Ramblings of Daniel Ross-Jones
Feed My Sheep
Jan 24th
In 2011, I will graduate with a master’s degree. With a cumulative $94,000 in educational debt, $60,000 of which applied toward master’s-level education, I can anticipate an average $30,000 cash salary[1] for my eventual position (which requires the master’s degree I will have obtained as the minimum). The average cash salary in the United States for a position requiring a master’s degree is a little more than $61,000.[2] If my degree is classified as a professional degree, as many agencies do, the gap becomes wider, as the average cash salary for that educational standing is $100,000.[3]
The organization I represent is part of the largest family of organizations in the world. Collectively, we operate the largest system of education, health care, human rights advocacies, community centers, and more. We promote values-driven lifestyles, protect the inherent worth and dignity of all people, and respond to crises both natural and human-made. My organization alone raised more than $250,000 through its Web site in less than one week for direct aid to the victims of the recent Haitian earthquake.[4]
Foundational documents, leaders and philosophers representing my organization and its wider family challenge myself and others affiliated to call our governments to attention of those on the economic margins by legislating just and fair minimum wages, family leave benefits, health care distribution, and more social justice initiatives in response to our core beliefs. Personally, I have participated in countless direct advocacy and letter-writing drives connected with my organization leading up to the first increase of the federal minimum wage in the United States in a decade.
Here’s the irony: myself and many of the rising leaders in my organization – necessary flow for any healthy structure – are receiving a better deal from that very government than our own organization.
My educational debt is guaranteed by the U.S. federal government. Approximately one-third of the total amount is financed through the Stafford Subsidized Loan Program. The government, during periods of loan forbearance and deferment absorbs the interest on that portion of the debt. The majority of the remaining two-thirds is financed through the Stafford Unsubsidized Loan Program, which provides lower interest rates than comparable private loans, capitalizing on the government’s economy of scale and encouragement of higher education.
After I graduate and begin to work, my cash salary will likely be at a level that I will qualify for the Income-Based Repayment Plan, that caps monthly payments at a set percentage of discretionary income, around 10% or lower. It was established by Congressional legislation in 2007 and designed for those, like myself, who are pursuing careers in lower-salary areas like non-profit leadership, education, or public service.
My vocation is one that my federal government claims is “in demand” in many of its branches, most notably in the defense forces and prison bureau. If I were willing to offer at least five years of active service in the military following graduation, I would receive roughly 20% higher cash salary pay versus my organization, and also federal loan forgiveness, much higher retirement pension contributions, more generous fringe benefits, and experience the old adage, “the military takes care of its own.” If I were to walk down to the recruiting center right now and enlist, the benefits would grow as the government would pay for the remaining cost of my education, I would begin receiving a commissioned salary while in school, among other benefits.[5]
While I am in school, as my income for 2009 was roughly $8,000, I receive direct government assistance from the State of Illinois in the form of food stamps – about $200 each month, or $2,400 annually. I utilize government-funded public health clinics as I can’t afford the out-of-pocket costs to even visit my own organization’s medical centers.
So here’s my question: why is the government supporting me more than my own organization, the United Church of Christ, when I am in training to be a pastor? And beyond that, why does the UCC say that’s OK?
The UCC, along with the majority of mainline Protestant churches, appeal to what the Roman Catholic Church calls a just-wage doctrine. The U.S. Council of Catholic Bishops, in a letter to Congress supporting an increase in minimum wage, summarizes the doctrine simply: “Wages must be adequate for workers to provide for themselves and their families in dignity.” Under this theology – one which, I might add, is the predominant theme in progressive Christianity and floated freely in the classrooms of our theological schools, including my own – to appeal to free markets and open trade in the commercial, private sector is to idolize a false god.
So why does the church – the UCC or of any other stripe – fail to apply its own doctrine internally? Why is it that as the cost burden of theological education has systematically been shifted from denominational funds onto student tuition over the past 25 years? Why is it that base salary for mainline Protestant ministers in one state has effectively remained stagnant in the past decade while the cost of living in that state has increased roughly 20%?[6]
In John 21, Jesus and Simon engage in a conversation where Simon is commissioned by Jesus to “feed my sheep…take care of my lambs.” While far from perfect, it appears that when it comes to at least one sector, the government is taking far greater strides than those organized who affirm Jesus’ words.
[1] Source: Wisconsin Conference, United Church of Christ
[2] Source: United States Census Bureau, 2006
[3] Ibid.
[4] Source: United Church of Christ
[5] Source: U.S. Navy
[6] Sources: Wisconsin judicatories (UCC, Evangelical Lutheran, Presbyterian, United Methodist), U.S. Census Bureau, U.S. Department of Commerce.
On the Health Care debacle
Aug 18th
Contrary to some people’s opinion, last time I checked I was still a card-carrying member of the Democratic Party. (Well, OK, they don’t generally issue membership cards anymore. But you get the sentiment.) And, speaking as a Democrat, I want to say this:
We need health care reform immediately. That is a given. There is absolutely no reason why we should be in the position of having the most advanced health care network in the world yet have it be the least accessible. The arguments of rationing health care, of a particular brand of natural selection, the fear that the government will tell Grandma she can’t have a life-saving surgery, they’re all blowing smoke up our collective bums. The private sector already does that! Since deregulation in the 1970’s and 1980’s, we have been systematically and socially conditioned to fear the government and trust private interest. Nowhere is this more despicable than in health care. We are trusting our very lives to people whose sole interest is making such obscene amounts of money it is nothing less than criminal.
Last December, I went in for my annual physical. I’m insured by Blue Cross Blue Shield of Illinois, part of the largest network of health insurance in the U.S. While according to my policy preventative care is covered, BCBSIL informed me that particular visit was not. They didn’t specify why, and when I even called they didn’t provide any rationale. They simply told me the visit was not covered and now I needed to pay.
In January, I went in to the doctor again, this time because of a massive sinus infection coupled with strep throat. (I don’t normally get sick, so when I am immobilized in pain, I know its time to go in. Besides the fact that strep scares the living crap out of me.) My insurance this time covered half the cost, though it was processed as being out-of-network. Again, according to my policy, I was at an in-network facility, but BCBSIL justified it by saying that since I went to the urgent care operation — which, unbeknown to me, is outsourced to a different provider, even though it is in the same office — it was out-of-network and I was responsible for paying the higher coinsurance.
Question number one: What difference does it make who tells you no, rejects your claim, or creates the network? Here are my examples, on the largest health care network in America, of experiencing just that. Both of these instances were in large hospital systems. Both of these instances were with the same insurance provider, the same individual. So what difference does it make that BCBSIL told me no, but if a government administration tells me no, then somehow it is more obnoxious?
Here’s the second given: I don’t very much care how reform is accomplished. There are some who are outraged over the past couple of days because the Obama Administration has been signaling it is ready to consider other alternatives to single-payer coverage (Medicaid). Before I delve further into this, let me state for the record that yes, I do believe a universal health care system is the most long-term, sustainable, cost-effective, efficient solution. I believe that it is an embarrassment that we don’t have this already. It is yet another indication of how far behind the rest of the First World we are, even as we attempt to prop ourselves up as a global beacon. But that all aside, the answer isn’t in who pays the bills, the answer is in how the system is governed and regulated.
And we return back to the late 1970’s, early 1980’s once again. The mantra of the decade was Deregulate, Deregulate, Deregulate. If we just deregulate everything, competition will flourish and the market will take care of everything. Government oversight is unnecessary, an obstacle to trade, and generally harmful for business. The individual is king, and will speak with her or his pocketbook. If individuals want better health care, they can pay for it. If individuals want better schools, they can pay for it. If individuals want better products, they can pay for it. Deregulation was good for jobs (more competition means more business means a greater workforce), deregulation was good for government (shifting the burden off government meant a trimmed budget and payroll, which meant fewer taxes and more liquidity in the economy), deregulation was good for individuals (more choice, more options).
Yeah, except that’s not exactly how it worked out. You see, history has an awesome way of repeating itself. Remember how the 1920’s lead to a Great Depression? The stock market crashed because no one was paying attention. No one thought they needed to pay attention — it wasn’t government’s role to oversee. (And we had myriad more regulations then than 2007.)
Deregulation is not entirely bad. I, for one, love Southwest Airlines and my cheap airfare. Without deregulation, Southwest would still be prohibited to establish a hub in Illinois as they have done. I do think we have too many airlines in general and the market is saturated, but that’s a discussion for a different time. But when you fire the overseers, when you allow the market to dictate policy, you greatly expand the gap between the have-nothings and have-everythings. And that is where we’re at with health care.
Private insurance carriers have no reason to cover everyone. Why should they? Its a drain on their resources. Instead of making a $14 billion profit, they might be forced to make “only” a $10 billion profit — or worse yet, an $800 million profit. That’s going to seriously cut into margins. </sarcasm> So, to protect their assets and financial position, private insurance says, “No, we won’t cover you because you have acne.” Or if they are going to cover you, they’ll charge a severely increased premium so that it remains effectively out of reach.
If health care reform only accomplishes expanding the accessibility of health care, allowing more people to be covered with private insurance, bringing some controls and regulations back to the system that requires it to function in an ethical, responsible manner, I will die a happy person. I will congratulate the Administration on a job well done. More control and oversight is the Chevrolet solution instead of the Cadillac solution of single-payer.
I do not fear the government. I may distrust it from time to time, I may disagree with Administrations that come and go, I may even exercise my Constitutional right to lodge my protest in a civil manner with my representatives whom I have elected, but I do not fear it.
I do fear people who make my life decisions without my interests in mind, but only the interest that my hard-earned money makes them.
“All that jazz”
Jul 31st
This story from today’s Monitor highlights the shifting demographic trends along the American religious landscape. Two quotes in particular got my attention:
“The problem of shrinking churches is one that everyone has to deal with,” Dr. Walsh says. “Evangelicals are just better adapted to deal with it because in their structure they don’t require seminary-trained pastors, pension funds, and all that jazz, which the mainline churches assume.”
Personal educational standing aside — seminary-trained pastors should not be viewed as a luxury, something unnecessary. Since when has education turned (once again) into something for the elite? The entire idea of being a disciple is one of learning, growing, increasingly understanding. Sure, there is much to be frustrated with in the current model of theological education — not the least of which is the complete and utter lack of meaningful financial support from church conferences and local settings when one of their own decides to enter seminary, or the astronomical cost of pursuing the meaningful education. The solution isn’t to do away with the structure entirely. The solution is to take a good, hard look at the delivery of education.
I’ll pick on the two denominations with which I am most closely affiliated at the moment: my own United Church of Christ and my seminary’s Presbyterian Church (USA). Both have some shared history in America (especially in the New England region cited in the story). Both have some common theological understandings as part of the Reformed branch of Protestant Christianity. The UCC boasts a little over a million members, the PC(USA) a little over two million. Both are shedding members, though the UCC’s decline is a little less pronounced than the PC(USA).
Within the UCC, we have seven seminaries, including two in New England, one each in Pennsylvania, Missouri, Illinois, Minnesota and California. While there are certain “distinctives” of each institution, largely each is recognized as providing an educational program that is liberal to very liberal in theology and traditional in approach. Combined, these seven seminaries graduate roughly 150-200 individuals each year. Less than 10% of these graduates are under the age of 30, which reflects strongly in less than 5% of all ordained leaders in the UCC today are under the age of 40. More on that in a moment.
The PC(USA) has ten officially-related seminaries, including two in Georgia, and the rest in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Texas, Kentucky, Virginia, North Carolina, Iowa, California, and Illinois. There is a greater theological difference among their seminaries, but for the most part each reflects a denominational tradition that highlights social change, global justice, and a strong emphasis on confessional theological tradition.
The average annual tuition at all of these institutions for the most recent year available (2007-08) is $13,500. Over three years, that brings the tuition cost alone to $40,500. Assuming the present average federal loan burden of undergraduates today ($23,200), that brings the potential cost of education for under-30s to $63,700.
Older students, typically, can buffer the cost of seminary with life savings, advances from or cashing in on established company-provided retirement plans, part-time education models, or the support of a spouse that continues to work in their profession. Some older students sell homes when they come to seminary, and use some of the proceeds to fund their education. Unencumbered by debt from their undergraduate years, these students essentially save at least $23,200.
Upon graduation, a freshly-minted minister can expect to start at $31,000. And that $800+ monthly student loan payment younger ministers have? Better pick up a side job at Burger King.
Most assuredly, there is a problem with this system. Dare I say we have too many seminaries, established on tired old divisons of denominational life that no longer apply in the same way they once did. No school wants to be the one that closes, but mergers and joint operating agreements, reducing the number of seminaries serving a shrinking population are necessary. Abandoning the model is prudent, abandoning education is reckless and irresponsible.
The other quote from the story reminds all of us that education in and of itself is not an end:
“When somebody needs a hand up, it’s great to pray for them,” Steadman says from the pulpit. “But the Bible tells us it’s not enough to say, ‘Go and be clothed and be fed.’ We’re supposed to clothe and feed them.”
There is an old African proverb we all would be good to remember. “When you pray, move your feet.”
Bus pass for Jay
Jul 28th
I met a stranger today; his name is Jay. If you’ve been in downtown Chicago along State St. in the past two weeks, you’ve probably walked past him. Today he was standing at the corner of State and Washington in front of the Old Navy, holding a plain brown cardboard sign that reads in big, black block letters:
LOST JOB
LOST HOME
LOST HOPE
CAN YOU HELP ME?
Jay can get lost in the crowd sometimes. People hardly notice he’s there. At first glance, he looks like so many others whom I — and possibly you — walk past each and every day. A used Chipotle cup in his hand with roughly $2.50. A scruffy face. But his voice is one that isn’t easily toned out. There is a sense of despair, sorrow as he speaks. “Can you spare some change so I can eat?” he pleads. “Can anyone help me out?”
As I think about it more intentionally, I saw Jay standing in that same spot last Wednesday at the same afternoon hour. I walked right past him then. This time the light was red. Cars were whizzing past. Maybe its because I had to stop. Maybe its because I was still futzing with my iPhone to pick just the right mix for my bus ride back to my apartment. I don’t know what it was, but I simply turned to Jay. I looked at him and I said, “Hi.”
I think I confused him. Maybe, if one is feeling extra generous that day, one might reach into their pocket and pull out some change to throw in his cup. No eye contact is necessary, an exchange of words even less. The “professionals,” if I might call them that, have it down to an art form. Watch along Michigan Ave. some weekend. These people will deftly move from pocket or purse to cup without even breaking their stride or even their ongoing conversation. Its a combination of art form and a mental coping mechanism. One can walk away from the situation with the good feeling that they helped, without investing too much of themselves or drawing the attention of anyone else.
I certainly confused the people around me. A man catty corner from me, in front of me, turned around and looked at me with an expression that asked, “Are you talking to me?” He didn’t even look in Jay’s direction. A man who stands taller than six feet, even while leaning against the light post, was simply invisible to him. A woman next to me on the other side briefly paused her cell phone conversation to look at me with an equally puzzled response. Jay was in his zone, though, and it took a moment for him to register that I was speaking to him.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“Can I take you somewhere around here to get some food?” I responded. “What’s good? What do you want?”
As I spoke to him, Jay’s eyes brightened. I looked closer at him. He couldn’t be much older than me — late 20’s, tops. His face was showing signs of someone who regularly gets food, but not nearly enough to keep the skin off the jaw bone. His clothes, while neat, were visibly worn out and used. His shirt was a gray tee, his blue jeans tattered and torn. He didn’t carry a backpack or have anything else on him.
Jay looked sad. There’s nothing else to describe him. Over my year in Chicago and two years in Milwaukee, I’ve seen a number of expressions among the destitute: lonely, discouraged, angry, frustrated, tired — oh, so many tired. Rare is the person who simply looks sad. I’m sure Jay was all of those other attributes, too, but above all he was sad.
I have always imagined sadness is dangerous on the streets. Its vulnerable. Its unprotected. Sadness is raw and powerful. Unlike anger and frustration — which, I imagine, are the galvanized, second-generation children of sadness — it is exploitable. As a society, as a human race, we see that over and over again throughout our history and our interactions with others.
In any event, Jay began to talk back to me. It was apparent as he spoke that he is a good person, with a warm soul. He had a lively personality, his eyes came to life as he began to get more animated. I don’t imagine that part of Jay gets to come out much.
“Truthfully, I don’t want to screw with you,” he began. In an instant, I began to regress to the skeptical thoughts that I have been conditioned with as I live as an educated, white man in an urban society. He’s going to tell me he wants beer, I thought. He wants cash to support his drug addiction.
“Truthfully, I don’t want to screw with you, but I could really use a CTA pass. See, I sleep on the trains at night,” he continued. He told me how he’ll ride the Red Line just so he can sleep, but that “really the Blue Line is a lot safer.” Jay told me he was held up at knifepoint on the Red Line, that someone stole his wallet that didn’t have any money in it, just his CTA pass and an ID card. That happened “a few days ago.”
I hadn’t noticed that the light hadn’t gone through its cycle yet. The confused man catty corner from me spoke up, just as the light was turning. “Psh,” he scoffed. “Yeah, right.” As he began walking, his call was clear, “Go get a job, freeloader!”
I don’t know if Jay heard it. He’s probably immune to it by now. But I heard it. I don’t know if Jay was telling the truth or not, but — human being to human being — he seemed authentic. I hadn’t even had much of a conversation with Jay yet, and I wanted to go punch the other guy simply for being a rude waste of oxygen.
Since Jay leveled with me, I leveled with him: I rarely carry cash, but I’d go run down to the Red Line station and get him a transit card if that’s what he wanted. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” he responded. “I know you’re busy.”
That sealed it. I had nothing to do. If I missed the #6 bus that was a minute away, according to BusTracker, then I simply caught the next one. “No, its OK,” I said. “I’ll be back in like three minutes.”
Jay’s eyes brightened up even more. It was like life was pouring back into him, from some far-off place that he doesn’t reach anymore. “Really?” he asked. I told him yes, and started walking down to the subway station.
As I walked, my higher reasoning started kicking in. You idiot, it told me. You haven’t paid your phone bill, your credit card is getting a lot more use these days, you still have assessments for the church to pay for, books for the semester are going to need to be ordered soon, and you overdrew your checking account this morning. I told my brain to shut up. I have a phone, I have a credit card full of fond memories (if even its maxxed out), I have the ability to serve in the church, I can always use the myriad libraries for books, and a quick transfer from my small savings will cover the overdraft.
I could have bought Jay a day pass; I could have even bought him just a one-use card. Either would have been the cheapest options, and both were definitely what he was thinking of. But I didn’t. I bought him a 7-day pass. That’s $23 more on my credit card. Practically and logically, that’s way too much. After all, Jay was and still is a stranger. But something made me press that button on the screen, and I don’t regret it. If he had walked away by then, I had a 7-day pass for myself. If he was still there, he has seven days of being able to stay dry at night when its expected to rain, of being able to enjoy air conditioning on warm, humid summer days. He can even go to some other neighborhood and beg for all I care.
He thought it was too much, too. I came back and handed him the card and the receipt. “Here you go,” I said. “I hope this works out for you.”
At first he was going to ball up the receipt and hand it back to me, “I trust you,” he said. Then he looked at the card and saw the big 7 on it. “Is this really a 7-day pass? Are you sure?”
I told him I was sure. He thanked me profusely, and that’s when he told me his name was Jay. Part of me felt guilty for not asking him his name earlier. I stood there and chatted with him for a couple minutes more; I learned that neither of us like to drink beer, that he finished high school and took some college classes before deciding to work in construction. The downturn meant layoffs for his company, and he ended up getting evicted because he couldn’t pay the rent. He’s always wanted to finish college, but he doesn’t know what he wants to study. His family doesn’t live around here, and so now he’s all alone and stuck in Chicago. Homeless. Riding on the L at night, hoping he can get some sleep.
After I left him and got on my bus (ending up getting on a #10, with an extra couple of blocks to walk) I realized how similar we are. Sure, I write letters to folks to ask for money for my education, but in the end its just like begging. Sure, I receive food stamps from the state, but maintaining them is definitely begging for basic nourishment. All my life I’ve been conditioned to believe I’m “above” begging, but when it gets right down to it that’s how I’ve been able to get along for much of my short adult life.
If I lost my job, menial and low-paying as it may be, I’d have to stand next to Jay and I’d have a lot more invisible baggage: $50,000 in student loan debt, $7,000 outstanding on my car note, the expectation of having food and shelter and health insurance. I’m a strand of a thread away from Jay.
And then as I began my walk home from the bus stop, I felt myself begin to cry. Of course Jay is sad — I’m sad for him. To endure the rudeness of people in such a way on a daily — probably hourly, or even more frequently — basis. And how sad am I that I continue to believe I’m better than those invisible people I pass on a regular basis.
I pray for Jay tonight. I believe his story to be true, and whether it is or not is really of no circumstance. I know he’ll have seven days of being able to travel the city, no matter what the reason.
And I hope I don’t see Jay again; I hope that his situation turns around, that he finds stable housing, an opportunity to work. But if I do see him again, I’m going to look at him, I’m going to recognize him.
I’m going to say hi, and ask him if I can buy him another bus pass.
GS27: Leadership development
Jun 27th
Eboo Patel addressed the UCC General Synod today, calling on our church to be a community of bridge-builders, developing and growing a structure of leadership for today’s pluralist America.
He encouraged the church to “build young people who are interfaith leaders.” With all due respect to Eboo (whom I have met on a number of occasions and am deeply infatuated with his work), I’m wondering if he’s met many of the congregations in our church.
With around 2% of our clergy being under age 35, we certainly don’t have a lot of young people in pastoral ministry. With one of the highest average ages among American church groups, the United Church of Christ has occupied itself with many of the issues that face its demographic position: ’60s and ’70s style community organizing, ’60s and ’70s style justice issues, ’60s and ’70s style leadership development.
We’re open-minded, non-scripturally-literal folk — we don’t focus much on ecumenism and inter-faith efforts not because we’re closed-off, but because we simply don’t know how. After it was apparent that we would not be a United Church as in other places like Canada, Australia and India, where a majority of the national Protestant bodies came together to create one unified church structure, we moved on to other things. We quit talking about our own faith. Rather than attempting to explain what we are, we took up our identity as what we are not: we became an anti- church.
And so we developed the status quo. We continue doing what we do because we simply don’t know what else to do. People died off, and we wring our hands in lament over a society that doesn’t refill the pews like it used to. Hot damn, we actually have to do something to get people to come in the doors! (Even scarier, we might even have to go outside them ourselves!)
I was reading a study not too long ago (I’ll Google it sometime and link from here) about how the majority of clergy surveyed identified as introverts. In the same study, lay church members placed the primary responsibility for outreach, membership development and recruitment (I hate the word “evangelism”) on the pastor’s shoulders. Hello? Does anyone else see a disconnect there?
Growing up, I learned the two things one doesn’t speak about in polite conversation are politics and religion. As I went through college, the two most popular topics among my peers were politics and religion. In the case of the latter, we all were finding our own ways in the world, accompanied by our own canons of experiences, books, and resources, because so many people didn’t know where to go! I have a number of under-30 friends who sought out advice and counsel from Christian pastors, only to end up claiming Buddhist and Muslim labels for themselves and initiating themselves in those faiths because their laypeople and clerics would speak directly to their beliefs! What a telling statement about so many of our churches today.
To the UCC, I hope that we keep Eboo’s challenge to us as we reimagine our church. The early Christian church of Paul’s day was deeply influenced by its encompassing Hellenistic culture of the time. Our own UCC has been deeply influenced by the American culture of the 1960s and 1970s. What does the church of the 2010s look like, and how do we build our leadership and structure our organization for the rapidly-changing, quickly-evolving future?
(Side note: this article and its follow-up from the Massachusetts Conference are over eight years old, but I believe a good, quick read to illustrate the demographic and financial structural flaws of our current system in the UCC and why it is absolutely imperative to change tracks.)
Reasons U.S. infrastructure terrifies me
Jun 23rd
We’re still receiving information about yesterday’s deadly crash on Washington, D.C.’s Metro system. Having spent some time there (and almost relocating there a little less than a year ago), I’ve become familiar with the service, and a couple of things are coming up in my memory:
- Every time I’ve ridden a Metro train, I’ve found it to be quiet and clean — a feature that is not shared by its Chicago brethren.
- Almost every time I’ve ridden a Metro train, I couldn’t understand the train operator’s announcement of upcoming stations and I’ve had to be extra vigilant paying attention.
That’s what I remember the most; well, that and the cool blinking lights along the sides of the platforms that indicate a train is approaching. (Last time I was there, though, it seemed like these have fallen into disrepair or are being phased out of use. Its a pity. I love unique things like that which add a certain intangible benefit to otherwise utilitarian aspects of civil engineering.) My heart goes out to the families of those who died, and I hope for a speedy recovery for those injured — both of physical and mental injuries. Its a shame that it always comes to something like this to hopefully get people to listen to this loud, echoing announcement:
AMERICA! YOUR COUNTRY IS CRUMBLING!
As I ride around on the Chicago L — a system which, for those who wonder about these things, doesn’t even have the “outdated” safety systems or “failing” relays that are being scrutinized on Metro but instead relies solely on operator driving skills with minimal automatic-kill devices to stop the train when approaching a dangerous system — I can’t help but notice it in my own city. Train stations showing their age over the past century or more. Steel elevated tracks that appear ready to collapse at any moment from decades upon decades of rust and deferred maintenance. Rail cars being used far beyond their warranted and designed lifespan. New technologies literally sailing over our aging, antiquated system.
Driving north on Lake Shore Drive this morning, I once again encountered a pothole of death, swerving to miss its deep trench of exposed rebar. Driving over it at a controlled 5 mph would have been hazardous; had I been unable to swerve or apply the brakes at even the posted 45 mph (let alone my flow-of-traffic 55 mph) I would have had some serious damage. My hometown ties still hold strong and I can’t get the images of the collapsed I-35W bridge in the Mississippi River out of my head. Between that and living through the massive Marquette Interchange reconstruction in Milwaukee, I now instinctively look at the underside of bridges as I pass under them, and more often than not I cringe as I see the tired, worn out concrete dropping its calling cards for someone to repair it.
We removed upgraded destroyed our rail infrastructure. We have miserably failed to maintain its replacement: the Interstate highway system. Our attempts at efficient bus transportation has been equally poor. As we moved further and further from city centers, we brought along our cars, trucks, and SUV’s. We required our investment funds to be spent on new infrastructure — new roads, new water mains, new sewage lines, new energy construction — rather than attempting to maintain existing structures. We created fictitious balanced budgets on the back of generations to come as we deferred maintenance, expecting less and less and instead requiring more and more of the future.
And this is why U.S. infrastructure terrifies me: because, try as much as our “leaders” might, they can’t indefinitely expand a definitive lifespan. We will continue to have tragic accidents like Washington experienced yesterday until We The People stand up and say that we’ve had enough! On Thursday, despite all of the previous doomsday scenarios from the CTA and RTA, here in Chicago I believe we will likely experience the end of those “comfortable” cutbacks of deferred maintenance. Our insistence on economic unsustainability has reached its endpoint. To prevent resources from being stretched too thin, to appease the suburban NIMBYs (and, yes, to support a bloated administrative structure hellbent on the politics of patronage) we will once again see a proposal that will cut transit service to those who need it the most. To maintain service without a significant investment in capital improvements would be asking for an accident. And without that significant investment, the RTA and its agencies cannot continue to operate the system at its current scale.
The answer is not privitization or continuing 1980’s style American capitalism. Its not raising user fees, fares, tolls, etc. We can’t even, for the short term, expect balanced budgets for our capital expenses. We’re so far past each of those things its impossible to see them in the cracked, broken rearview mirror. Its time to stop bailing out Corporate America and start focusing our energies on rebuilding the America that no one likes to see, no one likes to talk about: the part of America that moves us, that affects our everyday existence.
One of my mentors in college used to talk about “ugly projects,” the types of things that no one wants to donate money for or slap a dedication plaque on, but things that have to be done because if they fail everyone notices. In college, these were things like boilers, water heaters, lavatory fixtures, sidewalks, steam distribution pipes, electrical wiring, network equipment. Brand new, they are truly an investment. Well-maintained, they are assuredly (though consistently) expensive. To repair often costs more than their initial cost.
Its about 20 years past time for those ugly projects. We don’t have another 20.
The real story of seminary debt
Jun 18th
An open letter to judicatory heads, seminary financial aid administrators, and all those connected to faith-based leadership.
When I graduate from seminary in 2011, I may have a cumulative $97,300 (1) in student loan debt. Based on an extended 30-year repayment plan, an average 6.80% interest rate and zero loan fees, my monthly payment will be $634.32 and amount to $131,058.98 in interest payments over those 360 payments. In order to afford that monthly payment, according to federal financial aid guidelines, I should earn an annual salary of at least $76,118.40. (2)
As a Student In Care of the Southeast Wisconsin Association, should I graduate and secure a call in an “average” Wisconsin Conference congregation paying moderate guidelines, I can expect a salary of $33,039 (3), or $43,079.40 less than the recommended salary for my debt load, representing a 56% reduction. (4)
I grew up with a commitment to the church and have felt God’s call to ministry tugging on me throughout my life. Despite facing rejection from the church in the past, I continue forward in faith that God will provide. I find myself today receiving affirmation of my strong candidacy for ordained ministry: a pastoral identity, experience as professional communication staff in a middle judicatory office, a commitment to community-based ministry, a unique perspective from my generational location. I received my undergraduate degree from a church-related institution, and am building up my resume in seminary through two distinctive international experiences.
Yet as I look at the hard numbers, I feel I am forced up against a wall facing another round of rejection from the church in lack of financial support. Due to budget constraints at my school, McCormick Theological Seminary, my individual financial aid package was reduced from covering 88% of tuition to 55% for 2009-10. I must now take out an additional $5,000 in student loans to cover the shortfall, pushing my debt even higher.
Besides tuition, there are myriad other costs related to theological education: books, transportation, insurance, housing, food, communication, photocopies, etc. I changed my permanent residency to Illinois in order to qualify for government assistance in the form of food stamps, which has helped my bottom line each month somewhat. I work three jobs just to try and make ends meet, yet I still rely heavily on student loan money to cover housing and part of my insurance costs. (5)
I have sought out and applied for a number of grants and scholarships, including from our United Church of Christ National Offices, and either have not qualified for or been rejected from each and every one. I gratefully received a $500 stipend from the Association last year, along with $400 from my congregation (Plymouth, Milwaukee.) I appreciate the generosity of McCormick donors for providing a substantial portion of my education costs, yet as my loan balance inches closer and closer to the $100,000 mark, I become more apprehensive and concerned. Where is the church supporting me?
I ask not for a golden parachute, but as we as a church look at our future, we need to look closely at our future leadership. How we invest in our leadership, the requirements we establish for education, and the support we offer directly relates to how well we can attract and retain highly-skilled, motivated, and qualified individuals for our pulpits and ministries. Even more, it demonstrates our commitment to a Christ-like labor justice.
Notes: (1) Based on current financial trends; includes $23,000 in private loans from undergraduate education, $14,300 in subsidized and unsubsidized Stafford loans from undergraduate education, and up to $60,000 in subsidized and unsubsidized Stafford loans from seminary. (2) See financial aid calculator at http://www.finaid.org/calculators/loanpayments.phtml (3) For comparison’s sake, my first professional job following college, which required only bachelor’s-level education and was professional staff within the church structure, started at $31,250 in 2006. Based on real 2008 dollars, the UCC salary is actually less than my 2006 salary adjusted for inflation: $33,039 versus $33,345.75. (4) According to the US Census Bureau, the average salary for those with master’s degrees is $62,300. (5) Average monthly expenditures of $1,435 versus income of $650. Loan transfers to balance average $785.
Those rats!
Jun 15th
Its a regular occurrence in Chicago: rat infestations.
No, for once I’m not talking about Chicago (or Illinois) politicians, I’m talking about the fat, brown vermin that scurry across streets at night time to scare the bejeezus out of a person and usually take up residence in and around dumpsters, garbage cans, garages, basements…
…and under the hood of my vehicle.
From what we can piece together, the rat climbed up into my car and made a pretty good home for himself, gnawing on wires for food, and — I don’t know, maybe he created an elevator out of the pistons and a treadmill from the belt. I can’t pretend to know what would bring a rat into my car, but it was there.
Unfortunately for this rat, however, I prefer to use my car for, y’know, driving… and he must have been startled by the movement. His attempt to find a stable space led him to the area around my car’s van, where one of the plentiful potholes was enough to knock him off center but right into the center of the fan. End of rat, as they say.
When did this happen? Most likely Wednesday or Thursday; but eventually the fan wasn’t able to keep pushing the weight of the rat around and around and around and it got stuck or bogged down, burning out the blower motor. I noticed this Thursday evening. As many know, I don’t have air conditioning in my car, so when the weather gets nice I rarely have reason to use the fan. However the rain on Thursday as I drove up to Burlington made me roll up the windows, and I needed a little air circulation to keep my sanity. I did notice as I drove that I had to keep turning the fan up higher and higher — all the way from 1 to 4 — and it was still not blowing at a normal, full blast. I also noticed a strange smell coming from the vents, but decomposition hadn’t fully set in, so I thought it was picking up the smell from the KFC bag I had thrown in the passenger seat footwell from an Oasis stop en route.
On Friday when I got in my car and went up to Green Lake for Conference, the smell was… unpleasant. And by Sunday when I was driving back to Chicago, it was downright oppressive. I made it up to Pepboys this morning to get the whole system cleaned and checked out.
The good news is that the rat was removed, and some of the wiring has been replaced. The other good news is that, while at first we thought we’d have to replace the fan, it turns out I don’t have to do that. The bad news is that the motor that burned out is more than twice the cost of the fan — and that’s what needs to be replaced. Since I don’t have money for that right now, my car will sit with an inoperable fan for at least the next month. Again, not a really huge issue now that summer weather has finally reached Chicagoland; I don’t plan on needing it until September.
Why didn’t I think of this sooner?
Jun 14th
I’m currently reading Barbara Brown Taylor’s new book, An Altar in the World. It appears a quick read, but in typical style, reading even a single sentence requires no small amount of “chewing” on my part, and so I’m taking my time slowly with this book.
In one of the chapters I just finished, she talks about how much more she feels connected to God through the natural world by simply being observant. As I left Conference Meeting this morning, I had a lot on my mind from the past weekend. I feel reconnected with my church after almost a year now in Chicago, and definitely more connected with the UCC form of church in Wisconsin. I was thinking of the many conversations I had — with people like Don Niederfrank, my mentor and minister at St. John’s UCC in Random Lake; Eliza and Shaun, fellow In Care-ians in crime; Bridget, Andrew, Lee, Kathy, Mary Ann, and Walt from Plymouth; the sizeable number of us using Macs of varied stripes and colors — and I wanted to think and process without distraction as I drove. Our theme this weekend was “Living Grace-fully” and centered around creation care and observance, so it connected with Altar in a unique way, too.
So I turned off the radio. Thanks to a dead rodent in the fan which gets removed tomorrow, and because of the beautiful day outside, I had my windows open. Highway 23 takes one through a number of small towns on its way back to Highway 45 to Milwaukee and points south (WARNING: Do not drive even a mile over the speed limit around Rosendale! A number of Conference attendees, though surprisingly not myself, will attest to negative experiences after speeding up before the speed limit officially changed…) and I was mostly on auto pilot. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon for a drive, and the highway-town-highway-town rhythm followed my own up-and-down thought pattern.
Then it happened: I began to hear the birds as I drove. I could smell the east-central Wisconsin pine attempt to cover up the decomposing creature lodged in my fan. I noticed the way people would walk along the sidewalk as I drove along the edge of downtown Ripon: leisurely, without the pressure of an impending appointment, appearing as if they’d be just happy to strike up a conversation about the weather if I had been walking down their same route. I noticed the way the driver in the car behind me was less than pleased at having to stop at the red light, anxiously ratting on the steering wheel with their hands. I saw how the sunlight seemed to dance off the metal pole barn in the places where peeling paint left exposed shiny silver.
As I sat in the drive-thru lane at the Arby’s I heard the quiet purr of my idle engine bounce off the wall, the background noises in the kitchen through the worker’s intercom headset. I looked at how this was the absolute edge of the town, nothing but a forested wall out the other side of my car, providing protection to the unknown space beyond.
I met up with a few friends in Kenosha, first to do some quick shopping and then coffee downtown on the lake. I noticed how the boats seemed to crawl out of the harbor, past the lighthouse and into Lake Michigan, leaving a small wake along their path. The warm sun and the cool breeze — without the former it would have been too cold to sit on the patio, without the latter it would have been too warm — cooperating in a way that seemed to whisper, “Come, grow. Experience life.”
This meditative tour continued as I left for my last leg back to Illinois. When I entered the tollway, the concrete barriers made me feel trapped, and the impending line of red taillights were like a screaming in my ears, “No! This is too much artificiality, too much speed where speed is no good.” I felt a little wasteful paying the Waukegan toll and exiting right away at Gurnee, but I was compelled to do so. I passed Highway 41, and I heard that same voice tell me, “Don’t turn here, keep going.” And so I did, passing Green Bay Rd. on my journey. I came to Sheridan Rd., the easternmost roadway throughout much of northeastern Illinois and southeastern Wisconsin, gently weaving its way no more than half a mile from the Lake Michigan shoreline. “This is where you turn now,” and so I did. What normally is an hour, hour-and-a-half trip from Kenosha to my apartment turned into three more hours in this meditative space.
Its funny to think of my car as meditative space. Its ordinary, plain. No one would call a 2006 Chevrolet Aveo with dead vermin lodged inside it a luxurious surrounding, and especially not considering that I “live in my car” with the back seat occupied by materials from a retreat back in the early spring and other random trinkets accumulated in a long-overdue cleaning and the front seat littered with trash from breakfast granola bars and too-frequent stops in drive-thru lanes. Its not an easy place to just zone out, either: us manual transmission drivers are engaged in four-limb driving, deftly maneuvering and manipulating pedals and gearshifts all but forgotten in the past three decades.
But today, it was. Void of just one everyday distraction — normally one I consider so indispensible that my iPod is rarely far from my side — I was able to simply be with my traveling soul, to be at least somewhat present with this earthly home of mine. When I finally arrived in my apartment parking lot, part of me didn’t want to leave that space. (The Kenosha coffeehouse stop, coupled with the tub of Diet Pepsi I had with my Arby’s order, mandated a quick departure nonetheless.) I doubt it will ever hold the same feeling again, but for this afternoon, it became a sacred space.
Annual Meeting faux pas
Jun 13th
I’m currently at the 2009 Wisconsin Conference Annual Meeting. (Click for official AM blog.) Some people would describe it as a sort-of family get-together, others would compare it more to a professional conference, and I’d agree in part with both of those descriptions. Basically, for those who are in church denominational structures, the annual judicatorial conference makes sense, because they are all the same just with a different title attached. For those who aren’t, there’s no adequate description that makes sense, because it just seems to be a bunch of old church people looking for an excuse to drink coffee and eat ice cream and fight about… something. (And, for the record, that description is partly correct, too.)
This is my first UCC Conference Meeting, and for the most part its been fun. I’ve enjoyed making new connections and getting to know more people in this adopted church of mine. People have asked me how I’m liking things, and I’ve usually responded, “A church meeting is a church meeting.” But I’ll admit to being a little bit of a junkie for things like this and letting my extroversion combine with a complete dorkiness for church polity. My confusion about UCC structures still abounds, but its nice to see that I can hold my own as I get closer and closer to that 2011 prime time.
I did, however, commit a little faux pas yesterday. As one enters the meeting space, there is a giant ceramic bowl filled with water, to call us to remember the waters of our baptism no doubt. As a sacramentalian, even with a memorialist theology, I was overjoyed to see it. There’s a comfort in ritual for me, and I always whole-heartedly support ways to keep the sacraments front-and-center in all forms of our worship life — and, as we’ve touched on slightly, all of life is worship.
I was excited. I was comforted. And then I did it: I dipped my fingers in the water.
And I crossed myself.
What normally comes with a feeling of humility, a reminder of my lowly place in the grand scheme of things, of a connectedness with millions of people throughout the ages and spaces of time was instead a grand recognition of where I was at that moment, caught with wet fingers and spots on my church in the crosshairs of death stares from some of those in one of the most low-church, non-liturgical Christian traditions.
What did you just do? was the question from their eyes. Do you think we’re Catholic?
But do you know what — I was a communion server, and noticed a couple of people cross themselves as they partook of the elements. Body of Christ, given for you takes on a different meaning when coupled with that simple forehead-belly-chest-chest-heart action. Its not a meaning of the substance of the elements, at least not for me. Its a meaning of ritual, of remembrance. Its a meaning that, no matter how many times I try to rationalize my mind away from Bloody Jesus of Substitutionary Human Atonement, the cross is still an unimaginably brutal form of capital punishment. Its a meaning that, no matter how many times I try to rationalize my mind away from the re-creation of that sacrifice for salvation and the idea of real presence in the meal, that this celebration is more than a snack of grain and fruit.
And without that cross, the meaning of the ritual would be irrelevant. It would be simply water in a bowl, perhaps some sort of consecrated water for ritual washing, but plain old tap water in a bowl nonetheless. The actions and meanings of our ritual matter.
But even beyond this, the promise of the United Church of Christ is not alignment with a heady, cold, militant, imageless Protestantism of the Reformed tradition — though certainly we owe a great deal of our heritage to that tradition. The promise is to be a place like the American concept of a melting pot, a place where a variety of theologies, doctrines, and practices can find support and people don’t need to check their minds or their Christian practice at the door.
So even though I know I committed a certain faux pas, I do not apologize, and even though I’ve been trying to “de-liturgize, de-Lutheranize, de-formalize” myself in order to fit in this new church family of mine, I’m not going to try to do so as much anymore. (Though to do this I’m going to need to instead work on “de-self-consciousizing” myself.) I’m going to cross myself, both at the font and when partaking of communion. I’m going to say “sins” instead of “debts” in the Lord’s Prayer. (I already do most of the time anyway because “debts” just feels so awkward still.)
That’s supposed to be the promise of this church of mine. And, if anything, it provides just one more avenue of opportunity for conversation and engagement, to meet more people and create more connections in my adopted church family.