It is probably no coincidence that much of my favorite literature over the past few months has addressed, in some way, what I have come to know as a "ministry of presence." If you are familiar with Christian service circles, you have definitely heard this term (and are, perhaps, tired of hearing it - oh well!) It is the type of ministry that runs the risk of being ridiculed, of being pushed aside, because it may not produce tangible, traceable results. It is, exactly what the name sounds like - being present to people. The person who sums this up for me best as of late is Father Greg Boyle, of Tattoos on the Heart fame (if you have not read or heard of this book before, go get yourself a copy, a box of tissues, and buckle in for the ride). In short, he says that if looking at Jesus as a model, we are not called to take the right position on issues or politics, because really, who is to say ultimately what is absolutely right in those regards? Instead, we should seek to constantly find the right place to stand - and that will always be with the outcast and oppressed, the lowly and those in pain and on the margins.
Well, great! That is a perfectly awesome and inspiring thing to write about and believe in, but what the hell does it actually look like?
I've learned in the last few years, to be very careful what I pray for. Very careful. If you even want to know how I affectionately refer to God as a result of all my answered prayers, you can write me a message, because it is certainly not appropriate for this forum. God has this awfully annoying habit of listening to me when I pray, and giving me what I ask for, in the most roundabout, difficult, and anxiety inducing way possible. Cosmic pain-in-the-ass, although I'm fairly certain She would say the same.
I often pray to love more like God does, and since I'm not even entirely sure I know the consequences of what I'm asking for, I have to be shown. Two examples.
A very close friend of mine has been struggling lately. The particulars aren't terribly important for the purpose of this post - just that there is a lot difficulty in seeing themself as completely worthy in God's eyes, or anyone's really, including their own. After a long discussion filling me in on their feelings and struggles, this person proceeded to apologize for taking up my time on something that really couldn't be fixed. "It isn't your problem to be upset over, you shouldn't have to feel uncomfortable."
But that's just it - I am called to feel exactly that way. Uncomfortable, standing right there, with this person who I love tremendously, in the middle of their pain and struggle. Inhabit that wound with people. When invited into a person place of deep pain and hurt (or joy for that matter, it isn't only about pain and misery), it is the best I can do to just stand there with them while they untie their knots.
You better believe it is painful to watch someone you love suffer, and you also better believe that if I could take it away, I would. But, for some twisted, bizarre, (and ultimately supremely loving?) reason, it does not seem that God would choose to do this. Greg Boyle says, "[God's] ways are not our ways...but they sure could be." And I'm learning this the long way. It is a huge hit to my ego to have to admit that the best I can do for people in pain, people who I deeply love, is to stand there with them in it, in awe of their strength and their struggle. Sure, I can work to change social structures (and I better, because that is part of my understanding of the gospel as well!), but that doesn't heal the deep wounds of people, the wounds that allow us to truly believe we are "unable to be loved, a divine mistake, wholly unworthy of respect and even attention from anyone." Standing with people in their pain, while maybe difficult for me, is my only way of saying to that person, "You are worth it. And I love you very much." It allows me to touch the reality that I am human the same way they are, and can't carry their burdens for them. Just stand there with them, and allow their struggle to meld with my own.
Nowhere have I encountered the need for this more than in my work with the youth at the Juvenile Detention Center. I honestly can say that this is the most challenging and life-giving part of the work I do here on the Rosebud. I have so much passion for these kids, and it would take a lot for me to miss one of my sessions with them. I have often said that the poor, those in pain, have a claim on me - I can't help but move towards them. In my life, I have been blessed with many people, my family, friends, teachers and campus ministers, who have constantly held up a mirror in order to show me how God sees me - accepted and loved just the way I am, beloved. I have been graced enough to have eyes to see and ears to hear this message and receive it, to embrace that reality (for now at least, and I know there will be people to help remind me when I forget). I can't help but want to share a truth like that with everyone, because I have come to see it is true for everyone. I love raw and gritty experiences and people (I can thank the Bronx for that), and these kids at the JDC certainly give plenty of those.
Every week i show up to do reflections, and almost every week when I leave, I am in tears and yelling at God, only to find myself strangely at peace and rejuvenated. Maybe they just give me the opportunity and cause to "touch the center of my own sorrow...to sit with pain, mine or yours, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it," as Oriah Mountain Dreamer says. It has humbled me immensely to know that, no matter how much I love these kids, these brave and beautiful men and women, each uniquely shaped and created by God's loving hand, I might not be able to change anything. Even if I could miraculously have every one of them understand how worthy and precious they are in God's sight and mine, I have to understand that the world they will go back into will not reinforce them. It will not have changed from the violent, abusive, and oppressive place they were born into. The people who tear them down and tell them they are not worth spit will continue to do so.
All I can do, whether for my own sake or theirs I don't know, is to keep showing up. Keep standing right in the middle of that struggle and pain, and inhabit that space with them. Let them know that I am in awe of what they carry - that they inspire me. That they are loved enough to stand with, no matter how much it hurts me to do so.
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