Day-Maker #26

The food for the Encounter Retreat send-off dinner was finished at exactly 6:00, the time dinner was scheduled to start. It took 15 minutes to prepare (with some helping hands), the exact amount of time between Mass and dinner.

The Trip Home

I should tell about it. It was safe with no snow on the road and lots of quick and easy highway driving. We made excellent time, and then I decided to keep going. I ended up in northern Virginia at my home parish just in time for Stations of the Cross. Literally exactly as they were starting.

New Toys and Snow

My new favorite toy : a nail gun. It makes life so much easier, gives you an adrenaline rush the first time you pick one up, and just makes you feel hardcore. I got to play with one our last day of work in Hurley. Once more it rained, so once more we worked inside on the addition. We mostly did our best not to mess up unskilled labor, such as nailing boards to the wall to allow room for insulation, moving two-b’fours, and putting up insulation.

Sonny’s son and the carpenter put beams in the roof, ran wire to the light switches and lights (they worked!), and build some more walls. Even more than using the nail gun, I enjoyed watching them work, seeing what they were doing. At first, I tried to do this discretely, because I thought it might be awkward. However, after Phil made enough comments about how they’d “learn y’uns real good” and after they didn’t care, I realized that everyone else saw it as a learning process, and it was okay for me to watch.

Equally as awesome, it was okay for me to listen. When Sonny came out, we had three men who worked or had worked the mines. Sonny was in poor health because of it; his son still worked in the mines. They exchanged stories that I only half-understood for the jargon. Some of what I did understand amazed me. They told about working hours on end in mine shafts not tall enough to stand in, and how hard it was to eat lunch laying down. They told about moving from one company to another for better conditions – and how this had ended disastrously for some men they knew. They made jokes about “scabs” who broke picket lines in Kentucky. My favorite was about a scab who drove past 20 men picketing. Those men told him he could go through – but they didn’t say anything about the hundred men further in. Those men picked up the man’s truck and flipped it!

We left an unfinished project, but some good friends. Which, overall, is what I’d rather do.

When we got back to the community center after our final day of work, we received some frightening news. Snow was coming! It brought us into Hurley and it was going to bring us out. After much discussion and some time spent on Weather Underground, we decided to stick out the night so as to avoid driving in the dark and the snow, and pray for wet (but not icy) roads the next morning. We found highway driving that wasn’t as direct as our route in had been, but it seemed a wiser idea.

Then we headed downstairs for the community cookout. It always includes live bluegrass music from the family of an active and wonderful member of the community center. Cecil had brought his mandolin for the express purpose of playing with them, and they got excited when he told them he wanted to join for the night. They played for an hour and a half and we joined in for as many songs as we knew and enjoyed those we didn’t.

Wednesday

Wednesday something awful happened: it rained. I had been looking forward to being up on the roof all week – as I mentioned in a previous post, I love heights. Sadly, not only are roofs dangerous in the rain, but also, you want the felt dry when you put the waterproof shingles on. Just common sense.

So Wednesday was a day of waiting. It was also Ash Wednesday, and, for me, fasting and waiting at the same time is a challenge. We waited for the rain to slack, then we moved some two-by-fours. (The Hurley men almost eliminated the preposition, calling them “two-b’fours.” I want to adopt this term.) Then we waited for Sonny’s son and the carpenter to come to tell us what to do. When we realized they wouldn’t be in until the afternoon, Phil gave us another task.

Remember how the house is on the side of the mountain, with a “ravine” on one side? Well, when Phil and co. took the tar paper off the ravine side, they used the same strategy we did – they dumped it into the yard. So the side of the mountain was littered with scraps of tar paper. Our job was to throw it across the road and then down the mountainside toward the creek. That would “clean up” the yard.

I scrambled up and down the nearly vertical wall of wet grass and rocks, using a rake to grab bits of tar paper. Marie, Bebe, and Cecil helped from various angles, and they were more diligent than I was about making sure the trash made it across the road. I just enjoyed playing on the mountain. After we had “cleaned,” we found more scraps of thing to burn, more to keep us warm in the dribble than to serve a real purpose.

However, on Wednesday, we spent a good deal of time talking with Phil and Sonny. I love hearing people talk about their lives. We’d chatted some on Tuesday afternoon as the “experts” worked on the roof, and now we had the chance to get to know them even better.

At last, however, Sonny’s son came without the carpenter. We worked with him to figure out how to place beams in the roof of the addition to make hanging insulation and dry wall easier. We proved our collective incompetence with a hammer, but also our enthusiasm, and Sonny’s son very kindly did not judge us.

Amazing Grace

Tuesday night, we went to Crissy church with her. With 30-40 college students joining them (there were groups from Holy Cross and Boston College), we swelled the congregation to four or five times its normal size. The people of the church welcomed us enthusiastically. They had acquired a screen and projector since the last time I was in Hurley, which made singing with the choir a lot easier.

When I came to Hurley as a sophomore, it was one of my first real experiences in a non-Catholic church. By now, I realize that format-wise, it holds fairly true to a non-denominational church, or even some denominations, especially for a non-Sunday service. Content-wise, however, the church is always uniquely and beautifully Hurley. After a brief prayer, we began in song -- hymns that I didn't know, sung with a bluegrass twang. Since the words tended to repeat and the tunes were fairly simple, I could sing along pretty quickly (especially now that someone was projecting the words!). "Amazing Grace" made an appearance, as well as "This Little Light," which helped as well.

Then the pastor stood up. He thanked us all for coming, both to the church and to Hurley. He then introduced the pastor, assistant pastor, and youth pastor from a church in a neighboring town. They were hosting an evangelism event that involved bringing in some wrestlers I didn't know, who would give their testimony of how they came to Christ. It was directed at people who normally wouldn't set foot in a church. He asked for our prayers and help spreading the word.

Next, the pastor introduced a visiting pastor, who would be preaching tonight. If you came up with the stereotype of a Southern preacher, you would end up with something close to this man. He didn't say much on hellfire and brimstone, and his topics were more on love and acceptance (although he touched on the evils of evolution) and the saving power of Jesus. He spoke at a furious rate with passion and dynamics and a myriad of Scripture references, some direct quotes, some paraphrases, and some that I couldn't tell, because he was quoting neither the NAB nor the NRSV. To be honest, he went on so many tangents that I found his points hard to follow, although I know he said a lot of valuable things that other members of CCM picked up on.

At the end of the preaching, the visiting pastor asked if there was anyone who was unsure of their faith, who wanted our prayers to give their life to Christ. One boy from one of the other schools raised his hand. He agreed to come up to the front and pray with the pastor. I don't know if he was more stoic or less serious than other people I have seen answer such calls, but his face didn't match his answer. Even though it is none of my business, I want to know his story.

After the preaching, we prayed for members of the congregation who needed healing. Anyone who wanted healing of any sort was encouraged to come forward. Then the congregation stretched out their hands toward the person in need of healing, while the pastor prayed over him or her, calling on God, His Son, and His Holy Spirit to come down upon this person and bring healing. It seemed very Biblical : most Christians I know (self included) have a tendency to relegate miracles of healing to the New Testament and forget that we can ask God for such things ourselves. And the confidence that God would provide blew me away. Maybe it's just my weakness, but I have a modicum of doubt -- not in God's love or His ability to heal, but that He will simply because I asked. This man praying had no doubt of His God's power or His listening ear or His outstretched hand.

He then opened the floor for prayer requests from the congregation. People offered petitions for relatives, and the pastor lifted them up in prayer. The members of the church backed him up with soft prayers and quietly enthusiastic "amens" from all around us, so that they formed a back-up chorus to his loud voice. Finally, the pastor thanked us again, and church was over.

Will It Burn?

Tuesday was the warmest day of the week, and therefore, the day when we were told to make fire. Sonny's son and a few other Hurley-ites spent the day on the roof, replacing rotting plywood and laying roofing felt. However, on Monday, we had dumped all the tar paper over the edge of the roof. It now layered the ground beneath the roof. So Phil charged us with gathering all the tar paper and burning it in the backyard. We stirred yesterday's fire until we found a tiny flame, and then fed it small pieces of tar paper. By the time Cecil had been summoned as a gopher for the men -- the vestiges of gender roles clung to our job -- we had a raging fire, sending foul-smelling black smoke into the clear mountain air.

We spent most of the day gather tar paper to feed the fire and playing with the cat that hung around the house because Sonny and Donna fed it. At the end of the day, we clambered back up to the roof and gave a small hand with the shingling. However, we took off a little early, because we wanted time to get into the mountains behind the community center before it started raining the next day.

A "road" quickly becomes a "path" and alternates between "path" and "creek" behind the community center as it leads up to the side of the mountain. I knew where we could find old mines sunk into the mountain sides and I led the charge up the paths. Half an hour up the mountain, we found Cair Paravel : an abandoned building, overgrown by ivy. The roof was completely gone; only one wall and some bits of grey brick and wood remained. We could tell by the broken pulley systems and rusted propellers that it had once served some sort of a function for the mine, but its purpose is lost. Past the building, we found old rail tracks. And then, we found round tunnels sunk into the side of the mountain. It looked like someone had found coal and just kept digging. We could peer into them but not very far, before darkness took over.

Later on in the week, we found out that the mine came from the 1960s. I was shocked. I had expected that it was at least 40 years older than that.

High and Dry

When Crissy, the lovely lady who runs the Hurley Community Center, read off the list of possible work sites, I had two that I really wanted to do. One was shingling a roof with "a ravine" on one side; the other was digging a ditch in the mud. Since I could rally three other CCMers (Marie, Bebe, and Cecil) around the roof project, I put our name next to that one.

Monday morning, I rose early, along with Marie, for a leisurely breakfast. We woke the rest of the group for morning devotions, packed lunches, and followed a man from Hurley out to our work site. The snow still glisten on the trees like a Christmas card scene, but the air promised enough warmth that I did not throw a coat on over my sweatshirt.

We drove through downtown Hurley (it has one stop sign), past the elementary/middle school, and up the side of a mountain, before we arrived at Sonny and Donna's house. We passed the "End State Maintenance" sign on the way up. The house stands halfway up the side of a mountain, up the road and around a few bends from the closest thing Hurley has to a neighborhood. Up the one side, we could see more mountain. Down the other side, lay the "ravine" -- a nearly vertical drop to the road, then a slightly less steep drop to a creek. Phil, Donna's brother, introduced us to the project : knocking the snow off the roof on the safer side, tearing tar paper off that side, then laying felt and shingles for the whole roof. Phil hinted that we might receive more expert help later on. He also showed us an addition in the process of being built. The frames and the plywood were up, but we might help drywall later on.

First thing we did, we hopped onto the roof. Marie was the first one on, and she warned us, as she knocked snow to the ground, that it was slippery. Bebe and I followed her up. I was glad for my boots; they added traction to the slick roof. I had assumed that, being good with heights, I would be fine clambering about the roof, but the snow grounded me -- and I, like Bebe and Marie, sat on my rear, using my legs and feet to steady me. We rotated out using brooms, rakes, and shovels to knock snow from the roof, and being ground support, handing up tools and holding the ladder. We moved slowly and carefully, always with three points on contact on the roof -- as much as I love heights, I love not falling even more.

After some time on the roof, we cleared the snow, so we went inside to warm up. We stood in front of a space heater, with our wet buns roasting over the kerosene flame until they (literally) steamed. Before all the water had quite steamed out of my jeans, we clamored back up to the roof, this time armed with hammer and crowbars. I had a little-bitty crow-bar. She and I tore up layer after layer of tar paper. Someone had laid down upwards of eight layers of tar paper, all of which had to come up. As did the nails holding it down, although some of them ended up being hammered flat instead.

By the end of the afternoon, we had pulled all the tar paper off the roof -- it was ready for roofing felt and shingles. Since the sun was supposed to be out for a few more days, we left the wood exposed to the air and headed back to the community center. We didn't make it back in time to go hiking up the mountain before dinner, but we made it back in plenty of time for chicken and dumplings.

Day-Maker #25

Baking in an apron from Guatemala that a friend brought back for me. It was made for short people, so the proportions are all correct.

Taking the Long Way 'Round

Once upon a time, I thought my senior year was my last year at the College, doing College-type things. But, as we all know, that was not true. So my "last time" on a service trip to Hurley was not, in fact my last time. This past week I headed back to my favorite Virginia mountain town.

Seven of us headed out in Benny, the CCM minivan, for a journey full of side stops. We were meeting my brother in Blacksburg for lunch; we were picking up one more CCMer at her home, south of Hurely. One of the CCMers suggested we stop by a landmark on our way down; our iPod jack broke fairly early on, so we stopped in Charlottesville for another CCMer to grab his.

The trip was full of rain, good music, and fun conversation. Luckily, Benny had just gotten new windshield wipers, so we were armed and ready. Our first excitement on the trip came at Exit 180 off of I-81. We hopped on Rt. 11 southbound in order to catch a glimpse of a famous landmark. We drove by Natural Bridge and the drive-through Safari Zoo, until we found... FOAMHENGE! If you imagined what it might be like, you would probably be right. We stopped on Rt. 11 long enough to take a good hard look before a car came up behind us and we had to keep going.

By now the rain was coming down enthusiastically. During our stop in Blacksburg, we received news : it was snowing in Marion, the tiny town that was our next stop. It was snowing in Hurley too, but not sticking on the roads. The rain held for us until just outside of Marion -- then the precipitation and the roadside turned white. However, using the internet and the knowledge of locals, we mapped out a route on less treacherous roads.

Outside of Marion, we left I-81 and headed into the mountains. Nothing compares to the beauty of southwest Virginia, even in the grey murkiness of winter sludge. We wound our way through snow-spattered valleys with over-filled creeks for a bit, and then (to the sound of "Appalachian Spring") started up the mountain. The road grew narrow -- really, one car's width -- and we started to see snow on the road. One of the CCM men was behind the wheel, and he began to feel it. We slowed down, and I felt completely safe and comfortable.

Until we rounded a curve and found a snowplow.

It took up almost all the road, We took up almost all the road. With a two car caravan, we couldn't back down. It did not look about to back down.

At this point, I recalled how stage coaches used to solve this dilemma. Both drivers would disembark and disassemble the stagecoaches. They would pass each other piece by piece and reassemble. This method did not appear to be an option.

We sat, stopped, in a chilly game of chicken for a moment or two. Then the snowplow began to back up. Not back down the mountain - it was edging closer to the side of the mountain -- to allow us to pass -- along the drop-off edge of the road. When it had cleared enough space that I would not want to pass in my little red sedan, it stopped. And waited for us to pass.

Our group took a collective breath, and my rosary made its way from my wrist to my hand. After a few tense second... we made it past.

After that, the trip was a walk in the park. Eleven hours since our departure, we arrived at the Hurley Community Center, ready to be orientated and begin our week.

An Overdue Answer

As you may or may not know, this last week was spring break for the College, so I have been away from modern technology (no internet or TV, very limited cell service) for the past week on a service trip. I will offer a series on that adventure soon, but the sermon at Mass today and a Facebook conversation reminded me of another promise I'd made, so I want to take a moment to go back to my post on patriotism.

In that post, I mentioned, "I don't feel a strong identity as an American and that, more or less, I dislike the mainstream ideas associated with "American" : obnoxious cultural elitism, 'freedom' in an absence of truth, a sense of entitlement, consumerist values. (Okay, that is the cynical approach to what it means to be "American." Newsflash -- I'm cynical.)"

In reply to this post, Frank commented:

"My favorite Mark Twain quote is 'patriotism is supporting your country all of the time and your government when it deserves it.'

May I ask what you mean by "'freedom" in the absence of truth?'"

I am neither the philosopher nor the theologian to answer Frank's question fully, though I hope to one day be much closer to that. Here's a weak stab at what I meant.

In our society (mainstream United States) we tend to view freedom as "the ability to do what I want." I am free to live where I want; vote the way I want; practice the religion I want; and so forth. For the most part, this is fine and dandy, especially when dealing with the government. As a Catholic, I certainly have a rich history of government interfering the religion, both for and against my faith, neither of which turned out well. But the fact is that the framers of our Constitution wrote in all these "freedoms from" based on the idea that a Truth exists and no government should interfere with the rights determined by this Truth. While Jefferson, a deist, certainly did not mean the Christian God when he wrote, "All men... are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights," he recognized that a government does not find its basis in itself, but in a greater reality.

Our Revolution found its justification in the idea that some greater Truth existed and that men had a right (or even a duty) to seek a government based on that Truth when theirs failed. If you take away any idea of truth, the government loses its foundation and freedom loses meaning.

Day-Maker #25

Emily texted me a photo of "Scripture Tea." I think each tea bag comes with a Bible verse.

Decision

Unless I wake up in a panic in the middle of the night and snatch an envelop from the mailbox, I have made my decision for next year. Right now, there is a check for an acceptance deposit to the Franciscan University of Steubenville leaving my mailbox with the post tomorrow. How's that for the intersection of awesome and scary?

After my visit, I still had doubts about attending school there next year, but it came down to fear. I am afraid of uprooting myself from the joy-filled and secure life that I have created for myself here, and going north, where I know... one person. Never you mind that this year would end whether I went to Franciscan or not. I didn't say that it was a rational fear. But God kept prompting me as I squirmed with indecision, so I sat down and signed away my next two years. Or at least a bit of money towards my next two years, making a commitment.

MA in Theology and Christian Ministry, here I come! Steubenville, Ohio, you won't know what hit you!

The Other Half Continues

When I update my blog, it automatically posts to Google Reader and Google Buzz. So I end up with more comments through Buzz than I do on Blogger. My post about my experience at Romeo Elementary generated an interesting conversation, and I want to post some of it here.


In Response to "The Other Half"

DD: I had this very realization senior year of college. My goal as an educator is to teach giving back. Should I get hired by an affluent school, I feel obliged to show my students how they can share their resources with other, less affluent students. (For example, students may tutor or donate year old school supplies, etc.)

For now, that is the only solution I can figure. Fixing the problem itself remains a daunting thought.

AP: I agree. PS 50, where I volunteered in Jamaica, Queens, is far different from Ellis Elementary, where I volunteered in Manassas, Virginia. The trick, I've found, is not to resent those children who are fortunate enough to go to a school with smart boards and shiny playground equipment -- after all, I believe that every child deserves those things. I agree with you that I have no idea how to solve the disparity in education in this country, but begrudging children fortunate enough to live in high-property-tax areas doesn't solve that (not that I'm accusing you of that, of course. I know that you distinguish between the children themselves and the situation in which they live).

From what I have personally observed and read, it is as much the teacher as it is the microphones and document viewers that make education a success. Perhaps one of your Romeo 4th graders will be able to come up with the answers that we cannot.

On a related note, have you seen the movie "Waiting for Superman?" Honestly, it's horribly depressing, but I definitely recommend it.

Beth: Fixing the problem does remain a very daunting thought. And it's hard to tell when my job is to fix the problem and when my job is to treat the symptoms. I have a tendency to want to fix everything, which I cannot possibly do. Coming to terms with that takes a great deal of humility.

Part of the problem is that I'm not sure this tutoring even treats the symptoms. If these kids have enough and more, should I seek other places to serve? It's hard to find poverty in the 'burg, and I'm not sure I have enough guts to go where I need to in order to find it (because it is here). Then again, just because these kids are at an affluent school does not mean that they have everything they need.


The discussion continues for several more posts, and Julia joins in as well. She pointed out (and rightly so) that children who have everything materially may still lack relationally. Just because these students have the appearance of "having it all" doesn't mean that they have no need for another person to be a positive presence in their lives. Indeed, the affluent can sometimes be the most relationship starved of all. I am making judgments about the lives of these 4th graders without really knowing anything.

As for AP's comments about the teacher mattering as much as the physical resources, also so true. In some ways my kids from last year suffered (and suffer more this year, since we lost some good teachers) in that regard, and in some ways they are blessed. I witnessed last year both how much a good teacher can do with a lack of resources and how little a poor teacher can do with the resources he or she is given. The disparity in the education, commitment, skill, and ability of teachers is yet another tragedy that frustrates me.

Love and Responsibility, Karol Wojtyla

More of an Idiot: Love and Responsibility, Karol Wojtyla: "Yes, I have been reading for past 7 weeks. At long, long last, I have finished Love and Responsibility, written by our late Pope John Paul II before he became pope. This book lays out the philosophical background for the pope's theology of the body, which he developed more fully during his papacy. I picked up the book because many CCMers have read it or talk about it on a regular basis, and I wanted to have it from the source. I like to know what other people know and be well-informed. So, while I cared about what was written in the book, it was not a topic that resonated with me as much as, say, Irresistibly Revolution.

The book contained dense meditations on the nature of personhood, love, and sexuality, arguing for that order of importance in interpersonal relationships. Wojtyla explains that we have an inherent "sexual urge," which simply means that we are attracted to people of the opposite sex as such. But the way we respond to this urge must recognize other people as persons. He calls this the "personalistic norm." The personalistic norm leads us naturally to love -- a desiring the good for another person. It also keeps us from the sin of utilitarianism, or using other people for our own pleasure, either physical or emotional. Only within the context of love, which keeps us from using the beloved, can we express our sexuality in a full and just way. Wojtyla also explains why the specific context of marriage is the only place where we can act upon the sexual urge without using our partner, and the way birth control stands in the way of the fullness of giving and openness that should exist in the sexual act.

Wojtyla presents a detailed philosophy that rings true with experience, but also describes parts of existence in a new way, which makes for a good read. As I said, however, it is very dense, and the 200-odd pages took me seven-ish weeks to get through, often because I had to force myself to pick up the book, knowing the intellectual task ahead of me... compared to Narnia, which I was reading on the side. However, the ideas should be spread, because our world lacks an understanding of love, and this philosophy helps clear up some confusions that we have."