence, oppression or injustice.

Nonviolence, as used here, is a poor English rendition of Gandhi’s term “satyagraha” or truth force. It is a belief so deeply grounded in seeing the sacredness of each person that it recognizes people are not evil but sometimes do evil things. It and sees the hurt and pain that drives people to evil acts. Nonviolence is willing to sacrifice. It seeks reconciliation rather than victory. it does not count winners and losers. It believes wholeheartedly that love is more powerful than hate.

So we can begin a process of healing by grieving deeply over this loss of life and of innocence. Let us refrain from blaming others until we have looked within.

We cannot stay within for long, our nation needs to witness us turn away from violence in all its forms.

I believe that nonviolence is a better way. In Jesus, God demonstrated that Love conquers hate.

More to follow…

Egypt is Free!

“There’s something in the soul that cries out for freedom. Those were the cries that came from Tahrir Square, and the entire world has taken it up.” President Obama quoting Martin Luther King Jr.

I just completed my Friday visits at the Bergen County Jail and heard the chants from Tafrir Square, “Egypt is Free!”

The road to true freedom may yet be long, but for today we celebrate with the protestors in Egypt.

Most encouraging to me is their absolute commitment to nonviolence. Thursday evening’s speech by Mubarek exponentially raised the level of rage and frustration, demonstrators were seen leaving the square for the state TV station. CNN’s Wolf Blitzer seemed to entertain the hope of a violent outbreak that would keep people glued to the network’s reporting. Rather than break windows, burn the building or worse, the frustrated protestors arrived at the TV building and linked arms circling the building. No damage, no violence no CNN ratings boost.

The revolutionaries have been consistent. From January 25^th the protest has been strictly enforcing the commitment of nonviolence. They set up check points at all entrances to the square to search all those entering to relieve them of any weapons. The only breeches of their security measures were by the bussed in thugs on February 2^nd -3^rd who attacked the protestors. Reporters able to communicate offered evidence that those violent thugs were state sponsored. Other violence by the secret police who threatened, seized and detained journalists took place primarily outside the square.

The commitment to nonviolence went beyond eliminating weapons. Note that we never heard chants of “Death to Mubarek!” In fact, most of the protest leaders never demanded that he even leave Egypt, they just wanted him to step down. They gave flowers to the soldiers and chanted, “The Army and the people are one!”

The protestors were inclusive. Perhaps my favorite picture from the last 18 days was the NY Times picture of Coptic Christians linking arms to protect Muslims praying in Tafrir Square. News outlets similarly reported that those same Coptic Christians were able to celebrate Mass in the square. How different from the scenes of the New Year’s day bombing of the Egyptian Coptic Church that left 21 dead!

I’ve read that for this type of revolution to succeed three things are necessary: a unifying agenda, and Mubarek’s departure provided that. Second is a just cause, thirty years of Mubarek’s oppression and the current economic hard times. The 300 “martyrs” of this revolution demonstrated the protestor’s willingness to die for the cause. Again, even the shedding of their innocent blood did not lead the disciplined protestors to violence.

Ultimately, the army may not be willing to give up their lofty status for civilian control. The unity of the protestors may be tested, now that Mubarek no longer unites them. The work of forming a government will be hard and divisive. Can the religious tolerance exhibited in Tahrir Square be codified in a new constitution? All this remains to be seen.

But today my heart is filled with hope, not just for the Egyptians but for all of us who witness this peaceful revolution that shows we can accomplish change by another way, other than violent destruction.

Mubarek’s regime was doomed when protestors could say with Wael Ghonim, the young Google executive: “We are no longer afraid.” When will we learn to say the same, that the fear that has been nurtured in our society since 9-11 can also be put aside. We’ve witnessed a powerful, peaceful and inclusive revolution that should open our eyes to the possibilities for our future.

Perhaps we could use alternatives to the incarceration and dehumanizing treatment of the immigrant detainees I visit on Friday mornings. On behalf of those detainees I can’t help but ask; “Are you listening, Mr. President, to your own words?”

Salaam

Biblical Justice

Wordless Wednesdays are a chance to present images that will speak to the subject.

Witness Against Torture

I was with them for the first two days, and continued the liquids-only fast thru day five. Witness Against Torture organized a 12 day fast and vigil in Washington DC calling attention to our nation’s lawless policies in continuing to detain prisoners at Guantanamo in violation of U.S. and International law. The demonstrations began January 11,th the anniversary of the opening of Gitmo, and ended January 22nd, the second anniversary of President Obama’s pledge to close Guantanamo within his first year in office. He has failed to deliver on his promise.

Day one, we donned orange jumpsuits. Our march leader, Carmen was dressed in army fatigues and barked out orders to us detainees. “Detainees form up two by two.” “Put on your hoods.” One hundred of us lined up to march to the White house for the opening Press Conference. From the first steps we took together, heads bowed, covered in back hoods and hands behind our backs, we walked in eerie silence.

A nation of laws, I was taught, followed its laws no matter what. Until now. Post 9-11 we have abandoned our rule of law to incarcerate men, 89 of whom our investigators have deemed “ready to release.” But they remain held illegally. We heard the names of the “men under the hoods,” and we shared their stories. I, like many, were moved by peace poet, Luke Nephew’s poem “There is a man under that hood.” Not a number, not “a detainee” but a man with a name and a family, and once upon a time, a country.

We stood at attention for the news conference and then began our march to the Department of Justice, a silent, solemn, anonymous witness through the streets of the nation’s capital in a lightly falling snow. Outside the DOJ, sixty of our hooded number blocked the entrance to the building, risking arrest. After calling for busses to carry off the protesters, there appeared to be a sudden change in plan and no one was arrested. A voice from inside building reported to us the White House did not want any arrests. They wanted no more attention to their sins against humanity than our silent presence brought.

I’ve been to many protests in the last 35 years, but I was profoundly moved by wearing the hood and jumpsuit. As light as the hood was, I struggled to breathe. I was ashamed of how long it took me to stand against this injustice. I was, and am ashamed of us as a nation; both for our rejection of law in the name of ‘homeland security’ and for our apathy in the face of such blatant human rights abuses “in our name.”

I knew I was only there for two days, fasting, marching in the cold, sleeping on the floor in a church. The men in Guantanamo don’t even have the “luxury” of sentences so that they could count down the days remaining. They are being held indefinitely, illegally and immorally.

The young folks who organized the protest give me hope. Frida’s father and uncle wrote the books that I read in 1970 as a college freshman that began the change in my outlook from the Goldwater republican I was raised to be. Matt grew up in the same exclusive suburban town where we raised our kids and where I still live. And the White Rose folks in DC from Chicago: Jon, Amy, Jerica and Jake (who urged me to come to DC), continue to challenge me and inspire hope that we can indeed live by another way…a way of love and nonviolence that offers hope of true peace.

The hope they inspire is not for the future of this country. The intransigence we witnessed demonstrates no willingness to change. But there are people, young and old who know what it takes to live in peace and to create communities of welcome. They will be light in the dark years to come.

” The people who live in darkness have seen a great light,
On those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death light has risen.
From that time on, Jesus began to preach and say, “Repent, for the kindom of God is at hand.” Mt. 4:16-17

If you would, find here the open letter by Witness against Torture to the Attorney General. I invite you to use it to join me in crafting your own letter to Mr. Obama and to Mr. Holder. Tell them to put politics aside, embrace human rights and the law of our land and put an end to this injustice. Close Guantanamo now. Give them trials or set them free.

For more details about the organization and the Fast and Vigil, visit the WAT website.

Learning from Fondwa

He came to Nazareth, where he had grown up,
and went according to his custom into the synagogue on the Sabbath day. He stood up to read and was handed a scroll of the prophet Isaiah.
He unrolled the scroll and found the passage where it was written:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord.” Lk. 4:16-19America was founded with a healthy love of independence balanced by a vision of equality among all persons. The rejection of monarchical tyranny was a huge step forward in human development. It becomes dangerous however when independence becomes idealized without the responsibility to maintain relative equality. The swagger of rugged individualism today risks losing that balance.

The ever widening gap in wealth and rhetoric that condemns victims of poverty for their victimhood puts our democracy at risk and does violence to our founding vision. Have we replaced the divine right of kings with the absolute rights of the well to do?

For just over six months a small group of us trying to live by another way, have been meeting the first Tuesday evening of the month to watch a movie about nonviolence. We learn how ignorant we have been about the youthful movement that used humor as a “weapon” in the bloodless overthrow of Milosevic in “Bringing Down the Dictator”, or the peaceful, popular rejection of the rigged election in the Ukraine depicted in the “Orange Revolution”.

This Tuesday evening we were moved by the video “The Road to Fondwa”, a story of self-development in Haiti.

Joseph Philippe is a man born in Fondwa, but educated overseas. He became a priest and returned to his hometown to bring good news to the poor. In 1988 he founded the APF, a peasant’s organization that began the community’s development by digging a new road– by hand– thru the mountains. With less than a nickel, they founded Fonkoze, a bank that when the film was made in 2006 was worth $10 million dollars and served 35,000 Haitians with micro loans. They worked to provide potable water for the town, and a University was founded.

What is so remarkable is the contrast between American ‘rugged individualism’ and the broader, more inclusive vision held by the peasants of Fondwa. They knew they depended on one another. Students from throughout Haiti invited to the University are expected to return to their hometowns to pass on what they’ve learned and to spread the development. The people knew that Fondwa was but a finger of the hand that was Haiti. They were all in it together.

By contrast, our New Jersey towns fight each other for tax ratables and conspire to keep affordable housing isolated in low-income communities. Apparently, our affluent isolation entitles us to be free of the ‘burden’ of low income families.

The earthquake 51 weeks ago devastated the infrastructure of Fondwa, but not the commitment of its people to one another. A December 2010 post on the progress of the people of Fondwa and their needs can be found in an Families Health Ministries update. With each blow they rally to help one another get up and move forward.

It is often stated that Haiti is the poorest nation in the hemisphere. But with commitments to each other as witnessed in the film and the earthquake’s aftermath they prove themselves richer that their wealthy northern neighbors. But outside monetary help is still needed.

Saturday, January 8, 2011 from 10-1, there will be a peaceful protest at the Offices of the Bill Clinton Foundation at 55 West 125th Street in Manhattan, “Give Aid to the Haitian People Now” seeks delivery of the billions of dollars in aid collected for relief of Haiti. The Facebook Event profile will provide details. See you there?

~~~~
Coming posts:
Witness Against Torture, Vigil and Fast, Washington, DC Jan 11-22

Getting Started …

“They were overjoyed at seeing the star, and on entering the house they saw the child with Mary his mother. They prostrated themselves and did him homage. Then they opened their treasures and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed for their country by another way.” Mt. 2:10-12

I’ve felt a need to start a blog for a while. The last words of this morning’s gospel gave me the title I’ve been seeking. You might call it an epiphany.

By another way… is about a nonviolent path of seeking peace, not through the avoidance of conflict but by creating right relationships and seeking justice. Nonviolence is not pacifism but the use of moral force to stand up against evil and injustice. Gandhi called it soul force…satyagraha.

I hope to communicate the struggles I have with this path.

I am a first born white male born into the American culture of the late 20^th century raised on the myths of redemptive violence. I was raised in an all white suburb in Bergen County, NJ to be a Goldwater Republican. Our family was an early part of the Irish exodus (white flight) from the South Bronx. I was 2 years old. (Future posts will explain why after so many years of absence I spent two of the last four days in the Bronx again as part of seeking another way.)

An awakening of sorts began as a college freshman and prospective seminarian at Seton Hall University in the fall of 1970. I read some books by the brothers Berrigan and heard the gospel in ways never preached in my home church. I had a whole lot of new theology, some new actions like marching to protest nuclear weapons, but theology alone doesn’t create peace.

I left the seminary in 1977 started a family and worked as a carpenter. I lived the axiom that when you’re a hammer everything looks like a nail. I swung hard, ate and drank hard and worked long hours with no regard for the physical tolls each took.

After some hospitalizations I began to revaluate; call it a mid-life crisis. In 2003 I was offered a fresh start after the kids were all off to college. Out of necessity I began to pray anew. Finding ‘God’s will’ for my life was important and offered some surprises. My bride offered me a sabbatical to get out of the business I was in (by this time a high end kitchen and bath designer) to find more meaningful work. I went to work for Family Promise, as Director of the Just Neighbors program; we spent three intensive years doing and then leading Just Faith and we joined the Sisters of St. Joseph of Peace as Associates. We have a small faith community that meets in our home.

My reawakening to nonviolence was sparked by Fr. John Dear’s challenge to the CSJP community at our Chapter in 2008. “Become prophets, mystics and teachers of peace and nonviolence.” And so my journey continues… this year with a Pace e Bene program to train agents of nonviolent change.

The wise men of this morning’s gospel followed a distant star on a long journey to find the Prince of Peace. This blog will witness to the experiences and people I meet on my own journey to that Peace.It’s not too early to think about bringing my own journey Home. My road has not been a straight one, nor do I expect it to be be. Being a peacemaker does not come naturally. What I share may be counter cultural, or at least it ought to be. (Unfortunately.) But there are lights to follow and I count myself undeserving to have met, worked with, and loved some of them.

I can’t close this first entry without giving a shout out to one of those gentle stars on her birthday. Happy Birthday Mom, rest in the peace you so richly deserve. We miss you.