There is only us.

A few weeks ago, I had the incredible privilege of hearing Father Gregory Boyle, founder of Homeboy Industries, speak here in St Louis. His talk focused on creating a sense of kinship and mutuality. He pointed to the lyrics of O Holy Night - "Long lay the world in sin and error pining. Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth." And that's it - in kinship and mutuality, our spirits/souls feel their worth. I don't think it a mistake that the song later cries "Fall on your knees! O hear, the angel voices" for there is no more humbling, awe-some experience than meeting another in the beauty of our creation, our humanity.

If you are willing to stand in the margins, be present on the edges, and connect, you will find there is a mutuality there, a beauty that cannot be described. There is no us and them, there is only us.

There are moments that leave you crying on a classroom floor, watching as two devastated young people walk back to the hotel where they are living hand in hand, the despair on a young woman's face as she sits abandonned in a condemned apartment, the humility that you find at the laundromat later that night. These are scenes that move me, wake me, remind me. The moments when I see God in the margins, in the alleys, and on the faces of those who so many would rather turn away. To love them when they cannot/do not love themselves. The stories told with their lives are stories of disconnect and separation.

Whether it is drugs, alcohol, crime, violence, victimization or the age old story of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, there is a hopelessness that descends on us when we disconnect. When we begin to see that vast expanse between you and me, we lose something of our soul's worth. We lose something of this 'us', of this mutuality and kinship.

I am tasked each day with connecting. My job description is filled with tasks, responsibilities, roles. But really, what I get to do is connect. Sure, I could do my job without such connection. I could provide services, facilitate training, write case notes and manage programs. But I would be missing out. I have no interest in seeing where this "population I serve" is so different than me, but where I see my own heart break. Where we become one in this humanity. Where we connect with the divine in our suffering and in our love. To use Father G's words: "I defy you to identify who is the service provider and who is the recipient."

Each day, I encounter incredible strength and courage, I sit with crushing despair and shame, I draw open eyes that have been so long down turned. And I am connected. There is only us and there is a sense that we belong to one another.

My soul feels its worth.

Where do you feel your soul's worth?

What does kinship mean in your life? How do you come together and belong to one another?

This passion drives me. This work (can I call it that?) shapes me. And I continue to dream of this kinship and connection. Inspired daily by others who feel it and also dream of creating communities where each soul knows its worth. Where each one is valued and served by another. Where together we create opportunities for restoration and education and compassion. Boundless compassion.


I'm starting the book this afternoon. I hope you'll consider reading along.







Here is a glimpse at what Father Boyle is doing out there in California. What might we do here?