You all know by now that I live in a church: St. Mary's Episcopal, in West Harlem. I'm aware that I've blogged very little about this fascinating and, at times, foreign institution that has been my home for the past 2.5 months. Upon further reflection on a rather extraordinary experience I had today, perhaps that's because I myself didn't really begin to understand the full depth and breadth of what this place is until now.
St. Mary's is unlike any other Episcopal Church I've ever been to. Affectionately known as the "I am not afraid church," it has always been a den of community activism, communism, pacifism, and a vibrant culture of protesting whatever its congregants perceive as the social ills of the day. Among its current projects are: an ongoing clothing bank, a Monday night food pantry, a free, no-questions-asked medical clinic, street outreach to the homeless, and a residential HIV/AIDS treatment program across the street (where one of my housemates works). Partly because of its commitment to social justice, and partly because it's situated in a highly diverse neighborhood, St. Mary's attracts an interesting mélange of parishioners: Columbia professors, seminarians, disillusioned communists, the 5 of us interns, and, above all, people who are benefitting and have benefitted from its many outreach ministries.
The church is constantly active, and I mean constantly. I can hardly ever walk from my apartment to the front door without having to plough my way through some kind of meeting, whether it be a choir rehearsal, a feminist/communist Bible study, a campaign to end the death penalty, or a rock concert (currently going on). The problem is, when you live amidst that kind of relentless activity, you have to erect boundaries between yourself and the community just to stay sane. And that is how, despite living above the church, having dinner in the rectory 3 times a week, and semi-regularly participating in the worship and outreach of St. Mary's, I (and I think I can say the same of my 4 housemates) know astonishingly few of the people who make this their spiritual home.
To remedy this sad disconnect, St. Mary's and the New York Intern Program have collaborated on a grant proposal so that these 2 groups can come to know each other better. The end product is a monthly meeting of interns, parishioners, and any community members who want to come called "Peace of Pizza," the idea being to have a meal and discussion for everyone's enrichment. The trial run was today and, I'll admit, I was less than enthusiastic about having yet another item on my weekend agenda. But I was absolutely floored by some of the insights that emerged from our conversation, and truly inspired by the incredible stories that I heard.
Our discussion prompt was deceptively simple: "What brought you to St. Mary's?" My small group insisted that I and the other intern present share first. We both stumbled through a similar story about wanting to get hands-on experience after 4 years of academic study, wanting to broaden our horizons, wanting to actually do something about the injustice in the world, etc, etc. Our group members were unbelievably gracious and supportive, commenting again and again on how hard it must be to be thrust into a totally different way of living, to be confronted with some of the most appalling human conditions in this city. And then, one by one, they proceeded to tell their own stories of how they had come to this church.
One man came when he was first diagnosed as HIV positive, over 30 years ago. He was deeply into street drugs, and all around in bad shape. St. Mary's was - and has continued to be - the place that gives him meaning in a life built around repeating cycles of addiction and recovery. When he's not in prison or the hospital, he's a loyal member of the St. Mary's Gospel choir. He spoke freely of all that the parish community had taught him, chiefly: not to despair.
Another woman - 23 years old - cited the wishes of a dying family member as her reason for coming to St. Mary's. As she told her story, she revealed that she, too, had spent years both using and selling drugs. She is now clean, in college, and...homeless. After spending a year in school by day and sleeping in the subway at night, she finally had the courage to get herself into a shelter, swallowing her pride in service of a greater good (her words, not mine). She, too, is a devoted choir member, and it was clear by listening to her that the opportunity to "give her voice to the Lord" has made an enormous difference in her life.
As I sat there, mesmerized by story after incredible story, I became aware of a pattern of receiving and giving back. Everyone present had been touched profoundly by some facet of this worshipping community and had translated that gift into a ministry of their own. It's no coincidence that those who run the Saturday hunger outreach were once the recipients of the bag lunches that we hand out. Who better to know where the homeless hang out than those who were once homeless themselves? St. Mary's is a perfect model of a community committed to helping itself, drawing on its many strengths and its insider's knowledge to reach out to those who are paralyzed by hunger, homelessness, drug addiction, and domestic violence.
I apologize if I've been preachy in these last couple of blog posts. I can only write about what's on my mind at a given moment, and as I've been in a prolonged reflective mood lately, that's what you get. The experiences of the past week or so, both in the port and at St. Mary's have been both humbling and inspiring. The key, I think, to not becoming bogged down by the tremendous amount of suffering and oppression there is in our world is not just to act, but to act in community. I am incredibly fortunate to be supported by several overlapping communities - my fellow interns, my coworkers at SCI, and the St. Mary's congregation - as I stumble my way through this year.
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