Mark 12:38-44
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A year in the life of a YAV (Young Adult Volunteer, PCUSA)
Mark 12:38-44
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Mark knew he would die at 7:00 pm.
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For the next hour, we studied a passage from Leviticus 23 discussing the Festival of Shelters. God asks His people (or Her people, as Ed would say) to erect crude shelters and sleep in them for 7 days to remember their exile in the Wilderness. The Festival was be a time to take off work and feast together, but also a time to honor the humble past the Israelites emerged from. The Open Door was celebrating its own Festival of Shelters this week. Tonight, they will share a meal and sleep in the yard alongside their homeless friends. It will be an acknowledging of circumstances, an education of the body, a rejoicing, and a grieving.
Tonight, Mark McClain – on
The vortex of emotion was palpable. Today at the Open Door, in our serving lunch, in our Bible Study, and in our own lunchtime meal, we would celebrate Mark’s life, mourn the loss and injustice of his execution , and most of all, we would resist the black hooded toll collector of the state (personal ethics aside, the Atlanta Journal Constitution points out that of 55 people convicted of murder during armed robbery in 1995 in Georgia, Mark was the only one sentenced to death).
A few of us from my house mounted our bikes at dusk to ride to the steps of the State Capitol for the execution vigil. The crisp fall air was electrifying. We pulled up to the steps to meet a diverse group including: the Open Door Community, several of downtown’s homeless, ministers from Central Presbyterian Church, and a Mission Year house. We lit those white Christmas Eve Service candles with the card stock collars, and I thought about the reverse circumstances under which we held them.
The question hung in the air, unanswered by straight-forward stares and unopened steel car doors.
Silence.
“Condemned inmate Mark McClain was killed by lethal injection at 7:24 p.m. Tuesday in
*The Open Door Community is a Christian community made up of formerly homeless and those making a conscious “downward mobility” decision. They have an active homeless and prison ministry. I have become one of their regular weekly volunteers in the soup kitchen, which serves a hot meal to 120 homeless friends 3 times a week. A mixture of residents and weekly volunteers gather for a Bible study before serving the meal, and stay to eat together and reflect on the experience afterwards. Not that I agree with everything that is said there, but The Open Door usual manages to blow my mind.
October 20, 2009.
Despite the almost militant volunteer orientation, a Tuesday afternoon revealed disorder at Atlanta Union Mission. I was passed down the kids’ hall from absent volunteer coordinator’s office to empty middle school classroom to confused elementary school after school program before landing amongst the 2 year olds. How unsettling it must be to be a child there, with verdant volunteers coming to play or observe every few hours, and burned out staff and emotionally drained clients as more permanent attendants.
This flux manifested itself in the 2 year olds’ play. None of them stuck to a single activity for more than a minute. Book reading meant pinching fingers in the cold cardboard pages with haste to turn them. Nothing could hold the kids’ attention except experiments to get my attention.
At 5:00 pm, mommies came for pick up. Or most mommies came. The attendants left. I was left too, with Aaron.*
Aaron led me to snack time in the cafeteria. I was glad for his little hand in mine – it gave us purpose. Like the new kids changing class at school, crowds spun around us. We ate snack with a few familiar faces we had followed over. They left.
Aaron wanted to be held. I was glad for his barnacle grip – it gave us purpose. New faces came in the cafeteria and left. Bystanders told him to get down, he was too big to be held. My arms were starting to hurt. But he wasn’t too big, I was too small.
We all need to be held.
*His name has been changed.
Rondo in Plastic Bags in Project Open Hand Delivery Sharp Major
White bag
Monday and Tuesday dinner
White bag
Monday and Tuesday lunch and dinner
2 cans of vanilla Ensure
White bag
Monday and Tuesday dinner
Black bag
Monday and Tuesday dinner for a senior
2 cartons of Milk! 2 cartons of Milk!
White bag
Monday and Tuesday dinner
White bag
Monday and Tuesday lunch and dinner
2 cans of chocolate Ensure
White bag
Monday and Tuesday dinner
In the kitchen at Project Open Hand, I was isolated at the end of a long row of shiny silver worktables. There, I united over 600 wheat dinner rolls with mini butter tubs, sealing them in “whole-y” matrimony inside clear plastic baggies.
Right hand and left hand simultaneously grab roll and butter
Drop in baggy (mounted on a machine and inflated by a small fan)
Twist baggy
Whack baggy into mechanical sealer to close with obnoxious red sticky tape
Toss into large tub
I imagined the diners’ struggles to unstick the persistent sticky tape in order to access their dinner. Said sticky tape falls into that same frustrating category as the tape strip along the top edge of CD cases, which separates anxious listeners from feasting on fresh musical delights.
Roll and butter, twist, whack, toss
Roll butter twist whack toss
Rollbuttertwistwhacktoss
My hand hurts
Roll butter twist with other hand whack with other hand toss.
All the while I contemplated Industrial Revolution-era child labor, how I felt dizzy with the repetitive movements, and what it is like for the millions who do jobs like this all day every day for years. Worn out joints, frozen brains.
After creating frustration for hundreds of diners, I graduated to the meal assembly line as a
Had I been there longer, maybe we would have connected. But all I did was scoop my Brussels sprouts and pass the tray to Delores (who plopped on the veggie medley and tossed or added a few sprouts to my never perfect scoop). I felt debilitated by the awkward repetitions of roll/butter bagging and Brussels sprout scooping. If I did this every day what would I think about? Would I make the motions my own? I had an itching urge to shed all of my isolation and dance on those shiny tables, to break it down to the remixes on the radio.
I am settled into my home and my volunteer placement site in
Officially, I am a YAV (Young Adult Volunteer) with the Presbyterian Church
My site placement is with a nonprofit called DOOR (Discovering Opportunities for Outreach and Reflection). This organization plans short term mission trips for youth. These youth groups come to
I live in a very purple house that happens to be an intentional Christian community called Dwell, also part of the DOOR program. There are two Dwell houses in
A typical day in the life of this YAV? Every day is different! The schedule keeps me on my toes and tests my self discipline because I am in charge of deciding when and where I will volunteer. Below is a snapshot of what might happen in a week, based on the 6 I have experienced so far.
Monday:
Volunteer at Café 458, a soup kitchen that serves its homeless clients in the style of a regular restaurant.
Paint doors for the DOOR fundraiser (Yes, 22 actual doors were used as display boards. They were heavy.)
Cook dinner for 7.
Community night discussion about hospitality to the stranger.
Tuesday Volunteer at the Open Door, an intentional community that serves brunch to homeless friends.
Play tennis with one of my housemates.
Attend volunteer orientation at Atlanta Union Mission, a shelter for over 700 men, women, and children.
Wednesday Volunteer at Central Outreach and Advocacy Center, an agency that provides IDs, birth certificates, and other services to homeless guests*
Go to a peace rally/lecture by Ann Wright marking the 8th anniversary of the war in Afghanistan.
Thursday Arts and crafts with the mentally ill at the
Pick up tools for a Dwell house repair work day.
Read and summarize Mission Trips that Matter, a book recommended for DOOR mission teams.
Go to the Atlanta Philosophical Film Festival (as weird as you might expect).
Friday Deliver meals to recipients of Project Open Hand food.
Get lost. Get stuck in traffic.
Stroll around the nearby park with our house dog, Kai.
Go to a neighborhood party with members of the other Dwell house.
Saturday Attempt to tame the weeds in the front yard.
Have dinner with homeless neighbors that live under the I-20 bridge.
Go salsa dancing.
Sunday Bike/MARTA to church with one of my housemates.
Visit with my cousins/aunts/uncles that live in
I am trying to be a sponge and I can feel myself being stretched by new ideas and experiences! Each day is a new adventure.
* Note the different language used to refer to the homeless at each different agency.