Just Sabbath

Late in October, I went out to volunteer with Sidewalk Talk in the Tenderloin (a block and a half from F.’s place, but I didn’t see him). We set up several pairs of chairs facing each other, attached large signs to a fence behind us, and sat down. There were five volunteers including myself. I was sitting at one end, and was a little surprised when the two volunteers next to me started chatting with each other: wasn’t that one of the very few things the co-founder had asked us not to do? I assumed this conversation would soon end and that quiet receptivity would take its place, but that was not to be. The other volunteers talked to each other for the whole two hours, and the only person who sat down to talk to any of us was a woman who the others said comes by every week.

The very chatty volunteer sitting next to me turned to me a time or two, obviously hoping to converse, but I (an Enneagram One) like to follow the rules, so I engaged only briefly. Maybe that was wrong of me; maybe I was missing a chance to be friendly and open with this person while waiting for some other, imaginary person who never turned up. I noticed my rigidity about following the rules, as well as my judgments about those who weren’t.

As for myself, I initially focused on just sitting there in a relaxed manner, but that resulted in no engagement with any passerby whatsoever, so I started making eye contact, and then saying “Hello” and sometimes waving hello. These behaviors did result in eye contact with several people, and in some saying “Hello” back. I felt that calling, “Hey! Come and sit down!” would not be quite in the spirit of the thing, but maybe if I volunteer with Sidewalk Talk again, I will try that.

One powerful experience related to Sidewalk Talk came after I watched the training videos but before I actually went out to volunteer. I was at the grocery store, going through the line of a person whose line I have gone through many times—she doesn’t seem to be particularly friendly, but she always gets my bag discounts right, so I like her. On this day, taking an extra moment to observe her, I noticed for the first time that she has a tattoo on one arm: BLACK SABBATH.

“Are you a metalhead or just Sabbath?” I asked. Her face lit up as she assured me, “Just Sabbath,” and then went on to discuss when the term “metalhead” came into use. I didn’t need to look soulfully into her eyes and ask nosy questions to try to get her to tell me how she was feeling. All I had to do was to notice one small thing about her and remark on it for an alive sense of connection to spring up.

The way I got hung up on how my fellow volunteers were doing it “wrong” can definitely occur in other contexts. Getting to see this dynamic play out so clearly in a condensed time frame may help me to remember that this is not a helpful way for me to act at work, at my volunteer job, or anywhere else.

The next day I worked, I got a request from a fellow chaplain to see a patient who was facing an unwanted pregnancy termination. My colleague said she didn’t “get far” with this patient; that the patient spent the entire long visit complaining angrily about one thing or another. My colleague concluded that this patient had no spiritual or religious beliefs, and no support system. I too found the patient initially in a suspicious mood, but when she learned I am a chaplain, she invited me to pull up a chair (which told me that the other chaplain had gotten farther than she thought). I sat down for what I thought would be an experience similar to my colleague’s. Remembering what I had learned in the Sidewalk Talk training, when I felt tempted to ask a question, I reminded myself that listening for data divides us, and to listen for essence.

The patient shared that she is, in fact, the adherent of a particular religion, that she has a couple of people she can absolutely rely on, and that she was very sad about losing her child—she cried several times as she spoke—but that she also had a deep understanding that things were unfolding as they must. She had made detailed plans for how she would honor this child who was never to be born. It was a powerful and emotional visit—I cried, too—and for that I can thank Sidewalk Talk. It’s great that what seemed like a failed excursion ended up having such beneficial results.