Hold Me Down

Upon this street I bind my feet
Past the station where the homeless sleep
And the cops, they walk a crooked beat
'Cause they don't care for me

On Eager Street I see my fate
It's an empty bottle on a sewer grate
And the man who tosses it away
Is the one who waits for me

He's a specter of another life
His pawnshop words cut like a knife
He says, "Hey kid, you wanna take a ride?"
But I ain't got the time

No! no! no! and you can't hold me down!
No, no, no, you can't hold me down

I saw the death of the human race
On the corner of Greenmount and Chase
Now all I'm asking is for your love
And a little bit of grace

It's the bait of complacency
That ensnares us all like a dream
And my father's sins have become
The burdens placed on me, and they wrap me in chains

No! no! no! they won't hold me down
No! no! no! you can't hold me down

Though my body's tied to the ground
My head resides up in the clouds
And every noise is a joyful sound
Of what has yet to be

No! no! no! and you can't hold me down
No! no! no! you can't hold me down

I bear this weight, like a crown,
And it won't hold me down

The Peace Movement

Why is it called the Peace Movement?
Why does peace need to move?
I think we need it here, so it should stay here.

All the things we need- like Peace, like Civil Rights, like Progression and Equality, like Social Justice- why do we call them movements?
It makes it sound like they arrived here a time ago, helped fix our situation, and in a short while, they'll head on down the road.

We need them- we've always needed them- shouldn't we ask them to stay?


I think that war, oppression, bigotry, and ignorance should all be called Movements...




...So then maybe they'd all just move away.




-SMD

"Bring Your Jesus To Work" Day

I went on a JVC-sponsored silent retreat this past weekend, in Morristown, NJ. For three days, my fellow JVers and I were free to contemplate, relax, and reflect on our time in JVC thus far, and what the future may hold for each of us. Since I have a pretty good grasp on what the near future looks like for me, I used this time to work on effectively capturing my Baltimore experience through words. With the help of a Spiritual Director, I was enlightened to a different means by which I can speak for this experience on a more personal and hopefully transcendant level. I wrote a lot during the course of the retreat, and the following is an early attempt at writing in this new style. Tell me what you think!

"A story is a way to say something that can’t be said any other way, and it takes every word in the story to say what the meaning is."
~ Flannery O'Connor
---------------------


Jesus came to work with me today. I rode my bike; he just floated beside me.

I introduced him to Mr. Moore, and Jesus looked at him differently than he looked at me. From their interaction it seemed that the two were old friends and that this was not the first time Jesus has been to Baltimore. I guess that living in Baltimore as a black man for 57 years, Mr. Moore probably invited Jesus to come to his "work" on more than one occasion. Ralph looked at him as if to say, "Good to see you again. Go easy on this one."

Jesus came to work with me today and pulled up a folding chair next to my computer. He didn't say much as I spent the morning working on a music lesson for the kids later that day; in fact, he was so quiet that at times I forgot he was there. But then an old lady from the neighborhood came in needing help looking for a job, and Jesus jumped right out of his chair and joined the conversation. Again, he seemed to know this woman very well, as if they had been together just last week when she was at the hospital visiting her son who had just suffered a brain aneurysm.

Anyway, the three of us sat around my computer and filled out online job applications. Jesus gave the woman a hug when she left, and with that she said to me, "I'll be back next week."

Jesus came with Mr. Moore and I as we watered the newly-planted flower garden across the street. He was silent as he paced the lot that had once held homes and families- his own children. As he grabbed a watering can and moved methodically about the garden, I swear I heard him address each flower by name, as if somehow, the memory of what had once made that empty lot a home was being re-installed into the earth. When his can was empty, I saw him use his own tears. Funny, I thought, I had assumed they were just flowers. I didn't know they had names. Next time I'll remember that.

Jesus was with me at 2:32PM when the kids came exploding through the door. Most of them had met him, but only once or twice before, so they were still a bit shy. Only a few, like the two adopted girls and the boy whose mother is in prison, felt totally comfortable around him. Still, no matter, Jesus jumped right in and immediately display more love, patience, and authority than I have been trying to muster these past nine months. Must be nice, Jesus.

He threw a football to a four year old and the kid caught. That kid never catches the balls I throw to him! He explained to a group of 4th-grade girls, without a single roll of the eyes or stomp of the foot, that "Even though you're 'just playing,' you should never hit or strike anyone, for any reason." And they all understood and accepted that.

The biggest help of all was when Jesus passed out the snacks so I could have more time to listen to this 1st grader read me his stories. He got through two stories because of that. Thanks, Jesus.

Jesus came to work with me today, and he and Ralph could not stop laughing as I conducted my music lesson. His smile was as wide as the parted sea as I demonstrated how to play a note on the recorder. Not one kid could play it correctly, but for some reason, every noise, buzz, and squeak sounded perfect. And when two seventh-graders asked me if I could teach them to play the guitar, I felt like I was made of gold. At the end of the lesson, I looked to the back of the classroom, and Jesus was still there. He had not once taken his eyes off me, and he was still smiling. This is the best part of my day.

Jesus could tell that I was tired, so he put the wind at my back as I rode my bike home. i didn't want him to go as we said goodbye on my front porch. I had much more to ask, show, and tell him about what I have seen and what I think about it. But I also wanted him to get back to his home, so he could tell his dad about this place, and about what he saw and what he thinks about it. Baltimore needs more people thinking about it. We all need more people thinking about us.

Jesus left me on my porch and floated up Guilford as the sun set. It was nice to have him here; I'll certainly have to invite him out to Phoenix once I get settled there.

Before he left, Jesus said, "Thank you, Scott, for being here when I cannot. I'll tell my Dad to give you more time, because it seems to me you have a lot more work to do."

Hitting The Pavement

This past Sunday I, along with 30,000 other runners and my favorite gal Caitlin, took part in the Broad Street Run, a ten-mile foot race straight through the heart of my beloved Philadelphia. The following is an artist's rendering of what would have been a blog post had I been running with a lap top, but alas, I'm pretty sure ten miles of asphalt is not the best place to pick up Wi-Fi. To the tale!...

THE START (8:30am): And we're off! After going on a quick warm-up jog and doing some nice stretching in the grass (and after waiting in line twice to use the Port-o-Potty...hey, it's a ten mile race and I've been drinking a lot of water!), Caitlin and I are off and running! The first few miles are really just a jumble of people weaving around each other, so I'm just coasting along at the pace of my fellow runners. It's a bit overcast, but getting warmer. What a beautiful day!

MILE 2: Caitlin informs me that we're hovering around an 8-minute mile. At this point I've given up hope that I will catch the Kenyans, as they have probably finished the race by now. To my left and right are some of Philly's finest- drum lines, bands, homeless people, priests and nuns- everyone has come out to line the sides of the course and cheer us on. I figure it's pretty cool that people get up and cheer as 30,000 strangers run by their front door on a Sunday morning. But then I also figure that I'm about to run into a middle-aged woman wearing purple, so I deftly maneuver to the left. Crisis averted.

MILE 3: Fire hydrant! The city has opened a number of hydrants along the course, and they are spraying fountains of cool relief upon the runners! Caitlin and I see one ahead, and we make straight-away for it. As I pass under the technically wasting of water, I feel like I have been transported the final seconds of the Splash Mountain ride at Disney World. Mmmm, Disney World. Then, seconds later, I am back in the ever-emerging sun. I wonder when the next fire hydrant will appear...

MILE 5: Meat and potatoes time (not literally, of course, because who would want to eat meat and potatoes during a race? Certainly not I!). Where City Hall seemed an eternity away at Mile 1, it is now staring me right in the face. Our pace has remained around 8 mins, and I'm starting to feel it. Come on legs, don't fail me now!

MILE 6: Ouch! It feels as if a bystander threw a knife into my side. Could it have been Gov. Ed Rendell, whom I just passed? No, he doesn't have it out for me...does he? Turns out, because I was running so incredibly fast, I'm now cramping up! Caitlin tells me to grab some Gatorade, which I do, though in my attempt to drink it, I get most of it on my shirt. Whoa baby, this thing stings! Let's slow down that pace a bit...

MILE 7: Well, now our pace has slowed, and City Hall is getting further behind us with every step. We're passing over famous streets like Market and South, and the stadiums are on the horizon. Our fellow runners have gotten more quiet; everyone seems to be mustering the intestinal fortitude required to finish these last three miles. Come on Scott, you can finish this race that you voluntarily signed up for!

MILE 8: Another fire hydrant. My shirt is soaked. I utter to Caitlin, "Ahh, my legs!" She responds, "Mine too!" But wait! What is this? Recognizable faces in the crowd! Caitlin's parents call to us from the side of the road, and about ten seconds later, my family cheers us on from the other side! I guess it's true what they say, that parents can always pick out their children from a crowd of 30,000 who basically all look the same.

MILE 9: The final push! I dig deep and quicken the pace a bit, because hey, in eight more minutes, we can stop running! I barely pay heed to the stadiums on the left (where my Phillies will put on a shalacking of the Mets later in the night...but I digress), and now we're now approaching the Navy Yard. After a few misleading arches over the street, I finally see the finish line. Caitlin and I go for broke- end of the road, here we come!

FINISH: A second after I stop running, I am so glad I did this. What a cool experience for all runners and for the city, to be out and doing something together on this beautiful day. As Caitlin and I catch our breaths, chug a lot of water, and eat a Philly soft pretzel (what else would we eat?), we meet up with our families and watch some more runners go by. For us, it was no walk in the park to complete this race, but for many others, people who were running for more personal reasons, overcoming greater challenges and obstacles, to cross the finish line is a true achievement. Now it's time for some WaWa hoagies!

Philadelphia, I just think you are the greatest.