This I Believe by Elizabeth Orr

Foreword by Denise Morency Gannon

I met Elizabeth Orr when I was a campus minister at Stonehill College and she was a first year student. I found her to be extremely bright, extremely personable, friendly and completely unique. Liz found herself visiting Campus Ministry frequently, full of questions, wise answers and always listened with an intentional ear.

Ultimately, Liz combined her undergraduate studies in history with her draw toward pastoral ministry with a specific interest in social justice. During her undergraduate years, Liz served as a student ministry and team leader, participated in service trips and retreats, sacramental worship and worked as my summer intern when I directed student ministry (how lucky can you get!). As her undergraduate studies came to a close, Liz made some powerful decisions that impacted her own life as well as the people whom she served that you'll read in her blog post.

While doing post-graduate service work, Liz earned her Master's degree in Pastoral Ministry from Boston College's School of Theology and Ministry. She now serves as the Director of Catholic Programming at Wake Forest University in North Carolina.   

I'm extremely proud to introduce Elizabeth Orr as the Roncalli Center's first guest blogger on the eve of the beatification of Pope Paul VI, whose famous quote, "If you want peace, work for justice," shines through Elizabeth Orr's compelling personal account and her work on behalf of the people of God in the world. Truth telling takes courage. Read Liz's post. Comments to the blog are welcome.   

This I Believe by Elizabeth Orr  

I believe in the everyday practice of non-violence.  I believe in practicing non-violence to gain peace through acts of justice, in the extraordinary moments in life and in the ordinary moments in life, in the external world and in our internal selves.  That belief in non-violence led me to some incredible places throughout my life.  It led me down to Fort Benning, GA, where I would join thousands of others protesting American training of Latin-American militaries.  It led me to an all-men soup kitchen in Boston, where I worked for free in exchange for housing, and developed friendships with men with addiction and criminal records.  It led me to offering workshops and spiritual direction for women in prison.  And it led me to the position of Behavioral Counselor at a residential treatment program for adolescent girls with emotional and behavioral issues.  And in a moment and an experience in which my belief in non-violence was challenged, I came to realize that it is the everyday, ordinary, and internal practices of non-violence that are the most difficult to engage in.

About a month into my tenure at this residential treatment program, that belief in non-violence was challenged with a fist to my face.  One of my girls, in the depths of a crisis, punched me squarely in my right eye, and fractured my eye-socket.  I heard the crack of my orbital floor, I immediately saw double vision, and I had a choice: back away, or go in for a restraint. 

I chose to back away and instead, insured that the rest of the girls in the house were safely upstairs while my assailant de-escalated.  Later at the hospital that night, the doctors told me I had a fractured eye socket and may need surgery. I could not help but laugh at the irony of the fact that just a year prior to that night, I had spent so much time unpacking the biblical directive “an eye for an eye” in my master’s thesis project, and here I was, a victim of someone’s violence, with a very injured eye.  Well, looks like I passed my own test, I told myself: I didn’t hit her back!

As these types of incidents tend to do, the situation grew more and more complicated as time went on.  As I began the recovery process, my employers put a lot of pressure on me to return to work well before my eye was healed.  My doctors recommended I remain out of work for three weeks. My employers disregarded the medical advice and insisted that I return half a week after the injury for “administrative” work. 

Frustrated at the way I had been treated and losing faith that my employers would take reasonable measures to ensure my safety, I gave my two weeks-notice and resigned without another job lined up.  Thus began three months of an exhausting job search, a diminishing bank account, and ultimately, financial assistance from my parents – basically, living out the exact nightmare of every twenty-something college graduate. 

But far beyond that, I found myself becoming internally bitter at my employers. I was so angry that I had trained and worked so hard and had followed their rules and protocols. Still, when I was injured, when I was vulnerable, I had to fight an uphill battle of paperwork and insurance company phone tag just to get basic benefits like workers compensation.  Doctors notes were lost and then disregarded; phone calls and emails to human resources were unreturned.  And so I left my job feeling defeated and powerless against this organization, back to the fruitless and frustrating job search that seemed even more daunting, considering that I had only lasted two months at my last place of employment.

I was so furious and frustrated that not a week went by that I didn’t break down in bitter tears in the middle of writing a cover letter.  All the anger I had for my employer and all the exhaustion from my job search in addition to the shame that I felt at being unemployed were brewing and swirling into a harsh gird that I could taste in everything I did. 

And it hit me (not unlike that punch to my eye), that all of these boiling emotions that keep coming up were violence.  The emotions that were weighing me down each day were just as damaging and traumatic as the blow that fractured my eye socket.  And I needed to let them go.  I needed to let go of the violent emotions I felt for my employers and my assailant if I was ever going to keep finding the strength to write another cover letter, fill out another job application and believe that another interview might make way to fruitful employment.  I needed to let go of them if I was ever going to stop thinking of myself as a victim and get past that assault. 

That said, I say with just gratitude that many of the people with whom I worked with on a day-to-day basis at the residential program were wonderful, supportive, and caring. Colleagues, co-counselors and my immediate supervisors supported me not only in words but in actions. They covered my shifts and shielded me from some of the pressure being put on them to bring me back to work. To eliminate the compassionate fidelity on my behalf of these co-workers with those who neglected to ensure safety would in itself be an injustice and in itself an immoral act. Leaving the colleagues who acted on my behalf understaffed made the decision to resign even more difficult because of the depth of my respect and admiration for them and the difficult work that they continue to do on a daily basis. I did not want to let them down. However, as the administration of the program put more and more pressure on me and neglected explicit instructions from my physicians with regard to my injury, I lost confidence in leadership’s ability to support me in my work, in my personhood and in my belief in non-violence. The act of abandonment by leadership felt treacherous. This is how wars begin, with malice, lack of communication and fear of losing what is most precious within relationships – the ability to trust others. This is the birth of violence in any form.

That realization of my own internal violence was the beginning, and I wish I could say it all clicked into place from there.  It did not.  There were still moments where I was angry; there were still calls from insurance companies that left me frustrated months after my last shift at the residential program.  More than choosing not to hit my assailant back, I had to really commit to letting go of those violent emotions towards my previous employer.  Slowly, that hard, bitter internal violence turned into a new learning experience about my boundaries and about advocating for myself.  Slowly, as those lessons continued to turn over and unearth new insights, I could see that it was not that night - that punch - that form of violence that really challenged me.  The true challenge of non-violence was in the rejection of violent bitterness and anger, and in learning to practice peace and patience in a process in which I did not possess control. 

While I believe in and encourage wholeheartedly everyone to practice non-violence when confronted in dramatic and extraordinary moments in life, I also believe that we must all reflect on the burden of internal violence we carry with us every day.  Anger, resentment, shame, and frustration – all of these are boiling, burning emotions that embitter our relationships and interactions. But they are also invitations.  They are invitations to healing and reconciliation.  They are invitations into the everyday practice of non-violence and as important as any sit-in, march, bus boycott or crucifixion. From an eye-to-an-eye philosophy to Gospel mercy, they are invitations to practice peace to work for justice and to bring to birth the Gospel message of reconciliation for the creation of a non-violent world. 

This I believe. 

"The joys and hopes, the grief and anguish of the people of our time, especially of those who are poor or afflicted, are the joys and hopes, the grief and anguish of the followers of Christ as well." (Gaudium et Spes, #1.)