Sitting At The Kid's Table

"Let the little children come to me, 

and do not hinder them. 

The Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these."

- Matthew 19:14

Mis chicas y chicos de Montenegro

     This past week, my Parish family experienced a lot of change (and growth) due to the merger between St. Thomas Aquinas and St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Parishes. We gained a whole new church community, a whole new Mass schedule, a whole new summer-y change of pace AND a new priest, Fr. Rudy. The more I pray and think about this merger, I can only think how much more blessed we have become this week. I mean, honestly, look at the options we have now for morning Mass. We have a whole new set of family members (suh-weet), and our Pastor, Fr. Mike, now has not only someone else to live with him in that hug, lonely rectory, but also a friend, confidante and help. Needless to say, I am more than excited about this. Of course, aside from all of these fun and exciting perks of merging two Parishes, there is one important thing that must always occur when change happens: first impressions and introductions. 

     It would be a lie if I told you that I specifically dressed up every day last week in my attempt to make a good impression. Honestly, most days it's just more comfortable to wear a skirt instead of pants (sometimes I wonder why ladies ever fought to wear pants) and the perk of that is that I look like I didn't wake up fifteen minutes before going to church. I laughed at myself on Friday when I showed up in skirt for like the fifth day in a row. I couldn't help but think what maybe someone's first impression of me might have been that week. At 6:30 in the morning, one is lucky to get a few words out of me, much less a sentence or a paragraph (coffee is like gasoline...car won't run without out gas; Becca doesn't run without coffee).So, I probably appear a quiet person...who happens to wear skirts a lot. But also, I come and go without interrupting much. I enter chapel quietly, I leave just as quietly, without really talking to too many people (again...coffee). But I also LOVE to hug people during the sign of peace. Yeah...I don't do handshakes. So that's what I imagined the first impression of me might be. When I walked into church on Sunday morning for our new 7:30 Mass (yayayayay), I saw Fr. Rudy sitting in the vestibule. I was surprised when he greeted me.

     Of course, my sunny disposition said, "Hi, Father!" He said, "Good Morning. Do you live here?" At first I thought he was referencing to Croydon, like my city, so I laughed and said, "Well, yes I do live here." Then he clarified by saying he meant the church. So I said, "It feels like it sometimes, but I like it here." I was suddenly aware that he was probably confused by my presence at Mass daily. I was then reminded that I usually am the youngest one present except when I drag my friend, Trevor, along for the ride. So naturally, this would be a surprise for any priest used to the "typical" church crowd. I took this with me as I giggled and walked to our pew. Our new priest's first impression was that I live at church. Oh and I'm pretty sure at this point, he still didn't know my name. 

      When my little sister finally got to church, she told me that she just had her first conversation with Fr. Rudy. What did she tell him? All about her ER adventure to get her earring back removed from inside her earlobe (don't worry folks, she's fine; unbeknowst to us, we got two ear miracles for one family). That's just great...absolutely great, I thought. All throughout Mass, I was watching the reactions of the people to Fr. Rudy. Positive all around. He was excited to be at STA. He was funny. He was honest. People seemed to react wonderfully. I don't know why, but I love to watch human interaction; it's so interesting. I also have no qualms, myself, for wearing my heart on my sleeve, so when I react to something (everything), it's very clear how I feel. During Fr. Rudy's homily, my mouth dropped a few times, I smiled really big and I even wanted to cry. Here's why:

      The first thing that Fr. Rudy told us about himself was that during the consecration of the Eucharist, right after the "Holy, Holy, Holy," he likes to invite all the kids up to the altar. I remembered something like that happening one time when I was a kid during a Christmas mass, but I had never seen it again until I was in Peru almost a month and a half ago. It was during Sunday Mass at a local Parish in La Molina. The priest looked like my cousin all grown up and I was in awe of his gentleness. While I didn't understand much of the Spanish aside from the readings and dialogue during Mass, I knew at the time of the consecration, what was going on. Suddenly all the little kids started running toward the altar. Older kids were holding babies and the hands of the younger kids. Some were running around the altar, while others were standing perfectly still. This memory came flooding back as Father was telling us why he does this: the little ones always help him pray better. Kids are so innocent and honest, both with people and with their relationship with God. 

      When the time for the kids' invitation to go up on the altar came, I think I was more excited than Lizzie. In fact, I was. I had to drag her up to the altar. At 7:30 in the morning, she was one out of a few kids at Mass. She was one of two (err...three) kids at the altar. Yes, I took her up there and then I stayed with her. As we were standing there, I mentioned to her that she was NOW able to see everything that happens at the consecration. By the end of the consecration, she was just as in love with the concept of kids at the altar as I was. When we got back to our pew after the sign of peace, I had the following thoughts:

       Not only does he think I live at church, he probably thinks I kidnap children. I've got to tell him that she's my sister. Also, more kids need to come to church so they can be awesome on the altar. And, I think we should start calling it the kid's table. You know how the altar is the table of God, well, it's the kid's table. I've always loved being at the kid's table at family dinners. Honestly, it's more fun. I'm a kid at heart. I wonder if Fr. Rudy would be opposed to me going up to the altar every Sunday?! Hm...maybe I shouldn't. But like, I want to....

      Yes, a stream of consciousness. After Communion, I realized that Jesus loved the little children. I love the little children. I could honestly just play with kids all day. While Jesus, on occasion, ate with His disciples and the sinners, He also was the inventor of the idea of the kids' table. I mean honestly, He said, "Let the little ones come to me." At 30 some years old, Jesus was sitting at the head of the kids' table. Of course, Jesus calls us to imitate His example. So you can all guess what this means: if I want to imitate Jesus, I have to sit at the kid's table :) I smiled at this play on words and promised myself that I would never let myself lose my seat at the kids' table. 

      After Mass, I walked out holding Lizzie's hand. We said good-bye to Fr. Rudy and Fr. Mike and then were headed on our merry way. I still hadn't given Fr. Rudy my name, but I'm pretty sure he'll remember me by my constant living at church and my desire to sit at the kids' table with the kids at consecration. In all honesty, the little ones help me pray better, too. And if that's not a good first impression, I don't know what is. Quiet, prayerful, morning bird, kid at heart. 

In The Arms of Angels - Camden, Alternate Spring Break 2013

"Let us open wide our hearts. It is joy which invites us.

Press forward and fear nothing."

- St. Katharine Drexel

     "What are you doing for Spring Break?" It was the question on everyone's lips. Some were traveling to NOLA, my favorite city in the world. Others were traveling to Chicago, my home away from home. Still others were headed home to their respective cities and towns. Me? Well, I was more than excited to be headed to Camden, New Jersey for the weekend. 

     Imagine my parents' reactions when I neglected to tell them exactly where I was going on Alternate Spring Break until I was already settled in with my six other lovely lady peers, Father Chris and Sister Cathy. I simply just texted my Daddy a picture of the quotation from Katharine Drexel that was on my bedroom wall in Camden. Needless to say, he didn't respond via text message but rather by phone call. What are you doing there? Are you staying? Who are you with? Are you asking for a death wish? Are you serious? Camden of all places? What are you thinking? Yes...my Dad had a little bit of a freak out session. "Relax, Dad," I told him, "we haven't heard any gun shots yet." That didn't help much...obviously. But I reassured him that I would be fine and God was watching over me. If I was meant to be scared, I would have freaked out already. And I didn't. 

      Camden is rated the 1st poorest city in the United States. Not only is it poor but it has the highest crime rate per capita in the US, this includes murder and homicides. Almost half of the city is dependent on drugs. Surprisingly enough an elementary student can make up to $200 a week just by being a drug outlook for dealers. This being said, the drop-out rate for high schoolers is 60-70%. Oh and the average income for a family of four? $18,000. Get this....the entire NINE-SQUARE MILE city of Camden has 80,000 people "living" in it. I say "living" because do you really think sleeping on the street in a wet sleeping bag every night is living? 

     So, needless to say, my Dad had a right reason to be worried about me in a city like Camden. Camden is a city for me that I can see right across the river when I'm home. And while I was in Camden, the skyline of Philly was looming over us as a constant reminder that this is the Calcutta of the United States. However, there wasn't a single second I felt fearful of this city, I had long ago learned to love. 

     They had asked us at the beginning if anyone in our group had been in Camden before, aside from being there for a concert or a visit to the aquarium. Two of us. I spent one day during my summer three years ago gardening with a group of my CREW girls. I saw that Garden this weekend; it still looked good. I spent another day during my summer two years ago painting over graffiti. I saw those murals this weekend...and I painted the same exact spot on the same exact wall I did two years ago. Our murals are still there though. I remember the first time I walked through Camden. I thought to myself, this is what hell looks like. So many imagine hell as place of fire and heat. But Camden, oh no..that's what hell looks like: broken houses, so much poverty it makes you sick, the smell of trash for miles, children running around with no clothes on because no one loves them, and needle after needle after needle, the used-to-be source of drug lovin'. Oh and the skin and bones of people who haven't eaten anything nutritious perhaps their whole lives. There's no love, no hope, no sunshine. That's hell. 

      Yet, it's a hell that didn't scare me. I felt like Orpheus. If I could go into that hell and pull just one person out of it, if I could make someone my Eurydice, I would. That's what keeps me going back. (The story of Opheus and Eurydice is simple. E dies and goes to the underworld. O goes down and pulls her out, saving her and bringing her back to life.) Like I said before, I was excited to be going back to the streets of Camden. I was excited to be meeting people, or as I call them, "New Friends." I was excited to open a window to a world that most people don't know about. 

      We arrived after sundown and as we unpacked our car, a group of young men walked by. My friends were standing on the front porch as I stood in the middle of the street waiting for father to turn around the school van. We didn't want anyone taking the perfect parking spot. When I turned around, I saw the young men and joyfully waved and said hello. I could see the eyes of my friends bug out of their faces. What? I shrugged. It seemed so late, but the night was still young. After a first night of making spaghetti for dinner, a few of us headed to the Joseph's House. 

       Joseph's House is a unique and humbling place. Located in an old Lutheran Church, volunteers set up and cook dinner for about forty regular homeless people. These people come with all they have and set up camp on the floor of the church. It is literally exactly how the would sleep outside but with heat, a warm meal and the opportunity for showers. The first night there, there were a plethora of volunteers already there and so we went home, a bit saddened that we couldn't do much to help. We went back to the place we called home for four days and watched one of the most heart-wrenching documentaries on the children of Camden. As someone who wants to be a teacher, I can tell you it hit so very close to home. 

      The next morning, we were up and at 'em, ready to help out at the Holy Name Confirmation Retreat. But first we got to make fruit salad for the Joseph's House with the Freshmen Students from the Cristo Rey High School in Philadelphia (I was so totally hype because teaching there would be a dream come true....). I made some new (and crazy) friends among the students and easily assumed the role of their older sister. When they were leaving, I was blessed with numerous hugs from all of them. With the Confirmation retreatants, we put on Gospel skits which was a feat for sure. There for four boys and one girl in our group...thankfully, we were blessed with the Gospel of the Prodigal Son. We then had to have a slightly silent Puerto Rican lunch since we were sharing our space with another group. It was soooooo hard! After making so many new friends, it was super hard to keep quiet with these overly-eager beavers. I love them all so much!

       Once the retreat was over, we were blessed to hear the real story of Kenny, a homeless man who lives in Camden. He truly invoked so much conversation and gave us so much insight. He gave us a chance to truly express our feelings for the homeless and what we wanted to bring back to our homes. It was such a beautiful chance for us to share as a group, as individuals and as ourselves. I saw the hearts of so many so open and willing to go the extra mile for people. It was so beautiful!

      That night we had homemade dinner take two. The first night Lindsey and I cooked dinner and very casually Sister Cathy asked if we would let anyone else cook during the weekend. Well, the next night there she was all precious in her apron cooking crayon chicken nuggets, mac and cheese and broccoli with the two of us, while setting the others to fruit salad making and whatnot. We young ladies had a nice lesson in Convent Etiquette 101, lesson: how to peel an orange. Sister Cathy is a trooper for putting up with all the young lady sass this weekend....it didn't end there. 

      After our meal, a few of us headed out again to Joseph's House. That night, I met my friend Archie who looks like an African American Santa Claus and his friend, "Santa." These men shocked and surprised me with their wit, their playful bantering back and forth and extreme knowledge. These men shared their dreams with me and asked me about my dreams. I went to bed that night feeling so overly blessed for gaining two more grandfathers here on earth. 

     The next morning, we were once again up and at 'em ready to help out with CCD classes before going to a Spanish Mass. The truth is, I love kids so much, which is why I have always wanted to be an educator. My dreams as an educator include, but are not limited to, making sure my students know they are loved, knowing that I care about their dreams and their lives, and being able to communicate that to them. The hardest obstacle was communicating with those students that morning. I was silenced literally because most of the students did not speak English and I did not speak Spanish. I tried, but I failed admittedly. I couldn't do it and from that I learned that I need to try my hardest to become bi-lingual. Especially if I want to fulfill my dream of teaching inner city kids. I prayed for all those CCD kids at Mass and I prayed that God would give me the strength to learn another language...soon. Mass, of course, was beautiful. I was blessed enough to sit next to Sister who just happens to be fluent in Spanish and has a beautiful voice. Yes, it truly was a blessing.

     After Mass, we quickly changed into painting gear and headed to North Camden to paint those same exact walls I had painted before. I was literally painting the same exact block of wall I had painted before. It was like a time-travel and it was awesome. Of course, we had to paint with the wind off the waterfront at our backs. It only gave us a more solid understanding of what the homeless had to deal with every day. They never get the chance to go inside a warm home or a warm car. They are outside all the long day, in the cold, with much less than we all had on. I felt the sting of homelessness right there in my heart. I'm not sure what the others got from our experience in the cold, but that was the truth resonating in my heart. Later that night, after cooking again with the whole IU family, we headed out to Joseph's House for a last night with the homeless. When we were leaving, "Santa" and Archie broke my heart by asking if I would be back there again the next night. Oh how I wanted to be there. 

     Monday, our last day consisted of sandwich ministry and recess with the kids. When I woke up this morning, I was so sore. I didn't understand why until I remembered I lifted 10 pound bags and chased kids for an hour. In the sandwich ministry we literally fed some many homeless people sandwiches and made up bags of canned goods for them. What a sight to behold to see a line of people waiting for their first meal in what may have been a long time. At school we ate with the same kids and the peers of the kids we helped on Saturday at retreat. These children are super precious. We played tag for an hour and I've literally never been that out of breath. However, chasing those kids around in tag was the best. I miss that being at school, I miss being able to go over to the grade school and be lunch mom. It was so hard for me to leave those kids.

      As we rode home that day, I couldn't stop reflecting on those kids and their smiles, their beautiful innocent smiles. I love them all so much. I wanted nothing more than to preserve their innocence and let them keep it forever. But I know that in a city like Camden, they would lose that innocence most likely before they even left grade school. My heart ached and broke for them. I will forever remember their smiles and their hugs and innocence. But they aren't the only ones. I found myself in the arms of angels this weekend. Angels whose faces were those who greeted the homeless, angels whose faces were the poor and homeless, angels whose faces were children, angels whose faces were people just needing love. In each hug, I felt myself truly in the arms of angels and I can only hope they each left my presence feeling the same; in the safe haven of an angel's arms. 

Fruit Salad...yummy, yummy

Enough said

Painting the walls.....

Painting Sister....

Sandwich Ministry Time

My Cristo Rey lovebugs <3