A Reflection on Car Washing

I got my car washed the other weekend at the Shell station as part of the WorkCamp 2006 fundraising activities. As the new DRE, this was both an opportunity to show my support for our parish youth in this endeavor and to reflect upon the experience through the larger lens of social justice ministry.

The car wash experience itself may not seem particularly remarkable. High schools and other organizations often use this method to raise funds for causes. The Girl Scouts do a similar activity when they sell cookies just across the street at the Giant supermarket. In each case, as a matter of means to an end, a donation is given toward a worthy cause and something is given in return. There is a transaction of sorts where goods and services are exchanged, though in the end nothing but wishes of “Good Luck” are for free.

As I stood near my car, I watched it get soaped down, scrubbed and rinsed by several WorkCamp teenagers as well as their parents. Others were flagging down traffic with Car Wash signs or lining up the next vehicle. It was quite a busy operation!

I greeted everyone I knew and made small talk while they busily attended to my car. I asked how the day’s activities were going. It had been a little slow in the morning, but the weather had cooperated perfectly and these last few hours had been packed. I was struck on the one hand by the pleased energy of enthusiasm in this rush and the more silent focus of those washing down the cars. I wondered what “lessons” the teenagers might be learning from this day and more simply if, as I’ve often heard from them, they were having any fun?

As a means to an end, it is easy enough to understand the lesson of sacrifice and hard work in order to attain a future goal. But from a social justice perspective, service also comes alongside the “goods” of solidarity. I am reminded of another seemingly unremarkable time when our cars get washed and the simplicity of making ends meet isn’t fun either.

Commuting into New York City by car, as I did in the late 1980s and early 1990s, it was inevitable that someone would spray water on my windshield and offer to squeegee my car clean. Rather than a fundraiser for a worthy cause, this panhandling was deemed embarrassing to the city’s tourism industry and the mayor at the time cracked down on such activities.

As a frequent visitor to New York, I often dissuaded such entrepreneurs by waving off their approach, flipping on my wipers, or as a last resort engaging my wiper fluid. Sometimes I failed. Other times my windows really were dirty and I didn’t mind coughing up some change. My approach was inconsistent but tended to operate in one of two related ways: How did I perceive this person approaching my car? Should I give this person any money?

It wasn’t until years later that I learned to relate these questions differently. Before, I was connecting goods and services in a self-centered way. If I didn’t feel threatened by the person, I might not mind letting them approach my car. If I got something I needed, it was reasonable to pay for it.

But through the lens of social justice ministry, I learned to see human work related to human dignity. The need to do meaningful work is integral to being fully human, not a means to an end (payment), but an end in itself (personhood). The WorkCampers raising funds for their ministry are fundamentally no different than the panhandlers outside Lincoln Tunnel.

I have no idea whether the people washing my car this past weekend saw themselves in solidarity with this impoverished role, but I am certain they will share glimpses into this experience at WorkCamp. I also don’t know whether panhandlers see themselves as ambassadors for human dignity. But I am certain it takes more than our simple exchange of services and good wishes to accomplish the hard work of being fully human.

Washed, fed, and clothed by Baptism, Eucharist, and Chrismation, God’s graciousness overflows upon us. In this abundance we are called to take the step from charity to solidarity. The step from charity to solidarity makes all the difference.

Jay Cuasay, DRE