Lerdo, 1968

When I was in college at University of Dayton, I belonged to an organization called CIASP (Conference on Inter-American Student Projects). It was as a member of this group that I spent 8 weeks in the summer of 1968 living and working in a small village in Mexico, in the state of Veracruz, called Lerdo de Tejada. Eleven of us went down that particular summer, living in homes arranged by the village priest, and teaching English as a foreign language in a small and very primitive school in the neighboring village. It may have looked for all the world like we were the ministers, offering our services to the school system there, but in reality, the eleven of us were most surely the benefactors, permitted to be engulfed in a culture so totally foreign to us, expanding our narrow view of the world and its poor. For some reason, I was placed with by far the poorest of the families. While others had the relative comforts of indoor plumbing and a nuclear family with whom to live, my situation was different. For some reason (and I can’t imagine why) I was placed with a family who had no relationship with the Church at all. There must have been a backstory to this, but I was never privileged to its telling. They were not a traditional family: there was Argelia (the elderly mother) and her two adult children, both probably in their late forties, Angel, who was a schoolteacher, and Rosa, who had apparently no occupation. My long missives to my mom and dad betrayed a homesickness the likes of which I had never known, and I cringe even now as I think what this must have put my parents through, detailing time spent in the outhouse, miserable Montezuma’s Revenge, sleeping on the narrowest of cots in unbearable heat. Eight weeks can change a lot, and in those weeks I grew to have a fierce love and respect for this threesome who had taken me in and shared their poverty as if it were the finest of accommodations and the richest of foods.
The final chapter in my mission story came on the last day, the day we were to leave. Padre Manuel had suggested that we begin with Mass together, then disperse to our homes, and finally meet at the bus station. But my family did not go to Mass and there was no way I could leave them on that morning to join the others at church. They sat at the kitchen table, the three with whom I lived and the cousins next door, all very somber. They kept looking at me, waiting for me to leave for church. When I didn’t, they simply did not know what to do. This was not the “Juani” who was so conscientious about being with the group for all church activities. But I was at my Eucharist, right there in our kitchen.
In the liturgy we not only celebrate Christ’s offering himself to be bread, broken and shared, but we also offer ourselves to be broken and shared in the community, to and for others. This is why that final meal in Lerdo was so strongly eucharistic for me – through the strength and grace of God, this non-believing family had offered life to me from their own meager means, and from the well of themselves; they broke and shared their lives without counting the cost, for me, an unknown “gringa.” I, in turn, after some gentle coaxing, was finally able to reciprocate. And on that last morning we sat around a rough-hewn wooden table and ritualized our eight weeks of growing to love each other fiercely, as we shared tears and tortillas, their bread of life. I have rarely felt so aware of Christ’s sacrifice, embodied in a ritual meal, as I was at that one. I don’t mean to imply that this was more than a Eucharistic liturgy, but I had lived this Eucharist intensely for eight weeks, and it was there ritualized with all the appropriate solemnity.
This episode in my life continues to be as vivid today as it was some forty odd years ago. Although we kept in touch for some years, eventually that was lost. I’ve tried to track down the family using the internet, but without luck, and I realize that very likely Argelia and her two adult children have died. But the lesson they knew and lived and gave to me is very much alive, and I am ever humbly grateful.

The Baptist's Call

I love this season of Advent! I love the readings from Isaiah, John the Baptist and his adventures, the darkness and the light, the cold and the still…I love it all. The figure of John the Baptist is especially compelling to me…

prepare the way of the Lord

he quotes,

make straight his paths.

Richard Rohr cautions that we must move beyond a merely sentimental understanding of Christmas as waiting for the baby Jesus to an adult and social appreciation for the message of the Incarnation. What exactly does this mean, in light of the Advent readings? Urged on by Rohr, I’m especially aware of the relational paths I have forged in my life, and how misshapen some have become. Molehills have grown into mountains, insurmountable, pride declares. Valleys have plunged to depths unknown. How can I follow the advice of Isaiah and the Baptist to make straight a path for our God? Beyond the parties and the merrymaking, there’s work to be done, and we’re reminded of this in not too subtly a way, work that is not easy, no matter how the season masquerades its true nature. The Incarnation calls all of us, indiscriminately, to make God present in this world, especially in the misshapen areas of our own lives. It means facing those relationships that I have sidelined, and righting them once again. It’s that peace we read about so often on the seasonal cards we’re sending and receiving, making that peace tangible in those places in our own lives where peace evades. The image that comes to mind is taking a buzz saw to the block of ice that we call our lives, and carving life into it by chiseling away anything that does not contribute to life. It’s advent, and besides the shopping and decorating and gatherings of friends, it’s a time to break thorough the darkness of our own lives and emerge as light, the light of Christ ever and again on earth. Rejoice!

The Rite to be Righted

What is it about the Sacrament of Reconciliation that makes it so distasteful to so many? Not hard to answer, right? Facing ourselves, calling ourselves out on certain (lots of) things? Only a sadist would enjoy that. And yet here’s a quote which I stumbled upon from Lee Iacocca, former CEO of Chrysler Corporation, talking about this very sacrament:

In my teens I began to appreciate the importance of the most misunderstood rite in the Catholic Church. I not only had to think out my transgressions against my friends; I had to speak them aloud…The necessity of weighing right from wrong on a regular basis turned out to be the best therapy I ever had.

And so Iacocca correctly names two important aspects of the sacrament: thinking through my life, recognizing the failures/misdeeds, and naming them out loud to another. I often think about the craziest things in the middle of the night - have you been there? Your whole world seems to be falling apart in the darkness and murkiness of half-sleep. But up comes the light of day and the relating of the misguided adventures of the night to my spouse (or someone), and reality seems not nearly so fearsome. Perspective and balance are gained; guidance is offered. This sacrament operates in something of that same mode, but that and more, oh so much more, because we are praying to the Almighty, and we are being guided and mentored by grace. I don’t look forward to our twice-yearly Penance Services (it’s just hard to go to the dark side of one’s personality) but I know they are good for me and I do them. And I find consolation in the fact that shoulder to shoulder with me in the service may be those very ones against whom I have sinned, and those very ones who have sinned against me, and I know that in community and humility we will move forward by the grace of God.

Praying From the Center

Last Saturday our Evangelization Team had our second neighborhood walk. It was, just as the first, a phenomenal experience. Why? -because standing on someone’s front porch and asking them if there’s anything going on in their life that we might pray for is startling to them. It opens up to an entirely new place in someone’s soul; somehow this person is immediately brought to a place of reverence and speaks to you as if you had known each other intimately. They might tell you about a sick spouse, a friend with Alzheimer’s, a neighbor’s surgery, an alcoholic relative - In other words, they know that this is the time to disclose the darknesses of their lives and to admit their own powerlessness in the face of them. But here’s another revelation: one lady whom I visited last week, a bouncy 40ish blonde, said that no, everything was going just fine in her life and she really didn’t have any prayer requests at this time. I thought about it later and wondered if most people think of prayer in just that way – as ‘assisted living,’ a place to turn when burdens become overwhelming. It certainly is that – but can it be more? I was fortunate enough in my expedience to have learned about prayer as intimacy with God, prayer as learning to see life from God’s perspective, prayer as finding Truth in silence (Richard Rohr): in other words, prayer as union. Praying scripture and centering prayer both lead one in this direction. There are a lot of good resources available for entering into the silent world, among them, Open Mind, Open Heart by Trappist monk Thomas Keating, and Into the Silent Land by Martin Laird. It’s another beautiful way to pray, one that might be explored.

Life Coincidences - Yes or No?

Last week I had invited myself and my husband to our younger son’s house for a Friday night cookout. Brazen – yes – but I really enjoy being with the kids, and my daughter-in-law is so gracious and accommodating. She immediately emailed me back with an enthusiastic YES! and a further invitation to spend the night and they’d set up a movie in the backyard when it got dark. Great! Super! I was pumped. But the next day I got a call from my son. Hmmm…different story. Ohio State had it opener on Saturday and he had tickets and they’d be tailgating and yada yada yada…wouldn’t another weekend work better? OK, sure, no problem. So my husband and I were sitting on our porch, reading at about 10 PM Friday evening when the doorbell rang. It was dark and we couldn’t imagine who it might be at that hour. He went to answer it and called out to me that an old friend was here – someone we had not seen in years. She came in with her young son and we had the nicest visit. As it got later though, I kept wondering what was going on – why she was not making an attempt to leave. After all, her 6-year-old son was already asleep in her lap…and then the sadness began. She related the story of her family’s dysfunction – that after her mom died, they all pretty much went their own way, and one brother “scammed” her out of the money necessary to keep the family home – her home. She was temporarily living in a rental, but needed some quick cash by the following morning in order to save her belongings from being trashed by the owner of a storage unit. We decided that she must have been very desperate to have come to us who hadn’t seen her in so long, and just hours before she would lose everything. Then I began thinking that had we gone to our son’s, we would not have been there when she needed help. People often say that there are no coincidences in life, and I have never known what to think of that statement. I still don’t, but it does now give me pause. I so believe that we’re a family here on the planet, and the opportunity to put that philosophy (and gospel lesson) to work is a gift. Our friend will probably never suspect the gift she gave to my husband and me on a summer Friday night.

Days of Wine and Rosaries

Dad died on June 26th. It was so sudden (can the death of a 95-year-old be sudden?) and so surprising that I couldn’t get my thoughts together to attempt a eulogy at the funeral. His last months were a struggle for him – more than I knew at the time, it seems. His hearing was declining, his eyesight was practically gone, and even his ability to get out of his chair presented challenges. He’d want to go to bed as soon as I finished giving him dinner in the evening, maybe around 5:30 or 6 o’clock, not because I insisted, but it seemed that he didn’t have any more fight left for the day. The only pleasure he really had in life was sitting in his chair with his rosary beads in one hand and a glass of wine at the reach. His best friends – those he had known throughout his last seven years without mom, were his salvation. These two gentlemen from church visited him regularly and even heroically ventured to take him to lunch on occasion. But even getting out of bed early enough to accommodate their mid-morning visits seemed a strain toward the end. I didn’t see it; I thought he was just getting a little bit – dare I say? – lazy in his old age. A few times I had to make excuses, and one changed his visiting time to afternoon, better suiting dad’s habits. But the night before he died was telling. Dad went to Mass with us, but we sat in back so he didn’t have so far to walk, and we followed that with a trip to Red Lobster where Al and I sat across from dad in a booth. When I would talk to him, he looked straight ahead at Al; we realized not until then how really bad his sight had gotten. Toward the end of the meal he asked me to put him to bed, not recognizing that we were in a restaurant. Reluctantly we wondered if placing dad in a nursing home later this summer might not be the only safe solution. The following day, Sunday, when I went over after work, he was still in bed but sat up quickly when I went to him. He was in a great mood; we put some brand new clothes on him and went to the kitchen for brunch. After a hearty meal, dad hobbled to the sink with his walker but dropped to the floor before he could return to me. I think he was dead immediately, although the paramedics did transport him to a hospital where he was pronounced. It was weeks ago now, but it is still so vivid in my mind. A few days after the funeral, the woman who cleaned his house told me she was always so touched to watch him saying his rosary and drinking his wine (simultaneously)throughout the afternoon. And I thought – the two things that continued to give him comfort – his wine and his prayer, his devotion to the Blessed Mother. In his last months, dad was so unsure of his footing that when he would have to walk anywhere (restroom, bedroom, kitchen) he would talk/pray aloud to her, "Blessed Mother, help me to get to …I think I can do it." And upon arrival, "Thank you, Blessed Mother" He didn’t realize that anyone around could hear his very private plea, but we did and it was so beautiful to behold the faith that sustained him. I continue to miss dad terribly, but I believe that these last years, trying and demanding as they often were, were God’s gift to me, a time to reconcile the stern father of my youth with the vulnerable man, daddy, that he was in his elder years. And I am grateful, grateful again to the God who lavishes us with gifts beyond telling, daily bread that we can sometimes only appreciate in retrospect.

THE VIEWS EXPRESSED ON THIS BLOG ARE MINE ALONE AND DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THOSE OF MY EMPLOYER.

A New Old Way to Pray

I am stunned. I have been a Catholic since baptism, just weeks after my birth day, 64 years ago. I have worked in the Church for the past 28 years, have taken graduate level courses on centering prayer, and yet have only recently come to adopt this method for myself. What took me so long, I think! And now I sit here, looking at my computer screen, bewildered as to how to share with you the wonder that I have discovered. Centering Prayer is, according to the contemplative outreach website, “a method of silent prayer that prepares us to receive the gift of contemplative prayer, prayer in which we experience God’s presence within us, close than breathing, closer than thinking, closer than consciousness itself. This method is both a relationship with God and a discipline to foster that relationship.” Does that tell you anything? It is a type of prayer in which we put our own agendas completely aside and wait on God. We dismiss any thoughts worries, problems, ideas – anything which is our agenda, and wait on God to come to us, usually at an unconscious level. It is as easy, and as difficult, as that. Why difficult? -because we have minds, and the job of the mind is to think. To suspend that function, i.e., to let go of our own agendas, takes practice and discipline. To find God in silence, which is really the only appropriate medium, is the goal, for anytime we use words, we immediately limit God, who is limitless, unfathomable to the human mind. I can only tell you that I have been practicing this 40 minutes per days for the past five weeks (2 20-minute periods daily) and I have been given the gift of consolation. I feel joy: true, deep-down joy. I can’t explain it; I don’t know if it will be a lasting thing, or if it is encouragement to continue in this type of prayer…I don’t make any claims, other than it is. If you have an opportunity to take a contemplative prayer workshop (they are everywhere, in every city), you might consider it. This may not be for you, but then again, it may just be the door to something you have never even known possible.
THE VIEWS EXPRESSED IN THIS BLOG ARE MINE ALONE AND
DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THOSE OF MY EMPLOYER.

...but Catholics don't DO that!

At St. Helen Parish we have a very active evangelization team. We study books, read articles, and generally nose around for any new ideas which might help us be more effective in our ministry. Recently we were fascinated to read an article which detailed a door-to-door effort by a Washington parish and thought we had the moxie, after 4 years together, to try this ourselves. With a mission on the horizon, this seemed like an optimum time to let our neighbors know what we are about. Our first job was to decide what the visits would look like. We wanted to put something in the hands of those we visited and came up with a goody bag supplied with the following: parish bulletin, fliers for Lenten offerings (mission, Lunch with the Lord), a school brochure, a holy card of St. Helen with our Mass times on the back, a pen with our parish logo imprinted, a couple of pieces of candy, a half sheet listing four other neighborhood Christian churches and their phone numbers, a business card with parish contact information, a prayer request sheet (in case anyone wanted to send us a prayer request later). Six EV teams members assembled 500 bags in about an hour and a half. Next we tackled recruiting additional people to be walkers with us. It was a hard sell, and some who agreed did so very tentatively, but expressed a desire to go beyond their comfort zone, and this certainly fit the bill! Then we focused on the “script” for our visits and settled on: ‘Good morning; we’re from St. Helen Parish and are having a mission next week. We’ll be praying for a lot of things and wondered if there is anything you would like us to pray for.’ The group met at 9:30 on the Saturday morning before our mission. After some instruction, we went to the chapel and prayed for the success of the endeavor. Then, each team took a route map, prepared ahead of time by an EV member. As doors opened, we led into the script, asking first for prayer intentions. Pleasantly surprised, many of those visited did give us specific prayer requests which we recorded and later gathered together to fill four pages! We then thanked the folks and gave them the bag, saying ‘Here’s some information about us. Enjoy your weekend.’ It was clean, simple, and very well received by those visited. In about two hours, ten two-person teams visited approximately 375 homes. But wait- the best is yet to come…When we got back together to swap stories, it was clear that evangelization happened as much to the visitors as to those visited! Teams related incidents of praying with folks at the doors of three separate homes where dire need existed, of sharing tears over recently deceased family members, of consoling someone going through a divorce. One person expressed amazement that we were Catholics! Her impression of Catholics had been nothing but negative prior to the visit. One of our tentative visitors proclaimed the experience “awesome!” The prayer requests were placed on the altar during our mission and emailed to all parishioners on our prayer chain (about 350 people). Five of those who received the email responded by saying they want to be part of the next neighborhood walk.

There were a number of learning that came out of our experience. First, we will begin at 11 next time instead of 10 AM. It seems we may have caught some folks sleeping in on their day off. Second, we’ll go into a different neighborhood next time just to move around our parish boundaries. Third, it was suggested that we could have used a couple of more Jolly Ranchers in each of the bags! Fourth, one visitor suggested that we ask if they or any of their family members may have prayer requests; she felt that some may have been embarrassed to ask for themselves. And finally, we learned that door-to-door evangelization is not at all scary; in fact, it is downright awesome!

A Searching Soul

My friend Matt died last Friday. Throughout his career, he was a brilliant researcher at Wright Patt AFB, and a self-proclaimed atheist who nevertheless met with believers regularly to wrestle with the concept of a religious faith. I came to know Matt about ten months ago when he attended Awakening Faith, here in our parish. This was a program for those who felt estranged from Catholicism but were looking for a way back. Matt was not one of these people, but he had a daughter who was Catholic, and she wrenched a promise from him that he would participate, even after she returned home to New York. (Matt once told me, “I raised both of my daughters to be atheists, then this one became Catholic a few years ago. I don’t know where I went wrong.”) So Matt did indeed keep his promise and attended the six sessions, enchanting each of us with his stories and the depth of his search for meaning. He shamed us Catholics by quoting scripture and giving us extended scholarship on certain biblical passages. Even as we felt that he was so close to accepting Christ into his life, in the end, these sessions did not challenge his position. For the following months, until shortly before his death, we would email and continue to exchange ideas. His thoughts were very cerebral, while my ideas came from a passionate faith coupled with experience. He was diagnosed with cancer about six weeks ago and his decline was rapid. I saw him last Monday as he lay in the hospital, telling me, with short, gasping breaths, that he just wanted to dissolve. But here’s the thing- his daughter sat at his bedside two days before his death and quietly recited the Hail Mary for her own comfort, and as she looked down at her dad, his lips were moving in recitation with her. And a few hours before his death, his daughter opened her bible and read the Beatitudes to him (the Sermon on the Mount was a favorite of Matt) and looked at his face, discovering there a tear in his eye. When I received notice of his death, my heart ached even as a half smile crossed my lips and the words, “See Matt? We told you so,” were repeated in my mind. Rest now, my friend, in the joy and love and compassionate embrace of our magnanimous God. Matthew Kabrisky: 1930 – 2011.

Fascinate

John Shea writes the most amazing gospel commentaries. The one he has written for this Sunday’s gospel, where Simon and Andrew, James and John are summoned to be disciples of Jesus, is again completely filled with extraordinary insight. But the word that caught me most by surprise was “fascinated.” He talks about a disciple as someone who is fascinated by another – so much so that s/he wants to do everything like that other person. Think about it – think about someone with whom you have been fascinated. You watch the person, you think about the person, you want to be around the person, and pretty soon you may be trying to imitate the person. This person HAS your attention. Teens are fascinated by their rock stars, so much so that they dress like them, sing their songs, follow them in the news, and many dream of having that particular lifestyle as adults themselves. Who fascinates us? Google gives us the cultural top ten in “trending now” on their homepage. Is this where our attention is focused? Maybe that’s why the first disciples left their nets so willingly – they were fascinated by Jesus. They wanted to be with him; they wanted to do what he did, say what he said. Enter into the world of the first disciples; be fascinated again.

Notes For the Holidays

The times I get the largest number of comments on my blog are the times I write about incidents with my dad. (Nearly all of the comments, by the way, are sent to me directly so they don’t get posted- but please, post them!) People have been able to identify with many of those incidents. With that in mind, I offer this modern-day list of beatitudes, for dealing with the elderly. I heard this on youtube; perhaps you have heard it also. If you have the opportunity, take these into consideration as you gather with family over the holidays:
Blessed are they who understand
my faltering steps and shaking hand.
Blessed are they who know my ears today
must strain to catch the things they say.
Blessed are they who seem to know
that my eyes are dim and my wits are slow.
Blessed are they who looked away
when I spilled the coffee at table today.
Blessed are they with a cheery smile
who take the time to chat for a while.
Blessed are they who know the ways
to bring back memories of yesterdays.
Blessed are they who make it known
that I’m love, respected, and not alone.

May you have a blessed Christmas, remembering that Christ can be born again into this world only if you incarnate him in your own life.

THE VIEWS EXPRESSED ON THIS BLOG ARE MINE ALONE
AND DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THOSE OF MY EMPLOYER.

What Did You Do?

I was watching a short video the other day by Michael Himes, a priest on the faculty of Boston College, and he was talking about Matthew 25, the last judgment. He began by pointing out that the great medieval cathedrals of Europe almost all have the same depiction above their doors. It is not the nativity, nor the crucifixion, nor the resurrection, nor Jesus teaching, nor any of those pericopes we remember so vividly from scripture, but Matthew 25, the description of the last judgment. Everyone had to pass under that depiction before entering the churches. At the time of the last judgment, according to Matthew 25, Jesus will not ask us how much theology we studied, or how many religious books we read, or how many church services we attended; we will simply be asked one question: how did you treat the least of your brethren? This is the criterion for salvation – what did we do with what we knew. Did our study of scripture or the hours on our knees lead to anything beyond ourselves? -because if not, we have mistaken the message. What did you do for the least of your brethren? How did you reach beyond yourself today to hurting humanity? Do you live a practical piety? It is a deceptively simple criterion, one which makes no distinctions between the most learned and most humble, and yet it is everything. What did you do…what did you do…what did you do for those most in need?
THE VIEWS EXPRESSED ON THIS BLOG ARE MINE ALONE AND DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THOSE OF MY EMPLOYER.

Uncoupled

We had a crowd around the table for Thanksgiving – some family, and two couples who were friends. Among the family was my 95-year-old dad, hard of hearing and legally blind. One of the first things he said as he sat at his place was that someone must have laid his watch down and forgotten it. (Dad mistook the napkin ring for a watch.) People laughed and told him what it was. Dad didn’t laugh; he didn’t know one of the couples at the table and was probably embarrassed. I can’t recall that he said another thing throughout the meal. I thought about it later and thought that had it been me, I would have talked with my husband about it later that evening in bed – pillow talk – and shared my embarrassment with him, and he would have told me to forget about it – it didn’t mean anything. The point I’m getting at is that people who are alone, who have lost a spouse and who now walk, perhaps for the first time, uncoupled in the world, have no one with whom to share their secrets. I have thought that often since mom died six years ago, when I thought dad would be about to say something but then didn’t. And now as we come into the most difficult time of year for those who are alone, I think about it again. When you’re alone (and without a BFF!), you have no one with whom to share your secrets – big ones and silly ones, ones bursting for a tell and ones that are plain gossip. There’s just something so wondrous about the companionship of a partner – the intimacy of that relationship – which encourages every manner of sharing. Losing that, if you have ever had it, must be devastating. If you know people who have been recently widowed or divorced, this would probably be a good time of the year to be especially aware of including them. It certainly won’t take away their pain or loneliness, but it may lessen the feeling of emptiness just enough to ease them through the holidays.

The Toll of Living

This Sunday in the Catholic lectionary we meet one of my favorite characters in all of scripture – John the Baptist. He appears in the desert out of nowhere and preaches a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Author John Shea talks about needing to be cleansed from the “toll of living,” and the appropriateness of the desert as the backdrop for this endeavor. The desert – a place of total quiet, solitude, where one has nothing to distract but oneself. -and what an interesting phrase – to think about one’s toll of living. What is the toll which has been assessed on my life for the compromises I make, for the pride which directs many of my comments and actions, for the greed which drives my desires? How am I misshapen by this toll? And what am I going to do about it? You see the toll is not the transgression – it is how the transgression forms me. Who have I become as a result of the daily decisions I make and the actions I take? And how far away from whom I want to be, am I really? That’s a good meditation as we make our way through the season of preparation.

Greed Trumps Giving?

Are you as angry as I am at the number of stores which are staying open on Thanksgiving Day and getting a head start on black Friday?? Apparently Kmart has been open on Thanksgiving for the last few years (I didn’t know that), but now I hear ads for Sears opening all day on Thanksgiving and Target opening at midnight. I’m fairly certain the malls can’t be far behind. Why can’t this nation allow for one day to set aside commerce and concentrate instead on family and gratitude?? But merchants want to be first in line to grab the Christmas dollars right out of our fists and lead our country even farther afield, away from a sense of gratefulness and family as the center of our lives. We can’t allow this to happen. If you believe as I do, write your newspapers, stay out of the stores, encourage your friends to do the same! We have to protect this sacred day from commercial piracy!
THE VIEWS EXPRESSED ON THIS BLOG ARE MINE ALONE AND DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THOSE OF MY EMPLOYER.

Some Book Recommendations

If you are a reader and looking for some inspiring and insightful books, try these:
Lit (by Mary Karr) is a memoir of her early and middle adult years, including her conversion journey. The author is a poet who tells her story with honesty and humility, boldness and humor. I listened to the audio version gotten from the library in which Ms. Karr is the reader and I could almost picture her as I listened to her voice. Another great read is Still Alice by Lisa Genova who holds a PhD in neuroscience from Harvard. This is a fictional account of a Harvard professor who is diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s, and is written in the first person, as a month-by-month account. Ms. Genova’s professional work is with the National Alzheimer’s Association which gives her realistic insight into the progression of the disease. If you have ever wondered what it must be like to be an Alzheimer’s victim, or how to relate to someone who has been diagnosed, this book will be very helpful. Finally, I recommend Sabbath by Wayne Muller. If you are one of us who feels overcommitted and harried by the demands of life today, wondering how to keep your balance and stave off guilt at the same time, you will benefit from Muller’s observations. There’s a reason for the necessity of rest, of saying no, of retreating to regroup, and it has nothing to do with selfishness. Do yourself a favor and read this book.
THE VIEWS EXPRESSED ON THIS BLOG ARE MINE ALONE AND DO NOT REFLECT THOSE OF MY EMPLOYER.

Comments Wanted

Recently in our parish we have been having conversations about the spark that seems to be missing from our community. [Some] People come to Mass and go home, but when we have special events, they’re nowhere. Example: We had a rousing prayer service a few Sunday nights ago, contemporary music, lay preaching, and it was a deanery-wide event. We had about 150 people – from the entire deanery. Last weekend we had a tri-parish Eucharistic procession – about 190 people – from 3 parishes. Yesterday was the life chain and I hear there were 3 people from St. Helen’s. We have just 6 adults in our conversion process- the RCIA. On Sunday mornings we average about 10 people in our adult ed discussion group. Our parish is one of about 1500 families. Where are we going wrong? How do we feed peoples’ hungers? Honestly, we’re knocking ourselves out with work, but the results are modest. We don’t know where we should be going or what we should be offering. I have eliminated the comments section from my blog, because it was used so seldom, but I will reinstate it for this column only. If you have ideas to share with me and our staff, you are also welcome to email me directly. What can a/our faith community do for you that would be helpful?
THE THOUGHTS OFFERED ON THIS BLOG ARE MINE ALONE AND DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THOSE OF MY EMPLOYER.

The Forgiveness Process

If I were to believe everything I read, I would think that forgiveness –or lack of it –is the number one social issue today. It may be that this is true. We can’t get past an incident and therefore are willing to sacrifice a relationship rather than work through the difficulty. There is a place online called The International Forgiveness Institute (forgiveness-institute.org), located at the Univ of Wisconsin, Madison, that has been studying forgiveness since 1994. It’s a tremendous site and I recommend that you go there and read the research. A couple of things stand out to me: forgiveness is NOT about forgetting. Forgive and forget? -rarely possible. We seem to have a radar for remembering past hurts. But here’s the thing that has been revelatory to me, and it is contained in the process for forgiveness. The process goes something like this: 1/ uncover the incident/hurt 2/ decide to forgive 3/ work to accept the pain 4/ experience healing. So this research says that it is going to hurt, but the hurt must be absorbed somewhere. To give the hurt back is not forgiveness, it’s retaliation. Carry the pain – that’s part of forgiveness. It’s not going to go away, but by carrying it myself I can stop it from further destruction and forgiveness is possible. Much easier said than done. In the Christian context we are bearing some of the pain of the crucifixion – we’re at the foot of the cross instead of running away as we often are. I want to feel better but this process doesn't automatically accomplish that. This follows on the heels of last blog about loving our enemies. Someone said to me that when an olive branch is extended and the other person refuses to cooperate, we’re back at square one. But this is reconciliation, not forgiveness. Forgiveness involves one person; reconciliation involves two. I can’t control anyone but me.
THE VIEWS EXPRESSED ON THIS BLOG ARE MINE ALONE AND DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THOSE OF MY EMPLOYER.

The Ethic of the Enemy

Last week I attended an interesting workshop with nationally renowned speaker, Dr. Mike Carotta. The presentation was essentially the work of his wife, Dr. Catherine Carotta, in her research on the spirituality of the educator. It was a great morning but there was one piece that especially intrigued me, not so much because it was new information, but because it was information that I knew subconsciously but had never brought to awareness, and it was this: the ethic of the enemy. This refers to the realities present when, in the workplace, social setting, family, etc. one makes enemies. Carotta identifies three ‘benefits’ from that reality: 1/ avoidance of responsibility (there’s now someone to blame for whatever the situation is) 2/ increased bonding with those in agreement (team mentality – security in knowing I am not alone in my thinking) 3/ identity clarification (glad I’m not like that). This struck me because I can see myself in this description, and on both sides of it. I have been the one who has been blamed, isolated, and shunned, and I’m sad to say, I have also been the accuser, the excluder, and the avoider. In fact I can even say it has felt good at times to be on the team. Where is that clear voice of faith in all of this? And I remind myself (and anyone else who may be listening) as I quote this Lucan passage, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” Luke 6:27-28 What a challenge these words present! -but it's only in heeding these words that bridges are built, community is formed, possibilities have a chance of beconing realities for a better, more unified family, neighborhood, workplace, world. God give us the strength.
THE VIEWS EXPRESSED IN THIS BLOG ARE MINE ALONE AND DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THE VIEWS OF MY EMPLOYER.

Who Are Your Whos?

I recently read something interesting about Dr. Seuss. This may not be new information to many of you, but it was to me. His name was Dr. Theodor Geisel, and following WWII, he went to Japan as a correspondent for Life Magazine. While there, he came to have an appreciation and respect for the Japanese people and their culture, and developed quite a different attitude toward the Japanese than most in the United States at that time. In fact, he wanted to influence those American attitudes which he believed were wrong, and to this end, wrote Horton Hears a Who! In this children’s classic, Horton protects the small and vulnerable Whos of Whoville from the large, powerful animals in the forest, while repeating his refrain, “A person’s a person, no matter how small.” In a happily-ever-after ending, all of the animals come to love the teensy Whos and the forest becomes again a peaceful and pleasant place in which to live. I don’t remember reading this particular Dr. Seuss book to my children, but I did read it just last week in our session for those preparing to become Catholic! It fit right in as we discussed Catholic Social Teaching which is grounded in the respect and dignity of each human person, even our enemies. If I had grandchildren, I would read this book to them every chance I had. I would talk about the Whos and help them identify the Whos in their little lives. I would read it to them when they were 3 and when they were 4 and when they were 5. And when they were 8, I would ask them if they knew any Whos, and how they were treating those Whos. -And I would ask them again at 9 and 10 and 14 and 17. I would make a game of it until they so identified their Gram with respect for all humankind that it would be a life lesson that they would always carry, one that would continue teaching them long after my death. Catholic Social Teaching has much to give us; how much better to begin with the very young! For a complete description of the seven principles of Catholic Social Teaching, visit usccb.org, the website for our American bishops' conference.
THE VIEWS EXPRESSED ON THIS BLOG ARE MINE ALONE AND DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THOSE OF MY EMPLOYER.