A Time of Gratitude
This is my friend Joe.
“I still have hope for people. We never know what is going to stick with somebody – we just keep trying. I always perceived my job as, if you fall down, we will pick you up.”
-Joe Jordan-Berenis
Joe was from New York, and you knew it as soon as he started to speak. The combination of his jean jacket, eclectic bracelet collection and flip flops made him approachable, but it was the way his eyes smiled that showed you who he really was.
He moved to Santa Fe after a career working in youth shelters and the Family of Woodstock organization to retire in the beautiful city in the shadow of the Sangre De Christos. Instead, he spent the next 7 years leading the local low-barrier Interfaith Community Shelter as the Executive Director. He retired a second time in May of 2021, only to be called back to service a month later when things didn’t work out with his replacement. He was 75 when he died suddenly and unexpectedly. At the time of his passing he was still working tirelessly to improve the lives of individuals and families experiencing homelessness in Santa Fe. He and his beloved wife were living in New York preparing for their first grandbaby.
The first time I met Joe I was visiting the Interfaith Shelter as part of my introduction to the grantees I would be partnering with in a brand new and intimidating job. I had gone from being an HIV case manager to the local hospital Manager of Community Health and felt the weight of my new responsibilities as I conducted site visits across the community, for the first time in a position of power as a funder.
Joe greeted me at the door, and as we made our way to his office an older woman approached him speaking rapidly. She was clearly in distress and in need of his attention. Joe addressed her calmly and explained she would need to wait until their set appointment time. She continued to escalate in her upset. I stood by observing. My own background in psychiatric settings informed me that this woman was experiencing mental health symptoms as her pressured speech moved from one topic to another, and she addressed people that were not visible to me or Joe. When she finally understood that she would not be able to meet with Joe until later she crumbled onto the floor, like a child she threw a tantrum, her tiny fists banging on the floor. Joe, in his calm kind way explained, “I am so sorry that you feel so upset, I promise I will keep our set appointment at the time we already discussed.” He ushered me back to his office.
His face indicated that he was concerned that I had been distressed by what I witnessed. I explained my background and acknowledged his skill and gentle approach. We were friends from that moment forward. We told stories about working with homeless youth, we talked about behavioral health needs being left unmet, we talked about the de-institutionalization of state run mental health and the void of community-based services and the direct link to our current crisis of both homelessness and behavioral health needs. When I left that day I knew we would be friends.
One year later I joined the volunteer teams when I heard there was a need. On top of my fulltime and very intense job for the hospital I joined the evening crew of volunteers who run the cold weather shelter on both Wednesday and Friday nights. It became part of my self-care and resilience plan. Spending time at the shelter refilled my cup, reinvigorated and inspired me. Volunteering at the shelter became one of the most important parts of my life for the next few years.
When he first announced his plan to retire, Joe called me to ask if I would be willing to step into his role. He knew I had moved three hours away and purchased land, but he jokingly told me he had to try. I had volunteered two nights a week for the past two seasons of cold weather shelter with the team under Joe’s leadership. He knew how deeply committed I have been to the work of easing suffering for the members of our community who find services, solace, connection, and care when they come for shelter. Only after we had a Facetime tour of our ranch did he say he understood and gave me his blessing to live in Roswell and walk away from the work in Santa Fe.
The animals on Joe’s desk, he sent it after I took him on the virtual tour of our farm.
He had some of the most incredible skills I have ever witnessed. Joe could de-escalate a person in a psychotic break waving an axe around in the parking lot until the police arrived, help revive someone experiencing an overdose, call an ambulance for a person in diabetic distress, and then still take the time to sit in his office with his staff to get a laugh in before everyone went home and the night volunteer crew got settled in.
At Joe’s retirement party with his best friend Bev.
To read more about the experience of people who worked with Joe see the articles in the Santa Fe New Mexican. His obituary includes a tribute wall of his achievements and impact on those around him. For more beautiful reflections on Joe’s leadership see the Interfaith Community Shelter Press Release February 23, 2021.
Every person who met Joe will tell you they were friends. Whether you were a volunteer, a funder, a community leader, or a shelter guest (maybe experiencing a hallucination and talking both to Joe and someone else he couldn't see) you were treated with respect and dignity in the same measure.
He had so much love that every single person he interacted with got it all. My heart is bigger because of Joe, my compassion is deeper, my work is more meaningful.
I once heard someone say that the incredible thing about meeting His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama was that he treats you like you are the Dalai Lama. Well, that's what it was like to spend time with Joe. He treated every person he met like they were someone special, and he truly believed it. He never condescended to or shamed another person. His tenderness and patience were boundless, and he spent his life showering those gifts on people experiencing homelessness.
The medicine of Joe’s spirit was that he saw the best in each person right in front of him. His love was deep and unconditional. There was never a person he met who didn't leave better.
At some point Joe and I started telling each other, "I love you." It was just one of those things that happened naturally. It felt like ending a call with one of my parents. The first time it happened I thought he had made a mistake. The casual, "Love ya!" felt like a moment of error, a slip of the mind and automatic sign-off and I automatically responded, "Love you too!" The next time we spoke Joe went out of his way to clarify. He said, "Hey Jess, you know I love you right?" We talked about our work and our friendship and about how much we admired each other. I loved him like an uncle and felt so happy that we could be honest about how we felt about each other. We never hesitated again to end our calls with, "Love ya!" with the exception of our group meetings with other community leaders.
I know there will be many more times I reach for my phone to text Joe, to get his advice and hear his thoughts. I know I will start to call him before I realize that he isn't there to answer.
I ordered a custom bracelet today that says, "What would Joe do?" I know if I ask myself that question I will find the answer in my heart, because that is where I will go to seek it. I know my response will be gentler, my words will be more kind, my spirit will be more generous, and my work will be more meaningful.
I am lucky to have known Joe and I hope I can honor him every day by working to be who he thought I was capable of being.
