A Helpful Analogy for Understanding Privilege

It started with a simple question of one of my new friends: “May I try on your glasses?” This is sometimes a fun exercise—see how blind your friend is and see how you look with their frames on your face. We got a good laugh out of both of those things, but it also served as a reminder of something I had realized before but had forgotten—I have really good vision! That was brought (back) to light for me when, within our conversation, one of my other friends mentioned that she wears contacts.

Apparently a lot of people wear contacts. This is something that usually catches me by surprise. As someone with really good vision, I assume that anyone who isn’t wearing glasses also has really good vision. Who knew that I am pretty much the only person that doesn’t require the constant assistance of vision correction? Certainly not me! Had it not been for this conversation, one that I now remember I’ve had before in other contexts, I would have gone on believing that every non-glasses-wearing person had vision as good as mine.

This conversation becomes a helpful analogy for understanding privilege. Just so we’re on the same page, Google defines privilege as, “a special right, advantage, or immunity granted or available only to a particular person or group of people.” In the conversation recounted above, I realized that good vision is a privilege I enjoy. Not everyone shares it. It’s advantageous. And I didn’t ask for it; it was granted to me by genes and probably diet or lifestyle at some level too.

But I didn’t realize that I enjoyed it until I engaged with someone who did not. In the context of my friendship, I tried on a pair of glasses and saw what my vision-impaired friend sees every day without them: an indecipherable, fuzzy, blurry mess. Without knowing him, and without a trusting relationship, I never would have been able to learn what it’s like to see without the privilege of vision.

Vision, or able-bodiedness in general, is just one category of privilege that I enjoy. Some of my other privileges:

• I’m white.
• I’m male (anatomically), identify as a man, and am heterosexual. All three of these together is a bonus privilege.
• I’m of average size and stature (for a white man).
• I’m Christian. (Although it’s debatable as to whether or not our society still values this, it affords me a certain cultural foundation that is still beneficial.)
• English is my first language—Standard American English, at that.
• I’m a U.S. citizen by birth. And I live in the country where I have citizenship.
• I come from a comfortably middle class family.
• I have a college education from a school with at least a little bit of name recognition.

I don’t pretend to have a comprehensive list here, but I think you get the picture. If not, then let me say this: I haven’t yet encountered a form of privilege that I don’t enjoy.

Allow me to ride this vision analogy a little bit further. When I took off the glasses, I had a headache for a moment. My system was confused, in shock from the new perspective I gained by peering through my friend’s lenses. It’s disorienting and frustrating and often hurtful to realize that you have privilege, especially when you learn that it’s at the expense of others who don’t share that privilege.

But I’ve also learned that it’s okay to enter into that pain, learn from it, and become more aware. Although my vision may indeed get worse with time, most of my privilege will be with me forever. Like the glasses, I won’t ever be able to take it off. And that means it can be easy to forget or overlook in the future. Remember, I’ve had the realization that I have great vision before! But my privilege acts as a blinder (excuse the pun) to the fact that others don’t go through life in the same way that I do.

One last thing to note—I made jokes about my friend’s need for glasses as I learned about his different experience: “Wow! You’re really blind!” Although jokes can sometimes help to alleviate pain, they usually end up causing pain, too. I say this addressing two crowds: those with privilege and those without.

To those with privilege, know that you are always walking on eggshells as you take this journey of growing awareness. Remember, your privilege blinds you to all kinds of stuff you never imagined, like the fact that people wear contacts! Be ready to hear these things, and don’t make excuses. (e.g. “He’s just playing the race card.”) In that vein, I’m aware that I’ve probably offended someone as they’ve read this blog post. But I’m ready to receive that, and in the context of a trusting relationship, have a conversation that will bring understanding and deeper awareness.

To those without as much privilege, please have grace with us who do. We need a lot of it to figure all this stuff out. Please, please keep raising our awareness whenever you can, but always take the time and space you need when we do things that are offensive.

Although I walked into Mission Year aware of a lot of my privilege, I’m still encountering it in new ways all the time. But it’s not just about awareness. The next step is learning to leverage my privilege for those who don’t share it, in a way that’s dignifying to them. That’s what a lot of my Mission Year is, so this won’t be the last discussion of privilege. Watch for more on privilege, especially racial privilege, in future blog posts. 

Thanksgiving

As we approach Thanksgiving, I offer some thanks for these experiences I (probably) would not have had were it not for Mission Year:

• I’ll start with the obvious: I moved to Philadelphia and took up residence in a row house with six other people I didn't know.
• Raised $10,000+! (If part of it came from you, then thanks!)
• Volunteered over 250 hours.
• Hand-washed laundry for the first time because I had waited a month and ran out of clean underwear.
• Became an urban biker, turning my 30-minute (one-way) trolley ride into a 30-minute workout!
• Fasted from technology for 8 weeks and simplified my use of technology thereafter. (Read more here.)
• Tried water ice, a Philadelphia frozen treat.
• Had the thought, “In this setting, I’m the only white man,” about once a day.
• Went without a shower for three days for lack of heat or hot water on a cold winter weekend.
• Wrote out a covenant with my teammates. (Read it here.)
• Got a library card at the Free Library of Philadelphia…and paid $3.00 in overdue fines. That’s 5% of my monthly stipend!
• Earned back one of those dollars by eating a whole onion, raw and covered in chocolate. (Don’t ask.)
• Saw seven of my neighbors join my church, Grace Christian Fellowship. (Read more here.)
• Developed enough cooking skills to look into the fridge and come up with a decently tasty dish with what I found there.
• Worked through conflict with a teammate derived from a game of Monopoly.
• Spent a day on the streets with new homeless friends. (Read more here.)
• Embraced regular solitude, silence, and new prayer practices. (Read more here.)
• Mastered SEPTA, or Southeast Pennsylvania Transportation Authority.

I am thankful for all of these experiences, and they are just the tip of the iceberg. They don’t begin to explain the spiritual experiences for which I am so much more grateful. It’s only been a couple of months, but I already have much for which to be thankful.

I am also thankful for you, who follow my blog and support these experiences and others through prayer, letters, financial gifts, phone calls, and other encouragement. Keep it coming, and offer a prayer of Thanksgiving for what the Lord is doing in Southwest Philly this year.

100s

My service site for this year is the Center for Digital Inclusion and Technology at People's Emergency Center  (PEC) in West Philly. We help "bridge the digital divide" by providing access to technology and high-speed internet to those who otherwise have difficulty doing so. Part of my responsibilities include coordination of our after-school programs, including one for 5th-7th graders called Tech St@rs.

The students watch interactive video modules online that teach computer basics, such as the parts of a computer, typing skills, email protocol, internet safety, and word processing. After completing all of the videos over the course of the semester, they receive a free refurbished computer.

One of the sixth graders in the program has been hanging around PEC for a while, since he lives along the main business corridor that PEC is dedicated to revitalizing. He often comes into my office to hang out, even on days when he doesn't have class.

A couple of weeks ago we were talking about his progress with the videos, and he mentioned that he had only earned one score of 100 on the quizzes embedded in the modules. I encouraged him to strive for higher grades than "just passing," and told him that his 100 was proof that he could earn more. He replied that he wasn't someone that earns 100s, and I continued to encourage him to try for more.

One day this week he came and said, "Today I got TWO 100s!" I affirmed his new realization that he is indeed someone who earns 100s, especially when he aims to do so.

Such small victories for "my kids" are so crucial as they grow up in a society that tells them that they can't--and won't--achieve anything. Yes, taken as a whole, Philadelphia's schools are terrible. But they have bright kids who need only a little bit of encouragement and a standard of excellence, and they can achieve as many 100s as they want.

A Day in the Park

On Saturday the Mission Year teams in Philadelphia embarked on a retreat of solidarity with those experiencing homelessness. We went into Center City, Philadelphia’s downtown area, broke off into pairs, and visited several parks that several folks call their homes. Our goal was simply to talk to people. We took nothing with us: no clothes, blankets, hygiene products, or food to donate, realizing that such items create a position of power. With nothing to give but ourselves, we ventured into new relationships.

I was paired with Matt, one of the guys from another Philly team. At our first destination, we spent some time observing interactions within the park. This stillness in the midst of a busy city center felt uncomfortable at first. Most people had some objective, some place to go. Our discomfort quickly slipped away, and we began to appreciate being in the city with nothing to do. We soon realized that was an important step toward solidarity with those experiencing homelessness.

Our first two friends were a pair of old white men who came to the U.S. from the British Isles several decades ago. They have both been on the streets for a long time and when they me a few months ago they appreciated each other’s company enough to stick together. We enjoyed several hours talking to them, and learned about a simple life comprised of Sudoku, spending retirement checks on motel rooms, finding bars that allow you to watch soccer games, and behaving enough to be able to use the bathroom at Barnes and Noble.

We continued with a few more interactions like this, and gave away our simple bag lunches to a diabetic women who panhandled to buy her insulin needles. My most meaningful experiences came toward the end of our day. Matt spotted a large concentration of homeless folks off the beaten path from the more touristy parks where we had spent much of our day. Still very much exposed to the view of the public, we stumbled upon the hang-out spot (and, at night, bunking area) of about 60 people experiencing homelessness: men, women, black, white, young, old. Somewhat weary from the day, we entered the space not intending to interact any longer but to just be there and observe.

Matt and I picked different corners and sat down, positioned to see and experience as much as we could. Soon after I sat down (and curled up as much as I could to curb the cold), I was twice approached by a man asking if I was “looking to earn a couple of dollars.” He thought I was. Not long after I told him I wasn’t interested, another man asked me if I knew the schedule of a local homeless ministry. He, too, assumed I was homeless. Although many would be offended, and in other context I may have been, in this case I was pleased! As a college-educated white male, my interactions in Mission Year are often colored by the power my physical features and speech patterns communicate. But not this time. The only people who hung out where I was had no other place to go, or they came to give out food. Because I had nothing to give and I wasn’t going anywhere, I had to have belonged.

This location is known for its homeless crowd, so folks often pull off from the busy road and pass out donations—usually food. Having given away our lunches, Matt and I got in line when one group set up a table to distribute brown bag lunches and hot drinks.

In line in front of me was a younger white man, whom I assumed was weathered by many nights on the streets. He turned around and asked if we were also living in that area. When we said, “no,” he assumed we were volunteers. We left our status ambiguous, hesitant to reveal that we were accepting donated food to join in solidarity with those who live off donations, an admittedly controversial position to be in.

His spirits were low, so he didn’t say much, but I could sense a desire for interaction. Just a few minutes into our conversation, sparse with words, he had shared that this was in fact his first week on the streets of Philadelphia. Kevin was his name, and he had recently moved into his mom’s house, trying to get away from his heroin-addicted brother. When he relapsed into his own “habit,” his mom kicked him out. He went to the only place he knew he would be somewhat safe, fed by donations, and free to figure out if he wanted to check into rehab.

This story was hard for me to swallow. I had never met anyone who had used hard drugs, much less been addicted to them (at least not that I knew of—I’m sure there’s been someone…). But he was so simple, kind, and warm. It broke my heart to see Kevin in this place, and I knew so little of what I could do to help. So Matt and I did what we could. We shared a meal with him. Having received the same donated food as him, there was no power dynamic to our interaction with him. We just ate lunch together and raved about how much we appreciated a warm drink in our hands. We didn’t even say much. We didn’t offer the Good News of Jesus or even a word of encouragement. Although sometimes I wish I had verbally communicated some hope for his life, I sill appreciate the utter simplicity of our meal together.

As much as it pained me to hear Kevin’s story, it hurt so much more to walk away. I wanted so badly to stay and offer the only thing he needed: solidarity. Lonely, uncertain, and afraid, Kevin needed a friend at this confusing time in his life. Matt and I could provide that for the duration of one meal, but Kevin needs it for a lifetime. Alas, our retreat was ending, and we had to return to the group to process our experiences together.

A sign a created in response to my day, expressing how I felt about it.

I still don’t know what to think of my experiences that day. I don’t have much time to return and offer much more to Kevin than my prayers, and I do that often. He mentioned that he was considering checking into rehab, so I pray that he can overcome addiction. I pray that he will encounter the Living God, the only entity larger than his addiction.

He also mentioned that he wants something better for his kids, although he doesn’t have any kids. He spoke of his future kids—kids he would have after he got his life together. I pray for his hope of a better life to intensify and be fueled by faith in Jesus Christ.

I ask you to join me in prayer for Kevin, and all the others in his position, in Philadelphia and in cities around the world. 

Team Covenant

The following is the covenant that I and my teammates strive to uphold in our lives:

We the Southwest Philly Team—Priscillia, Sophilia, Denise, Walter-Levi, Preston, and Nichole, in accordance with our commitment to Jesus, hereby commit to uphold the following:

·         Edifying each other through speech (Ephesians 4:29, James 1:19)

o   Not partaking in:

§  Gossip

§  Sarcasm

§  Racial Jokes

o   Encouraging and affirming each other

o   Being quick to listen and slow to speak

·         Sustaining our community through committing to intentional relationships. (Galatians 5:22-23)

o   Out-serving one another

o   Extending grace and mercy

o   Self-care

o   Ensuring that our home is a safe space for daily interaction

o   Celebrating victories and mourning losses

o   Biblical conflict resolution

§  Being present

§  Staying in the midst of conflict

§  Addressing all conflict

o   Having fun

·         Maintaining the values of the technology fast.

o   Sustaining a lifestyle of simplicity

o   Being present in conversation and group activities

o   Embracing solidarity with our neighbors

o   Learning to rely on each other as our main support system

·         Transformation of our neighborhood through:

o   Upholding and adding to the dignity of our neighbors

o   Building relationships

o   Pursuing sustainable community and justice

o   Utilizing a multiplex model to build community connections

o   Empowering our neighbors and encouraging their dreams

We commit to uphold the key pillars of the Mission Year program: community service, church partnership, relational impact, justice, Christian community, spiritual discipline, simplicity, and diversity. In doing so, we embrace one another as a family and, to us, family means loving each other in a way that nobody gets left behind or forgotten. We will spur one another on towards God, in faith (Hebrews 10:24-25), to fulfill this covenant. Furthermore, we commit to reviewing this covenant with each other regularly.

A Halloween Tale

On Halloween we opened our house up to our neighbors for a party. We planned to have cookies and different colored icing and other edible festivities with which to decorate them. We also grabbed some hot chocolate and snacks so that our neighbors would linger and hang out with us if they wanted to, rather than collecting candy and moving on.

I was one of the first ones home on Halloween, and I started the process of baking the cookies, with just a couple of hours before we expected guests. I cranked up the oven and pulled out the cookie mixes to have them ready for my teammates who would be coming home soon.

As they filtered in, the kitchen was abuzz with activity, with some whipping icing, some mixing up cupcakes, and others scooping out cookies onto trays. In the midst of this, the oven was slowly heating up, readying itself for our goodies. As it became sufficiently heated, we began to hear some sounds emerging from the oven—scratching sounds. I’ll be honest: we have a mouse that likes to nibble on items left out in the open. So our first thought was—there’s a mouse in our oven! As the oven continued to heat, we heard more scratching that confirmed our suspicions—something was inside our oven and trying to get out!

I alerted our team to the predicament so that we could figure out what to do with the situation. Soon it began to smell very foul—the stench of burning mouse flesh in our oven! We debated letting it out, but decided that we really wanted the mouse terminated, even if it meant having to clean out our oven later.

So we cranked up the heat. And the scratching stopped. And the smell got worse.

With no time to fully process our destructive actions, we finally turned off the oven, farmed out our baking projects to our neighbors, and lit candles to hide the smell. All the while, trick-or-treaters streamed by our house, and one commented, “Mmmm! It smells like bacon!”

Finally we corralled the courage to open the oven and examine the remains of the mouse. We found not blood or guts or singed hair, but two piles of goo, one lime green, and one royal blue! What kind of mouse leaves such remains? At closer examination, we realized that we had not torched a mouse, but melted two bowls of pumpkin seeds we had baked the night before! They had been placed in the oven to protect them from the furry friend in question. Needless to say, we were confused, disappointed, relieved, and annoyed. If only we had peeked in to see that the scratching sounds were not the paws of a mouse but the pop of pumpkin seeds and plastic! We should have listed to our neighbors when they told us a mouse would stick around once the oven was turned on…

We had little time to deal with melted plastic, which had ruined our oven for the night. We pressed on with party preparation, welcoming guests and resolving to deal with the oven later. It was a great party, with several new neighbors coming to decorate cookies! We especially had a lot of new teenagers come over, a group that isn’t usually out on the block like many of our other neighbors. We also had to kick several kids out at the end of the party because they wanted to stay later, coloring and munching on snacks.

Despite melted plastic and the kitchen confusion that followed, we had a blast on Halloween, hanging out with our neighbors of all ages!

Reflections on Solitude

Last weekend my team gathered with the two other teams in Philly to take a retreat of silence. We drove about 2 hours out of the city, past the suburbs, to the hilly countryside of rural York County, PA (on the other side of Lancaster County). Recently we’ve been reading Henri Nouwen’s book The Way of the Heart, in which he discusses the practices and stories of the Desert Fathers (and Mothers) who retreated from society in the 200s to seek the Lord with the whole of their lives, uninfluenced by the tainting effects of the world. We have discussed what we can learn from such communities and have adapted practices like a daily quiet hour every morning to allow space for solitude in our otherwise busy schedules.

These are elements of Mission Year that have been a pleasant surprise. There are many reasons I applied to MY: relocation to an under-resourced neighborhood, living in Christian community, cross-cultural church experience, work experience in a non-profit…but spiritual disciplines has surfaced as a bonus to my MY venture!

This retreat served as a culmination of all that we’ve learned so far about ancient practices in solitude. As an introvert who uses solitude and isolation often to rest and recharge, I entered the retreat excited to engage in some of the new practices I’ve learned about.

Early on in the twenty-four hour retreat I realized that I have mastered the physical aspect of solitude. I fully participate in the busy-ness of our society, and as an introvert I cope with it by retreating to my empty room. I often choose the comfort of a quiet room to the stimulation of a crowd. I’ve grown very comfortable with hanging out with just myself. While others on the retreat expressed discomfort with silence or isolation, it was normal for me.

I may have mastered the physical aspect of solitude, but the busy-ness I faced at the retreat was busy-ness of my mind. Usually in my introverted isolation, my main task is thinking. I’m constantly figuring things out, and I find peace in the solutions I come up with. Often in prayer I struggle to steady my mind and thoughts. I am so used to racing through ideas that I often find myself trying to remember how I digressed so far from the starting point. I realized that I use practices such as journaling, scripture study, and praying from lists to help focus my thoughts. I avoid open, unstructured practices because I know my mind will leave them.

Considering these things, I prayed “I need a solitude that is not so selfishly about me figuring things out. Lord, open me up, out of my head, to encounter you—not me—in solitude.”

The hours that followed were filled with practices such as breath prayer, prayers from the saints, and assuming physical positions to express the attitudes of my heart. I spent time (lots of time) clearing my mind and when I finally did, I asked, “What next?” My runaway thinking patterns finally subdued, I wanted to do something with the silence of my mind! In the face of my persistent busy-ness, I sought more patience and contentment with simplicity of prayer. I had to accept the idea of having no agenda to my time except to empty my mind.

I am excited for this process. The retreat gave me time to explore things I’ve wanted to do for a while. And ultimately my question, “What next?” is not entirely foolhardy. Nouwen writes that the objective of solitude is what he calls “prayer of the heart,” which forms and re-forms the one praying. I concluded the retreat excited to keep pushing toward transformation through prayer practices. I have committed time each week on my Friday Sabbaths to these practices, seeking the ‘way of the heart.’ As you pray for me and my team, pray not just for relationships or safety or opportunities to love others. Pray also for the formation of our hearts through encounter with God in prayer.