More from Parker J. Palmer's Let Your Life Speak (emphasis mine):

...inner work, though it is a deeply personal matter, is not necessarily a private matter: inner work can be helped along in community. Indeed, doing inner work together is a vital counterpoint to doing it alone. Left to our own devices, we may delude ourselves in ways that others can help us correct.

But how a community offers such help is a critical question. We are surrounded by communities based on the practice of "setting each other straight"--an ultimately totalitarian practice bound to drive the shy soul into hiding. Fortunately, there are other models of corporate discernment and support.

For example, there is the Quaker clearness committee mentioned earlier in this book. You take a personal issue to this small group of people who are prohibited from suggesting "fixes" or giving you advice but who for three hours pose honest, open quesitons to help you discover your inner truth. Communal processes of this sort are supportive but not invasive. They help us probe questions and possibilities but forbid us from rendering judgment, allowing us to serve as midwives to a birth of consciousness that can only come from within.

The key to this form of community involves holding a paradox -- the paradox of having relationships in which we protect each other's aloneness. We must come together in ways that respect the solitude of the soul, that avoid the unconscious violence we do when we try to save each other, that evoke our capacity to hold another life without dishonoring its mystery, never trying to coerce the other into meeting our own needs.

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Jennifer Michael Hecht's No Tomatoes: so much word.

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I recently drafted an article for my church newsletter on my experiences as a volunteer for Room in the Inn. It was considerably abridged for publication (with my blessing -- needs must), but for what it's worth (e.g., to those of you who know me or the BYM personally and are curious about our involvement, those of you contemplating helping out with similar programs in your area, etc.), here's the original:

A Night at the Inn

For me, one of the most meaningful activities I participate in at FUUN is Room in the Inn (RITI), the program through which the church gives overnight shelter to eight homeless men every other Friday from November to March.
I have involved with RITI since 2006.

Personal spiritual imperatives aside, a main attraction of the program for me was its flexibility: volunteers can commit to as little or as much as their schedules and stamina permit. You can sign up to supply just one part of the meal on one single Friday, drop off the assigned dish at the Morgan House by 6 p.m. Friday night, and that can be the entirety of your participation for the year. (The food doesn't even have to be homemade--the assignments include supplying milk and juice, non-perishable lunches, and desserts. What's important is that there be people willing to contribute them.) Or, you can offer to provide a ride between FUUN and the Campus for Human Development (CHD, the group that assigns the men to the churches) Friday afternoon or Saturday morning; that job is split up between two or three drivers each weekend, who customarily meet at the church and drive to and from CHD as a caravan.

During my first two years as a RITI volunteer, I participated strictly as a contributor of food. It was the perfect fit for me: I was working heaps of overtime, and generally lacked the energy to socialize with family and friends, let alone eight strangers. Never mind eight homeless strangers, with the myriad issues and ick they might bring to the table. Dropping off beverages, bbq (they LOVE bbq entrees), casseroles, and lunches, though--that was easy enough, so that's what I did.

By 2008-2009, however, the need for new hosts had become urgent, and I'd become ready to poke a foot outside my comfort zone. RITI is set up so that hosts work in pairs; my first time as a host, I was paired with someone who'd handled the role a couple times before, and since then I've co-hosted some nights with my husband, and others with congregants with varying levels of (in)experience.
I've been pleasantly surprised at how easy it is to host, especially in light of my earlier fears. You show up at 6 p.m. and deal with any setup necessary. Sometimes someone has already set up the beds (eight air mattresses in the back room), set out toiletries for the mens showers, and/or set up the table in the living room at which the men eat. There's often a volunteer who acts as "the server"--this person is in charge of heating up the food that other people have dropped off, and starting the first pot of coffee. If there isn't a server, that needs to be done as well. I'm cursed when it comes to TVs and DVD players--even ones more cooperative than the Morgan House machines, which have at times made me want to call an exorcist--so I usually ask the other host to deal with getting those working.

When the men arrive, they make a beeline for the beds so that they can set their stuff down--they usually have with them a single garbage bag containing their possessions. If they have laundry to be washed, they set it by the door for FUUN's RITI laundry volunteer to pick up later in the evening. They then sit down in the living room and the hosts/server serve them juice, iced tea, Coke, or coffee while waiting for the meal to be ready. The TV's on; many of them continue conversations they were having with each other when they came in. If a meal item hasn't shown up (very rarely, but sometimes people flake or wires get crossed), I call the volunteer in question, make a last-minute run to the Abbott Martin Kroger, or just do without.

When the food's ready, the hosts and server fill the plates and take them out to the men. Sometimes I've eaten with them, and sometimes I stay in the kitchen--it's depended on how social everyone's feeling (some guys want to talk and ask lots of questions about FUUN--I've inadvertently freaked out a few when they find out I'm not a Christian); some nights, everyone's attention is on the current basketball or football game on the TV) and what else needs doing. The volunteers offer seconds and refills, and then clean up.

Often, some of the men go straight to sleep after supper; it's been a long day for them, and everyone's tired. Some men take showers and then go to sleep. A few investigate the closet upstairs where we store donated clothing that they're welcome to take. (Donations of underwear and socks are always especially welcome.) Some of the guys will hang out to watch the game or the movie on offer, or to chat, and once in a while someone wants to play cards or a board game.

By midnight, though, everyone's gone to bed. I'm a night owl, so what generally happens then is that the other volunteer stretches out on a sofa and naps while I tap away on my laptop through the rest of the night. Occasionally one of the men might come in and ask for a glass of water or a slice of cake. Sometimes I need sleep in spite of myself, and then the other volunteer keeps watch while I doze.

A little bit after 4 a.m., it's time to get ready for breakfast: we put the breakfast casserole in the oven, set the table, and start a fresh pot of coffee. The men are up around 5--some shower, others flip on the TV. Some don't want breakfast and others devour 2-3 helpings. The drivers show up by 6 to collect the men, and then the other host and I clean up: we strip the beds and pile the linens into a heap for the laundry volunteer to collect; we put away the mattresses and tables, take out the trash, and tidy up the kitchen. If there are portable, non-fussy leftovers, we might send them to CHD with the men; if it's just a few slices of this or that, we might leave a sign on them letting the Sunday Morgan House users they're up for grabs; if it's something appropriate for sale at the food table, I'll either take it home with me to bring back Sunday, or collect it Sunday morning right after first service.

It doesn't take long, and I'm usually on my way home (or to wherever else I need to be) by 7 a.m. The streets are clear, the air is crisp, and the birds are singing as I wend my home, and it feels glorious to be alive.