In Any Given Moment Copyright © 2002 by Thomas L. Jackson Library of Congress Number ISBN # Softcover 1-4010-5375-0 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner. This book was printed in the United States of America 2 Books by the Author Go Back, You Didn’t Say May I: Thirtieth Anniversary Edition Moments of Clarity Moments of Clarity, Volume II Moments of Clarity, Volume III In Any Given Moment Me & Us Life’s Secrets Life’s Secrets, Part II STOP! Before You Kiss That Frog…. [humor] 3 For Sr. Patricia Maria Magdalena, who showed up first, has stayed the longest, has likely worked the hardest…and loved beyond measure. And for Our fellow Companions—throughout the world—who have traveled this journey with us in wondrous, supportive ways; Our Resident-Companions and Community-Companions—all of those who have come and gone, to continue their journey in a different way…or come and stayed, to gift us with their solidarity—yet all who have mutually taught and learned with us so many of the lessons we need to reanimate each day; Our Servant-Leaders— Sr. Jane Frances de Chantal, Br. Gregory Francis de Sales, Fr. River Damien, Br. Michael Simon, Br. Tobias Joseph, Sr. Andrea Margaret, Sr. Cindy Angela de Foligno, Sr. Carla Therese Lisieux, Sr. Mary Joseph, Sr. Elise Marguerite, Br. Charles Sezze…as well as those “fellow-travelers” who have, over these years, given their hearts: Laurie, Barb & Charlie, Leo, Carol, Robert, Paul, Margaret, and Sandy; “Mother Mary” for her investment of heart and soul in the initial—and continuing—crazy dream… 4 PREFACE Although this personal narrative is a continuation of the journey as described in Go Back, You Didn’t Say May I, it is, in fact, an entity unto itself. It portrays a certain place, a certain people, during a certain time, under certain circumstances. Yet the “certainty” of it all is likely mitigated by my own perceptions, for this is my version of the reality of that place, that people, that time, those circumstances. There were—and are—literally hundreds, perhaps thousands, of other eyes and ears and voices attuned to these experiences, and I hope that I’ve honored those; that is my intent. While I describe these moments and these characters from real life in a real place, I am quite sure that our struggles and joys in our bittersweet world are reasonably “universal”—that the reader will recognize his or her own pilgrimage through time and soul, through the kaleidoscopic, roller-coaster experiences of living on the face of the earth. Yes, I believe that we are called to share our stories with one another in this often- ambiguous universe, for our stories may allow us—as we say—to make some sense out of the nonsense. Knowing, too, that ours is simply one of many communities across this land which are risking and learning in a solidarity of intentional community work and/or ministry—as well as those which seek greater understanding of the unique teachings of the Nazarene—I have included an after-section entitled “Resources,” which may be of help in surveying the perspective of others, through websites, books, and periodicals. We have learned much from many over these decades of dialogue. Finally, let me thank you for treading this pilgrimage with us in these pages, as you accompany us just as we are—as you are—“warts and all.” We hope to encourage you in continuing your own quest in any way we can—perhaps through our website, perhaps in a copy of our poster, perhaps in a mutual and common commitment to foster inclusive community wherever we are. Namaste, Fr. Tom Jackson Abbot Order of Christian Workers www.OrderOfChristianWorkers.org 5 TRUST [from German trost, consolation] I sit with Father Dave on the front porch of Andre House in Phoenix. It’s an early-December noontime, and we sit side-by-side in the pleasant climate, both staring straight into the street of this poor, urban neighborhood, each with personal thoughts of the day’s obligations, yet both aware of my pending departure. [As I stare, I think of Thomas Merton’s prayer: “My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so…Therefore, I will trust you…though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.] It’s been many months of working together amid the organized chaos of this place: the daily feeding of hundreds and hundreds of homeless folks, the construction work on the new (former warehouse) building, the staff meetings, the sharing groups, the backyard Eucharists. And now a time of struggling—somehow—with needed, bittersweet farewells. I showed up in May from Birmingham, from years as a shrink/priest, to try to discover again my interrupted journey to the streets, to identify with an intentional community of strangers, to be a non-Catholic in a Catholic, Holy Cross community…to wander among priests and monks and full-time volunteers and part-time volunteers and the desperately poor folks of this abundant desert land…to not pretend that I am anything other than a fellow pilgrim, somewhat lost in my own journey, but perhaps newly-found in a place of real vocation. I showed up, too, not only unannounced, but somewhat in disguise: no indication of religious or professional “credentials” or many words of background or spiritual expectations; rather, I simply presented myself as a carpenter who had heard that they needed some help in renovating a huge building into a headquarters for their work and ministry. The original folks I met seemed awfully glad to hear that I was a carpenter, and few other questions were asked of me. I was to discover that their enthusiasm for my presence was due to an almost complete absence of other carpenters. Oh my, I hadn’t expected that! I showed up to work…and work I did, mainly alone, in those stifling hot days of the urban Phoenix summer. As days turned into weeks, my aloneness—my “secret” of my past and my intent—evaporated into the welcoming of community, as kind questions became answers, as carpentry joined with shared tasks beyond my supposed lack of expectation, as strangers became coworkers, as “non-Catholic” became seemingly mundane in a world of common cause. My history—in clinical work, in community-building, in group training, in recovery-work, in previous street-work—became more and more confessed in intimate discussions, and suddenly I was asked to help try to forge a more evident process of group awareness…in other words, to establish times and environments in which folks could pursue the intentional act of sharing their lives by simply “sitting” together in mutual dialogue. And so, that happened. Co-workers began to discover their common journey, their differences, their fears and hopes, their self-imposed shame of imperfection, their daily joys, frustrations, and dreams. And even as “convener” in most 6 of these sittings, I was gifted with the realization that I, too, was no longer a stranger to them or myself, but a fellow, intimate pilgrim. In late November, in the beauty of an innocent question asked in a casual sitting together, one of the group members wondered aloud when it would be that I would celebrate a Mass in the community. And, instantly, I knew that the situation had suddenly changed in ways that I wanted to deny, for I knew that the institutional line between Catholic and non-Catholic had somehow disappeared in our life together, yet—however wonderfully-appropriate that might seem in terms of our life together—it likely meant institutional difficulty for these religious whom I had come to love and need. In that kind, pregnant moment, I knew instantly that it was time for me to consider my next way- station on the journey, wondering where on earth I might go; wondering if I had the courage to set off in a direction that had no pre-established, formed community awaiting me; wondering, in my classic Virgo-like tendencies, exactly what it might look like, feel like, be like. So I sit, in easy and uneasy silence, with Fr. Dave on the front porch. [There had been that quick trip through Tyler, Texas, to visit my mother, my sister Barb, my brother-in-law Charlie; though they seem to love it there as transplanted Yankees from Michigan, I cannot seem to get a comfortable sense of it. There is a feeling of foreignness. Yet I was invited to a party by some of their friends, met a lot of good folks, talked about my experiences in Phoenix, felt relaxed, had a good time. One woman, especially, seemed very interested in what I was presently doing, and later asked if I would consider coming to Tyler to pursue a similar effort; I blithely cast off that possibility as something beyond imagination…and likely appeared elitist and arrogant as I did so. On my drive back to Phoenix, I rehearsed all the reasons why I would not want to live in East Texas, but there was that gnawing beckoning of living with and near beloved family-members after all these years of long-distance relationship, of quick, periodic visits; present, too, was that seductive thought of having folks I knew nearby as I ventured into a risky proposition.