The Economy

I keep hearing about how bad the economy is. Unemployment is around 10%. Not quite as bad as the 25% of the Great Depression, but significant nonetheless. I’ve heard lots of people talk about the way that it is affecting them. I’ve heard Christians say that God can use this terrible situation for something good. I’ve heard people pray for the economy.

But I’m not convinced that Christians should be worried about the economy. I’m not convinced that the church has a stake in “fixing” it. And I’m not convinced that fixing it is in the interest of the common good of man either.

If anything, I suspect that what is happening is an opportunity God is giving to church to renew is practices of mercy and to be holy.

Unemployment is up, homelessness is up, evictions are climbing. But we ought not despair, for its not that there is not enough to go around. We still have plenty of food and plenty of beds for all these people. That is not the issue. The problem is not scarcity. The problem is the way that people act, the way that people decide to allocate resources in their control. Fixing a mechanism will not fix the problem. Let me say that again. We have all the goods we need.

The problem is greed, fear, selfishness, pride. The problem is sin. What else can explain that we have more than enough and yet so many go without?

And what this means is that everyone crying about the terrible state of things is really crying about themselves. The rich are crying about taking huge losses to their portfolios - losses will never really threaten their immediate needs. The middle class is crying because that house they thought would make them secure has been taken away from them.

Many are indignant that the economy is taking a toll on the poor. But why be indignant? We have everything we need. If there is crying to do, it is crying because our economy was so good to us. It let us believe that the best way to help everybody, the best way to serve the poor, was to be greedy. There is crying because it is looking less and less like that is going to work. It is looking less and less like any kind of system is going to work. For we have more than enough.

But there is no way to give it to the poor, except to give it to the poor. We are crying because we can no longer be indignant about the poor without being hypocritical. For we can no longer support the system, since the system is broken. If we cry about the plight of the poor we are struck by the fact that we have some of that everything needed to help the poor, so not to give is tantamount to stealing. At the very least, it is hard to be indignant and well-off without being hypocritical.

Is your goal to end poverty? The simplest and quickest way to do that, requiring basically zero changes in infrastructure, would be to take a poor person into your home and feed them. One less homeless person. If everyone with the means to do so did that, we would wipe out poverty and homelessness. Period. And you don’t even have to take in complete strangers. Some might be strong enough or brave enough to do that. I am not yet. The homeless man living with me is my friend. I got to know him for two years before he moved in. And you’d be wrong to think that was because I didn’t trust him before then. It was more that he didn’t trust me. The rich are scared of the poor (why?) and the poor are scared of the rich (why?).

This simple solution gets down to the heart about arguments about performing the works of mercy. It is often objected that they are simply impractical for solving our society’s problems. They are a palliative, a bandaid. The real way to change the world is to get involved in politics, to write letters to congressmen, to vote the right candidates into office. To this the church should rightly reply in the first instance that it is not a club or a government whose job is to work on solving society’s problems. I joined the church whose mission is to follow Jesus, and he told me to perform the works of mercy and give up my possessions and so I do it. He told me to. That’s it. Even if its not efficient.

But then slowly it begins to dawn on me just how deeply practical and efficient the works of mercy are. They provide the remedy for societal ills not by reforming a bureaucratic system but by transforming people. They offer, right now, the most efficient way to end poverty. They say that the way that you help people is, well, by helping them. What we need is a revolution of the heart.

And this shows that it is not the works of mercy that are the palliative. The state and its institutions are the palliative. They, no matter how reformed, are the morphine for the cancer. They, no matter how just, strike at the weed but leave the root. They, no matter how large or small, are inefficient.

And so I don’t think that I have a stake in the economy. It is, after all, really the state’s economy, and the economy’s state. But this is not because I just want to “let it burn” – although that might not be a bad idea. Rather, I don’t think that the state of the economy is a bad thing for the church because I don’t think the economy is the problem in the first place. The way that the changed economy shifts around materials in a different way just gives us a different view of the effects of sin.

The state of the economy gives the church a chance to be the church. To feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to house the homeless.

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Saint Joseph's House: What is it?

What should SJH be? Here’s my brainstorming. I want to discuss all of this and I’m set on nothing…

A place in which the Miller marriage is able to grow and thrive – however that looks. Perhaps one night a week Lisa and I get to have the place to ourselves.
A place that Crete can call home.
A place that might eventually offer nightly beds to a couple other folk.
A school for training in the gospel.

Ordinary language, roundtable discussions for the clarification of thought – what are we doing and why are we
doing it. Must be accessible to everyone. And probably very practical. But this is not a separate “school” apart from
the church. It is just a different venue probably with a focus on what are the more “radical” parts of the Gospel.
Maybe we could start b discussing the Catholic Worker’s "Aims and Means?"

A place where we are changed by rubbing up against the other.
A place were the poor are served before the rich.
A place where people can take showers.
A place that has a pot of soup or a casserole ready to go those who come in.
A place that takes donations to allow the rich to give to the poor, to do good for goodness’ sake.
A place where we learn how to beg.
A place with a core of committed “associates.” Many hands make lighter work.
A place that is a ministry St. Joe's. and under the authority of its clerics.
A place that other clerics frequent to lead discussions, celebrate the Eucharist, etc.

So:

I suggest that we start with JR’s suggestion of small communal meals with the Guys, as frequent as weekly if we can afford it.
I further suggest that we start roundtable discussions about what SJH should be ASAP.
Anyone's contributions to these are valued.

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Breakfast

A rather full house for Morning Prayer. I think I counted nine total, which is at least a few more than usual. Jenny is a newcomer who dropped in for the second time today. She goes to Watts St Baptist on Sundays but says it so big that it is nice to come by for our prayers during the week and the chance for a little bit of community. Betty was also in attendance, who makes our breakfast egg casseroles. She usually just checks to be sure we have everything we need for the week. It was wonderful to hear such a full choir of voices singing the canticles on a cool Monday morning in May.

We had breakfast outside on the picnic tables. L slept through it, under the covered walkway, as usual. He had set up one of the storage tubs we provide to keep their things dry, making it into a sort of shelter from the sun that shines directly onto his spot. R and C were around as usual, and C came to the tables and said a couple of other guys were going to walk up so maybe we should heat up some more casserole. Adam went in and got to that since I had only prepared a small amount. Kale stayed outside with Lisa, JR and I, quite interested in both staying warm and in a piece of string he had tied to a ribbon spool. I asked him if it was a yoyo and he said matter of factly, “No, its my string.”

Two white men came up following C. I thought I had seen one of them before. They were pleasant and fairly well put together. One of them had been banned from the city of Greenville, they said, since he had gotten into so much trouble for panhandling. I wasn’t sure that cities were in the habit of issuing sentences of exile, but that was the stated reason for coming to Durham. The other guy, whom he said the others called “Cowboy” (they are wont to give such nicknames) I knew I had seen before. I think he may even have been to breakfast once or twice at St Joe’s. They both ate a good chunk of egg and drank a full glass of juice and thanked us kindly. We said what we always say: “W’re here M-F for breakfast. Come by anytime you want.”

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Catholic Worker and MDG's: A Provocation

There's not enough intrigue on this blog ;) So, I'll push some buttons for the sake of discussion: Would Dorothy Day be in support of the Millenium Development Goals? Why or why not? Or, more accessibly, are the MDG's consistent with the vision of the Catholic Worker?

Just to get things going, let's have a statement in favor and one opposed. In favor: Dorothy and Peter were always talking about changing the social order, with rhetoric very clearly influenced by communism and socialism. This seems to favor a commitment to goals of global justice (e.g., access to clean water). In opposition: Dorothy and Peter were equally known for the emphasis on the grass roots, or personalist, approach to these problems with an anarchist tinge. What do anarchists mean when they talk about changing the social order?

So, what do you think?

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Mother Teresa on Jesus

In answer to the question "Who is Jesus to you?" Mother writes,

Who is Jesus to me?
Jesus is the Word made Flesh.
Jesus is the Bread of Life.
Jesus is the Victim offered for our sins on the Cross.
Jesus is the Sacrifice at Holy Mass for the sins of the world and mine.
Jesus is the Word - to be spoken.
Jesus is the Truth - to be told.
Jesus is the Way - to be walked.
Jesus is the Light - to be lit.
Jesus is the Life - to be loved...
Jesus is the Joy - to be shared.
Jesus is the Sacrifice - to be given.
Jesus is the Bread of Life - to be eaten.
Jesus is the Hungry - to be fed.
Jesus is the Thirsty - to be satiated.
Jesus is the Naked - to be clothed.
Jesus is the Homeless - to be taken in.
Jesus is the Sick - to be healed.
Jesus is the Lonely - to be loved.
Jesus is the Unwanted - to be wanted.
Jesus is the Leper - to wash his wounds.
Jesus is the Beggar - to give him a smile.
Jesus is the Drunkard - to listen to him.
Jesus is the Little One - to embrace him.
Jesus is the Dumb - to speak to him.
Jesus is the Crippled - to walk with him.
Jesus is the Drug Addict - to befriend him.
Jesus is the Prostitute - to remove from danger and befriend her.
Jesus is the Prisoner - to be visited.
Jesus is the Old - to be served.

To me --
Jesus is my God,
Jesus is my Spouse,
Jesus is my Life,
Jesus is my only Love,
Jesus is my All in All,
Jesus is my Everything. Amen.

[Each line is poignant, but I have added emphasis with bold type to a few that are particularly pointed for us.]

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Dorothy on "The Undeserving"

The Undeserving

A friend sent us a dollar yesterday, and with it the remark: "Enclosed is for bread, but not to make bums out of those who should be earning their own." ...

I thought of that this morning when I passed a little group of four who always seem to be hanging around the place, out in front, in the coffee room, in the doorways. Always drunk, sometimes prostrate on the sidewalk, sometimes sitting on the curb, they give a picture of despair or hilarity, according to the mood they are in. And, to the minds of many of our friends, they epitomize the six hundred or so who come here to eat every day.

This morning as I came from Mass, I passed the little vegetable woman around the corner, washing her mustard greens in a huge barrel of cold water. Her hands were raw and cold. It was one of those grey mornings, wet and misty, and the pavement was slimy under foot.

I commiserated with her over her hands, and she said: "What are you going to do? If you don’t work, you don’t eat."

What a tradition of industry these Italians have--working steadily from morning to night, earning their income by pennies, and educating their children by those same pennies, even putting them through college.

When I passed this same little knot of men in front of the house, whom I had passed on the way to church, I told them about the little Italian woman, and they hung their heads sheepishly and went away. I don’t know what can be done--except to pray. Here are the most humiliated of men, the most despised, the evidence of their sins is flagrant and ever present. And as to what brought them to this pass--war and poverty, disease and sorrow--who can tell? Why question? We must see Christ everywhere, even in His most degraded guise.

We take care of men by the tens of thousands during the course of the year, and there is no time to stop and figure who are the worthy or who are the unworthy. We are each of us unprofitable servants. We are guilty of each other’s sins.

-The Catholic Worker, April 1943

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St. Joseph's House

Formally or informally, St. Joseph's House is now a reality. Yesterday Colin and Lisa moved into a new dwelling with lots of space for hospitality in a neighborhood that will likely take them up on the offer.

So, now the questions become a little more pointed. What should a house of hospitality be, functionally? What practices will be associated with life at the house. Open meals, a place to sleep... How will the house fit into the community? Who will stay there, for how long, with what needs?

Most of these questions will be answered concretely as the answers impose themselves in human form. Still, there is a need for reflection on the challenges that a house of hospitality will face and how to receive those challenges.

So consider the ice broken and the floor prepared for debate/discussion. What is a modern house of hospitality? Who does it serve and how does it serve them?

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Sin Insurance

The Apostle says "let sin not reign in your body" (Rom 6:12).

Chrysostom, in his 11th Homily on Romans, writes regarding this:

It is possible even for one with a mortal body not to sin. Do you see the abundancy of Christ’s grace? For Adam, though as yet he had not a mortal body, fell. But thou, who hast received one even subject to death, canst be crowned. How then, is it that “sin reigns?” he says. It is not from any power of its own, but from thy listlessness. Wherefore after saying, “let it not reign,” he also points out the mode of this reigning, by going on to say “that ye should obey it in the lusts thereof.” For it is not honor to concede to it (i.e. to the body) all things at will, nay, it is slavery in the extreme, and the height of dishonor; for when it doth what it listeth, then is it bereft of all liberties; but when it is put under restraints, then it best keeps its own proper rank.

So, for St. Chrysostom, sin is not an evil apocalyptic power with an ontological life of its own, but simply human action that caters to the body’s desires. What he says casts in one more light the slavery that wealth is. For to most, wealth is a good. But what Chrysostom says implies that the great jobs that we seek, the comfortable homes we scratch and claw for, the fine food and drink we consume, the fences we build around our possessions, the insurance policies we take out on everything from our cars to our pets, the prudence we exercise in separating ourselves from any hint of danger – in short, the comfortable, safe and secure life we are so lauded for at least trying to provide for ourselves in the name of prudence and foresight - this life is all built up to protect the desires of the body, as John says to “willingly concede all things to it." And it is simply slavery to the passions. For this is a life spent ensuring the gratification of the very body of sin that God sent his son to condemn (Rom 8:3). Houses, cars, security, privacy, bank accounts, insurance, tenure – all these castles we spend our lives building function only to secure the continued satisfaction of that from which our Savior died to deliver us.

But we keep insisting, in the name of responsibility, on such dying.

We keep insisting on purchasing such sin insurance.

“But see the abundance of Christ’s grace!”

“For if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you shall live.” (Rom 8:13)

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Origen on Conversion

A little while ago your feet were running off to the temples of the demons; now let them run off to the Church of God. Previously they were running off to shed blood; now let them run out to save it. Earlier your hands were stretched forth to plunder the property of others; now stretch them forth to lavish your own goods upon others. Previously your eyes were looking around for a woman or some property to lust after; now let them look around for the poor, the weak, the needy, in order to show them mercy.

-Commentary on Romans 6.4.2

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Breakfast

Today at Morning Prayer we celebrated the feast of St. Gregory Nazianzus. The Collect for his day references his episcopate and his Trinitarian theology. What it does not mention is his tireless work for the poor. Pray for us, Father Gregory.

J came in about half way through the Office and took his seat in the back. After sharing the Peace he asked JR to go and take care of some business with him that JR had already told him would have to wait until Tuesday. No harm in one more try.

Its raining this morning so there were a few folks gathered under the covered walkway that leads from the nave to the parish hall. We went inside and put the new casserole in the microwave and sat down - T, Adam, Kale, JR and I. (It strikes me that we do this same thing just about every day and I really have never thought that I am technically the only one who is actually a member of the parish).

Two guys followed in in the next few minutes. One went straight to the back room where we keep the clothes and toiletries to see if there was anything new in there (he checks just about every day).

There wasn't, so he asked me for some deodorant. This guy is one of our more unsavory fellows, and I told him that if there wasn't any back there we were out. JR, who had just gotten back from the gas station next door with a pack of smokes for one of the guys looked at me and said rhetorically, "You know, they might have some at the gas station." Of course we both knew they did. His suggestion was a gentile rebuke to my dislike for this fellow which was getting in the way of charity. I looked at JR, hung my head a little, and remembering what Benedict said about accepting rebuke cheerfully and immediately, decided against punching him in the face, and walked out the door to the gas station (but not before I was instructed by J to "get two, and the powder kind cause my armpits are sensitive".).

When I got back a couple minutes later I asked R and C if they wanted any breakfast and went in to collect their orders. I found we were out of hot sauce, a must for some of the folk. So out I went again, this time to Whole Foods. But again, before I could vacate, the same dude instructed me to "get some new milk cause your boys are out in there." When I got back with the milk and hot sauce I found we were not, in fact, out of milk.

I got C a cup of coffee and brought it out to him since he had gone ahead and eaten his eggs without the hot sauce (so glad I went to the store). I make coffee everyday and sometime no one drinks it, but I have this strange habit and serving people coffee makes me happy. So C's calm eyes and sips of his over-sugared, under creamed java calmed my soul for the moment. I felt a bond with him among the other chaos and demands that makes the rest of it doable. With his familiar "thank ya, dude" I headed back inside.

I sat down with the grocery list I am supposed to keep up for Gail to keep the kitchen stocked and finally got to a bowl of cereal. I was interrupted by J asking me to call Sammie away from him and then proceeding to rant about why I would bring a dog to church. "Calm down", I said, trying to hide my annoyance and be gentle. J muttered something about calming down and walked out of the parish hall, leaving his over-filled bowl of cereal and plate of eggs behind.

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(Un)Deserving Poor

An interesting article in the NY Times that I stumbled on from 1995:

Defining Who Deserves What

And this one about a historically affluent church that embraces the poor:

Church for the Inner City

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A Six Iron and a $20 Check

[Disclaimer: The following is the narrative of an encounter which, if not typical, was also not exactly atypical of one of our regulars. The language is profane. This is not a post for sensitive readers.]

"Are you from Durham, J____?"

"From the worst projects around, Few Gardens."

"Really? The 'worst' projects, you say."

"Yeah," he said with some disdain as if anyone should know that. "You got Mac-Dougal and them other projects, but those mo' fuckas don't come up in Few. Run mo' fuckas from New York out of Few. Shit's rough."

"Huh."

"Hey, turn here." He motioned for me to turn at the next light. We were headed to get a check cashed. I wasn't entirely sure of the details. The vicar wrote him a check that he was having trouble cashing... the guy at the place said J____ needed some verification that he hadn't written the check himself... I just needed to tell the guy the check was legit.

"Man, I don't want no kids," he says, staring at a woman on the sidewalk. "Just want to hit that, but no kids. Too much responsibility and shit. These bitches. Man, sayin' I'm this and that, on crack. Shit. They's bitches sellin' they kids to men for sex around here. Shit's messed up. This world's screwed up, dangerous."

"Where are we going, J____?"

"Right here... turn here, right there." We turned into a place with "CHECKS CASHED" spelled out in six-foot neon letters above the windows. J____ got out of the car amidst a cloud of his own diffuse profanity and and partially articulated anathema. We walked into the business, the only patrons. A man seemed busy in the back, behind one-inch bulletproof glass. J____ paced up and down, with his little cloud of obscenity trailing slightly, leaving me with a "fucka" here and "pussy" there.

The man behind the counter was busy for three or four minutes. In the meantime J____ looked for a pen to endorse his check and cursed the world repeatedly when none of them seemed to work. I asked to see the mysterious check. Sure enough it was written by the vicar, but made out to "DEPT OF MOTOR VEHICLES". Hmmm..

"J____, this is made out to the DMV. They're not going to cash this."

"Man! The DMV don't cash no checks! She put the DMV on there cuz that's what it's for. I got to get my ID."

"That's fine, man. But she made it out to the DMV. Let me call her." So I dial the vicar's cell, but it's her day off and she probably left her phone somewhere out of earshot. No answer. Being able to guess what her intentions were with that check, I thought to myself that maybe not having a definitive word from her was best in this situation. No one was going to cash J____'s check anyway, so why involve the vicar.

Meanwhile, two attractive black women had come in and stood in line behind J____. Or maybe they just stood at a distance. J____ was pacing back and forth, cursing, momentarily letting his gaze fix on one of the women for a split second, followed by more obscenity. Never a fully audible sentence, just words, the intimation of sentences by his movement. They looked uncertain, but not entirely uncomfortable. Confident, but aware the J____ was acting crazy as hell.

"Can I help you?" The man behind the counter spoke to J____.

"Yeah, I need to get this check cashed. I get my.."

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you."

J____ lowers his entire head into the slot between the counter and the window through which he has just passed the check. I'm pretty sure the clerk on the other side could only see J____'s lips and teeth flapping obscenities about this check and his difficulties cashing it.

"I'm sorry. It's made out to the DMV. We can't cash it here."

"Man, the guy at the other place said all I had to do was get somebody from the church to say the shit's legit..."

"But, sir, the check is not made out to you. We cannot cash."

"Fuck that. Com'on. We'll go down... Fuck that. Shit. Mo' fuckas want the DMV. The DMV don't take no checks. You fuckin' white people can do that shit. Fuckin Klan.

We got back into the car and J____ motioned to go up to the place he had been the previous day. "Alright," I said, "but I don't think they're going to cash it either. Why don't we just wait and talk to the vicar..."

"The hell! I saw you in there. Yo' eyes told the whole story. In there. You don't just have to talk with yo' mouth. You talk with yo' eyes and I can read that fuckin' eye-speak. You in there, you racist fucka, probably in the Klan. You think I'm just tryin' to get money for drugs or something. Fuckin' prejudice. I can smell that shit. The way you got your face all wrinkled up. Fuck that motha fuckin shit."

"We're here."

We walked into the second place. Two hispanic men were ahead of us in line. When the first finished his business and left, J____ could barely contain himself while the second spoke slowly and deliberately in Spanish to the clerk. J____ kept marching up behind the man, standing on his tip-toes and leaning over the man making severe eye contact with the clerk. The man finished, and while folding his papers, had to untangle himself from J____ to get away from the teller's window. 

J____ told the same story, with his entire head in the slot at the bottom of the window. The same negative result. J____ stormed out. Having anticipated some degree of eruption I had locked the car door before we went in. I wanted some degree of choice whether to let J____ back into the car. He was pissed, but still seemed marginally stable. When we got to the car I unlocked my door. He grabbed for the door handle and, when his jerk just left his hand empty and the handle slapping back down hard, he was taken aback and looked at me saying, "What, you fuckin' not going to let me in the car." I didn't answer, opened my door and unlocked his as I sat in the driver seat. He didn't hear the locks click and continued his profane tirade. The sunroof was open. I said, "J____, shut up and open the door." 

"Oh. Fuck." And he opened the door and got in.

"Let's go down here. We'll go to the DMV. You think you so right. Let's go to the DMV."

"J____, it's 9:30. I have to go to work. Now you tell me where you'd like me to drop you off between here and the church."

"Huh. Why don't you just give me the twenty dollars."

Wouldn't that have been so much simpler to begin with? "Because I don't have twenty dollars on me."

"Then ten."

"J____ I don't have any money on me. Why don't we go back to the church and we'll find out from the vicar exactly what her intentions were for that money and we'll go from there."

"Man, fuck you. Here's your fuckin check." He threw it up and let it flutter down to the floorboard. "All you fuckin white folks think I'm just tryin to get drugs. And that fuckin white boy up on the hill. He doin crack and drinkin and smokin shit. But all you mo' fuckas are in the Klan. You racist fucks. Think I don't see it? I see that shit. Man, I bust all yo fuckin heads."

I sat listening as I drove us back to the church.

"You gone go tell the po-lice.. threatenin... Shit. Send the police. I bust they heads too... with a fuckin six iron. Crack they skulls. Man, I wish I had a gun. Shoot the fucka's in the face. All you fuckin' white folks is in the goddamn Klan. Klu Klux Klan racist. Fuckin' po-lice crooked as hell. Send me to jail. I ain't goin to jail. An' I'm goin to get my shit, don't matter what you fuckin do. Think I'm... Fuck that, I'll smoke my fuckin crack. I'm gonna do what I wanna do. Ain't nobody gone stop me. You fuckin' Klu Klux mo' fucka. I've fucked up niggas twice my fuckin size, I'll fuck that shit up too.

"You ain't gotta say nothin'. Yo' eyes say plenty and I can read that shit. Check. Shit. I'll get mine. You don't fuckin' matter. I'll do what I want to do..." And on it went.

We pulled up to the church. "See you later, J____."

"Fuck." And he got out.

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Schools, Agencies Seeing Big Increase in Homeless Families

See the CNN story here.

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