Charlie and the Wolves

Charlie’s life was a beautiful reminder that even the “wolves” among us are Children of God and deserving of our love and grace.

I have been blessed in my life by many things, not the least of which is an unusually rich roster of mentors. I can imagine that each of them would prefer that I not advertise their lives of quiet service to others. I suspect that Charlie would fall into that category, although it's also true that I would give anything for just one more conversation with him. My reflection here will skip over the well-worn stories of Charlie's early life, his founding Room In The Inn, and his remarkable life of service across several decades here in Nashville, TN. Those interested in these facets of Charlie's life need look no further than Margaret Renkl's heartwarming essay in the New York Times ("Proof That One Life Can Change The World", August 14, 2023).

            I should also offer at the outset that this reflection is more grounded in Christianity than other posts have been. There are two reasons for this, and neither is in any way intended to slight readers from other traditions. First, Charlie was a Catholic believer and it feels right and proper to ground my thoughts in his tradition. Secondly, I find my own "fortifying philosophy" in Liberation Theology and have written blog posts about about this previously. Simply put, I find renewing strength in the Catholic Social Teaching that says God has a special place in her heart for those cast aside by society.

            I met Charlie Strobel in 2006, during my time as a nursing student here in Nashville. I had gone back to nursing school at age 42 because, as I always explain, my heart and my hands weren't connected. Going in to school, all I knew was that I needed to find a way to use my new skills to serve others, as I had been raised to do but was not doing during my time in corporate health care. Another dear mentor, Lewis Lefkowitz, MD, was also a friend of Charlie's and was happy to connect us. Long story short, my first job out of my nurse practitioner training was at Room In The Inn, with Lewis as my preceptor. At the time, I had no idea of the remarkable environment I was about to enter.

            I could sit and share stories about Charlie for hours, just as many others more eloquent than I have already done or will soon do. But that's not my point. Rather, I want to share one story and a life-changing lesson that I failed to see at the time that has since shown up in everything I do. This story goes back to the time Charlie invited a known drug dealer into the Guest House, one of the ministries of Room In The Inn for which I was responsible. I was deeply opposed to this, because there were several people in the Guest House who were afraid of this person and worried about what would happen if he was allowed to be around them. But in the end, Charlie had the last word and this person was allowed to come in and enjoy the same shelter afforded anyone else. There were people who left because this person was invited in, but this person did not harm anyone nor was he changed as far as I could tell, but he was welcomed in, just like anyone else.

            In retrospect, it's easy to imagine myself as the protector of the sheep against the wolf who sought shelter in the Guest House. At the time, my understanding of Liberation Theology led me only partway down the path of service I sought to traverse. As I wrote earlier, I believe with all my heart that God has a special place in her heart for the marginalized. I saw the residents of the Guest House as those marginalized people, and saw my role as their protector. What I failed to see at the time was how my self-aggrandizing stance denied the drug dealer his full humanity. I couldn't see past my own fears to this man's right, this man's need to be seen not for who he was, but for who he might be. That was Charlie's magic - in his world, each of us was and is always a work in progress, and love always infuses people and situations with the possibility for the better parts of ourselves to appear.    

            Another piece of Charlie’s lesson which I failed to perceive at the time was that not only was it OK, but it was necessary to have an institution like Room In The Inn where theological answers to organizational questions were the norm. I clearly realize now what I should’ve seen at the time - that so long as organizational questions only have organizational answers we cannot move into the fullness of our humanity, because we are limited by our organizational dependence. It is only when we have the opportunity to embrace the fullness of the divine that we can begin to infuse loving change into the organizations on which our common life depends. From the limitations of human, organizational perspective, I was right to minimize risk and mitigate potential conflict by denying community to a drug dealer. From Charlie's perspective, I was short-sighted, denying the dealer and Guest House residents alike the possibility that this situation would open all of their hearts to new relationships and new community. What a stunning, beautiful, and all too rare vision.

            Over the years that followed my time at Room In The Inn, this lesson has become baked into my very DNA. My work with the PATHways Program at the Vanderbilt Comprehensive Care Clinic was about creating a loving, empowering community for traumatized people living with HIV who could not force their lives into the fifteen minute boxes demanded by clinic administrators. The website that hosts this blog, HIVequity.com, is dedicated to encouraging HIV clinicians to stand up and demand new models of care based on compassion and clinical excellence with the goal of empowering people forced into the shadows to be welcomed into the fullness of community that most of us casually enjoy. Let's be clear - I am not claiming Charlie's mantle, only seeking to honor his memory by acknowledging the powerful influence he's had on my life of service.

            Most importantly for me, Charlie's voice is in my heart encouraging me to give voice to the idea that social justice isn't the right goal for us to be pursuing. Charlie showed me this. Charlie never said this, and never needed to. What's the problem with social justice, you ask? Here's the deal. Jesus Christ did not become incarnate to bring justice to our broken world. Had that been the plan, Jesus could have easily aligned himself with the Pharisees of his day. Those folks were obsessed with justice and rule following, regardless of the human cost. Remember, justice is a human construct based on maintaining social cohesion between different groups. Justice is our attempt to keep the scales of our common life balanced when conflict or unfortunate events inevitably enter into our lives.

            And that's the rub. Jesus came to show the power of a life based on mercy, not justice. Rare is the one among us who can consistently occupy the perspective of mercy, because mercy expects more from us than does justice. Mercy challenges us to act on the belief that every person has the potential to act with love and kindness, regardless of how many times that person's actions have seemed to preclude any interest in or ability to change harmful behaviors. Part of loving people is honoring them enough to encourage them with love and with discipline and firmness to afford them every possible opportunity to step into the full beauty of their own humanity. Social mercy demands that we open our hearts and lives to our traumatized neighbors and our drug-dealing neighbors. Social mercy is not constrained by human definitions of equity between two parties. Social mercy opens the world like two hands open a loaf of homemade bread, inviting all to the feast.

            I miss you, Charlie. I'm so grateful that our paths crossed years ago and that you were patient with me during our time together. I love you and, to borrow a phrase from you, please know that I'm doing my best.