141, Breathing Bitterness

Hebrews 2: 17 For this reason he had to be made like them, fully human in every way, in order that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God, and that he might make atonement for the sins of the people.

The past few months have been a struggle.  Once again me and my band of cohorts have run afoul of the bureaucracy that surrounds our work. I have taken this to heart, for I look upon my work as being a steward of the agency. I cannot help but to think that I have not been a good steward.  What my band of misfits needs protection from is the very thing that is occurring. 

          Along with being a steward, I am an advocate for those we support.  And in doing that advocacy, I have had the audacity to call into question the judgement of the bureaucracy.  Thus, we have been brought under scrutiny once again.  Not only is this truly not deserved, it is excessive, and the faults found are either embellished, or created. One such created fault was the claim that the agency did not have a specific document.  We had already submitted the document for  review a few years earlier, and if those people sent to examine our files had asked to see it, then we would have produced it.

      It is difficult to watch the agency I developed be demoralized, and slowly dismantled.  Even harder for me is watching people that I greatly respect be degraded through a series of surprise inspections. But even harder still is watching those people who we support be treated in this way. There is no acknowledgement that those we support will never look like the other clients, and the services will never look like the other services. 

          As mentioned in previous blog posts we take on those people other agencies will not take on.  I wish that was an exaggeration, but it is not. The sad outcome of the actions of the bureaucracy is that there is at least one of our guys who will die. He will not receive adequate housing, and given his health, and the wet winters we encounter, his lungs will be re-infected.  He almost did not survive last winter – he spent several days in ICU and several weeks in hospital. Several others will be left without services, and one of our men will more than likely be returned to jail.  I wish that this was hyperbole, but again it is not.

           

          The entire situation is beyond frustrating. I know that there has been at least two meetings to discuss the agency, and our future.  That the futures of forty some odd people are being decided with no conversation with those effected by the decision is maddening.

          In a conversations with a few of my cohorts it was discussed that perhaps there really is no interest in providing services to those we support.  After all, it will be those people who pay the ultimate price. 

The last time I was in church for communion I could not bring myself to partake.  I connected with the violence visited upon Christ.  I have had enough of violence.  It seemed odd, as it always has, to celebrate the murder of Christ.  I know that we are invited to drink of this cup, and eat of this bread, but that day the recalling of the violence left me not willing to participate.  

If the worst were to occur, truly, it would mean an early retirement for me. Wanna and I have talked of running a coffee shop in Lamphun – about half an hour outside of Chaing Mai. I also know that if there was any hope of remaining in business I would. Maybe this is the means by which I retire?

I believe that the response to such situations in life for Christians is to seek our identity in Christ.  We are called to see Christ in the suffering of others.  Thus, we are told “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat…”  But I believe, we are also called to identify with Christ in our own suffering.

          It was with this in mind that I reflected on my experience in church, deciding not to partake in communion.  I realize that my experience, will ultimately, make me more compassionate.  As if that is the gift I want. As I thought about this, I found myself praying that this cup pass by me.  I was struck with the irony of that – the same prayer Christ made the night before his execution.

          As I write this, I wonder, was he tempted to be angry with God? Was he angry with God? It is easy to see why his question, “My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?” is understood to be a question separate from the Psalm.  But I wonder. My emotions have a life of their own, did his?