We are workers, not master builders

On the last Habitat for Humanity project I worked on in Pontotoc, Mississippi our team had a lot of fun and accomplished a lot by our efforts, but we were left with a feeling of incompleteness at the end of the project. All we did was roof a house, paint the house, and frame out some of the home’s interior. None of the interior walls or duct-work, however, was completed. The house looked nice from the outside, but we knew there was so much more we could have done had we had more time.

This bothered a couple of us because during previous summers we had renovated complete homes and had a real sense of satisfaction from a job well done. It was hard leaving Mississippi knowing that we hadn’t finished the job, and this emotion surprised us.

What we learned was, as disciples, our role is not to finish the job. We are just called to participate, use our gifts, do our best, and leave the results up to God. This isn’t always easy to accept, but it’s all we have. It’s not about our legacy, it’s about Christ’s legacy in building the kingdom.

This experience reminds me of the famous reflection attributed to Archbishop Oscar Romero who says:

"We accomplish in our lifetime only a fraction of the magnificent
enterprise that is God's work. Nothing we do is complete,
which is another way of saying that the kingdom always
lies beyond us. No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith. No confession
brings perfection, no pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the Church's mission.
No set of goals and objectives include everything.

This is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one
day will grow. We water the seeds already planted
knowing that they hold future promise. We lay foundations
that will need further development. We provide yeast
that produces effects far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of
liberation in realizing this. This enables us to do
something, and to do it very well. It may be incomplete,
but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity
for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest. We may
never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.

We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not
messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own."

You Always Have the Poor with You, But You Will Not Always Have Me

It was late in the evening and I had just finished withdrawing $40 from the ATM at Walgreens at the corner of North Avenue and Wells. It’s a bustling street corner surrounded by a McDonalds, a Starbucks, and the Second City Theatre. Weeks before I had challenged myself by deciding, whenever someone asks me for money on the street I’m going to give them all of the money I’ve got in my wallet - - just to see if I can do it - - to see if I can live radically as a Christian. So as I exit through the revolving doors to the street corner, a man in a wheel chair meets me as I attempt to cross Wells Street and make my way home on the El. He asks me, “Can you help me out. I need some money for a place to sleep.” I respond by saying, “Sure.” He says, “I need $80 for a room up the street. I wanna get me a shower and a change of clothes.” I take a deep breath and proceed to give him the $40 I just got from the ATM. I can’t believe I’m doing this. He takes the money and says, “Is that all you got, I need $80 for the room?” I smile and tell him, “Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.”

When I decided to try and radically put my faith into action I had no idea what was going to happen. I figured I would give an occasional buck or two to the homeless as I went about my way each day, but I never figured I’d be asked to give one guy $40 and then have him still be unsatisfied that it wasn’t enough. There was obviously something bigger going on here than I realized. I wasn’t being called to fix this man’s situation of poverty; I was just being called to try. I was being called to be a disciple.

Come Follow Me ...

Over the past five years I have been blessed with the opportunity to twice visit my churches’ sister parish in San Salvador, called Veinte Dos De Abril. I decided to go on these trips with my church group for a couple of reasons: (1) I had never been to Central America, (2) I was intrigued by the fact that we weren’t going there to dig ditches or build houses, but to live in community with our hosts, and (3) to learn about the social and financial trials the people of El Salvador have endured over the last 50 years.

Looking back on the experience now, our group wasn’t exactly going to El Salvador as tourists, not as pilgrims, nor as relief workers. We went to El Salvador as disciples. In the same way that Jesus ate with sinners and tax collectors and shared intimate moments with adulterers and lepers - - we were going to eat, talk, and sleep in the homes of our Salvadoran guests. We didn’t have a messiah complex that we were there to show them how cultured, educated, and wealthy we were - - we were there to be humble, listen, observe, live simply and just be present. This is the type of friend I imagine Jesus being to others in his day: an intent listener with bright eyes who is present and absorbed in the conversation at hand, making those present feel like they are the most important person in the room whatever their race, age, sex, or personal history might be.

As Lawrence Cunningham talks about, the goal of discipleship is to follow the person of Jesus in his highs and lows, ups and downs, in community, in the desert, and in the Eucharist. It’s funny, however, because the only specifics Jesus gives us in this walk is to: “follow me,” “obey the commandments,” and “love one another as I have loved you.” For example, when the rich man asks Jesus, “What must I do to have eternal life,” Jesus says, “Sell everything you own and come follow me.” So it’s really that simple to be a disciple, but we make it more difficult on ourselves because of our many possessions and worries.

In this context, my visits to El Salvador taught me something I didn’t expect. I didn’t have to DO anything necessarily to be a disciple, I just had to BE - - and by BEING, I was making a statement in my solidarity with the Salvadoran people and their struggle for social justice. As Cunningham says, “The disciple of Jesus follows the person, and in following the person, the teachings and the deeds make sense.” During my trips to El Salvador, I visited sweatshops where workers were paid 60 cents an hour to make Lands End T-shirts, subsistence farms where farmers were taught the basics of crop rotation, a university where Jesuit priests were martyred, and a memorial to the thousands of men and women who were murdered in the 1980s and ‘90s by government troops. In all these travels and experiences I was a witness to the paschal mystery playing out in the lives of the Salvadoran people up to the present day. I wasn’t necessarily DOING anything, but the Holy Spirit was DOING its work in me and my heart, growing my love and compassion for the people I met and was living in community with.

Following my first trip to El Salvador, I read an intriguing book called, Memories in Mosaic, about the life and death of Archbishop Oscar Romero. Being present to Romero’s story and my own personal experience in El Salvador inspired me to write a song about the struggle of the Salvadoran people in the ‘80s and ‘90s, called “The Streets of El Salvador.” I was grateful for the privilege of performing that song last time I was in San Salvador at our final community gathering in Veinte Dos De Abril. Other actions I’ve taken in response to my experience on these trips are to share my story with others, invite others to participate, and sponsor and exchange letters with a 6 year old child in El Salvador through Compassion International.