by Kate Lore, Social Justice Director

A sermon given September 1, 2002

First Unitarian Church

Portland, Oregon

 

We work too hard and too fast in this country. Have you noticed? I’ve always suspected that this was true, but the more I visit other countries, the more my suspicions are confirmed. In fact, those of us who traveled to Quebec this past June for General Assembly experienced a real culture shock. We’d bustle out of our conference center, having spent the day running from workshop to workshop, meeting to meeting, and suddenly find ourselves immersed in a land where people linger to take in the full pleasure of their lives. They don’t walk, they stroll. They don’t grab a quick bit to eat; they sit down a full hour longer than we Americans do—savoring their wine and seafood, and engaging each other in meaningful conversation. What a far cry from our American way of life!

The pace of life we lead is unhealthy for us; it robs us of time with our friends and family, afflicts our bodies with all sorts of stress-related maladies and denies us the time to sit back and reflect on our lives. But what I find to be particularly maddening is that so many of us who are working so hard and so fast are still living in poverty. It just doesn’t make sense. Haven’t we always been told that here in America anyone can make it if they are willing to work hard enough? Well then, just how much is hard enough? Is it 40 hours a week? Or is it closer to 60 or 70 hours a week—the amount many parents are having to work these days in order to make ends meet for their families? I guess it all just depends on how much you get paid per hour, doesn’t it?

Have you seen the sculpture in the front window of Sisters of the Road Café of a woman working in a fast food restaurant? If you haven’t, you really ought to take a look at it because it is a very powerful piece. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Sisters of the Road Café, it is a special spot in town for people with limited means who are hungry both for food and for community. Over time it has become a community center of sorts for Portland’s poorest citizens. People gather there to eat, talk, and organize. Over the door is a sign that reads, "There are no strangers here, just friends we haven’t yet met." And they mean it. Anyone can eat there, but those who are of comfortable means are expected to pay for their food. It’s located on NW 6^th, a few blocks north of Burnside, in Old Town.

But back to the sculpture displayed in its front window, the one of a woman working in a fast food restaurant. The first thing you notice is the colorful top half of the sculpture—which is the view from the countertop up—the side facing the public. One sees a woman in a snappy red and white uniform waiting to take an order from her next customer. Then your eyes gravitate to the lower half of the sculpture, which is the view below the counter top. This is the side that the public does not see: it is the lower half of the woman, her poverty suddenly evident, as she hands old French fries to her hungry children crouching at her feet. There is no color in the bottom half of the sculpture. It is drab and depressing.

The title of the piece, by the way, is "Minimum Wage is Not Enough" and local artist Debra Beers created it. It provides our community with a profound statement about the ravages of poverty and the question of economic justice. Too often people would have us believe that people are hungry or homeless because they choose to be. This sculpture illustrates one of the true reasons for people’s poverty: insufficient income.

Have you read Barbara Ehrenreich’s latest book, Nickled and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America? In it she questions the rhetoric surrounding welfare reform, which promises that a job—any job—is the ticket to a better life. Ehrenreich wanted to know how anyone could make ends meet on $7/hr, so she left behind her middle-class life as a journalist and tried sustaining herself as a low-skilled worker. She worked as a waitress in Key West, Florida, as a cleaning woman and a nursing aid in Portland, Maine, and as a Wal-Mart clerk in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Very quickly, Ehrenreich discovered that one minimum wage job is not enough to pay for rent, food, gasoline and emergencies. You need two of these jobs if you intend to live indoors. She also found out how physically exhausting these occupations are. She gave grim details about sweating so much from exertion that she could ring sweat out of her braid, and of not being able to stop to take a sip of water or use the bathroom. In fact, she had a really hard time completing her experiment because it was so hard on her body. She was on her feet all day and night, undergoing strenuous tasks such as scrubbing floors or lifting patients. To make matters worse, she got to the point where she didn’t have enough money for the type of food consumption necessary for doing this hard labor. She just couldn’t get enough calories per day. At one point she decided she needed to get some free food assistance from a social service agency that, ironically, my husband and I gave money to last December. This is how she describes her experience:

"[I decided to call] the Prebles Street Resource Center, which is listed in the phone book as a source of free meals and all-around help. I get a recorded message saying that Prebles Street closes at 3:00 p.m.—so much for the working poor!—but to try 774-HELP after that. There I wait on hold for four minutes before someone picks up. I tell him I am new to the area and employed but need some immediate food aid or cash assistance. Why do I need money if I’m employed, he wants to know—didn’t I bring any money with me? It got used up on housing, I tell him, which was more expensive than I’d expected. Well, why didn’t I check out the rents before I moved here, then? . . . Finally, he yields and gives me another [phone] number. A sequence of four more calls ensues before I reach a helpful human, Gloria, who says I should go to the food pantry in Beddeford tomorrow between nine and five. What is this assumption that the hungry are free all day to drive around visiting "community action centers" and charitable agencies? So Gloria sends me to Karen at another number, another voluntary agency, where I am told I am in the wrong county. Very slowly, and trying to adopt the same businesslike tone I would use if I were calling to inquire about a credit card statement, I run through my time and geography constraints one again, underscoring that I work seven days a week, at least eight hours a day, that I happen to be in her geographical jurisdiction at the moment. Bingo! Karen relents. I can’t have cash, but she’ll make a call and I can pick up a food voucher at a South Portland Shop-n-Save."

In the end, Ehrenreich has spent $2.80 in quarters for phone calls (she can’t afford a phone on her wages) and she receives $7.02 worth of food acquired in seventy minutes of calling and driving. And that was in Portland, Maine. Imagine for a minute what it might be like here in Portland, Oregon, where we lead the nation in unemployment and hunger, having almost twice the average hunger rate in America.

At the end of her book, Ehrenreich reflects back on her experiences, and claims that the hardest thing for her to accept about our society is the "invisibility of the poor." We see them daily in restaurants, hotels, discount stores and fast-food restaurants, but we don’t recognize them as "poor" because, after all, they have jobs.

This book is meant to be a wake-up call to America. This notion that hard work will lead to success simply doesn’t apply to low-wage workers. Which is why Oregon once again is considering raising the minimum wage. May I suggest reading Ehrenreich’s book before you vote on that ballot measure this November?

Many of you know that I used to run a shelter for homeless families. I learned a lot in the five years I worked there, and heard a lot of stories from working parents who found themselves seeking emergency shelter because some sort of unexpected expense had tumbled into their lives: prolonged illnesses or injury, divorce, unexpected pink slips, or sudden rent hikes. Because their low-paying jobs prevented them from accumulating much in the way of savings, they didn’t have much to fall back on when times got tough.

I also learned how fierce the competition is for affordable rentals here in Portland. Poor people who lose their jobs often get behind in their rent and this eventually leads to eviction. All it takes is one eviction and your rental history gets shot. And since landlords of these affordable units have long waiting lists of eager renters, they aren’t interested in renting to people with eviction histories. So these working families, who are still struggling to make it financially, are forced to apply at the more expensive apartments, the ones without the waiting lists. Some are able to scrape up enough money for the required first and last months rent plus deposit, and then actually manage to continue paying those higher rents. Others aren’t so fortunate. That’s when they’d come to our shelter. It was hard witnessing these families getting caught up in the cycle of poverty and homelessness. Our resources to assist these people are painfully inadequate.

Homelessness could happen to just about any one of us, I suppose, especially now with so much downsizing going on. In fact, I know of several people right here in this congregation who are either already homeless or fear that they may soon become homeless. It just doesn’t seem right, does it, in a country as affluent as ours?

As Unitarian Universalists, we speak so frequently about the interdependent web of life. Respecting this web—of which we are all a part—is the imperative of our 7^th Principle. But this 7^th Principle isn’t just about protecting the environment; it is about honoring our connection to other people, including the working poor.

As Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote in his Letter from the Birmingham Jail, "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affect all indirectly." This is the interdependent web of life he is talking about. Poverty is an injustice that does not happen in isolation; it affects all of us. And it’s not just Dr. King who calls us to remember this spiritual truth. We find this message of unity and mutual responsibility in all the major world religions:

• Our Muslim brothers and sisters learned it from Muhammad, who emphasized the bond of community and the unity of all people. Muslims are, in fact, required by their religion to reach out to those in need.

• In the Christian tradition, people are taught that each of us has a responsibility to see the Christ in the face of any stranger and to feed the hungry, house the homeless, take care of the widow.

• And from Isaiah 58 in both Jewish and Christian scripture, we read: "If you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail."

• As for the Buddhists, we have this quote from the Dalai Lama: "There is sometimes a tendency to think of the spiritual life as primarily introspective, divorced from the concerns of everyday life and society . . . Faith that does not translate into actions is no faith at all."

• Finally, from the Hindu tradition, we learn that the interconnectedness of all life is a basic spiritual premise. "Atman" is the word used for each living soul. Uniting all "Atmans" is Brahman, the Universal Soul. When a person understands the relationship between Atman and Brahman, that person achieves perfect understanding and is released from life in this world.

It’s in all of humanity’s most sacred traditions. Our separateness is an illusion. We are bonded to each other through community and we need to take care of each other. It is how faith gets translated into action.

And, by and large, this congregation does an outstanding job of translating our faith into action. You are a particularly informed and compassionate congregation that is known far and wide as a church that cares. I am very proud to be associated with this church and am overwhelmed by the love I witness here on a daily basis. You are good people. I’m so glad I found you.

At the same time I wonder if we couldn’t do a little better job of crossing the class divide, reaching out to people who aren’t necessarily middle- or upper-middle class. To do so is a bit of a stretch, I know. It’s more comfortable associating with people who reflect our own circumstances.

It’s been observed that Sunday morning is the most segregated time in America. We know this pertains to race. Might it also pertain to class? And if this is so, is this what we really want?

I find myself returning again and again to our 1^st Principle, the one that affirms the inherent worth and dignity of all people. As Unitarian Universalists, we claim to be open and inclusive. Do our actions reflect this belief? Well, in many ways the answer is "yes." We are open to people of different sexual orientations; we are open to people of all ages and all religious backgrounds. But are we truly open to the working class? We’re getting closer to meeting that ideal, but we still have a way to go, I think. Researchers have noted that in addition to having different levels of disposable income, working and middle class families differ in the words that they use, and have different ideas about child rearing. They also have different relationships to authority. Is it any wonder, then, that communication between these two classes is sometimes difficult?

So how do we learn to relate to people who are not of typical Unitarian background? How do we find the words to speak as equals, when our circumstances aren’t equal? When we consider the types of poverty that exist not only in our community, but across the entire planet, we are going to have to devise a way to relate to poor people. They are clearly in the majority in this world and they need our message, too. We need to ask ourselves: Do Unitarian Universalists want to become a global movement or do they want to remain a well-kept secret or—dare I say—a class phenomenon?

If we are going to make a difference in our war-torn and unjust world, we need to draw strength from the Spirit of Life, which pulses through us, and work harder at living out our Priniciples. Although we may at first fall under the illusion that our differences in education, income, and power are insurmountable, I would argue that any and all divisions we manage to manifest in our day-to-day existence are ultimately artificial. As the Catholic monk Thomas Merton said so eloquently,

"The deepest level of communication is not communication but community; communion. It is wordless. It is beyond words, and it is beyond concept. Not that we have to discover a new unity. We discover an older unity. We are already one. But we imagine that we are not. And what we have to recover is our original unity. What we have to be is already what we are."

We can do this! If ever I have seen a church that can manifest this spiritual truth, it is this one. All we have to do is have faith in the possibility. And as Rev. Carla Berkedal says, "Hope isn’t about the things that we can see—all the problems. It’s about the things that we can’t see and having faith in them."

We can become the open, inclusive change agents we aspire to be. We can help transform this broken world. There is a spiritual power within this church. I get glimpses of its sparkle sometimes; I swear I can almost hear it humming. We need to be receptive to this power and let it shape our actions.

So how do we do this, exactly? Well, I would encourage you to start by slowing down a little bit. Make some time in your life for listening: to your spouse, your friends, that small voice inside you that cries out for attention. Take the time to reflect, to be mindful of how you are with others instead of simply dashing through the day. You don’t have to do anything drastic. Little changes can add up over time. To paraphrase Paul Loeb in his new book, Soul of a Citizen, the main distinction between those who fully participate in and embrace their communities and those who withdraw into private life doesn’t rest in the citizen’s grasp of complex issues, or in their innate moral strength. Instead, those who get involved view their place in the world very differently. They don’t need to wait for the perfect circumstances, the perfect cause, or the perfect level of knowledge to get involved and reach out to new people. They simply proceed step by step, so that they don’t get overwhelmed before they start. They savor the journey of engagement and draw strength from its challenges. Taking the long view, they come to trust the fruit of their efforts will ripple outward, and in ways they can rarely anticipate.

This is what I want for this church. I want you to trust that the fruit of your good efforts will ripple outward in ways you can’t even anticipate. We don’t have to have a 5-year plan to get going. We can start with simple steps, like:

• Taking just a minute to welcome that new person standing awkwardly alone during coffee hour.

• Sitting next to someone who appears to be working class and giving them a warm welcome.

• Even offering eye contact and a smile can make a world of difference to someone who is checking out this church for the first time.

Small step by small step we can become more inclusive community. Small step by small step we can extend our reach.

And for those of you who are ready to take a bigger step, I’d like to invite you to go down to the social justice tables today. We have information on our Action Groups, on the Metropolitan Alliance for the Common Good and on Labor Issues. For the truly brave, I’d like to invite you to go out to Sister of the Road Café with me sometime. Or to Dignity Village, the experimental tent community of 60 houseless persons. I’d love you to learn what these inspired citizens are teaching some of us here at First Church. Just let me know when you’re ready. I welcome you all into this holy work.

May it be so. Amen.

 

PRAYER

Loving God, Empower us with the courage to reach out to people different than ourselves. Help us remember our inescapable network of mutuality so that we may honor all people and rediscover our One-ness. Amen.

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Copyright 2002, Kate Lore.  All rights reserved.