2022 Lent Stories: Jeff Hagen

Each Sunday during Lent, different members of our congregation are sharing their stories of pain, suffering, and even death, and how they are finding hope in Christ through it all. Jeff Hagen shared these words at our March 13th, 2022 worship service. 

My name is Jeff Hagen.  Many of you may not know or even recognize me because I tend to sit in the balcony and slip out as soon as the service is over to avoid talking to people, which isn’t my preferred activity.  Ironically, I’m a professional counselor who spends most of my working hours talking and listening to people.   

When Carol and John first asked me to share part of my story, I laughed and stopped reading the email, as I’m an expert at avoiding attention.   

My wife and I have lived in Philadelphia for the past 17 years: 8 in Fairmount and the last 9 in Northern Liberties.  I love the city.  I love my neighbors. I love my block. As I said, I’m a licensed professional counselor and have worked in this field in one capacity or another for 21 years, most of them in the city.  For 6 years, I worked at the Joseph J Peter’s Institute where I worked with survivors of sexual abuse, but more often with offenders. In my current position, I have many clients that are trauma survivors. Throughout my adult life, my own experience with trauma was vicarious. I knew it through my clients’ stories. That changed last year, on April 14th.

Around 6:30 p.m., during Restaurant Week in Northern Liberties, I was walking home from the Acme on Girard, carrying coffee and a small bouquet of flowers in a plastic bag. 

At the Acme, I had heard a bunch of teenagers yelling and cursing in the parking lot but didn’t see anyone as I left.  I took my normal route home, turning right on George St and then left on American.  As I walked up American, I heard the same fighting sounds coming from around the corner. Then I realized a car was next to me, driving alongside me, going the wrong way down a one-way street. Now the teenagers were yelling at me. I was annoyed but not worried as “Hey, it’s the city! Things like this happen sometimes.” But in a flash, one of the 4 young men in the car was walking aggressively towards me, then he was punching me in the head.  I stumbled into a run and made a quick left onto Liberties Walk where 30 or so people were dining outside. Plenty of people were watching what happened. No one said or did anything.  It made me wonder if what had happened actually occurred.  

Trying to stay near groups of people, I called 911. As I told the operator where I was and what had happened, I was struck again in the back of the head, and sent stumbling into the street. I dropped my phone.  Then followed a terrifying minute where I tried to outmaneuver what was now three teenage attackers. I managed to outrun them, but before I did, I made eye contact with one of the young men. 

I remember thinking, “You shouldn’t be still chasing me now.” I was truly afraid. 

I turned into El Camino believing that there surely would be safety there and was met by the host, who, after hearing me say I needed help, asked “Do you have a mask?”  

Fortunately, I did. She offered to call the police.  As she walked away, I turned towards the door and saw 2 of the young men walk in and start straight for me.  I was shocked. 

I said something like, “Leave me alone.  What do you want from me?” 

This got enough of the diners to look up and cause the young men to pause, look at each other and leave.  Shortly thereafter the police arrived, took my statement and a few from witnesses willing to talk. Hours later, I encountered another victim of the same group – a guy who looked a lot like me. He was in really bad shape.

 The next day, I began experiencing the effects of what was now my own trauma. What shocked me most, more than the assault, was that nobody tried to help me. I know my neighborhood well. I love it. I’ve chosen to raise my two children there. I thought I knew it.

 I struggle most days with anxiety, with disappointment in the witnesses to my assault. That event shattered many of the things I believed in. I’m left with an overwhelming feeling of uncertainty. Every day is a challenge. Some are better than others. Even though I’m highly specialized in trauma therapy, I had no idea how to admit that I was a survivor. That I am a survivor. 

When asked to talk today, I knew right away that I wouldn’t have any specific “aha, God!” moments to share from my pain. But I also know I have experienced grace. It has come in small gestures from unexpected places. My family, of course, has given me unwavering support, even as they’ve struggled to know how to do so. My boss and my supervisor (I don’t know if they are believers or not), have offered insight, support, and such space to struggle that it has left me speechless. I’ve been able to ask them and others to help support me, something that has made me more open and vulnerable than at any other time in my life. 

 While I struggle each day and search for a way out to the other side, I’m grateful for the seemingly small graces that have given me resilience, and the desire to pursue hope.