Jerry

     Allow me to paint a hypothetical scenario to cement a long fermenting idea of mine.  First we need a person to start off the formula.  Let's call this first piece of the puzzle Jerry.

     Jerry is a weathered old man.  At one time, however, Jerry was a declaration of health and vitality.  Jerry knew this, and knew of somewhere he could put it into good use.  So, one day, Jerry took a trip down to the local recruitment center, and soon was on his way to fight in the name of the colors of red, white, and blue. 

     It soon became apparent that Jerry was flourishing amongst his ranks, and he loved that his soldier's heart was being recognized and rewarded.  Laboriously, Jerry steadily rose in the ranks until he was commanding others into battle, and they loved him for it.  He was a shining beacon for others to emulate.  Jerry's spirit was infectious, and it spread like wildfire amongst his people.

     Then one day something decided to smother that fire.  On that day, Jerry's destiny collided with the cruelty of the world when he stumbled across a lurking IED, and in turn, robbed him of one of his legs and also that precious vitality. 

     Jerry did his best to recover that spirit, in the days that he recuperated and grew accustomed to being only partially whole.  For him, it was as if a sliver of his spirit had been dissolved away, and he soon began an achingly steady downward spiral.

     When he returned to his past life, Jerry ran into many problems.  He discovered for himself that same spirit and vitality he utilized wasn't sought after in the declining job market, and his handicap certainly didn't help matters, and after many hazy mornings combing over coffee mug rim stained classifieds in the local paper, Jerry was aimless.  And, in this aimlessness, he moved in with his parents for a time, and they loved him.  But love just wasn't enough for aimless Jerry, and he spiraled into a self reflective despair as he rolled the laces of his pair of battered track and field shoes between his fingers, his mind tumbling over the long gone days of feeling the asphalt underneath him.  In time, Jerry could not bear the pitying love people looked at him with through their furrowed brows, and Jerry suddenly left with out a word. 

 
      We are greeted with a sobering sight.  There is a ragged assembly line of souls bordering the sidewalk outside the town's local soup kitchen, and the doors are a few minutes away from opening to the lunch rush.  We see a man roll up to the back of the line with his right wheelchair wheel dragging slightly from lack of proper lubrication, and there he waits silently for the afternoon's meal.  In a few moments we find him with a tray in his lap as he propels himself towards the nearest table with the least amount of onlookers.  Mechanically, we find this man spooning apple sauce into his mouth with a piece of crushed bread clenched in his other hand, all the while staring blankly at the speckled blue of the tray.  There is a robotic sterility to his motions and his hunger. 
     He feels a faint tickle where the folded up pant leg is brushing against the grown over stump that was at one time his left leg, and he drops the piece of bread momentarily to scratch at the phantom itch.  He continues like this until the last morsel is eaten and he drops his plate at the dishwasher window, and rolls towards the exit.  He does not remember leaving the building, and rolling down the sidewalk towards his usual nook sandwiched between a sub shop and an ATM kiosk.  He is in a routine, at this point; a routine that his routinely filled belly is accustomed to as he sits in his chair, disturbing his melancholia only to painfully reminisce.  It had been a cold winter, and the sprinklings of a dark hue emanating from his coughing confirms what he already knows.  He pulls his quilt tighter to his chin, and he thinks of the days of vitality.  He thought of the laces on his old track and field shoes. 

    
     Thankfully, Jerry is fictional, yet his circumstances disturbingly ring true for many.  Millions of people like Jerry face a deadly hand of cards in the form of unemployment, housing insecurity, and/ or lack of support for those who have been scarred by warfare and left to rot in the streets.,  As a most basic need, we fill their bellies to the best of our abilities, and we nourish them to a certain extent.  But it is only a surface hunger we cater to, and it is making little gain.  In the end, it fatigues me to even contemplate: how can we as a nation even hope to combat an epidemic like hunger if we can't even reign in the other injustices in our system?  For Jerry, food only delayed the inevitable, and that rings true for millions in a similar situation.

     Admittedly, I do see the efforts to change this.  I applaud the charisma of organizations who employ the hungry in community garden efforts, and also the charity of those who dish out millions of meals to feed hungry families across the globe.  Their humanity is not in question, yet their is an air of futility that permeates our atmosphere.  In our morally tarnished society, with its hand wringing politicians and reign yanking mega corporations dictating the flow of life, abolishing hunger is sadly something that results from a chain reaction of other reforms.  Despite our innovative ideas and best implementations, we are in need of a catalyst in the form of a societal revolt.  And, to combat the symptom of hunger, we must collectively drain the disease of corruption from the nation's arteries, or else our efforts will forever remain fruitless, no matter how many hungry bellies we fill or gardens we sprout from any number of corners.  For Jerry, we have failed him and countless others in feeding their hope and trust in the system that they fought to protect and glorify, and it's a hunger pang in which we unfortunately can't quell for them, at least not for a long while. 
    
     But I guess that's what makes us so stubbornly righteous;  plowing ahead and patching up what we can and salvaging what's left over before the inevitable revolution. 

A Gentler Crusade

    


     The longer I dwell on it, the more I realize that religion (no one in particular, just the persistent general hold it has on its population), is mindboggingly integral in the struggles that taint the way of life for millions of people, especially hunger.  From the blistering few months we've been on the road, we've run into a myriad of religious organizations who are making real and meaningful contributions to ending hunger in their own communities, and it has that unique duality of being humbling while at the same time provoking a reaction in us to follow suit.

     I was never an advocate for religion personally, in my younger days, and still to this day I'm still not.  For me, it's almost akin to a hobby that I simply weened my interest away from.  I do remember fondly my days in youth groups, mucking around with my church buddies while at the same time laboring through the otherworldy Mojave Desert dryness of sermons we had to succumb to in order to advance towards the church potluck.  Of course, even that was a double edged sword; the newly expectant mothers with their pre natal taste buds and cold war era geriatrics felt it their duty to experiment with new fangled ways to prepare Spam and packaged soy meat substitutes that would make even the most gut wrenching hunger pangs vanish in a wisp of vapor.  A word of advice: soy dog casseroles are an abomination, and a war crime in any other part of the world. 

     That being said, I truly did appreciate the earnestness in the people I was surrounded by that were determined to make a saint out of me, which made it all the more awkward when I couldn't keep up the facade any longer, essentially abandoning my faith altogether. 

    I still to this day can't really pin point that exact moment that prompted my abandonment.  Perhaps it was that general air of pompous stuffiness I snatched a whiff of from the white suburban house wives , (or maybe that was the cheap Sunday sermon perfume?), and some of their snotty kids who had already racked up a check list of truly horrifying and sinful acts of debauchery that would make their priest blush.  Or maybe it stems from those nights in my household where I took up my usual post aloft in my bunk bed, whispering hoarsely under my breath with my clenched shut eyes burning white hot, pleading for more than just the typical one sided spiritual exchanges I had in my head as my ears pricked up at the sharp, sound barrier crack of skin colliding with skin emanating from the adjacent room.

     In any case, I've been generally dismissive of religion since then, and as a result I regarded it with a sort of blackened amusement as I come in contact with more people who put it in the center of their lives.  I pitied them, in a way that is borderline juvenile in its narrow mindedness and sickeningly asinine in its condemning.  At the time, however, I though of myself as a self sustaining force of nature; someone who didn't need a crutch to vault over my demons to achieve what I strived for.  And, I was in this blissful state of arrogance for a large chunk of time, at least until Dan and I passed through the Salt Lake City area. 

     When we heard about the Welfare Square in Salt Lake City, we new some basic little factoids about the organization: run by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, and essentially a hub for the impoverished and needy.  Reflexively, a part of me recoiled when I discovered the religious affiliation, and I braced for the teeth grating on my part.  Our scooter ride over to the complex was fairly brief, and we eventually found ourselves in their main lobby, where we happened across a convenient tour group.  After exchanging brief pleasantries, we were corralled into a large conference room of sorts with a projector screen, where we were informed that a brief movie would be shown to highlight the mission of the church and the facility, at which point my brain was screaming in my ear, "It's a trap!"  Too late, I inwardly flexed, as the projector flickered to life and we patiently sat through the usual religious montage of smiling children and soaring brass and string sections.  Actually, not to bad compared to others I've sat through. Eventually, we were finally led through the actual facilities, and it was then that my jaw finally started to scrape the floor.

     To me, the whole complex seemed like one massive shopping center with top of the line appliances and furnishing.  Every where you turned the fluorescent lighting glinted off of the polished floor underneath us and the stainless steel walls and machinery tucked in a multitude of corners.  For the next couple of hours we were led through a grocery store packed to the brim with canned goods and fresh produce, a bakery with spotless machinery and massive stores of food neighboring it, a scientific facility to test for food quality and safety lined with beakers and gadgets I couldn't even fathom their purpose, a thrift store with the clientele of GoodWill and the selection of major name brand chains, and even a facility where they make their own cheese and dairy products, free of preservatives and unnecessary additives.  With my head still swirling in overwhelming scope, we were made aware that everything, EVERY SINGLE THING in this complex is entirely funded by something called "fast offerings".  Essentially, members of the church are encouraged, (however not required ), to donate money that they would otherwise spend on a couple of meals on one Sunday of every month. This is completely separate from the standard tithe.

     As I absorbed all this information I still could not fathom the astronomical support this community was lending to this institution, and the almost fanatical fervor I saw in the people trying to make a sizable difference for their community was quite possibly the most evident when we finally reached their employment center.  There in front of us was a smattering of volunteers, buzzing away diligently as they pecked away at keyboards and shuffled papers across desk and cabinets, all the while chatting away pleasantly with each other.  As if prompted by our questioning gaze, our tour guides informed us that these volunteers were all primarily from the church community, and that they all held separate jobs themselves; they just do this on their spare time. 

     Up until that point, I never truly understood the implications of being part of a church going community that truly embraced the divine message they govern themselves around.  I've always had this degrading sympathy for anyone who chose the religious path; a sign of weakness on their part, to put it bluntly.  With my troubled past, coupled with my stubborn resolve to improve myself with divine intervention, I diluted the surprisingly pungent effects the Word of God can have on a struggling community, and now I find myself questioning my narrow minded mentality.  Who am I to dismiss His word, when it has provoked those to create so much for the good of their community?  They have no monetary gain to follow in the divine scripture; only a reassurance that their contributions will better the lives of their fellow man.  Sure, I could continue with the usual argument over discrepancies  regarding the Word of God, as is my antagonistic nature towards a subject I have a certain stigma towards, but then what would be the point?  Perhaps I'm jealous; to witness a positive change in people through the influence of something I hungered for long ago. 

     Regardless of my lack of "faith", I concede that this world is plagued with a Pandora's Box of problems, especially in our own country.  There was a time when I advocated the separation of religion from any possible solutions that would benefit our troubled citizens, but I realize now that it is not only a necessity for the combination, but also an inevitability.  It is a crutch for that family that hasn't eaten a decent meal in weeks, and a banner for those who are willing to devote their time and energy to make sure that aforementioned family is satiated.  In this day in age religious affiliation is met with leers of disdain due to some of it troubled past, but it's time that I respect its influence and the potential social progress it can promise.  In essence, religion is that secret dash of spice that one tosses into a bubbling pot of nourishment that ties the whole ensemble together.  Without it, the whole presentation is liable to fall apart.

     That being said, I think I'll still sleep in on Sundays and forgo any sermons, for now.  Baby steps.