Unemployment Blues

We gather in the lobby, sitting on the vinyl clad furniture. A group of mostly middle-aged men and women. We nod to each other, acknowledging each other's presence. A nod, silent, yet says so much. Silent recognition. We've seen each other before in classes, in workshops, in the elevators, in the restrooms. Sometimes we know each other's names. We always recognize each other's pain. In the lobby, rumors buzz like summer flies. "Didja hear that AT&T is hiring?" "If I can improve my skills, I can get on with that temp agency that was here yesterday." No one ever seems to know someone who's actually been hired. They talk about the future - the one where they have a job, they talk about the weekend, they talk about the classes they've signed up for next week. No one talks politics - there's no need. It doesn't matter. The fix is in. 

After the nod, comes the look. The look is the same for everyone - hopeful and vacant at the same time. Maybe one more class, one more review of my resume will land me the job that I want. Or, more accurately, the job that I need. Savings and prospects are dwindling at an equal rate. Welcome to the new reality. 

Our Employment Specialists are always upbeat. Why not? They've got jobs. They're mostly young. I imagine them going out together for drinks after work talking about the terrible resumes or cover letters they saw that day. They tell us (the clients) to dress everyday like we're going to an interview. No one does. 

A woman moves to the elevator lobby to take a phone call. She's glad to hear from "Tony". She assures him that she still wants the apartment and will have no problem paying the rent. She sounds positive, almost cheery. Silence follows only to be broken by "I understand" and "no, I don't blame you. Thank you, anyway." She wonders aloud to no one in particular how she'll be able to move to an apartment she can afford without a job. Then she joins the rest of us as we march to the computer lab hopeful that if she can only learn how to use Excel, someone will hire her.

At the end of the class, I leave the building and head towards BART for the return trip home. The streets are bustling with people. There's also the legless man who sits in a wheelchair at the corner asking for spare change. A little further down the street is the thirty-something woman sitting on the sidewalk reading to her two small children. A basket with a couple of dollars in it is on the ground next to her. Music emanates from the BART station, proof that the usual group of buskers are there. They take turns playing, so no has a monopoly on the passengers passing through. People in need know how to share. Now, there's a lesson we can all learn from.

Tomorrow, I'll get up, shower and shave, dress, and head for the train. I've got another class to take, another lesson to learn, and maybe, just maybe, this will be the one that lands me a job.

It Is Finished

During Holy Week, All Souls Episcopal Parish has a 3-hour contemplative service on Good Friday. The service is a combination of readings, music, and personal reflection. The reflections are written and read by members of the congregation. This year, the reflections were based on the seven last words of Jesus, so there were seven personal reflections. I was asked by the Rector to participate and prepare a reflection.

Here it is:

"It is finished" (John 19:30)

I’m afraid of death. Not so strong a fear that I'm immobilized, but a fear that sneaks up on me from time to time, most often when I'm trying to fall asleep. My fear stems from not knowing exactly what will happen to me when I die. Thinking of an expanding universe, or infinity, or eternity, often triggers an episode. With almost everything else I don't understand, I can gather information. I can't do that with death. There are no stories. 

I know I'm not alone. I know others share the same fear.

When I first came to faith, I was taught a few things that were supposedly essential doctrines; heaven is real, hell is real, Christians go to heaven, everyone else goes to hell, and if you're afraid of dying, you're not really saved. I spent years doubting my salvation simply because I had a fear of death.

As I've gotten older, the fear has lessened. I attribute that to having a better understanding that my faith is much more about how I live my life in the here and now and not so much about getting into heaven. It's like Jesus is telling us to take care of the things here. Because it is finished, other things have been taken care of. I don’t have to worry.

I’m always amazed at the Lazarus story. If I could change anything about the Lazarus story as recorded in the Gospel, I would have him describe what it was like to be dead. He must have had quite the story. What was Lazarus' experience? What was being dead like?

"It is finished. " According to John's Gospel, these are Jesus' last words. John wrote this gospel in Greek and used the word tetelestai. The word gives the sense that “everything is complete, there’s nothing more to do” John Stott, a British theologian and Anglican Evangelical, says that not only did Jesus finish the work but it “never needs repeating or improvement.”

When Jesus said "it is finished" it wasn't a sigh of resignation. This was a shout of triumph- "IT IS FINISHED!. What was supposed to be an ending became a beginning.

Diana Butler Bass recently wrote a piece about Julian of Norwich. In that article Bass suggests that Jesus didn’t die for us but rather with us. Bass writes “We are with Jesus on the Cross, not at a distance from it, standing by, watching safely from afar; those are our hands and feet nailed, our blood dripping, our voices crying out “We thirst.”

In Galatians Paul says, “I have been crucified with Christ.”

It is finished. There’s nothing else to do. It can’t be improved upon. It’s perfect.

I can't say that I'll never have a fear-of-death episode again. But I can say that because it is finished, I put my trust in a God who experienced death and will be with me when I face my own death. Because it is finished, I trust my savior to prepare a way for me. Because it is finished, I believe that Jesus will see me through. Because it is finished, death does not have the last word.