JVC MAGIS ORIENTATION 2012-2013: South House
Only
a day removed from this process, I am continuing to unpack a recurring theme
highlighted throughout our handbook. “The working poor” are mentioned numerous
times: “an opportunity for…a better understanding of the issues associated with
the working poor,” “By living among the working poor, members can identify with
the economic realities of those they serve,” “…get a glimpse into the day to
day lives of the working poor,” and so on. It is a severe understatement to say
that the “glimpses” of poverty that I have gotten over the past three years have
formed me, have moved me, and have impacted forever the unfolding of my
vocation. Relationships with materially poor women and men, and especially
youth, have opened my heart. Studying and wrestling with the “issues”
surrounding poverty have challenged and motivated me, to be sure. But can I
honestly say that I know what it feels like to live among the working poor?
Unsurprisingly,
my life’s narrative thus far has been accompanied by a soundtrack of sorts.
When I think about my transformative JV year in Houston, for instance, dozens
of songs come to mind. From the lyric genius of Ms. Miley Cyrus (“Like, ‘Who’s
that chick that’s rockin’ kicks?’”), to the fierceness of Mademoiselle Gaga, to this little-known gem, music was a prominent aspect of our shared communal
experience. I think the six of us in Helen Prejean House/Casa Chuck Norris
would agree, in all seriousness, that our shared vision was most effectively
communicated through Matisyahu’s “One Day,” a song that we played as part of
our prayer on fall retreat almost exactly three years ago.
Listening
to this song today, I still am filled with hope, inspiration, and a sense of
connectedness. Pondering the Magis handbook in conversation with this week’s
readings by Ada Maria Isasi-Diaz and Ivone Gebara, however, I recognize more
profoundly that my connection to Matisyahu’s vision during JVC was just the
beginning of my quest to live out authentic solidarity for the sake of the
Reign of God. In “Solidarity: Love of Neighbor in the 21st Century,”
Isasi-Diaz, a Hispanic theologian who chose to live and work with the poor in
Peru, shares a story about a neighbor who once reminded her, “Remember, you can
always leave this place; we can’t.” It is impossible for the privileged,
Isasi-Diaz asserts, to be like the poor, and such is the story for me, a white,
educated Jesuit Volunteer who, despite college debt, has never wanted for
anything in my life (Isasi-Diaz, 87). Similarly, in The Struggle is One, Gebara, another educated Hispanic woman who
chooses to live among the poor in Brazil, explains the importance of the words and
visions of poor persons in her theological works. Still, she maintains, “It’s
very difficult to be in both worlds. I think all we can ultimately do is build
bridges. We can’t fully assimilate…I’m never going to feel exactly what the
poor feel, but I can draw near in sympathy, trying to feel what they feel” (Gebara,
210).
How,
then, can people like me authentically live in solidarity with the poor and the
oppressed? Sure, I might be living on a stipend, and yes, I incorporate social
justice issues into my work with young people, but I never worry about having
my basic needs met. I also enjoy the privileges of a college degree, a safety
net of family and friends, and no one else to care for. I have never known what
it is like to be truly poor. For many people, the word solidarity simply means
sympathy for and agreement with the poor (Isasi-Diaz, 87). For Isasi-Diaz, solidarity
cannot be understood simply as a fleeting disposition or as charity; rather, it
inevitably calls for liberative praxis (Ibid.). In short, solidarity requires
us to do something. And while charitable donations from one’s abundance can be
important, they are not the whole story when it comes to loving our neighbors.
Isasi-Diaz asserts that our salvation is bound up in this essential call of the
Gospel, this love of neighbor. And in today’s world, love of neighbor is
synonymous with solidarity. The poor and the oppressed are our neighbors, and
in a special way, we must seek solidarity with them (Ibid, 88).
Isasi-Diaz
calls to task all of us who applaud solidarity but who, in actuality, can be
lukewarm and even complacent about its radical implications. Solidarity is more
than being inspired by a cause; it means acknowledging and responding to the
ways in which privilege and power are connected to poverty and powerlessness. So
while my head nods and butterflies during “One Day” are earnest and true, and
while they reflect my concern for people living on the margins, they do not
constitute the fullness of solidarity. True change only can come from “common
responsibilities and interests,” which lead to shared feelings, relationship,
and communal action. The “kin-dom” (Reign) of God is co-created continually through
the active participation of each human being, with whom God loves in
relationship. In striving for the liberation of “the least of God’s people” as
Jesus did, we collaborate with God in the act of salvation (Ibid, 89).
At
the end of her interview, Gebara shares her advice to the First World. She proclaims,
“I’d like to see us make an alliance of people that want to save the earth
through values such as respecting the human person, man and woman. An alliance
of life. I’d like us to join hands—not as we in the Third World needing the
money and wisdom of the First World, but as human beings, women and men,
wanting to create a new face of humanity, a new and different world!” (216). And
to that, I say, “Amen.” As I journey through my final year in Magis, I will strive
to view my commitments through this lens of solidarity, hoping to bring the “One
Day” vision to life.
CASA CHUCK NORRIS/HELEN PREJEAN HOUSE, JVC Fall Retreat 2009
Hazelhurst, Mississippi
© 2012 Katie Davis
