Reflections
– Fons Meijers
The heart-attack came as a bolt right out of the blue
The heart attack came completely unexpectedly, as a bolt right out of the
blue. No radiating pain, no fearful dreams, no death throes, only a heart, that
for a moment felt like a sponge, being wrung out and bouncing back into its
original shape. Then sweat and nausea, that only slowly ebbed away.
I always thought that I still was a strong-going, healthy bloke,
dynamic and full of energy, not affected by age. A diabetic indeed, yet one
considered to be a model patient – as one has to believe the doctor: an ideal
weight, a young man’s blood pressure, good cholesterol level, the right
lifestyle etc.
Looking back my doctor called this attack ‘a matter of bad luck’ and
the cardiologist confirmed it. ‘You belong to the 20%, who suffered a heart
attack because of the diabetes; 80% of diabetics never gets an attack.
Sure, diabetes is a treacherous assassin.’
Lying in the coronary care unit, drowsy and sleepy, I thought: ‘Well, Fons, is it all over? The end of the game?’ I can well remember that warm feeling of gratitude overwhelming me, not like a flash of lightning, disappearing as sudden as it appeared, but rather like a lightness, breathing in my heart. ‘What a beautiful life was granted me!’ A beautiful life, indeed, was granted me. When last year my life might have come to an end, then I think - much to my surprise though - I would have resigned to my fate and have died with peace in my heart. Still it would have been a peace mixed with tears, because more and more I started to realise without whom I would have to go. I kept seeing the faces of my dear ones and had an almost uncontrollable urge to kiss my visitors and embrace them as tightly as I could. To bid them farewell would have been extremely hard to me.
Tears welled up in my eyes, tears which for years had not been shed.
Putting
things into place
‘Take these medicines faithfully; they keep control of your heart
problems’, said the cardiologist. ‘If you want to lead a nearly normal life,
you have to adjust yourself to the situation and I will keep an eye on you!’ It
sounded like a judgment. I couldn’t help imagining a drug addict, who, shaking
with withdrawal symptoms, gets taught a lesson by a
social worker. Reluctantly I let him make his point and so he told me how I had
to live from now on.
Within the six months of prescribed rest my whole life was reorganised.
That's how it felt: a sensible, no nonsense reorganisation. At my friends'
insistence I did what common sense dictated me, but what my heart opposed with
its whole being, again and again. I turned over half of my activities to others.
I didn't have much of a problem finishing my pastoral activities in the
centre for the homeless: Arcuris. For 12 years I had
managed to scrape a living there, as sober as I do today while receiving an old
age pension. Moreover an able successor, in whom I had faith, took my place.
‘And by the way, avoid stress situations as much as possible!’ added
the doctor seriously, because he knew how committed we were in the house to giving
sanctuary to asylum seekers, who had been denied a residence-permit and
therefore had lost all rights and privileges. We couldn’t help thinking that
the government tried to smoke them out, that the noose, put around their necks,
was slowly tightened, that no justice at all was given to them. At times we all
suffered a nervous break down. As we gently broke to them the news, that we had
to look for another place for them to stay, they reacted panic-stricken,
terrified and full of aggressive anger. Things didn’t get easy for us. In a
desperate effort to keep staying with us they pulled all the stops out. We
don’t blame them! They had already once gone through the horrifying experience
of being kicked out of a reception centre right on the street just like that.
Lucky for them and for us, after some time, a condemned house was found, where
they could stay for the time being.
For years a number of psychiatric patients and people, ‘whom we have to
treat carefully’ sat down at our table whether it suited us or not; from now on
they are still welcomed at our table, but only once a week.
As a result of this all I and Jacqueline van Marion are at the moment
the only ones, who live in the big house. As before, we still form a small
religious community, in which we try to make ourselves familiar with the
biblical attitude of ‘chesed’ - compassion and
fidelity - and to master these fundamental values by daily practice.
Hospitality is one of the distinctive features of such an attitude to life. We
are still in the process of discerning how ,within the limits of our
possibilities, we can reshape hospitality in our religious community life.
After six months of compulsory rest I took up again my part time
activities as pastor in the ‘street church’. From all sides I was cautioned to
go easy. So I’m out on the streets only for two hours a week, for the rest of
my time I coordinate remaining activities. Like many a volunteer organisation
nowadays, our ‘street church’ too is forced to turn herself into a professional
organisation, since she started collaborating more and more with different
church communities, social welfare institutions and funding agencies. At the
same time the ongoing formation of the volunteers requires much attention; at
the request of the professional workers in the centres for homeless and drugs
addicts I give courses on topics like: outlook on life, religion and givinging
meaning to life within the world of homeless people and drugs addicts.
Fortunately a new pastor joined our ranks and became ‘our first man out on the
streets’.
So the road towards the future had been set out and marked. ‘Don’t you
dare to overstep these limits’, I was warned by somebody, whom I didn’t mind
saying so.
My work experience
During my forced rest I had more than enough time for reflection. As a
result of this reflection I have put together a few things which I have learned
during the many years I did pastoral work among ‘street people’.
Arcuris,
a centre for the homeless
During my twelve years of pastoral work within a centre for the
homeless, I was in a penetrating way confronted with the harsh facts of their
lives and the many questions they face ‘when they become homeless’. Questions
about the meaning of life, questions about values and ethical norms, questions
concerning the whys of our existence. Not only homeless people or their
relatives asked these questions, but also their social workers did. Indeed
underneath their doings, behind their silence, often the question about the
meaning of life was to be found. As a matter of fact I discovered even a kind
of shyness and timidity among them, when they tried to deal with these
questions. At the same time I was very much impressed by the affection and
fondness those often much younger social workers showed towards their elderly
and vulnerable clients.
Of all those encounters with homeless people not one was the same.
Homeless people are individuals, each with his/her own
history of becoming homeless and ending up in the centre. Not only did they
differ from each other physically and psychically, they also had their own way
of dealing with their life problems and trying to make sense out of the rubble and
chaos of their every day lives.
Arcuris
was a good training for me and I learned a lot: for example
·
It gradually came home to me, that there indeed
exists a form of attentive presence that heals and cures. In the way attention is given to somebody, he/she
experiences the difference between being treated as ‘such-and-such a case’ or
as an individual person.
·
This attentive presence should focus on one’s life
story; not on his/her data in the
files. It should fit in with his/her actual perception of reality. ‘How does it
feel to be here, now?’
·
I noticed that in the official papers under the
heading’ religion’ was written: n.a. (not
applicable), unknown, none, or even against. Religion has become a personal matter and has been pushed back into
the sphere of privacy. Still from a pastor one might expect that precisely he
has an eye for how someone’s biography and religious and/or philosophical
convictions, his/hers story of norms and values, reflects upon his/her present
life and adds a meaning to it: supportive, inspiring or destructive.
·
Close-to-reality liturgy,
more that can be grasped in words, has become of great
value. I experienced this in
particular during burial services, Sunday celebrations and liturgical services
for homeless people, or on those so-difficult days such as Christmas, New year and Easter.
·
Through the years I became very much on the alert
for misuse of authority by social workers and welfare organisations - no matter
how unconsciously it was done - Even
for me this was a pitfall, as I discovered to my shame. ‘If you don’t
like it here, feel
free to leave. There are ten waiting out there, who are eager to take your
place!’ In many ways these were veiled threats against people, those who were put up
against the wall and had no escape at all. As pastor I considered it my duty to
stand up for the homeless, those who were in danger of being squeezed by this kind
of institutional violence.
·
I spoke purposely the language of experience. To me it was a dire necessity. The managers with
their own managerial idiom took over and the centre of the homeless was
swallowed by a tsunami of business language. Care for the homeless became a
product, homeless people consumers. But one’s daily experience of suffering, of
guilt and shame, of grief and loneliness, of confusion and of a dead end
situation, of the contingencies of life and loss of meaning, or one’s religious
convictions and view on life, etc. all these threatened to be drowned in that
managerial no-nonsense tidal wave. Not everything useful and efficient makes
automatic sense. This brings me to the next point:
·
I felt a growing need for ethical discussions. A pastor is supposed to discuss not only the
important questions of life, but also the small every-day ethical problems. It
would be desirable if there were more time available for it. Arcuris developed at a terrific pace, everything was in a
state of flux; there was hardly any time left for reflection. In fact exactly
then religious and philosophical considerations came on, often combined with a
lot of inarticulate tension.
******
On the outside many a life seems strange and irrational.
As long as you remain an outsider, you easily get the wrong impression
about people and their relations.
Only when you can get on somebody’s inside, by walking along with him/her,
can you understand his/her motivations and feelings, that which makes him/her act the way he/she acts.
Understanding originates out of humility, not
out of arrogance, because then one is convinced he already knows.
(Susanne Tamaro: De
stem van je hart)
******
Crossroads
The decision to start the ‘street church’ was taken somewhere on the
street in 1997 as the result of a number of tragic deaths among the ‘street
people’. Their burials or cremations took place in such anonymity, that their
mates didn’t get an opportunity to say good bye. In the perception of ‘street
people’ this is sure evidence of them being considered nothing more than a boulder on the road, which just happens
to be there and is left on its own.
Together with those ‘street people’ and Jan Eijkman,
one of my colleagues, we visited the pastoral care program for drugs addicts in
Two years ago we were approached by a theology student, who wanted to
participate in a pastoral exposure program within the street church. Jacqueline
van Marion, a protestant minister, at that time also working in the street
church, coached her together with me. It became a wonderful common search, a
rediscovery for me. I found out that I still could learn a lot from someone
with a fresh view on things. And to my shame it was quite obvious how much I
missed noticing in my dealings with ‘street people’. I had apparently become
thick skinned and acted much like an automatic pilot. So this common training
became a repeated experience, a renewed learning process for me.
‘Street people’ --- a
confrontation with one’s self.
Socially:
·
my comfortable
social position <> their insecure social position
·
my social
prospects <> their blind alley
situation
·
my expectations
<> their impossible illusions
·
my more or less
structured environment <> their world of chaos
·
my pastoral offer
<> their (seemingly) negative response
Personally
·
my good fortune
in life <> their misfortune
·
my feeling of being
welcome <> their feeling of emptiness and of being unwanted
·
my sense of
belonging <> their inability to attach themselves to other people
·
my need to deepen
my relations <> the casualness of their contacts
·
my
family/children/friends <> their loneliness
·
my ethical and
moral standards <> their ethical and moral norms
·
my need to be of
help <> their manipulations
·
my long term
thinking <> their need for immediate gratification
·
my limitations
and inability to help <> them slipping out of our reach ‘on the road to
hell’.
Our own attitude and
motivation under scrutiny
At first we tried to put order into the pile of new impressions. We
also put a lot of effort into understanding, however little, the behaviour of
‘street people’, (‘Street people’ have their own good reasons to behave the
way they do.), or their own logic in life (when we understand their behaviour,
even a little, we tend to be more lenient in our judgment.) We talked about our
disappointments and the painful process of being forced to scale down our
expectations time and again. Little by little, however, our own attitude and
motivation towards ‘street people’ was put under scrutiny: who am I in this
whole story? Why for God's sake do I get involved with these people? What are my
strong points, what my pitfalls? Where do I draw the line and am I assertive
enough to stand by it? How do I keep the balance steady between detachment,
distance, and closeness? Etc.
We shared our views on these and related topics in a personal open and
free manner and on a reciprocal basis.
Pastoral care on the
street
‘Tell me in short what pastoral care on the street is all about?’ asked
our theology student. It is not easy to sum up our reflections in a few words.
Therefore we single out a few points we consider important.
· For ‘streetpeople’ the experience of being unwanted, being of no use, sitting in society’s way and being unable to take command of their own life, this all may be the greatest moral, practical and social loss of meaning that they have to bear.
·
Social
workers are aware of the pain their clients are suffering. Often with great
dedication and exemplary professionalism they offer them practical help. Sure,
their aid and assistance is a welcome and stabilizing factor in a world, where
chaos and agitation is predominantly present. In the end, however,
their pain is so comprehensive and agonizing, that material and psychological security –
however welcome and needed – cannot alleviate it. In essence this suffering means the experience of an oppressive emptiness, that asks for recognition and for a new chance.
·
As pastors
we don’t offer ‘street people’ direct aid or assistance; but we prefer
to present ourselves in a low key way and attentively.
·
To us essential elements of this low key and
attentive presence are:
Ø
empty
handiness: our effort to open our inner
selves to ‘street people’ and to have a free heart for them; not to come to them with an already mapped
out assistance program and timetable, but rather with our focus set to infinity in
both senses of the word: literally and figuratively. It is the ‘street people’,
who set the agenda and the pace.
Ø
an a-priori sympathetic disposition towards ‘street people’, like a mother who wishes a-priori her child all the best; the other side of the same coin is: distress
like the deep sorrow a mother feels when she stands by helplessly while her
child slips away from her ‘on the road to hell’.
Ø
loyalty: to start all over again and again, to pull ourselves together all the
time, to be reliable and trustworthy, with patience, persistence and an ability
to see things in perspective, with the compassion for sure, that a powerless
mother shows, who – in spite of all that
has happened - keeps saying ‘Still, it is my child!’
‘And how do we put these things in practise?’ asked our theology student.
Now we understand, that a low key presence and
building up a meaningful relationship with ‘street people’ is a long winded
process. As long as ‘street people’ in their struggle
for survival bustle about in the street jungle, our contacts, our meetings
and conversations will be fleeting and superficial. Loyalty
will then be of crucial importance. ‘Keep being present, so you are also
present at those moments, which matter to them.’
Somebody disappeared as suddenly as he had turned up in our lives, without any
farewell; at times we saw with deep distress how people rapidly became complete
wrecks and we stood by unable to do a dammed thing about it; more than once
somebody confided haltingly and falteringly to us his life story. Or we ran
bang into someone’s pain and grief just like that.
Someone is forced to mark his time, because of sickness or detention;
another finds himself in good weather, having (temporarily) a roof over his
head or being admitted into a detoxification centre. At times the whole street
holds its breath, when again a mate is found dead. Everyone wants to bid him a
farewell, clumsily perhaps, but sincerely. It is a particularly painful
experience when even this is refused by the deceased’s relatives.
Often, these are the moments which matter, happenings through which
the downward movement is stalled for a moment, shocks that wake somebody up from his twilight state. Open contact looks possible and meaningful; maybe
even the question will be faced: ‘is this the way I really want to live?’
'Street people’ are fortunate when they meet
somebody who is able to recognize and understand their deep pain and grief.
We concluded:
·
however frustrating and unsatisfactorily casual, hasty and
fleeting the contacts with ‘street people’ often are, still they remain an
essential part of the pastoral care on the street. Only in this way can a
relationship of mutual respect and trust develop.
·
a personal and pastoral talk with them is only
possible at the moments that count: when somebody had not got to struggle for
survival and can reflect upon his life in a relatively peaceful and secure
environment: a hospital, a detention centre, a drug rehabilitation centre, or
just a house, which he can call his home.
·
There is no short cut to learning an ‘empty
handiness approach’ towards ‘street people’, an a-priori favourable disposition
or loyalty; none of these come naturally to us.
·
It is a spiritual way: day by day we have to
practise opening up ourselves for what is completely different to us, for
‘street people’ heading for us in a friendly way, but at times also
uncharitably, cold heartedly and even violently. We have to resist the
temptation to strike back, to spit back, and to curse back as hard as they do.
Or to judge harshly and act without any consideration, as social workers
sometimes professionally do. We have to fight hard not to give in to this
temptation, not to be contaminated with this evil, not to go along with this
seemingly natural reaction. To keep the right orientation on what has to be
done the spiritual way is for us of utmost importance.
My own place in life’s Mystery?
Where do I position myself in all of this, as human being, as a pastor, as
a
religious?
For more than forty years I’m a member of the Missionaries of the Sacred Heart . As
MSCs we are entrusted with a special mission within
church and society: to make visible Gods goodness and when possible to enhance
it in our dealings with the universe, created things, animals and human
beings. As we like to say, we want to go the way of the heart: committing
ourselves to shape our life according to the same preferential love that Jesus
demonstrated during his life: to build up compassion with the people in such a
way that more and more people are put on the track towards life’s Sacred
Mystery.
To me God and people are not two separate parties each having their own
practice of compassion. There is only one sea of
compassion and this is greater than we, human beings, are prepared for. This is
God’s compassion. We only participate in God's compassion for people and so His
compassion becomes ours too.
More than anybody else I realize how clumsy I am in fulfilling this mission. The regular meditation and moments of silence have
become for me one of those indispensable arenas to acquire this attitude.
‘Whoever makes his mind free and empty, disengages himself from all sorts of
tentacles through which self interest has embedded itself, creates room for the
others, the other, The Other’, wrote our dear confrere, Sjef
van Tilborg, a few months before his sudden death in
2003. And he added: ‘We are on the way
and in our better moments we have an inkling of how it will be,
a yearning or an experience so intensive that it is unforgettable.’
Whoever realizes that he himself exists out of and thanks to other
people’s compassion - mercy, commitment and loving, tender care - knows too
that we owe each other compassion, and that he himself is greatly indebted to
others for their compassion.
Last year at the opening of our provincial chapter we were asked for
our passport and our credentials. In the credentials we had to write in brief
what sustained us in our life and what kept us moving? For myself I wrote the
following. It seemed fair enough, because my credentials were accepted.
My passport
What sustains me in life
Once I too had a dream.
What exactly happened
I don’t know anymore,
but
something was said
to me
about me.
What was said
even
that I don’t know anymore. (Guardini)
It looks like
a
word has been sowed in my heart,
a
password for admittance to life
a
word that I understand immediately:
strength
and weakness,
mission
and promise,
protection and threat,
all
in one.
What happens through the years
as
the result of this word:
enlightenment and realization.
What it really is all about, is
that
I shall understand the word
and
try to live in peace with it.
The Word became flesh
and
lived for a while among us…
full
of grace and truth (chesed) (John 1:14)
What keeps me moving?
When an appeal will be made
to my compassion today,
I will not run away from it.
Compassion just comes over me
even
before I decide in favour or against,
before
I want it or not.
From where this breath of life,
this
awakening of humanity,
of
divinity maybe?
In another person’s vulnerability
my
own vulnerability is mirrored;
Someone must have granted me life too,
Oh, yes, must have granted all people life!
It makes me silent … and happy… and thankful
very
silent …very happy …very thankful,
at
times… just for a moment
unforgettable!
Fons Meijers