More thoughts of Dorothy Day

I have been a bit preoccupied in the last couple of weeks.  On November 3^rd I was in New York at Maryknoll.  For Madmen fiends, Maryknoll is located in Ossining, the location of Madmen.  While there, I was able to replace my copy of Catholic Social Thought: The Documentary Heritage- Expanded Edition. 

Before I left for Nebraska for Thanksgiving, I had re-read Mater et Magistra or Christianity and Social Progress.  The part that I really appreciated about the document was that at the end, there is an offering of a Practical Suggestions or practical applications.  The assessment of how to determine if a social teaching and obligation is being observed and the identified need is being met. 

If you were to ask many of the men and women that I went to school with at St. John’s I doubt that many would express their shock that I was honing in on the practical application.  While I consider myself to be a liberation theologian (Christian/Catholic might be a better phrasing); or a feminist theologian; at my core I am a practical theologian.  I want to know the how’s and why’s of theology and its practice.  How do we translate effectively our beliefs to the men and women that we encounter in our daily lives?

I find this to be a contradiction in self to some extent.   I feel that I am a pretty open minded individual and am willing to accept people for the most part- where they are.  The contradiction lies in the fact that as a practical theologian I am looking for in most cases the tried and true methods of what works in translating the Supernatural Existential-grace in other words.  What makes the Grace of God reachable to everybody?  I am looking for in some respects, some very definite ideas of how to encounter God in life and among others. 

I am currently reading a book that is a compilation of Dorothy Day’s work- her writings and journals.  If there were ever a practical theologian who did not pay attention to methodology- well, I would have to say it was St. Dorothy Day.   My prayer for the last couple of weeks has been that I may be saturated in the same understanding of practicality that St. Dorothy encountered.  I imagine this to be more of “balm” that is massaged into the person’s soul through the actions of their lives.  In other words, the heart is so exposed; there is no doubt of motivation, meaning, and desire.   

“We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community.” ~Dorothy Day

Dorothy Day is one of my favorite catholic saints. While she has yet to be canonized by the Roman Catholic Church, the co-founder of the Catholic Worker Movement and inspiration for Catholic Worker Houses all over the world is widely held to be a great figure of wisdom, love, compassion and mystery today.

I just recently was sent an article in which some of Dorothy’s very personal love letters were in the process of being published. I wonder what she would say about this- no doubt, if I should be in her place, I would wish them destroyed. The letters are very personal and many are her love letters to her lover and partner, the father of her only child. Though they never married and separated due to strains that are a part of every relationship, she never sought another relationship (as far as I have studied [not that I am an expert by any stretch of the imagination]).

The letters speak of her ongoing love and loneliness of her missing partner. The letters address the very real aspects of relationship- the sweet words, the challenges, the sadness of ½ the bed being empty when the partner is away- the sweet expression of desire to have the bed filled.

Some will find these sentiments wrong and maybe even scandalous. I think that it has the beautiful ability to lend credibility to the very definition of what it means to be in relationship. Whether that relationship is in community- the group or with just one other individual.   I think the question is what does love look like to you?  How is it expressed authentically?  These images are vidi images of the fun in and with others in relationships!!!  Thoughts?

ideas...

in an attempt to be more deliberate in my postings i have decided to do a couple of things differently....
*my posts will not be asa long or as detailed
*my posts will follow my format of taking a quote from a recent reading and be a paragraph or two of reflection

Update: I have been at home sick for the last 3 days- and realize, there is only so many movies to watch, books to read, and sleep to get before a headache becomes a constant due to inactivity. While I am grateful for the job that I have that allows me to have sick days and the reality that I have no fear of taking the sick days- i am tired of being sick! I know, from my conversations with D & L that I need to do a better job of taking care of myself, remembering to take time off, etc. Having said that- I have had a wonderful, stress-filled, fantastic time at work for the last, gosh, eight months. I have felt fulfilled, stretched, and affirmed (for the most part).

I am excited to go to work on Monday, and leave for vacation on Wednesday! I will be posting from Nebraska though too...

Saturated in Chrism

Chrism (Greek word literally meaning "an anointing"), also called "Myrrh" (Myron). Pure or scented olive oil, although typically not called chrism today, has been called chrism in the past, including oil used in some forms of Baptism, Confirmation, Anointing of the Sick and foot washing.

I find it fascinating when I am suffering from some kind of broken relationship, a friend or lover I start to feel myself shriveling. I start to shrink and loose my elasticity. It is obviously a defense mechanism, but defense from what? In any relationship (I will be using the inclusive we pronoun as I don’t think I am the only person who finds this true of their self) we put ourselves out there. We spend time with our new interest- platonic or erotic and expend energy determining what aspects of our self we will share, how much and how often.

What happens though when the relationship ends?—When your friend moves away (to Benin for instance) or you decided your lover wasn’t just right? Do you find it hard to trust? Certainly there is an initial pain and frustration, promises to yourself to do things differently, self-talk to remind yourself that you are loveable, good and worth the best that God has in store. Once that is done and the weight of time is pressing on you, then what do you do?

I have noticed a trend in myself to become a bit brittle, sharp and hard to deal with. I don’t stay that way- but that is my initial reaction. My response though when I take the time to look further, is to want chrism oil. I want to be saturated, redeemed through my sacraments again. The Sacraments are some of my first loving welcome and embraces into my Christian community. I was saturated in a sign of the cross made on my head. It was of chrism-myrrh-perfumed oil when I was baptized and again at the confirmation of the seal. There is a sense of healing for me in remembering such moments (even the ones I don’t recall). The other time that oil is used in our church is for the welcoming of others into the church (again Baptism or Confirmation) or the anointing of the sick.

Are we not all sick at heart and in need of anointing when we see a relationship end? I suppose in that regard it is sensible to crave such a tangible expression of the reality of God’s grace. When all we should want and desire in life is right relationship with one another—to be a full, live, embodied expression of God’s love visible in the world, we can still fail. We choose to deny relationship to others, or they choose to deny us. Either way, relationship is broken.
So, I find solace in knowing that through the signs and expressions of my home community, my universal church that the prayers of the church are reaching beyond my grief, are opening their care and love to encourage me to heal, to saturate myself in the reality of God’s care and love of me. I have been created in the image and likeness, why not cherish the very full reality of God in me?

Reality check and time to check back in…

It has obviously been several months since my last contribution. There are several reasons for such an oversight. It was travel season at my job- I have been gone most weekends visiting different parishes and speaking at liturgies about mission. I have found that to be a very rewarding facet of my current position. There is something very tangible about being connected in a parish, seeing babies come in and out of church. Watching families, single people waltz in and out of the doors of a sanctuary. There is a sense of security in recognizing that while time marches on, it does not change the consistency in which people attempt to communicate with the Divine- whatever they know the Divine to be.

So travel season, for the most part is complete. I still have other small trips to take- comp days to catch up on, etc. But for the most part- I get to be a homebody and am able to still take in the beautiful surroundings of the city I live in and to which I belong.

Currently- I am a registered DC voter and resident!!! Praise Jesus!
I am looking into Doctoral programs or another Masters of some kind (more on that later).

I have visited several states over the last year and am closing the gap on places to visit…Louisiana (3 x) Chicago (3 x) Wisconsin, Minnesota, Nebraska, Iowa, New Jersey (2 x), New York, Delaware, Pennsylvania (6 x), West Virginia, California, Texas, New Mexico, (this list does not include the layovers from said trips either!- that would be like another 15 states at least!!!!)
Relationships have changed…my sister lived with me for part of the summer. That was not a part of the original plan and people were surprised when I shared plan A with them. My typical response was, “Well, we tried living together once for, like, 18 years and someone almost died. My dad!” Of course they laugh and of course I jest (kind of), but while it was trying to have K. in the small one room apartment converted into a two bedroom apartment, her and I sharing a room, I feel that for the most part, we did pretty well. Granted I was gone most weekends, but it was lovely to have my sister as a part of my daily life.

That is my life for the past several months. I feel like I am still processing my trip to Guatemala, our country is still struggling to welcome those who are seeking refuge in our borders, and I am still continuing to figure out what my reality looks like. I, in my attempt to figure this out, plan to be disciplined in my blogging.

draconian laws make a comeback...

“Happy the eyes that can close.”

These are the ending words of the last sentence of the first chapter of Cry, The Beloved Country. I have had this book on my shelf for some time- last summer actually, and am just now at a place where I think I am capable of reading about this land of Africa. The book is set in late 40’s early 50’s South Africa. It follows a priest on his journey, leaving behind his wife, in search of a wayward sister, brother and son. That is as far as I have gone…so far.

What struck me last night, reading in my favorite chair (a gift from one of my favorite former housemates who lives in Wisconsin…yay CW) was I don’t know how well I have slept in the last couple of days…two weeks really. I am uncertain of my own role is to play in the racist law recently passed in Arizona, but I know that I am disturbed. I am disturbed because I think of the men that I was working with in Phoenix two summers ago, the kids I was playing with, my friend who I went on a lark with to Mexico for a fantastic one day trip. All the raspados I had that summer…There were so many phenomenal points in which I was challenged as a person who lives with others in a global community.

I think one of the more disturbing trends is that I am unclear how people who don’t see immigration through the same lens that I do are able to justify their position with their faith…how is that reconcilable. (Please let me be clear- I am not asking for these positions to be made clear on this blog!)

I wonder how many people are not sleeping in Arizona. Is the Governor? Is the Sherriff of Maricopa County- America’s self-appointed toughest sherriff? How many children are afraid to sleep at night? How many children are afraid to wake up because it could be the day that their parents are taken away…or their sibling…or their grandparents… or neighbors…

Maybe, if I were writing, I would say, “Happy the eyes that can close with peaceful rest.”

Musings....

“Truly great people have never had much peace of mind, for they were too aware of their own inner conflicts, of the pain and suffering around them, and of their own calling to a life of struggle.” ~John Sanford

A friend sent me this quote recently. I had been discussing the merits of my job. *Disclaimer- I love my job, what I do, etc…I do struggle though with my job as vocation- since I thought I primarily had been in ministry, I thought there might be a more direct ministerial link…

There are some dynamic words at play in this quote that continue to engage me: peace, aware, pain, calling, life and struggle. At different points in my own life I have been all of these words, imagined them in my own reality and put them to work in my life. But what do they mean for personal identity and reality of a life lived aware of vocation, calling, discernment? I think that , before anything else can be laid down, it should be understood that all these words will mean different things to different people. Again, I believe as previously stated, that this is one facet of the beauty of Catholicism. We don’t have to make a point to fit everything into little boxes, neatly organized. Instead we can relish our time in the chaos. As a Catholic woman, that is where I find myself anyways. As a professor of note would remind a class gathered everyday- chaos is where creativity lives and God makes beauty from chaos- just look at the world.

I have been spending an inordinate amount of time focused on the word of struggle lately…

Since my last entry Arizona passed one of the most disastrous laws which will affect the way America deals with immigration. As a country founded around the idea that all people seeking refuge from oppression should be able to find a place in the US- Arizona has just changed the way it can/could ever be perceived in the US, in the world. There are many stories of men and women who are staging their own protest of a law that legalizes racial profiling.

I don’t pretend to know what it is like to be an immigrant, the challenges, the scared reality of moving away from all that I could know, people that I know and living in a new country. What is worse then moving to a country where a number of people (lawmakers) have made it clear that I am not welcome? I find though that my response is tied fundamentally to my identity as a Catholic woman. It is my responsibility to continue to speak with those who are not being welcomed.

Are we not all born of immigrants? How is this discrimination different from the profiling of past times in US history when the Irish were targeted? Or the Poles? Really, every single ethnic group has been targeted- the fears are all the same. People cry out that the immigrants are going to ruin the country, they are going to eat up too much of our tax dollars, they won’t learn the language…Yet, the reality is that English is still the national language even if we are showing respect to those who move to the country and need help with translation (see the ad by an Alabama gubernatorial candidate- icky!).

My grandpa and I were having a conversation about this about a year and a half ago. My parting comment was, “Well, I guess then that it was a good thing that Mary, Joseph and Jesus had all their papers in order when they went to Egypt to flee oppression.”

My Trip...Part 1...For Now...

I said that I would be writing this weekend, and I had every intention of writing yesterday, but I ended up succumbing to a Guatemalan recovery illness. I lost my voice to an extent and stayed in bed for the last two and half days.

At this point, I just have the energy to list some highlights from the trip:
• The quiet and stillness of the countryside. Zapote where I stayed for 6 days is a remote village where the community knows very little Spanish, if at all. The language of the village is one called Q’eqchi’ (pronounced kek chi). They greet one another with a saying that translates, “How is your heart/soul?”
• Being surrounded by the goodness of others. Every day I was greeted with greetings- generally too early for me to appreciate-not being a morning person even in Guatemala. People would escort Francis and I to all of our meals and provided wonderful and tasty meals for each of us. Breakfast was a mix of beans, eggs and sometimes spaghetti with sauce and of course homemade tortillas. Lunch and dinner was ALWAYS a homemade chicken soup that was a typical fare for visitors and guests of import, and homemade tortillas. For drinks there was always something hot- coffee colored sugar water or a coco water, as the water was not safe for me to drink, I had some trouble staying hydrated.
• I went to the local tienda (store) and bought some goodies a couple days. Their cookies in small packets were the ones my parents would never have let me have when I was little, and really after two bites of the treats I was ready to hand the goodies off to the kids that would gather around. They also served orange drink- Miranda which sent me back to my childhood and the handful of times our family went to McDonalds for a meal. We ordered happy meals and had to get the Orange drink because it was better than pop. I was reliving this memory with Aris- one of the priests who journeyed with me and he just laughed. I was told that Miranda is what people drink when they are sick….Hmmmm…
• The liturgies were intense from a cultural standpoint. I had a lot of need to place my western understanding of liturgy and behavior aside as I participated in the liturgy. Children were running all over the churches, a game of kick ball made its way into the church, a boy (12-14) was smoking outside the church and the smoke blew into the church, one legged races, etc. …My cultural understandings of behavior were challenged and disregarded by the local community in part because of a lack of catechesis of what was really happening, and also significant cultural differences. Yet, the most basic element- our identity as brothers and sisters in Christ who were participating in their liturgies in other parts of the world- some in complete silence—others in war zones—others with noise levels some where in between—we were all united in our prayers, we were united in our fervor for the care of God’s creation and the wonder that encapsulates all- the silence and the noise.
• I have gone to the last couple of peace vigils at SOA/WHINSEC in Fort Benning, Georgia. I was able to really contextualize what the trips mean for me know. I met several “catechists” or “catecistas” who carry and pass on the faith to members of the community. These are the men and women who were targeted by the military for their belief that they have human dignity, and for sharing that belief with their brothers and sisters in Christ. This really hit me when we travelled to Zapote and were met by the Head Pastoral leader and his associate. They had met us in a city where we all journeyed together to Zapote. These men would have been risking their lives and the lives of their families 20 years ago. Even with the violence in the past, I am not sure that I would be brave enough to hold such a position in the community. When we travelled to Guatemala City- the capital we went to the cathedral and on the gate outside the cathedral were the names of every person who had suffered violence during the war. Every person from Guatemala, who had been beaten, killed, disappeared, raped, and tortured.

I am still trying to figure out what to do with all of this. There is a lot running through my head, which I am sure is part of the reason I fell sick. So much of this trip was framed from my time at St. John’s. I kept recalling when I was being pushed/shoved out of my comfort zone, that part of the fun of cliff diving, is falling. Opening my eyes and watching the world whiz by was glorious. I learned in a classroom what the teaching of subsidiarity was- the idea that we as one culture have no business telling another culture how to run their lives. What we do have a right to do is participate in their lives through their understanding. I think I did that to the best of my ability in this trip. My next trip to Guatemala will I am sure bringing even more challenges, and call to mind even greater reflections.

The quiet presence....

I think that sometimes it is very easy to feel overwhelmed by life, by living, and by all the realities that accompany every day in the world. What I found from a holy conversation tonight was my conversations are not separate entities that are removed from every other conversation, but rather are bound together in such a way that there is no real way to separate one from the other.

In my conversation tonight, I was speaking with a woman whom I have known for well over 20 years. She knew me as a little girl and has seen me grow and become a woman. She was my next-door neighbor, her daughter was my flat mate, we are peers in our profession of ministry. Our relationship has changed in subtle ways in the past 20 years. What I realized though, in our conversation was that the times that I have felt overwhelmed, when I felt the burden of choices, of carrying baggage that was mine to carry, and some that wasn’t- I was overwhelmed because I chose to not pay attention to the people around me. If I had, I would have realized that I would have been lifted by those who know and love me, who are standing with me, in an act of solidarity to help carry the burdens that I place on my shoulders.

When I was going through an especially bad time two years ago, I was heartbroken and sick, I remember my good friend telling me it sounds like I had lost a sense and an awareness of gratitude. I remember being outraged at those words!!! I had nothing to be grateful for- I had been dumped, humiliated, and really, I think indignant was a good look for me…I have thought about her words a lot in the last two years, a lot. I don’t ever want to be accused of not being aware of gratitude, much less, I have so much to be grateful for. I now look back at that time of pain and am able to reflect and see the beauty that has emerged in my life as a result of growing stronger in my own identity as a woman.

My conversation tonight with my friend reminds me over and over what it means for a cohort of women to gather and to be a support and life thread for one another. In today’s first reading, Queen Esther pleads for the cause of her people. She asks for deliverance from the evil plotter who wishes to kill her family, friends, neighbors, peers, the people she knows in her mind and heart. There are actions of solidarity that we all undertake to be of support for one another. Some speak freely about their actions of solidarity. Others just quietly go about their day and provide simple graces to those in the world by deed and prayer. That is what Meme does for me. I love you!

And so it begins...again...

Prayer cannot exist together with hostile feelings. The fruit of prayer is always love. In prayer, even the unprincipled dictator and the vicious torturer can no longer remain the objects of our fear, hatred, and revenge, because when we pray, we stand at the center of the great mystery of divine compassion.”
~Henri Nouwen

Lent began today, and with the ashes that now sit on my forehead comes the weight of the next 40 days. There are those that resent Lent, the act of giving something up does not ring authentically with their understanding of God. I wonder about that. Belief in the divine is not a guarantee that everything will go your way. Rather belief in the divine seems to be a way to get through the pain that sometimes accompanies life. Loss and life. Relationships are broken.

Lent is a time that I try to make sure that my prayer life is attempting to live on a foundation of sturdy stone. It is easy to allow myself to be distracted from the work of prayer as well. I find many reasons to wash and polish the floor rather than to spend the time needed to ensure that prayer is perfect. In a conversation today I was reminded yet again that my life is not a call to perfection, rather it is a call. That is all. My response to the call is how I choose to be in relationship with the divine.

It is because of the reality of prayer, the struggle sometimes to pray that I am reminded that I must in turn love from my prayer. My broken relationships are a challenge to remember that I am called to authentic love and also heartbreak with humanity.

Lent is the time to remove myself from the sin of omission in life- the refusal to participate from being with others because I am tired, because I don’t want to be doing anything. Lent is a time to get down to the business of loving others, and most of all, myself. Lent is a challenging time for me~I don’t know about anyone else…

Ponderings on my way...

My brother is back from overseas. There is a great sense of relief from my family- in my mothers voice there is energy and life again. My father was able to vocally project such vigor and a great sense of enthusiasm that has been missing in the past 6 months. Both did a great job in the time my bro was gone of not being gloomy, but there was a very noted change that I would venture only those closest to them could really gauge and fully hear much less understand. I never really considered before the weight that a missing family member can have on the dynamic of a family. I got an introduction certainly when J. was sent over. It became even more fully noted when my cousin was missing over Christmas and the eventual finding of his body, and the closure with his funeral.

But, I became very aware yesterday as I was waiting for the bus that there is another type or form of missing someone. I am not sure really how to frame this yet, but I have been thinking about it since yesterday. A boy- he must have been around 15 was at the bus stop waiting for the 80 when I joined him and I commented on his scarf. He said thanks, and then proceeded to say how happy he was because his older brother was being released from jail today. All I could think to say was, “You must be so happy!” His smile, which was from ear to ear said everything. The bus came and we never spoke again.

I have kept thinking in the last 24 hours how special our brothers, well, really our siblings are. They are our first friends and our first enemies. They are confidants and tattlers. Siblings are the reminder that no matter what we do in our lives, there is always someone who will take us down a notch when we need to be taken down, and will be our strongest cheerleaders when we need that. We may not always be in communication, in fact we may not even talk to one another as adults, but that will not displace the fact that we shared a very intimate home for at least 9 months, if not longer. That bond cannot be broken. Wars, incarceration, hurt feelings, death cannot take away that connection.

Liturgy and charisms (My Soapbox)

This is a picture of (I think) the Baptismal font in front of the Episcopal House of Prayer in Collegeville, MN.

I am not a liturgist. I make that disclaimer at the beginning of this entry because this entry will be about liturgy. My understanding of liturgy is founded on the belief that liturgy is the “work of the People”. This comes from church teaching, my own formation in my family and academically. I am irritated to say the least. The more I think about the sometimes ridiculous nature of how our church is reflected in the words of others is scandalous. I would like to propose a question and would enjoy feedback.~Truly- Im not just sayin' that!

Scenario 1: I attended mass on Monday to celebrate one of the greatest martyrs of the 20th century- Martin Luther King Jr. It was a pretty big deal- Mayor Fenty was in attendance for a bit. The homily was horrible. The presider was not a homilist- he covered way too much in 50 minutes. The length of the homily is not the problem. I love a good homily- one that will prompt me to be challenged and will call me to see life and my interaction in the world in a different way- that was not this homily. Everything was covered- but I think I would also be generous to say that five minutes of the 50 minute homily was devoted to the work of MLK. During the Liturgy of the Eucharist the presider then literally breathed words onto the host and wine to turn them into the Body and Blood of Jesus. So, what that says to me, as a lay woman in pew is that regardless of my participation- I will be a spectator. This is not for me.

If preaching is a charism that is to be in place as a requirement for ordination when we attend (some would go so far as to say participate in) a mass, when the homily is horrible- does that mean that the mass is considered invalid?

Scenario 2: I attend daily mass. After today's liturgy I ran into the cafeteria and a meeting was taking place and two priest who had concelebrated came in after me. They were asked by their group already gathered in the room how mass was and the response from one of the men was, “Well, it was valid today.” He would not elaborate on what had made it invalid yesterday (at least not in front of me). They stated that the mass was still valid yesterday because he and the other priest were there to concelebrate, but it left me with the impression that it was barely valid…

The priest who had celebrated had just come back from working abroad in the missions. He has devoted his life to proclaiming the work of Jesus and living a life of the Gospel. Maybe he forgot something- I don’t remember- what I do remember was being invited to participate fully and being challenged in the time of the homily- recognizing the wisdom of Sophia alive and moving, coursing through my soul, my body, my entire being as he spoke.

Are we such an arrogant people that we think words are really enough to take away the presence of God from the midst of others? When phrases like invalid/valid mass get tossed around I wonder and often reject the idea that when our heart as a community gathered to celebrate and revel in the presence of God, that our participation in the sacrifice of the liturgy could ever be considered invalid. People all over the world, with the wrong books, wrong vestments, wrong vessels, and little education participate fully in the mystery of the church and mass. There is nothing invalid about that.

A Week in Review...

I have written many times of the needs of solidarity, how I attempt to live in solidarity, and what are the moments in my life that call out such movement…It is with this in mind that I note three things in my week that I want to highlight as calls to solidarity.

1- the earthquake in Haiti. Obviously that is central to what my week has been focusing on. Speaking with members, hearing stories from their missioners, about their families in Haiti-it is overwhelming to think of what this devastation and destruction means for people who have less than nothing- and I had trouble picking out which top to wear to work today…This devastation brings out the many sides and faces of the humanity on our earth. I have heard words from one man in particular that are beyond sinful (in my mind) and found consolation in the need to remind myself the God does not cause sin, death and destruction- but rather redeems. It is our sinful attitudes of want and desire that led to our brothers and sisters living in such conditions that brought such ease to the destruction of their living. As this is not sitting well with me at this time, I am sure I will be reflecting on this more in the coming days.

2- the second act of my week was last night. I went to the Women and Spirit exhibit at the Smithsonian. It is a display noting the contributions of the Women Religious (sisters and nuns) in America since they first came to the continent. It was a marvelous display and well done exhibit. There was not time to see everything, so I will go back- it is an exhibit that I plan to take my mother to see when she is visiting here in March. To see a great preview go to www.womenandspirit.org The exhibit is well worth the time to examine and view the work of women in America. I think I even spotted the Annunciation Monastery in Bismarck, ND (that is the sponsoring community for The University of Mary where I studied in undergrad)!

3- I found out this week that I will be travelling to Guatemala during Holy Week this year. I will be doing basic research and helping to establish a formation program for missioners working with a group of ordained Catholic priests-I will be studying, praying and researching with several men, one of whom is a cultural anthropologist in an attempt to come up with a frame of reference for lay missioners, their culture shock and initiate ways to promote authentic discussions of religious traditions and experiences as they are in unfamiliar territory (spiritually and geographically). I am really excited about this and obviously will be blogging during this time and the prep time leading up to the travel.

Where are you from?

This question gets a lot of air play here in the DC area. It is said that no one is from DC, everyone is a transplant. As a result, one of the big questions apart from where do you work is where are you from. I was thinking about how I answer this question so differently depending on circumstances in conversation. I generally will begin my reply with, “Nebraska, but I actually moved here from Minnesota.” or something of that nature.

My question about this is I wonder if such a statement is really even necessary. People come different places, different geographical areas, different walks of life. Why is there a need to separate or to create a sense of space or differentiation in how we come to our place of habitation?

This, at first glance does not seem to be theological in nature, but it continually comes to me at different prayer times. I go back to the pericope of Jesus when he urges his disciples and followers to leave their homes behind and follow him. Is that what we are doing? Is that enough for today? Feed back would be wonderful…

The Polish/German/French Carrie Bradshaw...who eats...

So, Christmas sucked in the Mougey house in Nebraska this year. We were missing three of our family members, on top of which my oldest cousin was found dead from a hunting accident on the Tuesday before Christmas. It seemed like welcoming Baby Jesus into our home was going to be especially difficult and we did not accomplish the joy of the season in anyway shape or form. The O Antiphons of the final days of Advent took on a lament that would rival any psalm.

After the suckey Christmas- we went to Omaha to see family who had gathered for the funeral and my dad and I took off to begin our trek across half of the United States. We went up to Minnesota and stayed a night at the ol’ stomping grounds. It was good to be back on familiar soil and to feel such a profound sense of wisdom, mystery and all things wonderfully Minnesotan. We made it through all of Wisconsin with one stop to see a woman so soulful that the ten-minute stop refreshed me for the next four days. C- I love you! That night we stayed at D’s. It was not long enough, but it certainly took the edge off my need to see D and have some companionship. There is ease in our relationship and I enjoy that comfort. We can lay with each other and recognize the giftedness of the situation and let ourselves just bathe in the reality of our conversations. It would be like sitting in a vat of olive oil infused with a subtle hint of the best smelling (cheap cause D would buy) perfume.

We went on the next day to Ohio where we stayed at my roommate M’s parents home, which was lovely. Nebraska played their bowl game that night; we drank homemade wine and celebrated. DC came at about 2 and with it, all the traffic that we could want to avoid on New Year’s Eve. There were no near misses, no accidents, and hardly any snow. There was a lot of great conversation, many laughs and irreplaceable time with my Dad. So often I have to share him with my other siblings. We often in the midst of family settings find ourselves at odds with one another because of conversations on going around us. This trip however, we could talk with ease about many things, and were able to take the time to nuance our words, our thoughts and just enjoy the gift of the trip.

My dad then spent the next two days with me rummaging through boxes, cutting up boxes, helping me to arrange and reminding me that all these little things that were getting to me were not big deals- just time to sit back and rethink. We did have some fun too! I treated him to a movie- we had to ride the metro to get there and he was beyond impressed that I could get there and looked so at ease in my new city surroundings. (Really DC, it is time to just admit that you were built however many years ago because you knew I was coming.) Dad and I had a poor girl’s version of a Carrie Bradshaw moment on Sunday on our way to Union Station so he could catch his train home. I had stopped at an ATM next to the apartment and when I came out our bus was not stopping at the stop right next to the bank. With the wind blowing, I threw up my hand to “hail a bus”. (Normally we would have walked to the Metro stop, but it was so windy and cold it was painful.) We made it on the bus and as I was feeling kind of smug and big city girl- my father beamingly says, “Honey, I am so proud of you, being so Cosmo! You stopped the bus.” I was in my Target coat, target boots, and Shopko hat-eat your heart out Carrie Bradshaw- I may not have Manolo’s, hail taxi cabs or live in Manhattan, but I can find a deal when I am in the mood to shop, stop a bus, and I HATE Manhattan!

Enjoy the New Year!