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God's Work

God's Work

The priest eyed the program officer warily. He was not accustomed to this type of sophisticated begging, and here he was in the plush offices of one of the largest foundations in the Southwest, trying to explain to this man in a blue suit why his neighborhood school in one of the poorest sections of the city needed money.

"Your school has a fantastic reputation," the program officer said in a friendly manner. "You must be proud of what you've been able to accomplish."

"We have good people," the priest replied modestly. "They deserve the credit."

The program officer leaned back in his ergonomically correct chair, waiting for the priest to continue. When he didn't, he leaned forward again. "So what is it you need?"

"Air conditioners," the priest said matter-of-factly. "It's too hot in the summer for the children. You know, 110 degrees…" His voice trailed off into silence.

"I suppose you read our guidelines," the officer explained. "We don't make grants for equipment or general operations. What are some of your other needs?"

The priest thought for a moment. "Well, salaries are too low. We have problems keeping people after awhile. We can't pay what the public schools pay."

"Do you have any special projects planned? the officer asked. "How about youth violence? Are you doing anything in that area?"

"We don't allow violence," the priest replied firmly. "All of our children are well-behaved."

"In the rest of the neighborhood, I mean," the officer clarified. "That's a rough area, with a lot of gangs. Are you addressing that issue?"

The priest shrugged. "We focus on the school. Our children stay away from the gangs. What else could we do?"

The officer smiled in an encouraging way. "I was thinking of some type of community outreach project. You know, partnering with the YMCA or some other organization in an after-school recreational program, getting gang members to volunteer their time to mentor a child, that sort of thing. There are lots of interesting models out there. Have you ever thought of something like that?"

The priest hesitated. "I don't know," he finally said. "We just run a school. What we really need are air conditioners."

"I know," the officer replied. "And I'd really like to help you. But we don't make grants for that. We're interested in new models for reducing youth violence and teen pregnancy, policy studies in health care, empowering people for community change. We couldn't possibly afford to respond to the daily needs of all the nonprofits in the city."

"I mean, where would it end?"

"Yes, I can see how that's true," the priest said. "Well, thank you for your time." He rose to leave.

"I hope you understand," the officer said as he walked him to the door. "If you ever have a special project where you're working with others on community change, we'd love to help you. Obviously, you're doing a wonderful job with the school."

"It is God's work," the priest said simply. "Thank you again."

He walked slowly through the marbled reception area and took the elevator to the street. Once outside, he peered up at the morning sun, as if looking for a sign. If one was there, he couldn't see it. It was already 95 degrees, and the temperature was steadily rising.

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*The Drift reflects the views of the author, and does not represent the official view of SLHI's Board of Trustees and staff.