Ambassador Hotel Chaplaincy - Musings About a 23 Year Old Quiet Ministry

We have a daily ministry in the Ambassador, a residential hotel which has gone from unbelievably atrocious to rehabbed decent during that time. Owners/operators have provided space for our chaplains, mostly volunteers, to simply open the door, plug in the water heater and wait for people to come for coffee, tea, and conversation. I stopped in the lobby to get the key from the desk clerk and Jerry, his arm in a sling, was instantly alongside me. He said he had had shoulder surgery, was in lots of pain, found it worse to lie down and was just “hanging out in the lobby talking to anybody who would take his mind off that.”

“Come on up and talk to me,” I offered, getting on the elevator. “Maybe I will,” he said.

Door open – water heating – Tom came in. Tom struggles with severe depression and physical injury pain. He is a regular in worship at the Rescue Mission and we talk about The Shack, a book he just finished. Honestly, it’s a bit schmaltzy and simplified for me, but still has some useful insights and ways of presenting good theological responses to complicated, thorny questions.

Jose wandered in, sat down and nodded off, his eyes rolling up into his head. Both of us tried to engage Jose in conversation, learning only that he “is recovering from surgery”. Unspecified. I asked him what he is using and he replied: “Methadone and oxycodone.” A powerful combination and I wonder if the two prescriptions came from different doctors who might or might not be aware of the other one. Jose stood up, saying he had an appointment and staggered toward the social worker’s office, pausing briefly to ask us for prayer. Tom’s gentle compassion for Jose was moving to witness.

Jerry entered, talking nonstop. An African American gay man, he was assaulted by three men who beat him severely, breaking his shoulder. It healed badly and he needed a complete shoulder replacement. (Your shoulder is the most complicated joint in your body.) Having had a much less severe shoulder injury and resultant frozen shoulder years ago, I have some idea of what this pain is like and how it gets into your head and takes over. But what he is suffering is impossible to imagine. Suddenly, Jerry was telling us of a rapturous experience he had while trying to meditate in his room. He describes this as being swept up, taken over by, filled with gratitude, smiling as he said: “I’m a Holy Ghost kind of person.” He is so grateful for not being homeless, for having a clean, decent, safe room in which to live, for friends, for the green and blooming rooftop garden maintained by two hotel residents, and more. Again he says: “I’m a Holy Ghost kind of person,” following that with “I can’t talk about this with many people.” Just so did Jerry jerk me out of a bad place, a sense of loss, I had fallen into. Truly, “the Spirit blows where she wills.”

After Jerry left, Tom and I shared prayer for both Jose and Jerry. Tom mused: “I wonder who our next mystery guest will be.” How marvelous that Tom embraces this as our ministry. Leo came crashing in, arms and legs contorting wildly when he sat down, beginning a rambling story about his sister. Leo was brought into Network Ministries decades ago by Scott. An untutored but gifted pianist, Leo, sadly, is also a longtime meth user whose major goal is to be “buried in the reservation” in Utah. While I don’t deny Leo’s personal responsibility for his plight, he does always make me remember and pray forgiveness for the way Native Americans have been treated for centuries. I cut his discourse short, knowing that it would be endless otherwise, asking (once again) if he thought about quitting the drugs. Silence. I held my breath. Had I blundered, making this child of God feel rejected, judged, unacceptable by my repeated asking? I don’t want to sever the long relationship we have. Leo turned to Tom, saying: “Only Glenda and John O’Brien care enough to keep asking me that.” I wonder if he realizes that John is long dead or if somehow John’s raspy voice still comes to him. “The Spirit blows where she wills.” Leo gives a lesson learned over and over – love requires some sign of truly caring about a person’s life choices. God calls us to keep on being there for any and all of Her children. God calls us never to take the easy road of simply accepting that a person is “doing the best he can.” None of us, no matter our societal status, are doing the best we can.

John O’Brien was a difficult person to get along with to put it mildly. Whenever I moderated community meetings, my heart sank with John’s entry, knowing he would go off on some rant and be almost impossible to shut up. But he cared about the people of the Tenderloin and other poor people and was not afraid to challenge them (like Leo) or to challenge City Hall, though he was in constant physical pain. Just how much he was respected and by how wide a range of people became apparent when I stood up to lead his Memorial Service turning to face a standing room only congregation in a large hall, including the Mayor of San Francisco. All expressed gratitude for having had to struggle with this pugnacious and tenacious worker for justice. It was a humbling experience. Years later, Leo reminded me of John’s response to God’s call to work all your life for what is right and not be afraid to challenge an individual or an institution.. “The Spirit blows where she wills.”

Another day at the Ambassador Hotel chaplaincy – the Listening Post. Ray comes in but the water is not yet hot enough to make coffee and he goes out again. Steve comes in, his bowed head, slumped posture and inability to make eye contact all kinetic signs of his profound depression. His answers to my comments and questions are mostly monosyllabic. Ray comes back talking a blue streak about his daughter having called to ask Daddy to come and bring a gallon of milk because her mother came back from the store with just TV dinners. Ray is furious. Accuses his ex-wife of being an active addict and expresses fury that she gained custody of their 3 year old “just because I’m bi-polar.” (Say a prayer for this little girl.) But Ray pauses to greet Steve warmly and Steve opens up a little. Ray leaves to catch the bus and take the milk to his daughter. I note to the still present Steve that I had not met him before and he says he doesn’t come often because Ralph puts him down. I know Ralph. He is the building bully. In a time when the owner of the building was trying to harass everyone out so that he could sell to an upscale developer (which the community successfully fought because it would mean the loss of another 168 units of affordable housing), Ralph was the “enforcer.” Now he is the loan shark, charging $2 for every $l he loans. I must remember to tell the other Ambassador chaplains to be very firm about monitoring Ralph’s behavior in the Listening Post. It can be difficult. Steve abruptly leaves. J.L. comes in. He’s worried about his grown daughter who he suspects is in an abusive relationship. “She would never tell me that,” he says, “because she knows I would kill him. In all my life I have never put my hands on a woman in anger and I have no respect for any man who does.” Then he dramatically changes the subject, saying that “the 16th” (this Saturday) is the 2nd anniversary of my oldest brother’s death.” His brother was on daily kidney dialysis, living in a Tenderloin residential hotel, and had “been sick all his life.” One day he refused to be taken for the dialysis and that night he died. JL is kicking himself because he didn’t go and make his brother get the treatment. I say that daily dialysis is horrible and that at some point we must respect a person’s wish to be in control of his suffering including ending it. (People have said to JL that awful thing: “Man proposes but God disposes”, meaning that we should not interfere with natural processes. Surely dialysis and a lot of other things interfere with natural processes, but that is another topic.) I switch the conversation to grief and JL’s tears flow freely, along with his words about his brother, his abusive father who beat up daily on JL’s mother before he was committed to a mental hospital, more about how much his older brother meant to him…. JL remembers that I performed his brother’s memorial in the hotel and asks if I really believe the things about eternal life in God’s love. I do.

"You just never know what will happen in that afternoon chaplaincy in a Tenderloin hotel."

Another day, this one different from the previous two. We have a group from the outset and for most of the time, instead of individual comings and goings. (Exceptions: Sergio comes to borrow a couple of books and another man drops in to ask if he is too old to become a Catholic. I say I’m sure he isn’t but he should come on Monday to talk with the priest who is regularly here.) We talk about how people are feeling. Several comment that the Listening Post is crucial for them because it provides an encouraging place to be with people rather than to isolate and become more depressed and withdrawn. One says it is a lifesaver. I ask about Kar and a couple of people comment on how caring she is, tho “she has her own set of problems.” This leads into talk about helping others – “gets you outside yourself and makes you feel good.” Someone reports that she hopes to go on a church sponsored retreat to Santa Cruz in October and we talk about how the ocean just makes you feel better which leads into a discussion about the great variety of life in the ocean, the wonders of it (“I saw this fish in an aquarium and it had a face”) the endless imagination of God, and a question about the habitat of seahorses (I promised to research this and tell them next week). Steve breaks his silence, telling of seeing what he thought was a piece of watermelon floating in the ocean, how he grabbed it to eat (a rare treat, dear reader, for people living on subsistence) only to find it was a jellyfish (double ouch!). He goes on to say he is on regular Thorazine and everyone commiserates (look up the side effects of this powerful drug). We switch to what people have been reading, Steve asks if he can borrow a couple of Newsweeks, and two people who have changed from coffee to chamomile tea pronounce the tea calming and soothing, thus better for blood pressure.

Tom asks what time it is and all are surprised to learn we have been there for l l/2 hours. Time drags for most Ambassador residents but the chaplaincy is welcome respite and restoration of hopeful energy.

Grateful thanks to all of you who are now chaplains and/or have been chaplains in the past. All present chaplains and many who have moved on were mentioned by name and with gratitude in this conversation. “The Spirit blows where She wills” and it is clear that you have been her instrument in singing the song of Love.