Celtic Priest

It has been too long since my last post. Ideas have been swirling but the discipline to sit down to write eluded me. But today, the 24th anniversary of 9/11 gave me the kick I needed. Hopefully it won’t take years for me to post again.

24 years ago two journeys with significant impact on my life began. Leaders from Christ Church (my home parish) were meeting with Southern Maine Health Care hospital administration about providing funding for a part time chaplain position for a couple of years with the hope that the hospital would eventually pick up the cost so the position could continue. We had heard so many stories of patient needs that could not be met by local parish clergy and decided to use part of a memorial gift to try to assist in meeting those needs.  

Peter and I also volunteered to be trained by the then Maine Med CPE Director as volunteer chaplains to try to augment the very part-time paid chaplain. Later in my seminary mentored practice requirement I did a unit with the chaplain as well. During that time I saw the demands on nursing staff and increasingly appreciated their dedication and compassion.

During that meeting at SMHC a support staff popped into the room informing us of the plane hitting the first Twin Tower. We were stunned and saddened but continued the conversation. But after the second tower was hit it was clear the nation was under attack and that we all had places we needed to be. On the drive back to the church the other attacks were announced and all planes were grounded. The sky became silent. 

I was working in Student Affairs at UNE at the time, and after a brief response planning meeting we fanned out across campus to assess and support students as the news spread. In the different residence halls the horrific images just kept accelerating. Many are seared in my head and tattooed on my heart, but the most profound image was of the firefighters, police, EMTs and paramedics running into danger as the rest of the city ran away from it. A courage most of us will never fully understand. 

As the day progressed we learned, not only of the unfathomable civilian lives lost,  but of the hundreds of first responders as well. Also volunteers who didn’t have to be there but felt compelled to be. And of course in subsequent years we’ve learned of the casualties which took time to manifest through lung and other diseases. 

We also learned of the overwhelming need and its impact on the hospital staff who, under impossible circumstances, juggled the reception and treatment of all injured/impacted by the attack. Like the first responders, everyone showed up, regardless of their scheduled shifts and worked tirelessly to bring as much care and comfort as possible under impossible conditions. Dedication at the highest levels.

One of my immediate responses, which I continue to this day, is to pause every time I witness an ambulance or fire truck on the way to a scene and offer a prayer for those needing assistance and for the responders. The other response was to serve as chaplain to York County EMA for over a decade. Coming from a family of first responders, it was a natural response to the events of the first 20 years of the 21^st century. 

And then came a global pandemic. Once again, the hospital nurses, doctors, support staff and chaplains put themselves and likely their families at risk daily while most of the rest of the world isolated. Although there was incredible support through the provision of personal protective gear, we were learning about this virus as it progressed, so there were no guarantees. And not only did they provide medical & spiritual care, they held the hands of the dying, facilitating electronic family connections when family presence wasn’t safe; and they showed up every day. As a member of the hospital’s Spiritual Care  Advisory Council I witnessed this bravery and dedication first hand. First responders also continued to respond to emergencies without hesitation – it is just what they do. Those images are also tattooed on my heart. 

I am deeply grateful to health care and first responder staff for these lessons in courage and compassion, as they daily demonstrate the best of humanity. 

Rev. Shirley Bowen

Biddeford, Maine – where the river meets the sea

Despair. Not a word I really understood until I began my work at Seeds of Hope. For most of us the word immediately brings up an atmosphere of sadness and sometimes fear. Why sadness? Because whether it is our own or another’s, we often don’t immediately see how to move through it to come out on the other side in a hopefully better, stronger place. Why fear? Because we ponder the possibility that there is no path to relief; and what feels like the only possible outcome – permanent escape.

In the early years, one of the primary missions of Seeds of Hope was to seek solutions to despair. Not easy marching orders, but we quickly learned that what we needed to do most was listen – deeply, compassionately, and non-judgmentally. One who is struggling often knows what will bring relief if there are just the means to bring it about. That was our job. And thankfully we were usually able to help make it happen, or at least make the connections to those who could. One of our earliest neighbors to risk entering our doors and asking for help was a kind gentle man with a long history of alcoholism and abuse of other substances. He was barely able to care for himself, living in a group home where he found the close quarters stifling. We learned from him that he needed companionship on his journey to break his cycle of self-destruction. Loss of his earlier life was unbearable. Our job was to love him; welcome him in whatever condition he was in when he entered; be present to him, listening as he worked through his demons.  There were times when we weren’t sure he would win that battle. But after years of support, he was able to gain enough self-confidence and sobriety to begin to live independently and recover some of his earlier passions.

His story is not unique in the work of Seeds of Hope. It repeated itself over and over. Seeds of Hope is in a community much like others in that there was a growing population of the invisible – those experiencing homelessness, food insecurity, addiction, mental health struggles and isolation. Invisible because citizens either intentionally denied their existence or were not insightful enough to actually see what was in front of them. How many times did we get the question – “Does Biddeford/Southern Maine have a homeless problem?” As the numbers climbed over the years, which they continue to do in alarming numbers, our work became much harder. Relief was becoming difficult to achieve, requiring significant collaboration with agencies, social service organizations, faith communities, and committed individuals. As we all know, it is a national problem. But that can’t be used as an excuse for doing nothing, waiting on the state or region or federal government to find the solution. The challenge for those working at Seeds of Hope and other service organizations is that the lack of solutions is creating a growing hopelessness which can lead to despair.

As I mentioned when starting this blog, I generally won’t use names or identifying information in order to respect people’s confidentiality and dignity. However, this is one of the few times I will ever do so. The reason is that their lives were sadly but essentially made very public because of their journey. And given the public knowledge, it helps to bring the tragedy and humanity before us in stark reality. Their names were Shawnia and Ricky – half siblings in their early 20’s. Shawnia was known to be friendly, kind and helpful to others who struggle. Less was reported about Ricky’s background. Both struggled with homelessness, mental health challenges, and substance use disorders but were exploring recovery options. While we will never know the specifics of their final hours, we know that they had been using Seeds of Hope and other services up to the day they died. Friends reported that they had mentioned suicide, but as is often the case, we either don’t believe that it will happen or we freeze, not knowing how to evaluate its actual possibility or how to act if recognized. What is known is that on a Sunday morning in May 2022 they were later seen on a surveillance camera hugging each other and lying down on train tracks where they died by suicide. This action and subsequent revelations were tattooed on my heart.

The majority of us can’t fathom this level of despair. For those who knew them, it was a punch in the gut. And always questioning, what did we miss, could we have done something to prevent it? Those are questions that will never have answers. We can’t change the past, but we must learn as much as we can to try to prevent more tragedies – if they are preventable. For those of us at Seeds of Hope, the secondary shock was the initial media coverage. The railway company reminded the public that Ricky and Shawnia were trespassing on railway property. Interviews with the train passengers who were inconvenienced by the hours needed to investigate the tragedy. A total disregard of the beautiful lives lost to the world and the pain which led to that action.

Thankfully a local paper recognized the same callousness and did an in-depth story of their lives, as much as was known. They shared pictures and stories from family and friends. The story was widely gaining visibility into the personal impact of despair. For a brief moment, it felt as if our communities paused. Out of this unbelievable shock and sadness I truly believed that this would finally be the moment where local towns would rise up and declare “Never again in our community.” But it never happened. Very quickly conversation reverted to the “problem” of homelessness on our streets and in business doorways, trash at local encampments, prevalence of syringe needles in public areas, but never concrete solutions. Those of us in the community who have served our struggling neighbors for years continued to be expected to carry the burden of immediate assistance and solutions.

Because I am spiritually and occupationally grounded in Hope, I was happy to learn that Biddeford and Saco partnered to hire nationally known consultants to offer meaningful solutions. Many were interviewed and we anxiously await the report and community response. May this be the moment when great minds meet compassionate hearts, that we might have the courage to find both immediate and long-term answers and the wisdom to choose to make them happen.

I will be forever grateful to those precious children of God who have taught me so much about despair, resilience, generosity from those who have so little, dignity, and hope.

Tattoos on the Heart – Blog 3

It had been a particularly hard winter and the number of people experiencing homelessness was increasing. This was before Seeds of Hope had worked with the City of Biddeford to stay open overnight as a warming center. When the temperatures were expected to get into life-threatening conditions, we would ask each of our neighbors (those we serve) if they had a place to stay. Although funds were tight back then, if needed we could occasionally pay for a night or 2 in a motel. Unfortunately, that was getting harder to do because some motels had gotten burned with inappropriate behavior of their customers and were very selective about who they would accept.

With predictions of extremely dangerous temperatures this specific night, we went table to table asking each individual if they had a place to stay. Thankfully most did. At the last table I visited I recognized a man and woman who weren’t together but just ended up sitting across from each other. When I asked them the question, she indicated that she did have a place. He did not. We spent time brainstorming options but were coming up empty. She then spoke up and said to him, “You know I don’t like you very much, but you can stay on my couch tonight. No one should be outside tonight.” He nodded appreciatively.

This interaction was tattooed on my heart. This woman’s compassion and willingness to take a chance and “welcome the stranger” was so powerful. She knew him well enough to know she wasn’t putting herself in danger and was willing to tolerate whatever there was about him she didn’t like to ensure he would be safe that night.

One of the things we saw over and over again at Seeds of Hope was the extraordinary generosity of those who had very little. They would share experiences of places in town that were helpful and those to avoid. They knew way more than we did about navigating the complex and often soul crushing network of social services, especially those which were government run. It often seemed that the systems were designed to say “No” and to keep people where they were in their struggle rather than “This is how we can help.” We often tried to run interference but those who had been through it were just as effective, and many times more so.

In an upcoming blog I will focus on my list of the Myths of Poverty, but I will mention this one here. We often hear in the media and other places that those who struggle on the margins of society have a sense of entitlement when seeking help. While this may be true in a few instances, the overwhelming majority of those we served regularly demonstrated gratitude toward us and each other and generosity in assisting wherever they could.

My time as Executive Director of Seeds of Hope taught me so much about compassion, generosity, humility, dignity, and the mandate to those of us who serve to communicate every chance we get that each person we encounter is the most important person at that moment because they are precious children of God. This is especially critical when working with those who are frequently on the receiving end of ridicule, hostility, and rejection. Sometimes we ask ourselves, “What difference can I make. I’m just one person.” But the giving of one’s time, attention and affirmation are priceless.

Tattoos on the Heart – Blog 2

He came to us shortly after we opened in the fall of 2008. He was in rough shape. Actively drinking and occasionally using other substances. He lived in a group home, which he hated. He was often negative about himself and the path he had taken. He was kind, chatty and funny on his better days, or sullen when things were especially hard. But even on his really bad days, he was NEVER disrespectful to staff or volunteers.  He had many tattoos and was kinda scruffy looking, which sadly gave him a bulls-eye on his person for all those who judged him based on his looks. Even when he claimed that the shouted insults from passers-by didn’t matter, over time when he showed us his heart it was clear that they did matter and wounded deeply.

Over the course of a couple of years we walked along-side his journey, consistently reminding him of his belovedness and our pride in the progress he made. His transformation was slow but powerful to witness. He significantly reduced his use of alcohol and other drugs. He was able to move out of a group home setting into his own apartment. He had fun picking up things to decorate it. He frequently helped other neighbors with their challenges, always willing to listen and be supportive. He was creative and often shared his talents by giving small gifts to those he felt close to. He continually showed what a big heart he had. And he was loved by all of us at Seeds of Hope, volunteers, staff and other neighbors.

Sadly, shortly after establishing full independence, the impact on his body by years of chemical abuse took its toll and he passed away. Just a few weeks before his death we were sitting at a table and he related an especially hurtful and tense encounter he had with local youth. He often talked tough, like he could take care of himself, but this encounter scared him. He wasn’t one to report things to the police but he did say this: “When I die, I want you to do my funeral.” Of course I said yes, although I was sure it would be many years down the road. I didn’t know that it would come about too soon. That moment became tattooed on my heart.

When we were notified of his death I offered for his memorial and reception to be held at Christ Episcopal Church, which was the parent of Seeds of Hope until the church closed in 2012. His family, whom he loved deeply, accepted. Because he was so loved, it was well attended. Many people came up to me saying how sad it was that he died just when he was really getting his life together. And while I agreed with them that his passing came way too soon, I was also glad that it happened after he was able to feel the love that so many had for him. He recognized his worth and was able to take in the pride that we all felt. Lost too soon? Definitely. But never forgotten.

Reminder: certain details are omitted out of respect and to ensure anonymity.