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By Lindsay Barrett-Adler There are 9:24 p.m. text messages that no service corps program director ever wants to receive. The following was not one of them: “Father Stube and I are going on a ship to say Christmas mass and celebrate the Eucharist tomorrow at 6, and thought it would be cool if you wanted to come.” The Servant Year member who sent the text to me, Trish, is spending her year volunteering at Seamen’s Church Institute (SCI). SCI provides services and support for 30,000 seafarers each year. Most of the crews are male and usually work 6-9 month contracts, away from their families and home countries for long stretches of time. Due to visa stipulations, many crew members are unable to disembark from the cargo ships while in port. Without SCI’s visits, these crew members would have no access to resources (like warm winter coats, phone cards to call their families back home) and company over a home cooked meal. After a 5 second deliberation, I enthusiastically accepted the invitation to see SCI’s ministry firsthand. The next day I bundled up (tonight’s low will be 14 degrees), not sure what to expect beyond a chilly walk from SCI’s van to the ship. As we walked toward our ship, the overwhelming smell of chocolate filled the air. Turns out some of the cargo they brought from Nigeria included cocoa beans that crunched underfoot as we made our way up wobbly metal stairs to the ship. Upon boarding, we were ushered to a small, plain room where a small group of Philippine seafarers waited to worship with us. One wall had a homemade banner proclaiming, “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!” next to a Christmas tree with some decorations. Father Stube told the nativity story churches around the world proclaimed on Christmas, found in Luke’s Gospel. We sang Christmas carols and prayed together, especially for the sixteen Philippine sailors missing from a cargo ship that sank off the coast of Vietnam last week. We celebrated the Eucharist with one another and I was reminded, in this season of Epiphany, of God’s welcome to people from around the world who gather to encounter Christ. We ended with applause from the seafarers, thankful for SCI’s presence and work on their behalf. Soon one of the cooks brought out trays of cookies, sandwiches, and soda for us to share. The seafarers silently waited for us to partake in their hospitality. We asked where they were ultimately headed and they said, ”Columbia. We’re picking up some cargo in Albany, then going to Columbia.” Then probably home for 3 months before heading out to sea again. We talked a little bit more about pirates in Nigeria, boxing, and how badly Brazil was blown away in the World Cup semi-finals. Everyone thanked us for coming and shook our hands, watching as we made our way back to dry land that some of them wouldn’t be able to touch for many, many months. I walked back into the chocolate cocoon, surrounded by a distant smell from another land and thought again of this season. There are countless exotic gifts I take for granted every day, from coffee to chocolate, brought to me by seafarers on ships like the one I visited. I am thankful for the dangerous and difficult work these men undertake each day to bring us gifts from afar. Lindsay Serves as Program Director and Associate for Young Adult Ministries. 
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By Lindsay Barrett-Adler
"What do people do after Servant Year?" This is one of the most common questions asked during initial interviews and throughout the Servant Year experience. Here's the data answer: Snapshot of Servant Year's Class of 2013-2014 Seminary/Graduate School: University of Pennsylvania School of Medicine (M.D.) Yale Divinity School (MDiv) University of Pittsburgh (MSW) University of Maryland (PhD) Cairn University (MEd) Employment: Bethesda Project (Case Manager) Second Year Servant Year Fellows: St. James School (Volunteer Coordinator) Episcopal Mission Center (Coordinator) International Service: Good Shepherd Volunteers (Thailand) Word Made Flesh (Argentina) For me, the question is more interesting when thought about theologically. Vocation is not just the data of a career or the title on someone's business card. John Neafsey writes, "Vocation is less about the particular things we do and more about the spirit with which we do them." How will the Servant Year experience influence members to act differently toward God, themselves, and the world? We hope that after Servant Year, members will "do" reflection. Throughout the year, we gathered to reflect on our experiences and delve deeper into our world's brokenness. We learned about human trafficking, addiction, and poverty. Unsatisfied with the quick, easy answers often provided, we asked what was going on below the surface. How can we best report suspected human trafficking if we are unsure that victims will not be prosecuted? Are there any universal maxims across societies and communities, or are every society's values contextual? We hope that members will "do" community and simplicity. Every member of the program learned to live on a $500 monthly stipend while working alongside extremely impoverished populations making much less. We gathered for weekly potluck meals and monthly program dinners, getting to know each other more fully. How will the experience of stares and disapproving looks when using EBT/food stamps shape our ideas of poverty and food justice? We have talked about opening ourselves up more fully to others and healing old wounds...are we still allowing ourselves to be fragile and vulnerable, trusting others to be loving and kind? Finally, we hope that members will "do" service. We hope that Servant Year members have formed meaningful relationships with their clients, students, or guests. Each member volunteered over 1,700 hours this year at St. James School, Bethesda Project, St. Mark's Church, The Episcopal Diocese of Pennsylvania, Diversified Community Services, Southeast Philadelphia Collaborative, St. John's Episcopal Church in Norristown, and Covenant House. That's nearly 20,500 hours total! What do people do after Servant Year? As Frederick Buechner so beautifully puts it, "The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." Lindsay serves as Program Director and Associate for Young Adult Ministries. By Lindsay Barrett-Adler
Maybe some of you have seen us on the news in the past couple of weeks. We have been the ones with layers of outerwear, wrapped up in scarves, busily shuffling along snowy sidewalks. Occasionally a bored television meteorologist will take a ruler and show you just how much snow has fallen in the past x amount of time. At the same time, loud television advertisements proclaim an oncoming “snowmageddon” or “snowpocalpyse”, only to have a couple of inches arrive. Winter is anything but predictable. Growing up in Midwest farming communities, winter was a time between two colossal tasks: planting and harvesting. I remember many conversations during January and February that almost always included the following exchange: Farmer A: “Got a lot of snow the past week.” Farmer B: “Yep, should make for good soil. Corn should grow nice and high in that soil.” Farmer C: “Hope not too much water though, don’t want too much water.” The reality was, farmers couldn’t really do a whole lot after harvest and before planting. Spring through fall brought the majority of their workload, pre-dawn to post-dusk labor in the fields. But winter? Winter was a season of speculation. Farmers, strong coffee usually in hand, stared out kitchen windows onto white, barren fields and wondered. They speculated, over a card game with friends, about the price of soybeans and amount each would harvest when the leaves turned bright orange and red the next fall. They wondered if, under all of that snow, the soil really was absorbing just enough or far too much water. Winter is anything but predictable. As Servant Year reaches the halfway mark in our year, I feel our members living in the same winter of speculation. They are completing seminary and other graduate school applications, continuing interviews for medical school, and updating their resumes. Our members have spent years planting seeds, nurturing relationships, and praying that God would show them when and where to go next. They are excited to experience the harvest and look forward to enjoying the fruits of their labor. But they also may find themselves staring out the kitchen window wondering, and praying about, that harvest. Did I put enough time into that personal essay on the application? Have I opened myself up to those around me and experienced any transformation the past six months? What if the harvest isn’t as big as I thought it would be; what if none of my speculations prove true? I have a plan B, but do I need a plan C…or D? These concerns are shared by applicants in their interviews for next year’s class of Servant Year members. More than once I have heard, “I went to college for four years and now I’m not sure what to do. I’ve put in so much time and effort, but I don’t know if there’s a job for me after graduation. Even if there is one, I’m not sure that’s what I really want to do with my life after all.” Winter is anything but predictable. Thankfully, we know that spring will indeed come. As we walk down rows of hard, cold dirt, we will begin to see tiny shoots of bright green hope that will flourish and provide sustenance. In a way, the winter of speculation is a kind of blessing to us and the Church. This time between the planting and harvesting allows us to prayerfully take stock. We now have the luxury of slowing down, of thoughtfully reflecting on what happened in the past and what awaits us in the future, of listening for that still small voice in the darkness. The upcoming season of Lent invites us to do this very intentionally, pondering what it means to bear the cross of Christ in today’s world. And yet there is no reason we cannot keep this in mind even past Lent, into spring and summer. Maybe there is space to take time between planting and harvesting throughout our lives. Perhaps pondering what God’s doing beneath the surface of our lives is a helpful practice at any time. Winter is anything but predictable; so is a life of faith. Lindsay serves as Program Director and Associate for Young Adult Ministries. By Lindsay Barrett-Adler
I opened my Book of Common Prayer to find today’s Gospel and happily came upon the following verses from Matthew 22, translated by Eugene Peterson. Jesus said, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and intelligence. This is the most important, the first on any list. But there is a second to set alongside it: Love others as well as you love yourself.” Scripture can be fraught with some pretty confusing and offensive texts, but here we find an apparently simple directive: love on people. By loving on people, you’re loving on God. Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like Jesus is being a bit of a Captain Obvious here. Of course we should love everyone, would anyone seriously argue that it’s virtuous to hate others or that doing so would bring us any closer to God? Thanks for the advice Jesus, I’ll be sure to remember that it’s always preferable to be nice to other people. But, as usual, a quick and simple reading of this verse doesn’t get to the heart of Christ’s message. Advent is a time for us to wake up, to get ready, to prepare for a baby to break down all of our presumptions and self delusions. If I’m honest this Advent, there are some changes I need to make in order to really love God, by seriously loving other people. I can hold a grudge and let that most cancerous form of hate, resentment, fester in my soul. I can also be impatient with others and ready to jump to unfair conclusions. I am great at building walls to protect myself, even when they close me off from those outside. Maybe I’m not as great at loving people as I thought. When I discovered that two antonyms to the word “love” are “indifference” and “neglect”, Christ’s words became even more challenging. Advent seems like the perfect time for us to beat our chests in front of the temple and cry out, “Indifferent? Me?! But I gave that Salvation Army ringer $5 and donated 2 brand new toys to our office Christmas drive.” While charity for the one month between Thanksgiving and Christmas is wonderful, it is not enough. Not when, according to the U.S. Census Bureau, 1in 5 children live below the poverty line. Not when, according to the NCAAP, the U.S prison population quadrupled from roughly 500,000 in 1980 to 2.3 million people in 2008 and a disproportionate number of prisoners are people of color. Not when our neighbors in the City of Brotherly Love will die this winter from exposure, unable to find shelter in freezing temperatures. Indifference and neglect are tempting, and easy, ways to live in today’s painful and broken world. I find myself thinking that it would be easier to lock my door, close the blinds, and keep the outside world at bay. This is seductive, but also completely different from the way God tells us to be in the world. We are Advent people. We are called to run out into the world and shout, “Wake up! Get ready! The world is about to change forever!” We are called to stir the pot, to disrupt complacency, and fight for justice. Christ’s call to love others is dangerous, radical, and absolute. We love others by allowing ourselves to be as vulnerable as a lamb, but as fiercely defensive of our neighbors as the lion laying beside him. This Advent, I pray for the strength and courage to really love God, by seriously loving on people; It’s not as easy as you’d think. Lindsay serves as Program Director and Associate for Young Adult Ministries. By Lindsay Barrett-Adler
Last week I joined leaders from the other 215 volunteer and lay mission programs of The Catholic Volunteer Network (CVN) for our national conference in Maryland. Our work spans across mission fields and around the globe, with more than 19,000 volunteers and lay missioners in 112 different countries. Not only was I excited to be attending my first CVN gathering, we were also celebrating the organization's 50th anniversary. Throughout the worship services, one hymn was consistently used as a thread to weave all of our time together. I had never heard Barbara Bridge's "We Walk By Faith" before, but instantly fell in love with its message and was especially moved that we sang the conference's theme (Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow) as a refrain. Here is what we sang: We walk by faith and not by sight, through woe and joy, through dark and light. Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow We journey not alone, forsaken. You walk with us, our God and friend. Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow I have to confess that I have a slight bias against talking about faith as "a journey". To be more specific, inspirational posters with a peaceful wooded path or a sunset on the beach and some quote about journeys make me kind of sick. This isn't my experience of faith. Faith, for me, has not always been a relaxing stroll down God Avenue and I think it's dangerous to set this as an implied standard for other people of faith. Moses and some other Biblical figures might agree. Bridget's image of a journey through the dark, tripping over roots, and sometimes feeling totally alone feels more honest to me. Sometimes my faith life is down a beautiful path and I thank God for that season of grace and assurance. Other times, I feel like I need a machete to cut though all of the obstacles and dilemmas ahead. Much like members of our volunteer programs, I find myself praying, "What am I doing here? What's next in this day, in this year, for my life? Where are you calling me to go and who are you calling me to be?" During a particularly confusing time, I remember talking though some of these questions with my pastor. His response remains one of the most important things anyone has ever said to me. He said, "Everyone thinks that you start life and the path you're supposed to go down is crystal clear. You walk from post to post, checking off boxes and collecting honors, raises and professional success. I don't think it works like that. I think we're mostly moving from lantern to lantern. Sometimes you can barely see the next one and a soft glow tells you roughly the right direction you should move, but you could still lose your way. You could still get lost. God puts these lanterns, people and places, in your life to illuminate the night." Yesterday, today, and tomorrow countless people and places have been lanterns in my life. The Church recently celebrated All Saints' Day, a time for us to remember not only family and friends who shaped us, but also people who inspired us with words like, "I have a dream" or "Make me an instrument of your peace". Walking by faith today, completely clueless as to where the next step is taking me, is not easy. The control freak in me wants a map, or at the very least a packing list or trip itinerary (even an outline would do). These don't usually come floating down like manna and I'm left with God reassuring me, "I'm here. I'll always be here. Even to the end of the age. But part of following me is doing just that. You can't follow and lead at the same time, kid." And so we move along, lantern to lantern. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. Lindsay Serves as Program Director and Associate for Young Adult Ministries. By Lindsay Barrett-Adler
Before directing Servant Year, I was a social worker in South Philadelphia. First as a case manager and after school program leader for teenagers, then as a truancy case manager, I was told again and again an old social work mantra, “Lean into the discomfort.” I remember talking with co-workers about homes with odd smells, teenagers using words completely unfamiliar to me (everything in Philly is a "jawn"), and any number of other experiences that made me squirm. Patiently and lovingly they would listen to my stories and then, usually, say, “Lean into the discomfort.” This is not to say that I ignored dangerous situations or did not report significant safety threats to local authorities, but I began to meet people where they were- even if it wasn’t where I was most comfortable. At first my tendency was to walk into someone else’s home and, rather chipperly, say, “I’m here to help you! I’m ready to change your life!” Much like Job, the families I worked with most often did not need to hear my grandiose thoughts on socioeconomic theories or quick fix bandaids. They needed me to sit with them in their realities. Just sit with me, Ms. Lindsay. Lean into the discomfort. Since the Servant Year members started last month, many have come to me over dinner, after Friday Formation, or during our first retreat to say, “I am uncomfortable.” Very rarely is this said so directly, but the sentiment is real and meaningful. More frequently it sounds like, “I’m the only white person on the bus.” “Someone left their dirty dishes in the sink.” “Should I give people money or food if they ask me on the street?” “I noticed there’s no t.v. in the house…is one coming soon?” What we ask our members, and members of other volunteer programs, to do is difficult and outside of their norms. Sharing a house with 4, 5, or even 7 other non-family members or self-selected roommates is uncomfortable- especially when there’s one shower. Working at our ministry placements can be uncomfortable, especially when they are building the relationships that we ask of them. During one of the quarterly supervisions I have with our members and their agency supervisors, I ask what has been the most challenging moment of their first month’s service. Without hesitation, one of our members said, “Two weeks ago they found a man dead outside and I knew him. He visited us frequently and I thought he was okay. I thought he was doing better.” In only a month, she had begun to build a relationship with this man. Leaning into the discomfort allowed her to overcome all the barriers society had put between her and her neighbor, whom she now grieved. Man, woman. Sheltered, homeless. Sober, addicted. Dirty, clean. The most challenging part of my work, and what I think our program members wrestle with most day to day, is still leaning into the discomfort. And yet, our members are beginning to find, as I did in South Philly, that leaning into the discomfort can often be profoundly joyful moments to learn more about God, their community, and themselves. As a Church, we often lose sight of the radical uncomfortable feeling involved in Kingdom work. And I think part of why it’s so hard for me to fully live into what the Gospel demands is because it’s awkward. Like, hair on the back of your neck standing up weird. Thankfully, the often bewildered and uncomfortable disciples have gone before us to confirm that yes, Jesus really just said that. Yes, Jesus really just did that...and it's not what you would have expected. Love God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. And, just in case there’s any confusion, this also means you have to love your neighbor as yourself. Every day. Even when other people aren’t looking. Even on your day off. Even people who are rude or take forever ordering a pretentious drink at Starbucks. Even when they’re yelling things you don’t understand on street corners. Especially when they’re yelling things you don’t understand on street corners. Two of our communities are at Anglo-Catholic parishes where sacraments and liturgy take center stage, but more than that they lean into the discomfort. Sacraments and liturgy have got to exist for young adults, especially those I work with, in a place that is okay existing in the already, and not yet. Their church has to invite everyone through its front doors, no matter what they wear, who they love, or where they sleep. The church has to be messy and sometimes make people uncomfortable. Of course this is easier said than done, but I have been encouraged by the passion for a more beloved community in our members’ hearts- especially as they lean into the discomfort. Written and delivered by Lindsay Barrett-Adler at The Society of Catholic Priests on October 10, 2013. |
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