As of late, I've been struggling to find some meaning in my project. I came into this project with the goal of helping improve the lives of farm workers; of advocating on their behalf. Sitting in Seattle - surrounded by towers of commerce, with latté bars and Volvos around every corner - I haven't really felt all that connected with farm worker issues. I've been trying to figure out why I am at this project, why BVS is even worth my time. So, this past weekend when I drove to Pasco, in eastern Washington, for a Mother's Day event sponsored by the local Spanish language radio station, I had some time to reflect upon this new chapter in my life.

My connection to farm workers runs fairly deep, as both my parents were farm workers who immigrated from Mexico. They met in Fresno, California and established roots. I grew up learning the value of hard work and education, though neither of my parents had even completed elementary school. When I was old enough to do so, I worked out in the fields with my parents, helping in whatever capacity I could. Most of the time, I hated being out in the fields. The cold hurt my fingers sometimes when we were pruning, and I would usually have to miss Saturday morning cartoons.

So, in Pasco, Washington, with the farm workers out in full force, listening to Ranchera music, drinking $3 beers, wearing new cowboy hats, giving their children money for balloons and candy... I was transported back to a place in my childhood: a snot-nosed kid, running around at a gathering similar to the one in Pasco, buying little worthless trinkets, eating corn dogs and candy, and feeling imbued with a sense of dignity... that farm workers mattered.

In Pasco, I saw countless acts of generosity, of people helping each other, of community... a collective conscience that, maybe, was trying to say that we were all in this together, and your struggle is my struggle and to hell with the fact your short a couple of bucks for your beer 'cause I'm buying you one.

I've had well-off friends who couldn't even part with their crumbs. I've met farm workers who would give you their last dime, if you asked for it. It seems that the closer you are to the bottom, the less you have to lose and the more you're willing to give.

My parents raised us in such a way that we help when we can. If we see someone struggling along, we stop and see if they need some help. Maybe that doesn't translate into a dollar amount. Maybe you'd consider farm workers poorly educated for not being lettered and not speaking on the likes of Chaucer and Whitman.... But, I haven't met too many people in the so-called educated class with anything like the dignity and common sense of those who toil in the fields to provide the food we eat.

Education, in the traditional sense (the education of books and schools and SAT's, ACT'S, BVD's, etc.) has afforded society the luxury of dispassionate, rational, intellectual discourse, without actually having to do anything to change the way things are. Maybe, what we need to make the world a better place isn't to go get "educated" in any institutional sense, but to listen to those who have always been marginalized and to come down from the altars we've built ourselves. And, maybe if we get out of their way and let them, people can actually make those decisions that effect their own lives.

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So, friends, this issue of the Volunteer! is intended to center on justice (or injustice if you prefer) issues, and most of the articles fit the bill. Some of them speak about environmental justice. Some speak to the nature of justice. I hope they serve to remind us of our role in working to change the world in which we find ourselves.

Since I started this issue, I've been musing about justice myself. I've been looking, again, for the injustice in my society and my world, and I've found it. It's still there-still the same, but I seem to have changed, lost something along the way.

I remember being outraged about racism. I remember being outraged by waste. I remember being outraged about oppression. Now, I see it. I know it's evil. I believe that it can be and should be changed, and I don't do anything to change it myself.

What has happened to me the last couple of years? I suppose I've gotten callous, inured. I have lived with the realities in my head and the pain in my heart for long enough that they have faded. I feel sadness instead of rage. I speak wistfully instead of with indignance. I am weary, empty, jaded. I am no longer compelled to act.

I, like so many of us, need to find a fresh source of energy. I don't need a new motivation. I have that. I need new life, new faith. I need to find conviction that my offerings will make a difference. I need to believe that I can tip the scales and that if I don't, I will at least help balance them for someone else to tip. Who knows? It could be you.

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On Mother's Day, Laurie, a woman in my local church, was asked to share about the challenges of motherhood and faith. During her message she had this to say:

"As a mother, I am grateful to the BVSers who pass through our congregation. Early on, my children recognized that these were special folks. Often, a picture drawn during the sermon is passed across a pew to a BVSer. I appreciate the love with which all such gifts have been received. Our BVSers challenge all of us to commit ourselves to Christian service. What better role models could I wish for my children? Just a few weeks ago, Carly (she's 8 years old) asked me, 'Are BVSers practicing to be Jesus?' What a nice job description."

Wow! What an 8 year old can pick up simply by sitting with BVSers. Children can be so perceptive.

Now I imagine that most of the BVSers here in Elgin would not feel quite up to the comparison that Carly made for them. They would say we're simply who we are. But when a child can understand that these people are doing something special with their lives that means something is rubbing off.

I have to admit that I felt a certain pride as the director of BVS. And it's clear to me that I have nothing to do with this. This isn't about the administration of BVS, it's about those who serve in BVS. They are the ones making a difference. And it feels good to be associated with everyone who's serving as a volunteer.

So, the challenge is there to all in the church. How are we doing in our attempts to practice being Jesus? A child can recognize the difference in people's lives who are serving. For the Church of the Brethren, no one could have said it better. When you give of yourself your light does shine.

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Brethren Service first began to have an influence on my life, I think, when I came to New Windsor in the 1940's. So much was needed in Europe in those years, and I remember answering a call to help with the work just before entering college. While I was there, I realized that I wanted to spend more time in New Windsor. Later that year, I returned to work in the kitchen where I met some of the most fun-loving, dedicated people I have ever known, some of whom were BVSers training for positions across the world. In the end, I took my service work more seriously than my academics, and I began to spend more weekends at New Windsor. My love for the place and the people grew, and I told myself that I would finish college later. The next year, I married. Soon, I had 3 children, and it wasn't until they were away at school that I had more time of my own.

Two of our three children were born with Muscular Dystrophy, and I felt I needed to advocate for them. So, I constantly visited the classroom and eventually became the Room Mother. When our School Board decided academics weren't necessary for disabled children in a world that would care for their needs, I moved our children, at the ages of 13 and 15, to an institution in northern Pennsylvania that had an excellent reputation for continuing education. There, our daughter learned to read and print short letters to us at home before muscular dystrophy and pneumonia ended her life with us. Our son, who died last year, went on to reach a 6th grade level of reading and writing, and he had wisdom way beyond his years.

With my children at school, I began working with the Lancaster Association for Retarded Citizens. For eight years, I sat with the parents of half a dozen slow-learning children, helping them be a voice for continued education. All this time, we were known as the "different" family. The children were not wheel chair-bound, and more often than not, we were accused of being bad parents. God was guiding, however, and I was appointed as a Sunday School teacher and worked diligently in the Women's Fellowship. I sang in the choir, got involved in community events, and was elated when we started a UNICEF collection one Halloween and collected $700 - $2,500 each year for seven straight years. One year, the local women's club sponsored a sixth-grade letter writing campaign in response to the Gulf War. We were recognized by radio and television news, and I was very surprised to receive a letter from the Postmaster General saying the letters had been mailed to Iraq.

All of this is background for my call to BVS! I entered the first unit for older adults in 1998, and spent my first year at the Brethren Home Community in New Oxford, Pennsylvania, where I set up a Talking Book Library for Visually Impaired Residents. Throughout the year, I was a guest speaker in area Lions Clubs helping raise funds for the project. I also visited 45 churches to tell them about my work and invite them to become volunteers. I visited with residents, taught two Bible study groups, and was responsible for finding Volunteers for programs within the Nursing Area.

This year, at Fahrney-Keedy Memorial Home, I did many of the same tasks! I have visited churches on 18 Sundays and have writen seven articles in the Herald Daily Mail which has taken the place of talking to Lions Clubs! Now, we are quilting, and I have just started a group to learn knitting, crochet, and embroider. We would love to have you join us!

The thought I want to leave with you today is how very much fun I have had as a volunteer. Even when I thought I couldn't put any more time and energy into another project, it was so very rewarding. I was blessed with a supportive husband who worked very hard to keep us afloat until Muscular Dystrophy forced him to quit working and pneumonia also took his life. My third child, a son, has also been a blessing. I wanted to end that pregnancy because I feared he would have Muscular Dystrophy as well, but God guided me. Today he is Chair of Public Administration at Western Michigan University and has a happy, healthy family of his own.

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I just finished eating breakfast down in the kitchen. While I was there, eating with guests and children, music coming from the radio, 3 of the 5 kids from one of the families (one of my favorites) walked into the kitchen. Their presence was conspicuous because they had been away all day yesterday - no school - and had stayed out overnight with their mom. What I and others also noticed were their new gifts. It was obvious what was new, partially because I have seen most everything that these kids own and partially because they were proudly showing off their new bracelet or stuffed animal backpack. It was predictable too. The fallen father and husband is working hard to "win" them back. In the last week, they have returned late in the evening, excited, with their Burger King drinks, their mom with another rose or stuffed animal. The guests and I catered a bit to the expectation of the kids with comments like "Oooh, is that gold?" "Take care of it," etcetera.

I came upstairs feeling sadness and frustration. Sadness that material possessions are thought to be able to replace or to make up for the lack of responsible love and commitment that one would expect a grown man to show one of his families. Frustration that has grown as I've watched the mother of these children struggle to stand on her own feet while her children cry about missing their father, while she tries to get them to school everyday and be around for all of their needs and wants when they return. It cannot help when she gets a phone call from her mother-in-law reporting, from Mexico, that the children's father has been in a terrible car accident - if the grandmother sends money could she come with the kids immediately? Only to find, less than a week later, that the "victim" returns, walking, talking and so very grateful to me because I let him into our vestibule. (Actually, there was no car involved, he fell off a horse). He is so thankful that when his estranged wife returns with the kids that night, he hands me a rose. I let it die on the bureau in my room. I feel intense frustration that she has so few options, realistically or psychologically. I feel Anger that, at 25, she is trying to raise 5 children whose father, a man 20 years older than she, seems to feel very little responsibility.

And I am thinking of all this as I climb the stairs to the first floor today. I am thinking about what my role could be/should be as I witness this theater play out. I have come to dread what must be coming, the announcement that she will give him another try, that she and the children will go back to him. I have been asking myself what more could be done while our guests live here, to boost self-esteem, to heighten knowledge that could in turn lead to greater independence? And where do I fit into this, someone who has had no personal experience with so many of these issues?

I walk towards the sala chiquita (the little living room) but stop at the door as I can see through the window my co-worker, Dorothy, talking with the mother of the kids I just saw downstairs. A moment later the phone rings. I answer and hear the father on the line. I knock on the door, enter and am told, "Please, tell him I don't want to communicate with him." I do that and return to the living room. That's when I see her face, red from crying, and she tells me she needs help to keep him out of here, away from her and the kids. "Did anything happen?" her friend who has just entered the room asks with concern. "No, nothing happened. He thinks everything is fine. I was going to go back to him, but I know, know, that nothing will change. His promises don't mean anything. It's all a game to him." Inside I feel an instant, if short-lived, feeling of relief. Crisis averted - for the time being, but how can we keep the same question, the same struggle from surfacing months from now?

I tell the woman I will be around to lend my support, to try to give strength, that I am here to talk if that is what she needs, and later in the day, bedtime actually, one of her daughters comes up to me and exclaims, "We're not leaving. Just like the last time. First we're going to go to Mexico, and then we're not." I pull her to me and say, "It's hard, isn't it?" and as I'm hugging her, I notice the tears forming in her eyes and watch them spill down her face. We just keep hugging, and I try to think of the words that will help. I suggest that we write a letter to the Mexican grandmother that she so desperately wishes she could visit, and if she brings it up again, we will do that. And I wonder, again, if this scene will be revisited in the coming months.

And now I have retold this story because I want you to know what I am experiencing. And, because I feel a need for these stories to get out, to reach those of us who may never face this kind of crisis firsthand. And, because I feel as if there are no definite answers, no obvious solutions. Maybe that's what I am so bothered by. I want to know that I am a part of "fixing" things that need repair. I want to know that what we are involved in here includes true transformation. In this case (and in my mind), I want to know that a woman who has suffered the many kinds of abuse that can exist in a domestic relationship will not decide to return to that relationship, that role, that drama. I have the hope that she will be able to stay strong in her latest decision, and that she will live to see the wisdom of that a long time from now. But you never know . . . .

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I have struggled for years to understand and accept the concept of "justice," and I think that there is no absolute justice. There is only partial, situational justice. There is, of course, a framework of rules, laws, custom, systems; but justice, as far as I have discovered, is more than the sum of those things. It is complex and has many facets: political, general, and societal to name a few. Lately, my thoughts have dwelt on how justice affects my daily life.

For me, such mundane justice is a kind of balance between the external and internal aspects of life; between awareness, willingness, protection, community, fairness, and agape love on the one hand and my conscience, inner worth, values, and attitude on the other. It is an emotional and rational struggle, and I know I'll never actually meet my goals. Still, I know that I need balance, and if I can achieve even a little more, that will be good. It's a wish, a hope, but that daily struggle is important to me.

In my time here, I have learned of two very important concepts: "We are only human" and "The Big M(e)." There are things that we cannot completely understand about people, things that just don't make sense. Instincts, reactions, emotions that are not subject to reason. Human nature is complex and unpredictable, and we all need to keep this in mind as we interact with each other.

It's only human to think about oneself first, to put one's own interests above others', to be self-centered. Still, this ego-centric viewpoint, "The Big M," makes me sad. I think it must be possible to live a different way. It must be possible to value others as much as we do ourselves and to find a perspective from which to make decisions that allows us to act in the best interest of everyone involved. We need to temper our responses with understanding and empathy, trusting that others will allow us the same latitude.

On February 15th, I attended the AME church in Elkton, Maryland as they honored Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. This quote from the sermon stands out in my memory, "...we have to love people for what they are, not for what they do." This continues to be my struggle, and it is one in which we all must participate if justice is ever to live with us on Earth.

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Now that my service here is coming to an end, it's hard for me to look ahead instead of swimming in a sea of memories that seems endless. I remember when I was ready to leave Germany, looking for a new challenge in my life. I felt nervous not knowing what awaited me in the future or how I would cope with the challenges.

My life has changed in many ways since then, and I have grown from countless experiences, both positive and negative. Thanks to those experiences and the people that crossed my path in person as well as on paper, my eyes have opened, and my life has been altered.

I have learned about Dorothy Day, Peter Maurin and other non-violent fighters for social justice, peace and human rights. Before serving, I was completely ignorant regarding these people and their issues. In our soup line and with our resident families, I have had the opportunity to realize some of their ideas and to experience the joy and frustration of serving those in need. I think this has been the most meaningful thing so far in my life because working here has given me a chance to step away from my self-centered life for sixteen months and to learn to appreciate new values in my life, like simple living.

Now that I am leaving to go back home, I think that I am about to face an even greater challenge. When I came here, I had to learn about the house, adjust to the work and the community, and find my niche in a completely new environment. As I return to my old environment, I don't want to lose the ideals that I developed here. I want to take them with me and shape my future accordingly. So, instead of stepping back, I want to take another step forward. This will require a lot of strength and energy because it's easy to fall back into old habits. I hope that especially Dorothy Day's philosophy will give me some support in this struggle.

Before I say good-bye, I want to send thanks to every single one of you for your great help and support but not just from me. I also want to pass on all the personal "Thanks you"s and "Bless you"s that I have received from our soup line guests and families during all my time here. They are the greatest gift that I can think of.

* Editor's note: Hauke Steg finished his term of service in March

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The thing that has most inspired me is the history of PANNA as told by Monica, one of the founders. When she spoke about the first international conference in Malaysia in 1984, her eyes were shining. I imagine how exciting it was, and I'm surprised that there were some Japanese there. No fax, no email, no Internet, just passion. Pioneer stories are always so uplifting and powerful.

Today, there are big environmental issues in Japan, too; like sustainable agriculture, genetically engineered products, Dioxin, air pollution, waste, recycling, nature conservation, etc. . . . Last month, I participated in a demonstration against genetically engineered food in San Francisco. It was my first protest experience. I thought it would be more aggressive, stronger, but it wasn't. People seemed not to know what a genetically engineered crop is, and they don't pay attention to the issue very much. That's not so different from Japan. After that protest, though, I realized that to do action is to make a difference. And it worked.

Before I left Japan, all my friends and family asked me, "Where are you going?" or, "What will you do in America?" My answer was always, "I don't know yet." Now, I know what I'm doing, and hopefully this will help explain it to everyone else.

I help with the administration of the program, so I get to watch the whole thing work. I see how well this non-profit organization works. They are so organized, and I'm moved by the power of grassroots activities in America. I'm moved by how perspective can change. Now, when I notice wasteful things like plastic bags and containers, I think back to Japan. From the outside, I can be objective. I can see more globally, and issues in Central or South America become closer to me.

Sometimes, the transition to life in the United States is hard. I get frustrated with my inability to communicate in English, and concentrating on the new language has been tiring, especially during the first couple months. I was always tired even though I wasn't working hard physically. On the other hand, I enjoy discovering new things and similarities between the United States and my home country. I enjoy car-pooling everyday, and I wonder if it could work in Japan. I'm learning pesticide and chemical jargon. My dreams, though, are still in Japanese.

San Francisco, unlike Japan, is very diverse. Here there are many kinds of people who have their own communities. There are also many concepts of value in America, so I feel free to be an individual. At the same time, that is a little scary because Japanese culture has a strong sense of group identity. I'm getting used to American food and American ways, but I don't want to lose my heritage. At the same time, I want my experience here to be meaningful, not just marking time as the days pass.

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Bread and Roses in Olympia, Washington was created as part of the Catholic Worker Movement, a movement which consists of intentional communities dedicated to nonviolence and carrying out the biblical works of feeding the hungry and housing the homeless. Catholic Worker communities also strive to create a new society within the shell of the old, to work for the eradication of institutional inequalities and violence in all forms, and to experience personal transformation from such work. Our operations at Bread and Roses Catholic Worker are multifaceted. We operate a soup kitchen that provides two meals a day, six days a week to anyone in need of a warm meal. Single women and families can find shelter and hospitality at our guesthouse. Our drop-in center invites individuals to find a place during the day to "get out of the weather" which is especially appreciated, given the rain and cold of the Pacific Northwest.

I have seen justice at Bread and Roses. As I finish my year in Olympia, it is clear to me that this justice is not simply in what we do. It is the way we do what we do that is special and that sets us apart from what others might consider "band-aid" approaches. Our cooking and serving crews are volunteers. Church groups, civic groups, friends, and co-workers come in once a week or once a month to prepare and serve a meal. We are building bridges by engaging the community in this work and giving middle and upper class individuals the chance to fellowship with guests whom they might otherwise pass by and keep at a distance. Every month, over 200 members of the Olympia community come to our kitchen to serve. Each time they visit, they are exposed to the reality of homelessness, the need that is present, and the fact that the servants and the guests are part of one community. Our role is to provide an opportunity for others to come, to be transformed, and to go out and tell about their experiences. It is our hope that we change lives, affluent and destitute, within the broader community.

When personal connections are made, the stories and the faces become real to those who have comfortable lives. Then, the truth becomes apparent to those who might prefer to succumb to the easily attainable "blaming the victim" notion. The truth is that our guests do not need merely food and shelter, that structural inequalities cannot be dismantled without structural change, that serving food will not end hunger and that providing a bed will not eliminate homelessness. Poverty as we know it in America is the result of years of exploitation, ruthless capitalism, racism, consumerism . . . . The list goes on and on. Such structures took years to create and will likely take years to dismantle.

It is difficult, however, not to see such change happening within our kitchen. Our philosophy of nonviolence guides our daily actions. It informs our interactions with the volunteers and the guests. We create a space for the marginalized to gather, discuss, and even organize ways to respond to the chains they've been forced to wear. While many in our society would rather silence and ignore the poor and the homeless, we nourish them so they can gather strength, in body and in numbers, to stand up and declare to their community that they will not be silenced and that this ugly poverty must be both acknowledged and eradicated. The community takes note, and many who may never have incorporated such an approach into their lives embrace it. This is our way of working for change.

The longer I'm here the more I see the inherent justice of this place, though at times it has been hard for me to see the structural change within the personal work. But, it is possible, and it is present. The Catholic Worker Movement, and Bread and Roses as one of its parts, is a blessed reminder to people of faith. We are called to live out Christ's mandate to feed the hungry, house the homeless, and to treat each person as we would treat Christ. Catholic Worker philosophy holds this as the central focus of daily life, showing us by example that it can be done. Additionally, it encourages us to embrace Jesus' life as a reformer and advocate for the poor, compelling us to work towards recreating a world where tribulations such as poverty and inequality cease to exist. As Dorothy Day, one of the founders of the Movement, stated, "such dramatic change will take a revolution — a revolution of the heart."

* Editor's note: the title of this piece is a quote taken from Jim Forest.

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