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!