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…