Ten Thousand Places

The Time Being

2012-01-10T15:01:00.003-05:00

Every year, sometime around this time, I re-read W.H. Auden's "For the Time Being." Written in 1942 with the world at war, this poem captures something incredible and true about the Christmas feast we just celebrated. It is not so hard, surrounded by mangers and Christmas cheer, to believe in the reality of the Incarnation. But somehow, as we pack up the decorations and go on with our lives, it gets a little harder to remember and believe. Here's Auden's poem (actually, it's part of a larger poem, The Christmas Oratorio, but I couldn't find a link to the whole thing, but I own the book):

Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree,
Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes --
Some have got broken -- and carrying them up to the attic.
The holly and the mistletoe must be taken down and burnt,
And the children got ready for school. There are enough
Left-overs to do, warmed-up, for the rest of the week --
Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot,
Stayed up so late, attempted -- quite unsuccessfully --
To love all of our relatives, and in general
Grossly overestimated our powers. Once again
As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed
To do more than entertain it as an agreeable
Possibility, once again we have sent Him away,
Begging though to remain His disobedient servant,
The promising child who cannot keep His word for long.
The Christmas Feast is already a fading memory,
And already the mind begins to be vaguely aware
Of an unpleasant whiff of apprehension at the thought
Of Lent and Good Friday which cannot, after all, now
Be very far off. But, for the time being, here we all are,
Back in the moderate Aristotelian city
Of darning and the Eight-Fifteen, where Euclid's geometry
And Newton's mechanics would account for our experience,
And the kitchen table exists because I scrub it.
It seems to have shrunk during the holidays. The streets
Are much narrower than we remembered; we had forgotten
The office was as depressing as this. To those who have seen
The Child, however dimly, however incredulously,
The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all.
For the innocent children who whispered so excitedly
Outside the locked door where they knew the presents to be
Grew up when it opened. Now, recollecting that moment
We can repress the joy, but the guilt remains conscious;
Remembering the stable where for once in our lives
Everything became a You and nothing was an It.
And craving the sensation but ignoring the cause,
We look round for something, no matter what, to inhibit
Our self-reflection, and the obvious thing for that purpose
Would be some great suffering. So, once we have met the Son,
We are tempted ever after to pray to the Father;
"Lead us into temptation and evil for our sake."
They will come, all right, don't worry; probably in a form
That we do not expect, and certainly with a force
More dreadful than we can imagine. In the meantime
There are bills to be paid, machines to keep in repair,
Irregular verbs to learn, the Time Being to redeem
From insignificance. The happy morning is over,
The night of agony still to come; the time is noon:
When the Spirit must practice his scales of rejoicing
Without even a hostile audience, and the Soul endure
A silence that is neither for nor against her faith
That God's Will will be done, That, in spite of her prayers,
God will cheat no one, not even the world of its triumph.

These in-between times are strange. Yet whether our audience seems hostile or non-existent, we must pay the bills, keep the machines in repair, learn the irregular verbs. And more important than any of that, we must hope that God (not us!) has already redeemed the time being from its insignificance. We have to hold onto faith that God's Will will in fact be done. Moreover, today at least, I feel bold enough to hope that God might even work in us and through us to redeem the time being from its insignificance. Pass the irregular verbs.

Back in Rome

2012-01-10T14:58:00.002-05:00

Well, I'm back. I'm back in Rome, and I'm back on this blog

I just looked at my last post, and I guess that you could say I let the homesickness--and some other negative factors--win a bit last semester. I'm determined not to do that again.

I'm sure I won't post every day, but I'll do a lot better. In fact, check back tomorrow. I promise a good post, especially if you like poetry.

Musical interlude

2011-10-01T15:13:00.002-04:00

Sorry that I haven't been blogging much here lately. I'm still having some great adventures in Rome, and I'll try to catch you up with those soon.

But tonight, a confession: I'm a little homesick. And this evening, I decided to either combat or indulge the homesickness by playing some Bruce Springsteen music. There's something about the album Born in the USA. In these days of iTunes and shuffle and what have you, we don't often just start an album at the beginning and listen to it all the way through. But that album goes through all the way from the anthem-like title track, through the strange but captivating "I'm on Fire" to the never-say-die "No Surrender" and the we're-not-that-old "Glory Days," all the way back to the quiet American life of "My Hometown." There's a lot there for someone far from home to connect to.

But then, unable to resist, I took it up a notch. This started with just listening to it (I have his live albums in my iTunes library, too), but then I went and found a video--the better to share it with you. Here is Bruce doing Woody Guthrie's "This Land is Your Land," which he says is just about the best song about America ever written. It's hard to disagree with that, especially the way Bruce does it.

I'll add just one more thing. I recently read an article about comedian Jon Stewart, who was asked (among other things) about what Springsteen meant to him. I'm not going to find the exact quote for you, but the gist of it was this: "When I listened to Springsteen growing up, I didn't feel like a loser. I felt like a character in an epic poem about losers. And so somehow there was hope that it would all turn out okay."

Yeah, I needed a little Springsteen today.

Help us help NAMI

2011-09-11T14:09:00.000-04:00

MB adding to the PeaceLove at the walk in 2010.

Every year, I do a post on my brother Paul, mental illness, and NAMI, in hopes that I can persuade a few of you either to walk with us or to make a donation to NAMI. Actually, even more important than that, I want you to know what NAMI is, because someone you know needs to know about NAMI. I've written before about NAMI's phenomenal Family to Family program, and about the walk itself, so I'm going to tell you another story, one that I haven't blogged about before. (See similar posts from 2008, 2009, 2010.)

NAMI is the National Alliance on Mental Illness. It is an organization that started in the grassroots; family members of people with major mental illnesses banded together to try to demand something a little better for their loved ones. And now, NAMI is in every state and has parallel organizations in many other countries. NAMI offers support and education for people with mental illnesses, their family members, and those who provide them with care. They also do a ton of lobbying and advocacy work.

My parents got involved in NAMI in my hometown in Texas not long after my brother Paul was diagnosed with schizophrenia in 1994 (his diagnosis was later changed to schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type). When my mom died in 1999, and later when my dad died in 2002, NAMI folks showed up in full force at the house with food, at the funerals. The names and faces hardly registered, but I knew that NAMI people were good people. In the months that followed, I would occasionally get an email from a NAMI person in Texas who would report to me that they had seen my brother somewhere in town, and he was fine. It meant a lot.

About 9 months after our dad died (and right after i sold the house), Paul completely disappeared. I was beside myself. I was living in North Carolina, and he had last been seen in San Antonio, Texas. After about 6 weeks, he surfaced in a hospital in San Antonio, Texas. I learned this when a social worker, who had (miracle #1) managed to track down my phone number, called me. I spent about 2 weeks on the phone with her trying to figure out what was next for Paul. It's funny to think that what turned out to be such a defining moment of my life happened on the phone with a person I had never met, and would never meet. Suddenly, I was agreeing to wire money to San Antonio so that Paul could be put on a bus to me.

I hung up the phone and googled "NAMI Durham NC." I called another person I had never met before, a volunteer named David. I explained my brother's illness and that, if all went as planned, Paul would be showing up in Durham in about 48 hours. How could I get him medical treatment? Housing? Other social support? He had a ton of ideas for me--names, numbers, He shared some of his own family story as well. He assured me that everything would be okay--or at least as okay as these things go when you are dealing with mental illness. He also encouraged me to call him again if I needed anything else. (Although I didn't call him again, and never met him, we since become Facebook friends!)

Well, Paul's journey didn't quite go as planned. The voices and/or the Greyhound personnel kicked him off the bus in Montgomery, Alabama. (I've never been sure what happened. I've also realized what an incredible lot it was asking of Paul to get discharged from the hospital and get right on that bus. It's a miracle (#2) he made it as far as he did!) Miracle #3 was that I happened to have a friend who was planning to drive from Birmingham, Alabama, to Durham the day before this all happened. He was delayed by a day, and was happy (he actually insisted!) to swing by Montgomery on his way to Durham (probably 3 hours out of his way). Miracles #4-6 were that Paul was able to spend the night at a truck stop, he called me with an address, and he was actually still there when my friend showed up the next morning. (Wow, that sounded far too easy: he also called me every 10-15 minutes all night long. Literally. But I told him to. I told him that if the voices told him to leave that spot, he should call me, and I'd tell him not to. Every few minutes. All night long. Worst night of my life. And miraculous, guaranteed.) And Paul made it to Durham, a mere 20 hours later than planned. And, thanks to David and NAMI, he saw a doctor within 48 hours and had housing first thing Monday morning.

Now, having been much more involved in NAMI, I could tell you a ton of stories of the ways NAMI, or one of their support groups or classes or volunteers, has thrown a lifeline to a person or a family struggling with mental illness. For those of us who have mental illness in our families, it is such an isolating thing. You want to keep it quiet, for the sake of your loved one. But it is so healing when you realize that your family is not alone in this struggle.

The statistic is that about 25%, or 1 in 4 adults, has a diagnosed or diagnosable mental illness. As Jeff Sparr of PeaceLove Studios likes to say, that number is high enough that 100% of us know someone who is struggling with a mental illness, whether we know it or not.

So, what do you say? Can you walk with our team, Paul's Pals, at Roger Williams Park, at 10am on Saturday, October 1st? Click here to join our team. Can you sponsor one of our walkers? Click here to sponsor my brother Paul. (If you want to sponsor me, click here, but know that I'll be completing my 5K in Rome this year.)

The most important thing is that you file away that name: NAMI. When your co-worker tells you her son has been having some issues, when your cousin mentions some trouble her sister is having, when your neighbor is clearly dealing with some depression. Send them to NAMI. It can really help.

Il Centro Storico

2011-09-09T13:56:00.002-04:00

Here in Rome, I live in the area known as "il centro storico," the historic center of Rome. With a few exceptions, this includes all the area that is within the ancient city walls. I live a few blocks from the Piazza di Spagna, the site of the famous Spanish steps that somehow show up in most movies set in Rome. I'll admit, there is something very nice about being able to walk (not more than 20-25 minutes) or hop on a bus (much quicker if the timing is good) and find myself at the Pantheon, Piazza Navona, or the Roman Forum. It's hard to complain.

There is, however, a downside to living in such a great location. Tourists. The past few days, there have been a couple of times where I was trying to walk quickly from point A to point B, just trying to get through the neighborhood, and I got sort of "locked in" to packs of tourists.

Also, today, I had to go to a certain bookstore to get the books for the Italian class I'm taking. On the way back, there were a couple of young women passing out balloons and flyers that turned out to be for a Gap store about 2 blocks from my apartment. Now, within about 3-5 blocks of my apartment, there are stores for not only Gap but also Nike, Adidas, FootLocker, Disney, and Swatch. I'm sure there are many many more that could be named, but I haven't really been paying that much attention. I'm just saying, it is a little strange to go halfway around the world and realize that walking through your neighborhood isn't that different from walking through the average mall in the U.S. Well, not every mall has Swatch or Disney. But, if my Italian were better, maybe I'd be able to make a joke that implies that "il centro storico" is the "store center" rather than the historic center of Rome. Except the only word I know for store so far is negozio, and the joke is lost. Oh, well!

Maria sopra Minerva

2011-09-04T09:42:00.002-04:00

Well, I'm already falling behind on blogging. A couple of quick reports: I went to Mass last Sunday at St. Peter's, the full-on Latin solemn chant "smells and bells" version. I was glad I did that ... once. Today, I decided to go to my favorite church from my first visit to Rome, Santa Maria sopra Minerva. Now, as if to form the complete contrast, there wasn't a lick of singing there today. Very simple Mass. In fact, it felt sort of like daily Mass, even though it was Sunday. I may have to keep looking.

But I do love the church at Maria sopra Minerva, probably mostly because I love Catherine of Siena, and it seems like a bit of a miracle to be so close to her earthly remains, to light a candle, and to pray in thanksgiving for all of the wise and holy and strong women I know, and to pray that I might be one, too. I actually knelt before her body for quite a while, entrusting friends with health crises, friends with faith crises, friends with vocation crises, to the intercessions of this powerful spiritual force.

I'll also add that I really feel a dose of "girl power" in this place. Centuries upon centuries of honoring holy, wise, strong women in this place are palpable. It was good to be there.

Surviving Italy without Italian

2011-08-24T09:36:00.002-04:00

Well, I've survived my first major run-in with Italians where I really wished I knew more Italian.

My intercom buzzed this afternoon (for the first time!), and when I answered the phone, I realized that (1) the volume was incredibly low, (2) someone was talking to me in rapid Italian that I didn't have a chance of hearing, let alone understanding, and (3) I actually have no idea how to "buzz someone in" even if I wanted to. I said "no capisco" several times, but she seemed so insistent that I finally said "I'll come down." I actually heard her say "no capisco" as I hung up, grabbed shoes and keys, and ran down the four flights of stairs.

I found two young Italian women. It was actually a little funny how easy it was for me to understand the basics of what they were saying, and how impossible it was for me to communicate anything to them. They knew I had just moved in and were here to put the gas and light bills in my name. The problem is that I'm not certain those bills are supposed to go in my name. But how does someone like me (with so little Italian) explain that I think someone else is supposed to be handling this stuff with my utilities and I am not going to mess with it without checking in with them. Especially when half of my attempts to speak Italian still come out in Spanish.

I eventually made it clear that I wanted to call my friend. Once they understood that this was someone who could speak both English and Italian, they were all over it. They came upstairs and I called the office and got a quick call back from someone who was able to talk to them, tell them we weren't interested, and tell me that they were sales people and I should get rid of them as soon as possible. Which I did.

I'm glad I trusted my instincts. I was pretty sure that someone would have told me that I needed to sign up for utilities with some women who came knocking on my door if that was in fact the case.

Arriving in Rome

2011-08-22T14:38:00.002-04:00

I'm safe and sound in the Eternal City.

I was so busy leading up to my departure, what with packing and goodbyes, that I hardly had time to process this major change in my life. It's funny. It didn't really hit me until Friday afternoon how hard it is to walk out of the whole life that you know for a year. It's funny. In this virtual world of Facebook, blogs, digital cameras and what-not, it is easy to be in relationship with people that you don't see every day. For me (like many academics), I also maintain plenty of pretty close relationships with people that I only really see at 2-4 conferences a year. I think because of those two things, I imagined that it wasn't a very big deal to walk out of my life for a year. The leaving was a lot harder than I thought.

The packing was an adventure of its own. All I'm going to do here is claim this supreme victory of packing efficiency: my two checked bags (maximum of 50 pounds to avoid overweight charges) weighed in at 50.4 and 49.5 pounds. And no, she didn't even think about charging me for that .4 pound difference.

The voyage was harder than it should have been. My flight out of PVD was delayed by about 90 minutes because of thunderstorms in Philadelphia (my connecting city). They let us know that after we boarded, so I sat on that plane for about 2.5 hours. Arriving in PHL about 6:40, I found that my connection to Rome, originally listed for a 6:15 departure, was listed for 6:45. I booked it as fast as I could to the international terminal. I arrived at the designated gate to see that my flight was now listed as a 7pm departure. Of course, it was 7:02 and there was not a single soul at the gate. I went across to the opposite gate to ask about my flight. The agent tap-tap-tapped at her computer and looked at me with absolute confidence and said: "That flight is now delayed until midnight. You should go sit at the gate and wait for an update." I took one look back at the still utterly empty gate, turned back to her and said, "Are you sure? I mean, wouldn't there be a lot of people sitting there? Can you double check?" Tappity-tap-tap. (By the way, as she taps, a couple comes up also looking for this flight. I update them.) The agent begins again, with absolute confidence, and as if nothing that preceded had happened. "I'm sorry, but that flight already departed. You'll need to go to customer service across from gate blah-blah-blah and see about a rebooking."

Sometimes, in a moment like this, I sort of wish I were another person, the sort of person who could just yell at a person and tell them what a complete and total idiot they're being. But with more expletives. But I am who I am, so I took a deep breath and said, "I'm really sorry, but you've just told me two completely contradictory things, and I'm not going down to customer service or anywhere out of sight of this gate until you can confirm that flight has left." So, someone did show up at the other gate. Now a family of 5 has arrived, and there are 8 of us. A few more trickle in. The agent informs us in no uncertain terms that the flight has left and we will not be able to get on it. The problem is, it has become clear to us that the flight is, in fact, sitting at the gate. No, he is certain it left the gate. Isn't that it? Well, yes. There were a few minutes of a LOT of confusion. All of a sudden, another agent appears on the scene. She lets us know that the flight did in fact leave the gate, but returned due to a maintenance issue. Well, we suggested, isn't that good news for all of us? You can let us on that flight and we can get to Rome basically on time and you won't have to book (what has become about) 15 seats on tomorrow's flight. There were a few more minutes of "we just don't do that ... this flight is already boarded and departed ..." And then, somehow, she was taking our tickets and letting us through.

The flight attendants were pretty shocked to see us. And I'm not completely unsympathetic. By the time we boarded the plane, the rest of the people on board had been sitting there for at least 90 minutes. And, honestly, there was some sort of poison in the air. I watched an elderly gentleman absolutely refuse to trade his seat (for another aisle seat within a couple of rows) that would have allowed the father (of the aforementioned family of five) to sit together in a single row of four with his wife and 3 kids (one a lap baby). I heard the loud (Italian) insistence: "I paid for this seat and you cannot make me move!" I thought he was a horrible excuse for a human being, but this morning at baggage claim, I talked to the mom, who confirmed that he did in fact trade with her husband right after take-off and apologize to her. Basically, he felt very deeply disrespected by the flight attendant (for the previous 90 minutes), and her tone in this ("you have to move right now to help us accommodate these people who shouldn't have been allowed in anyway") was unacceptable, too. Although I didn't hear that story until after the flight, it made sense of much to me. Everyone just seemed more on edge than they needed to be. I think the flight attendants sort of set a tone.

Then there was the boy--about 12, I'd say--who had a brother, 2 parents, and a grandfather (Poppy) on the plane. All of them were somewhere within the 2 rows in front of me, in a couple of groups. But seriously, for 10 hours, every thought, observation, question etc this kid had was communicated in a voice far too loud for these close quarters.

Anyway, it was a long flight. We actually didn't leave until well over an hour after I got on board. The good news? My bags actually made the flight, too! I gathered everything up (another small miracle of efficient packing), got some euros, grabbed a cab, showed up to my apartment, and had the guy from the study abroad company waiting for me to help me get settled.

I'll post some pictures soon, but the apartment is very nice. It's a little quirky. It's small but still more space than I really need. It has sort of a hotel feel to it (there are towels and sheets and a hair dryer). The kitchen is stocked with a few pots and pans, dishes, etc. Pretty basic, but it will work.

I walked around the neighborhood a little today. There is a grocery store very close (about a half a block down from me), and several restaurants, bars, pizzerias. I was at first too hungry and then too hot and tired to explore too much. Tomorrow!

Witness to kindness

2011-07-26T16:16:00.003-04:00

No long apologies for the lack of blogging. But I'm sorry, and I expect to do better starting in about 4 weeks, when I leave for Rome for the academic year. Until then, it will likely remain sparse.

But here's a quick story for you, from my day attempting to get some work done in a coffee shop.

Older woman, looking for directions, very confused. Asking again and again for clarification of the obvious. She just couldn't get it. Young lady behind the counter, not more than 20 years old. Remarkable patience. Explaining again and again. More patience. I was really impressed. I told her so. Her coworker, who had approached by then, seemed to think she was TOO patient, and should have blown the woman off. The young woman said "that just wouldn't have been right; she was confused and needed help."

I was glad I witnessed this little kindness, this small evidence of a well-functioning moral compass.

Is it still Lent?

2011-03-18T07:48:00.002-04:00

I occasionally reflect upon odd convergences (or divergences) in the two calendars that dominate my life, the liturgical calendar and the academic calendar. This week is an odd week. Liturgically, it is the first full week of Lent. It is the week of settling into our penitential practices, finding the rhythm of fitting in those things we've added or taken away to draw us in. Actually, for a great reflection on how the fasting that we do in Lent can and should lead us to put on the mind of Christ (which, by the way, turns out to be a mind of mercy), check out Emmanuel Charles McCarthy's "The Only Guide That Will Serve You Well Is Mercy."

On the other hand, the academic calendar marks this week as spring break. No, I'm not at some beach somewhere, but the interruption from the daily routine of teaching and meetings and class prep and all (welcome, welcome, welcome though it is), can seem almost decadently self indulgent. And, of course, a little added time (for instance) to go out to lunch and catch up with a friend, etc, can add to that feeling of self indulgence rather than penitence.

Add some other calendar issues (St. Patrick's Day, March Madness) and the week really has seemed downright un-Lenten at times. Of course, that has more to do with my willingness to grant myself "dispensations" from my Lenten observances in the name of these other things than anything else.

So, here's to renewed commitment and to staying focused on the more important markers of time.

Kindness, love, and unity

2011-03-16T19:46:00.003-04:00

Through the miracle of Facebook, this poem came across my awareness today. It seems to me to get it very much right. Once you know the depth of the sorrow and loss that pervades the world, you know that without kindness, going on would be impossible.

Sometimes, everything seems connected. I'm reading this book, on the Focolare movement. I'm really struck by the simplicity of the Focolare spirituality, which seems merely to put together three basic questions for every aspect of life: (1) how can I love Jesus in the person before me; (2) how can I live for unity in this moment; and (3) what does Jesus forsaken on the cross call me to do in this moment?

These questions are pushing me to think I should be more kind and more loving. They also seem like great questions to ask during Lent.

Loving kindness, of course, is never out of season.

1984 or 1776?

2011-03-06T22:24:00.003-05:00

Today, I found myself with a little time to wander in a Borders. Actually, I was very much looking for books to help one learn Italian, in preparation for next year when I'll be living there (and, I promise, promise, promise: blogging more regularly).

As I came upon the section on languages, two young men (14ish) sort of stopped behind me and I overheard one say, "There's totally a book called 1984." The other retorted: "No way. You can't just name a book ... a number." "It's not a number. It's the year. It's a history book, but I sort of think it's a classic." As the other guy refused, yet again, to believe this was possible, I couldn't resist. "There's totally a book called 1984. It's by a guy named George Orwell. It's not exactly a history book, but the rest is right." Oddly, they verified that it was a classic, asked me what section to find it in (if not history) and walked away.

Within a couple minutes, they were back. "Excuse me, but is 1776 a classic?" "The book by David McCullough?" "Uh... I think so." I tried to explain the difference between a piece of literature that speaks to people in a timeless near-universal sort of way and a very high quality, well-written work that reports the history of a particular event. I don't think they got it. I still wonder what kind of an assignment they had. Were they supposed to find a classic? A history book? A classic history book? Or--who knows--a math book? I really hope that they were supposed to read a history book, and I hope that they chose 1984. What would it be like to read that book as history? Would that be possible?

It still cracked me up and made me think that I should blog again. So, here I am!

A promising start

2011-01-22T14:47:00.002-05:00

The first week of the semester is behind us.

Here's the funny thing: I really liked it. I know, people who know me know that I love teaching, so they probably don't get the strangeness here. But I usually hate the first week. I hate it, basically, because I hate teaching strangers. I love teaching when I'm into the semester a bit and I know my students and they know me. But I hate that first week, usually.

This week just felt ... different. Maybe it was that I knew at least one student in every class before going in. Maybe it was that when I went around the room and asked them little ice-breaker questions about theology, more of them were positive than usually. I really don't know. It just felt good.

And so the semester is off to a very promising start.

Rosaries and a love stronger than death

2011-01-16T22:16:00.005-05:00

I just prayed a rosary for Chad, who passed away yesterday of a drug overdose. Chad's cousin was a classmate at both college and masters level and remains a friend, through the magic of Facebook. He asked for prayers, rosaries specifically, and I said I would pray a rosary for Chad.

Now, officially, the rosary-the-night-before-the-funeral went out with the Vatican II reforms. A very nice Vigil service has been designed. I've been to those Vigils a couple of times, organized by eager, informed priests for families who had no real sense of what should happen at/around a funeral. (I was there not as a mourner so much as parish staff.)

I remember gently suggesting the Vigil instead of the rosary for my mom's funeral. Not to put too fine a point on it: hell, no. What WE do when people die is we pray the rosary.

So, it was good tonight to pray the rosary for Chad, and to have a sense that I joined with people in something of a "virtual" collective rosary for him. It was also bittersweet to remember those losses that have hit me closer to home, but to keep plugging through, praying the same prayer.

The rosary--especially its backbone the "Hail Mary"--really is the perfect prayer in the face of death. You find yourself repeating over and over the request that Mary "pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death." There is nothing like a death to make that line stand out, and I heard it each time I said it but for Chad, for those deaths past, and for my own death coming at some future time that I don't know yet.

I know that sounds a little ... morbid, a community of death or something. But I actually don't mean it like that at all. I'm really convinced that the good news of Christ in the midst of death is that love is stronger than death, and that the way that gets best embodied for us is in the love of the Christian community in the face of death. We offer love, and prayers, and that gentle reminder that the last enemy to be defeated is death. The love of Christ conquers all.

Timely reflections?

2011-01-01T10:31:00.003-05:00

Happy New Year!

For some reason, I've been thinking a lot about time this week: the passing of time, how I use my time, what I have time for, make time for, the ways I protect my time sometimes, only to end up squandering it.

As I often do this time of year, my thoughts turned to Auden's "For the Time Being." Usually, I'm most struck by the line about "Remembering the stable where for once in our lives / Everything became a You and nothing was an It." But this week, the lines about time have grabbed me, especially that the time being is the "most trying time of all" and the suggestion that we feel we must redeem it from insignificance.

Time, of course, has already been redeemed from insignificance, not simply in the stable Auden mentions, but in the 33 years or so that followed, and especially in the death and resurrection of the babe from that stable. (Quick parenthetical shout-out to the brilliance of the gentle inclusion of the Cross in this Christmas poem, mentioned only in the "whiff of apprehension" at the coming of Lent and Good Friday.) But, of course, that is precisely what makes the time being so very trying: the battle is won. The temptation is, then, to simply bide our time, to live in the Aristotelian city. And, of course, the challenge is to figure out how to be in the world in such a way that we know that we don't need to redeem it and yet we also know that the difference we makes matters.

I'm not sure how well I do that, but I've been thinking about what I do make time for, fail to make time for, etc, and I want to change a couple of things. I'm usually not a great one for New Year's resolutions, but it seems the time is ripe, and I want to make one here publicly: I will blog more this year. Of course, blogging more than last year would probably not be much of a challenge, so I'll be more specific. I'll aim at blogging weekly, even if something brief.

My others are, I suppose, more personal. Or, to put it another way, they don't involve any of my potential readers so directly. Suffice it to say that they involve me becoming more disciplined with my time so that I manage to do the things that I want or need to do, rather than doing the things that I sort of drift into. There are, after all, bills to be paid, machines to keep in repair, and (always my favorite!) irregular verbs to learn. There are also a number of books and articles that need me to write them. And there are some other things I would like to find a way to get done as well.

May 2011 be a blessed and wonderful year for you and yours!

Still not walking alone

2010-10-02T17:36:00.007-04:00

For the last three years, I have captained a team in the annual fundraiser walk for NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) of Rhode Island. The team is called Paul's Pals in honor of my brother Paul, who has suffered with a severe mental illness since he was 19. (His current diagnosis is schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type.)

I wrote a very similar post to this last year, but I want to say this again: so often, I feel very isolated as the one person really intentionally involved in my brother's life. Although I have great friends who are always willing to step up and help me out, there is something overwhelmingly wonderful about the feeling of this day. I was surrounded by a bunch of friends--mostly colleagues from work and their families, with some overlap with and some additions from church and neighborhood friends, about 35 people total sporting our purple "Paul's Pals" shirts.

In addition to that, though, I had about 40 other people donate to sponsor me in the walk. I went online this morning to write down all the team members' totals, and I took a moment to look over the list of my own donors. Most of them are my Facebook friends who responded to an invitation to donate (okay, to my begging them to donate). No one could see quite what I see without my explaining it, but I can go down the list and it includes current colleagues, friends from different periods of my life (elementary school, high school, college, grad school), people I was quite close to but have drifted, people that I was never quite that close to, and a few who will always be close. Some have their own reasons to donate--a friend or family member affected by mental illness--and others are basically just doing it for me. But the point is, it buoys me to feel this support. It helps me feel that I am not Paul's only support.

So, thanks to everyone who walked and to everyone who donated. And, if you want to add your name to the list, donations are still being accepted here.

Thoughts on time

2010-09-07T16:44:00.005-04:00

This fall, like every fall, time has a way of standing up and demanding to be noticed.

One reason this happens every fall is my affinity for Notre Dame football. Somehow or another--be it through old film during game coverage or YouTube clips posted to Facebook--I find myself watching clips of the Irish throughout history. Notre Dame is one of those places for me that seems to defy time and therefore make you more aware of it. I remember walking across campus on foggy nights (or early mornings!) and having the sense that I might get where I was going and somehow find the place 50 or 100 years before. History seemed to hang about the place thicker than the fog, in just that sort of way.

Now, I find myself on a college campus again, this time as a professor. Today was the first day of my fifth year of classes. That means that, with rare exceptions, all the students who started when I started have graduated. I have seen an entire student body turnover, in a mere four years. On the one hand, that is exactly as it should be. But a college campus is a strange space that way; people walk through for a time and are gone. It's not at all unlike life in the world, actually, except that a generation lasts a mere four years.

Of course, my time in Italy this summer is not far from these thoughts. People are so much less permanent than the space they occupy, the things they build. And something about the fall really gives me the sense of the years flying by, of the transience of this earthly life, and a hope in the "world without end" our prayers promise.

Grateful for Facebook

2010-08-29T18:20:00.003-04:00

I sometimes find myself complaining that Facebook is a useless time-suck, but today I find myself oddly grateful for it. I logged in at some point this afternoon, and I read the following collection of status updates in my newsfeed:

An elementary school friend (one I've kept up with a bit in recent years) talking about the fact that her son, eager to head out to a day of Motocross biking, brought her breakfast in bed.

Another elementary school friend (one I haven't spoken to accept on Facebook in 20+ years) wrote about her sons in a way that I found myself saying "that's just like Leo," even though I've never met the kid.

A college friend posted a Haiku about her son's birthday party.

A friend from graduate school posted an announcement about his daughter's birth.

There were others, of course, but these struck me and made me think about a time when most people's lives most of the time were lived out within the confines of a single village, and they knew people for their whole lives.

I found myself--poor self, whose life has taken me far from my hometown--very grateful that Facebook offers me a glimpse of what it might have been like to stay home in the village and watch my childhood friends' children grow up around me.

Of course, I should also note that not a single one of the people whose status I cited above lives in the place where they lived when I knew them, so it is not simply my own mobility that is the problem. But what a gift Facebook can be in the face of such mobility.

Another pilgrim

2010-08-05T09:53:00.004-04:00

Well, I've been home over a week, and now my nieces are here visiting, so I expect to have more adventures to share, but there are some untold Italian adventures I want to post.

I realized that I failed to tell the story of Ann, the pilgrim I met in Assisi, who was walking from Rome to Jerusalem. Side note: this is one of the joys of the hostel experience. Ann and I (and others) had breakfast together in the hostel the morning I left Assisi. Just a little of her story: she had grown up Catholic (in the UK), but had outgrown the faith by the time she was 15. She lived the next 35 years or so of her life in what she now calls misery. She said she had everything she thought she wanted, but she was never happy. Then, as a total unbeliever, she got a sudden and certain sense that she was to make the Santiago pilgrimage. She did. She rediscovered her faith and has never been happier. But God keeps telling her where to walk. She walked from London to Rome, and now she is on her way to Jerusalem. I found her pretty inspiring.

She put my own pilgrim-ing in perspective. Though I tried (cautioned by a friend of mine) to always remember the holiness of the places I visited and be more pilgrim than tourist, I know that I was both, at best. And here was a true pilgrim, driven by vision and the need to answer a call. Still, I was very glad to have my pilgrimage put in perspective in this way.

Tridentine Mass

2010-07-25T18:20:00.003-04:00

So, now I'm at this conference on Catholic Theological Ethics in the World Church in Trent. Today I gave my paper, which went very well. But also, we had Mass in the cathedral here at Trent. The cathedral here was the site of a rather famous (in certain circles) sixteenth century Church Council that really charted the course of the Counter Reformation. It was astounding to feel the history bearing down during the course of this Mass. In addition to the ghosts of bishops past, the Mass was interesting (as is the whole conference) for the variety of language groups it included. The liturgy of the Word was principally in Italian, with parts of the homily in English, and the liturgy of the Eucharist was principally in Latin. But at some point, not only these languages, but also French, German, and Spanish were spoken or sung. Four bishops concelebrated, including the local ordinary. Really a beautiful, historic, and global occasion.

The Great Dolomite Road

2010-07-24T16:48:00.002-04:00

Up to the north of Trento, heading out northeast of Bolzano, the mountains get pretty dramatic. The road is windy but beautiful, stunning view after stunning view. I don't think I've ever seen mountains with quite these kinds of angles. (I'll try to add some pictures when I get back to the States.) We had lunch in the quaint little town of Cortina. It was a great day. And though we got back a little later than the conference started, it turned out that all we missed was some problems with the translation technology.

Pilgrim's Last Post

2010-07-22T15:46:00.003-04:00

Writing this from Assisi, but the meter is running....

Brief recap: when last I checked in here, I had just arrived in Florence. Spent a full day there doing the Duomo, the David, the Uffizi. Cannot begin to do justice to any of it. Still processing the beauty, the sheer quantity of art of ridiculously high quality.

Did a day trip yesterday to Siena. Prayed before the head of St. Catherine for my theological friends, especially the women who have been my teachers, my classmates, my colleagues. Had a phenomenal lunch, hit a museo, the Duomo. So much beauty and holiness through the ages.

Now I am in Assisi. Arrived by train late this morning and spent the day walking my way down from the top of the town (San Rufino) to the bottom (San Francesco). Saw most of the key holy sites in the lives of Francis and Clare along the way.

Here is my thought for the day on Assisi. The cathedral, San Rufino, where Francis and Clare were both probably baptized, was named for the first bishop of the diocese (third century, I think), who was martyred. On either side of the doorway as you enter, there is a lion, faded away by time, with a tasty Christian in his jaws. I found myself thinking that that is the kind of art that makes saints. Imagine the young Francis, who once leapt up on those lions to preach, thinking as we so often do that God wants us to be safe and comfortable. I mean, what is poverty, simplicity, and even a hair shirt compared to being thrown to the lions?

Here is one other thought that I have been having as I travel through all of this beautiful scenery. I share it here even though my Protestant travel buddy was a little scandalized. The thought is: I now see why God saw fit to move his church to Italy. It really is beautiful here. The hills, the valleys, the sunsets. Everything is amazing.

Tomorrow, I head north. Train to Trento. I cease to be a pilgrim and become a conference-goer. Sigh. I have come to love the life of the pilgrim.

Florence

2010-07-19T17:41:00.003-04:00

Had an awesome couple of days in Naples and on the Amalfi coast. Did you know that Sorrento is the legendary home of the Sirens that gave Odysseus so much trouble? They lured us in as well. We ended up staying two wonderful days in Sorrento and met some great and interesting people at the hostel we stayed at. Saw the great archeological museum in Naples, ate pizza. Then train to Salerno, bus to Amalfi (windy road but beautiful views). Then ferries to Positano and Sorrento. Beautiful views and a much smoother ride.

Train to Pompei. Amazing. What they could never convey in the history books about the sudden and total destruction of this city is its immensity. You picture a small, primitive town. It had art and culture, a theatre, an amphitheatre that seated 20,000. This was destruction on a huge scale. I sort of thought that after all the Roman ruins I had seen in Rome, that I would be unimpressed by Pompei. Wrong. Certainly worth the trip.

Now, I'm in Florence. We arrived about 7 and walked the city a bit. Clearly a beautiful place that holds several adventures over the coming days. And, computers are available in our hostel, so I'll try to update when there is no line.

Blessings to all from beautiful Florence.

Ciao for now

2010-07-14T20:52:00.003-04:00

Well, friends, I owe you a couple days' of postings: my adventures failing to meet a friend at St. Ann's gate, suffering through bad guidance of the Vatican museums, going back self-guided and doing it a little better. I went to the Angelicum (that's the school of the Angelic Doctor, St. Thomas Aquinas; also known as the Dominican school here in Rome). My first solo adventure on the Roman buses figures in there with some wonderful conversations with new friends.

But all that will have to wait. My computer is going home without me tomorrow, and my travels will take me out of the relative comforts of Rome to a number of places. As I told a friend, I have some ideas but I don't really have a plan. The idea is Naples/Pompeii, Assisi, Siena, Florence, Venice, then Trent for my conference beginning the 23rd. Milan on the 28th and home on the 29th.

I may surprise you, but don't count on any more updates before the 29th.

Ciao!

St. Peter's Basilica

2010-07-12T10:29:00.005-04:00

This morning, I went to St. Peter's Basilica. (Yes, for the first time. I'm always a little astounded by the friends who assume that I must have been to Rome before.) I really don't think there are any words that could do this experience justice, but I want to try to reflect a little of what struck me.

Someone pointed out to me at St. Paul's the other day something that is equally true of St. Peter's: these things were designed to accomodate huge numbers of pilgrims, so they had to be big. But they were also designed to feel more intimate than they are. It is astounding how well that has been accomplished.

We got off the bus and crossed the Tiber (I thought of my many convert friends who have done this metaphorically and was quite pleased to finally join them, more literally) along the "angel" bridge, and I got my first really good view of the domed basilica together with the courtyard. Even from a distance, you notice the statues of saints lining the roofline. It really feels like the communion of saints are gathered there to welcome you in.

After enjoying the courtyard for a while, we made our way through security and lined up for our chance to get into the basilica. I think it was at this point that I began to be impressed by the sheer numbers of people making this journey. Jim made a comment at a later point that one can see how, when American bishops or others who spend much time in Rome have no patience for American Catholics (or other Americans) who seem to think we ought to almost apologize for being Catholic, well ... you can see something else at work here. St. Peter's (like so much of Christian Rome) is a world designed as if the Catholic worldview is spot on. Saints and angels are a part of the fabric of being. Christ is king. And people are flocking to it.

Jim, who's been here a thousand times before, walked me through some of the key sights and gave me some of the highlights from his book on the place. We started in the portico, which is impressive enough. But walking through the doors into the main church, it literally took my breath away. It is hard to say exactly why; I suspect that those who have been there know, and those who have not cannot really be told. I feel like I was told before, and I don't feel like I really got it until now.

Before you even notice anything in particular, you feel both grandeur and balance at once. If you have read any Thomas Aquinas, for whom such ideas as "right ordering" and the "fittingness" of things looms large, you feel like you have entered the world as he must have seen it. And then you begin to notice the art--so many sculptures and paintings (okay, mosaics copied from paintings) of the saints. You feel that you are being welcomed in, invited to be a part of this church.

It wasn't long before I found myself before Michelangelo's Pieta, with a crowd of my new friends. I'll go ahead and admit it: I found myself in tears and I can't really give an account of why. But I want to share one thing that I noticed and one thought process. I have of course seen photos of the Pieta before. But I have never noticed or at least not remembered what (if anything) is behind it. As it stands in St. Peter's (behind bulletproof glass), on the wall behind it is an empty cross. I was so struck by the fittingness of that.

The moment the Pieta embodies is the absolute darkest moment in the history of the church. The one that the early Christians had followed was dead and needing burial, and the promises of resurrection seemed nearly forgotten. I found two questions coming unbidden to my mind. First, how could we possibly, as a church, live through that moment of humility and despair and respond to it by building all of this? And the second, more simply, how could we not?

I mean both of those quite honestly. On the one hand, it seems completely ridiculous to think that the followers of Christ (who said such things as blessed are the poor and those who fail to renounce their possessions are not worthy to follow me) could or should ever imagine such a place, let alone build it. And yet, the real historicity of the thing is astounding, too. There is a tradition of Peter's death and burial in this place, pilgrims came to venerate it, they needed a church. After several centuries, that church was falling down and we needed a new one. Who else to get but the best artists of the age over the 120 years of building the thing? How to do it except exquisitely?

It really did feel, for the most part, like the people's place. People were praying and snapping photos everywhere. I think the name (St. Peter's) suggests that you would find the pope hanging out in there lording it over people ("Look at MY church!). But I really got the sense that this is the church of the people. Sure, it houses the bones of a lot of popes and quite a few theologians (Chrysostom is there, and Gregory of Nazianzus, to name but two). But they belong to us, too.

I had a few moments of prayer in the midst of the whole thing. We slipped into a side chapel where they had Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament going on and spent a little time there. I also spent a little time before John XXIII and Gregory of Nazianzus, praying for the church and for myself and all my friends who try to live our vocations as theologians in service to the church. I also stood beneath the central dome, near the tomb of St. Peter, and prayed for the unity of the church. I thought with gratitude of all my Protestant friends who have been real witnesses to Christ in my life, and, of course, with sadness over the divided Body of Christ. May Christ use Peter's office to make us one.

St Paul and the Forum

2010-07-11T17:30:00.002-04:00

If yesterday was a slow day, we made up for it today.

We went to Mass at St. Paul outside the Walls, one of the five patriarchal basilicas here in Rome. Today was the feast of St. Benedict and this basilica is attached to a Benedictine community, so it was particularly fitting.

Mass was an interesting experience for me. As someone who knows a little Latin and almost no Italian, it is both funny and confusing how they switch back and forth. Actually, it's really just the Mass parts in Latin and everything else in Italian, but it feels a bit strange. Also, I think this is one of my unconscious presuppositions about Rome. I think I basically thought they would all speak Latin here, at least in church. Now, if I had every really stopped to think about it, I'm sure I would have realized it wasn't the case, but I don't guess I really stopped to think about it.

We toured the cloister and the basilica after Mass. Not unlike my experience with Catherine of Siena, I was really awed to be so near the bodily remains of St. Paul. I was also struck (more here than there) by the sense of centuries and centuries of Christians coming to venerate those bones in this space (well, more or less). I commended into St. Paul's hands the care of my brother Paul, so let's look for a miracle!

After lunch (carbonara! mmmm!), I went with my friend Jim to the Forum and the Colosseum. To me, it is really amazing to see such history before me. It is astounding to me both that they built so much that lasted so long and that it is in such a state of ruin. I am impressed at once both that they accomplished so much and so little. It certainly invites reflection on the transience of all created things, that sense that we are all dust, and to dust we return.

A slower day

2010-07-10T18:31:00.003-04:00

We slowed down a little today, because we needed a slower day. Hit a farmer's market, did some laundry, cooked our own lunch and dinner. Took in a few sights in the cool of evening.

This is just blocks from where we're staying. I love this picture because it shows the Colosseum looming at the end of the street, but also life going on in just the way it goes on in thousands of places throughout the world.

Catherine sopra Minerva

2010-07-09T12:25:00.004-04:00

Today, life in Rome was interrupted by a bus/train strike. We did manage to find a bus on the way to start our day (though it probably took longer to come than usual), but we ended up having to take a taxi home. My friend Jim says there's a saying that basically says, "If you don't like how we do things in this Rome, go ahead and go to the other one instead." Every city has its quirks, and Rome is certainly worth its hassles.

Today, we headed over to the area around Piazza Navona. Some highlights were the Pantheon, a couple of great Caravaggio paintings at San Luigi, the Dominican church (Santa Maria sopra Minerva), and just walking through piazzas and feeling the life of the city.

I want to say a bit more about Santa Maria sopra Minerva. As we walked in, my friend Jim was explaining (as you might see from the name) that this church was built over the site of what had been a temple to Minerva, goddess of wisdom. I made a comment about how typical it was that men can't deal with a smart and powerful woman and so they cover her up like that. Jim pointed out that it is a church named for Mary, so woman for woman, but it didn't quite strike a chord with me. I mean, Mary is certainly smart and powerful, but her more leading virtues seem to be about holiness and submission. It's a balancing act, but, well, like I said, it didn't strike quite the right chord with me.

But we got inside and I just loved the feel of this church. Before long, I wandered toward the altar at the center and discovered that the body of St. Catherine of Siena was lying right there. It really took me aback. I mean, talk about your smart and powerful (and holy!) women! I was really struck by the power of her presence there. I knelt before her body for awhile, contemplating her presence over that of Minerva, both in that space and in my life. When I was a child, I read a lot of Greek and Roman mythology and I really identified with Athena/Minerva particularly since I was in a gifted/talented program called the Athena program. Fast forward 30-plus years and I am a theologian working in a building named for Catherine of Siena. There is a strange way in which Catherine sopra Minerva is the story of my life.

I found myself asking Catherine to help me live my vocation as a theologian well. And yet even as I phrased the prayer, I found myself asking her to help me use my time and intelligence wisely in the service of the Church. The funny thing is that this was a motto of the old Athena program ("Use your time and intelligence wisely and this will ensure that you will think.")

It really is the case that Athens has plenty to do with Jerusalem, that the pagan gods are never completely obliterated, and that church and world are categories woven together too intricately to really ever be separated from one another. And perhaps there is no better place than Rome to discover the truth of that.

2010-07-08T18:54:00.006-04:00

I can't resist sharing one other photo, just to help you appreciate something about my journey here. The place I'm staying, I chose both because it was inexpensive and because my friends who have a history here are staying here now. I didn't know how it would work out. Maybe it would be inconvenient or something. Didn't really care. Not important. But, just to give you a sense of things, this picture is something that I walked down the hall from my room, stepped out onto the rooftop/patio, and snapped away.

You might want to notice the dome of St. Peter's, just to the left of the setting sun. Also, you can see the twin chariots atop the towers of the Victor Emmanual monument behind the Forum. It's a dang good view!

(Small note: blogger cut off the monument after one chariot. You still get a sense of the place!)

Long and wonderful day

2010-07-08T18:18:00.005-04:00

Long, wonderful day. After a traditional Roman breakfast (standing at a bar eating a pastry and drinking a coffee) we headed out to several churches. Saw San Clemente, St. John Lateran, St. Mary Major, and a couple smaller ones. Good times.

I awarded photo of the day honors to the one above, taken looking down the road from the front of St. John Lateran. What I love about this photo is that it captures something about Rome that I never really appreciated before. It is at once ancient and medieval and modern. It is pagan and Christian and secular. And the saints and their statues, their frescoes, their churches stand in the midst of it at almost every era, and at this point have marked it indelibly. And here is St. Francis boldly (and peacefully) standing in the midst of it all today.

Roma!

2010-07-07T17:41:00.004-04:00

Well, I've arrived safely in Rome, and I'll definitely have internet access for the next week, so I'll try to blog.

My flights etc were without real event, which was great, though I met a couple of interesting people on the plane. My seat buddy was a physician who works in a community health center, and we actually had quite an interesting talk about mental health. I also met a Baptist pastor (American) who has a mission to military personnel and others in Sicily. Good times.

The Rome airport was absolutely everything I had been led to fear in terms of 1000 people offering me rides for great bargain prices. It was pretty difficult to figure out whom to trust. But I finally got where I was going without it costing too much money or energy.

I'm staying at the Lay Centre, which in its "real life" houses lay students who are in Rome to study theology. Its summer life sees it hosting some groups (I met a group of Muslims who were here from Cambridge as I arrived and had lunch here today) and some individual visitors like me. Several friends of mine lived here as students through the years, and two of them (and their kids) are here this summer (and most summers) helping host the groups.

The place is inexpensive, the grounds are beautiful, and the location is ... well, we walked by the Colosseum on the way back from dinner tonight. The streets were also full of folks watching the World Cup semi-final outside bars.

Dinner was great. A few highlights: an appetizer of fresh buffalo mozzarella and prosciutto (among other things), a simple but great pasta/bacon/garlic dish, a dessert featuring a mousse-like substance in a white chocolate shell, and fresh figs. And plenty of vino.

Also, went to my first Mass in Rome at this little church around the corner from where I'm staying. It was of little note, really. No homily, all in Italian, probably 20 minutes. But it is amazing to think about how long Christians have been gathering in prayer in this space.

My sleep is, of course, way off. But I'm going to try to turn in now.

Italy!

2010-07-06T01:07:00.002-04:00

So, I leave shortly for Italy.

I'll spend about a week in Rome, then I'll have a wandering 10 days that is loosely planned to take me to Naples, then Assisi, Siena, Florence, Venice, and maybe Verona. Then I'll have 4 days in Trent, where I'll present a paper at a conference. Then a day in Milan. Back home on 29 July.

It's funny. Part of me thinks that I won't blog at all until I'm back. Part of me recalls that I started this blog when I spent a month in Amsterdam in 2006. It was travel that started that need to record, that need to tell the stories. It was travel that inspired the name for the blog.

We'll see which part of me is right.

The odd thing is, sitting here in this moment, in the safety of my own room, I don't know if I've ever been more sure that I would be changed on the other side of an experience. I feel like so much art, so much adventure, so many firsts, so many conversations lie before me. I'm a little scared (the trip is probably on the under-planned side for me) but just very, very excited for the possibilities of what might be.

See you in a couple of days, or perhaps a couple of weeks.

Church and State

2010-07-05T11:46:00.002-04:00

The heart of an email I just sent my pastor. You'll get a pretty good sense of how Mass went yesterday from the below. It seemed good to mark the passing of July 4 with some reflections on freedom, America, and Jesus. And this is what I needed to write.

Let me begin by confessing that I am someone who goes into Mass on 4th of July weekend (and Memorial Day and other patriotic holidays) more or less expecting to be offended. Although I was raised in a "God, Country, Notre Dame" sort of way that would not have had me think twice about what I experienced at Mass today, I ended up studying with some professors who either were pacifists or who took pacifist concerns very seriously. I learned to be pretty critical of occasions where Christians seem to sacralize America, of churches where flags are in the sanctuary, and where the assumption is that American values/interests and Christian values/interests are the same.

Therefore, it won't surprise you to learn that I think there are some pretty serious risks involved in some of the directions you took in your homily yesterday--most notably the idea that we would view the true freedom Jesus gives us through the prism of the Declaration of Independence (rather than the other way around!) and that a primary example of the kind of love and service that Jesus demands are soldiers (whose great sacrifice is not simply a willingness to die but also a willingness to kill for our interests). I deeply appreciated that you also gave the example of the middle school teacher. Also, at the end you seemed to suggest a question about what sort of king we enthrone in our hearts, and I thought you might raise the question of Jesus vs. Caesar, what the gospel demands vs what the world offers, but you didn't really go there.

All that, I think, is within a realm where, although you and I might see it differently, I don't really begrudge you your choice to approach the things as you did (though I do hope this is a conversation we can continue!). After all, it's your homily, and although I would have liked to see it more focused on the Word and less on the (national rather than liturgical) feast, it's yours to do with as you will. However, I thought that having the Declaration of Independence proclaimed from the pulpit (though half was from the other microphone) crossed a line of liturgy that really should not have been crossed. I admit that I am one of these people who has probably studied just enough liturgy to be dangerous, and who has had care of portions of various communities' liturgical lives for quite a number of years. But formed as I am, it felt to me that the particular placement of the Declaration of Independence (both the place from whence it was proclaimed and its timing in the liturgy) was an attempt to communicate that the Declaration of Independence was the most important text, the one toward which all the others pointed.

I certainly don't think that that's what you meant to communicate; it would be silly to suggest that you were saying that the incarnation, death, resurrection of Jesus, the mission of the 72, etc, was all so that the American Revolution could come along and embody "true" freedom. But it felt more than a little like that today.

I really worry about these things, because, although I try to teach my students that participation in the political community is part of their obligation to the common good, I also try to teach them to be critical of a nation that fails to protect the unborn, that often engages in wars that fail to meet the traditional just war criteria, whose immigration policies are ... complicated, but clearly not simply directed to the dignity of each and every person involved. Historically, of course, our nation's credibility is even more complicated. The same revolutionaries whose vision of and sacrifices for freedom you lauded today counted their slaves at 3/5 a person and were not willing to make the sacrifices that freeing them would entail. My point is simply that, at every point in our nation's history, we have needed people who were more than just cheerleaders for the nation, but who were willing and able to give it moral vision and direction. Our best hope is that, truly formed by a gospel vision, we are sent forth like the 72, among our brothers and our sisters in our homeland, and that our love of them and love of the gospel can come together. It seems to me that the gospel must be the prism through which we see and measure and criticize and cheer our nation. And it seems to me that preaching as though America is already the embodiment (perhaps even the measure!) of that gospel really cuts off our ability to be the sort of critical citizen-Christians we need to be.

Love is stronger than death

2010-07-01T19:02:00.003-04:00

I've been thinking about death, dying, and grief today. Actually, that's funny. I've been thinking about these things for the entire month of June.

Yesterday was the 11-year anniversary of my mom's death. As I do every year, many of the days in June are marked by certain key memories. The 8th is the day she went into the hospital for the last time; the 22nd is the day she came home. So many little markers of "lasts" in the days of June. It is really hard to believe it has been 11 years. This year, I marked it in what has become my traditional way: strawberry daiquiris. That was her drink of choice the couple of times a year she would actually drink. It's not really what I would choose, but it helps me to feel close to her.

I'm actually not just thinking about my own grief this year. Through the magic of Facebook, I was reminded that six years ago today, a friend I've known since high school lost his wife. I tend to think that my mom was too young to die (56), but Maggie was about 30 years younger, and she left behind 2 young sons.

Her husband is a witness in my life (and, if his Facebook friends are any indication, in other lives) of one of the central truths at the heart of Christianity, shown to us first in the resurrection, but again and again in the lives of the holy and faithful: love is stronger than death. It is a mystery that is beyond our mortal minds, but we know it in our hearts. The last couple of days, I've said it again and again in my mind, like Dorothy clicking her shoes together saying "There's no place like home": love is stronger than death, love is stronger than death, love is stronger than death.

I've also had a song in my head that I used to have on a bunch of mixed tapes (yes, I'm old) but I've never bothered to track down since my musical life has gone digital. It's a Bruce Cockburn song called "Festival of Friends." The lyric in my head is this one: "Some of us live and some of us die, and some day God's going to tell us why...." I go back and forth between a hope that somehow God will be able to give an account of what so often seems like stolen years and a shock at the arrogance of thinking that we might get to demand such an account. Of course, my other realization is that the whole lyric is a lie, because we all die eventually, but perhaps there is hope even in that.

Writing this has reminded me of another song, which I encountered on an album of David Wilcox's, but which was written by Bob Franke. It's called "For Real." After several rather poignant love stories (not all romantic) that draw a contrast between loving each other forever and for real, he sings this: "Some say God is a lover, some say it's an endless void, some say both, some say she's angry, some say just annoyed. But if God felt a hammer in the palm of his hand, then God knows the way we feel. And then love lasts forever, forever AND for real." (I think you can listen here, at least to a bit of it.)

In the moments when the hole left by love lost seems huge and overwhelming, these things help me cling at once to the loss and to the hope that love is forever, for real, and so much stronger than darkness, grief, and death.

Summer shifts

2010-06-16T20:04:00.002-04:00

Isn't summer time a strange reality? I don't mean summertime, but summer time. You would think that there is more time in the summer, at least for those of us whose lives no longer have classes to prepare and teach and no longer have papers to grade. And yet, it seems to me that I actually have less time. I don't really, of course. But there is something about getting into summer mode that shifts time a little. I guess thinking you have more time somehow causes the time to shrink. I guess it's really just the simply old adage reversed. As the task expands to fill the time allotted, so the time unallotted expands into various tasks, many unintended.

All this to say: sorry I haven't been doing more blogging.

And one other observation about the strangeness of summer shifts. I just answered an email from a student from last semester and, without thinking twice about it, signed off with my first name. I'm not only in summer time, but in my summertime persona.

Brewery sampler

2010-06-07T17:59:00.002-04:00

Sorry, friends, for the radio silence. I was working on a conference paper. Now, I'm sitting at the Elliott Bay Brewery in Burien, Washington, waiting for a friend. My companions for now are words. Words to read, words to write.

Oh yeah, and the small friends pictured above. Life is good.

Coolclan Public Service Announcement

2010-05-24T11:55:00.002-04:00

From time to time, I link to stories from the Coolclan blog. Coolclan is changing their privacy settings, but will happily welcome my readers. If you want to be added as a "reader"at the Coolclan blog send your email addy to coolclanblog (at) hotmail.com.

Ready for something big?

2010-05-20T21:19:00.002-04:00

This afternoon, Paul and I (with several others) spoke on a panel about why we need an independent clubhouse in Rhode Island, and how we hope to open Harbor House in Providence by October 2010. Paul and I are experts on clubhouses because he was a member of a clubhouse called Threshold when we lived in North Carolina. It was my job to tell a bit about what Threshold was like and how it made both Paul's life (as a person living with a severe mental illness) and my life (as his family member) better.

I asked people to focus on three words: member, community, and work. I said a bit more than this, but basically I said that Threshold was the only time I can remember in Paul's adult life where he had a community around him who was invested in him for his own sake. (As opposed to my wonderful friends who are friends with him largely for my sake, and as opposed to mental health professionals who service his needs, but have no real investment in him.) I also talked about how the community only functioned when the members worked to make it function, but that meant that Paul (like every member) was expected to work and to contribute. This is very different from how he is treated anywhere else in his life. Here he is a member, not a patient or a client or a resident. He belongs and contributes.

We had planned it so that Paul's part would be more question-and-answer than monologue. Ralph, the executive director of Harbor House, asked Paul some great specific questions about his experiences at Threshold. And Paul answered. You have to understand how often I have tried to pry words out of Paul and was lucky to get "Fine" or a yes or no. Paul answered well. He told about the work units he was a part of and how much he enjoyed the fellowship at Threshold. At the end of Paul's part of the panel, Ralph asked him why he wants to be part of a clubhouse again. He said, "I think it will help with my recovery." I was hoping he would say a little more, so I leaned over and said, "Can you say how it will help?" He sort of mentioned fellowship again and I was sort of afraid he had hit the end and just had no words left, and then all of a sudden, he just whipped out something like, "Clubhouses make it possible for people to live well with mental illness. We need them."

I was so proud. I really don't think I've ever heard Paul say so much, and to speak in public like that ... I was really surprised and delighted that he did so well. I took him out to dinner afterwards and we talked a bit about all this. He was very pleased with himself as well, which was great. We decided that he really is doing much better than he's done in a long time, perhaps since the onset of his illness. At a certain point he said to me, "I think I'm ready for something big." He didn't really have a sense of what that would be, but it suddenly feels like it might be just around the bend.

Mother's Day Reflections

2010-05-09T08:54:00.004-04:00

Mother's Day can be a hard day for a woman who has already lost her own mother (far too young) and who has no children of her own. It's often particularly hard for me, because of how it gets treated in church. Despite the practice of many churches, Mother's Day is not actually a liturgical feast day, but like Memorial Day and Fourth of July, it often takes over the liturgy on its particular Sunday.

I conveniently enough (for completely other reasons) arranged to attend the Saturday vigil last night and managed to avoid the worst of it. I came across this the other day, though (hat tip: RM). Though it doesn't quite say how I feel about Mother's Day, it says a lot of things that resonate with me about being childless on Mother's Day.

However, I also came across this (hat tip: HTC), the story of a woman who gave her son up for adoption. I was very grateful to be reading it this morning. It, along with the other, reminded me that I am not the only woman in the world with a complex relationship with this day.

One other thing about mothers today. I was reading, as I often do, some posts in one of my Facebook groups (Bring Change 2 Mind) that tends to focus on mental illness issues. As you might imagine, in such a group, many people have complex relationships with their own mothers. I found myself very grateful for my own mom and the fact that the only pain I have in our relationship is that it was too short.

And, for better or worse, I will think no more about Mother's Day today, but only grading papers.

A good semester

2010-05-08T10:04:00.005-04:00

Pretty early this semester, I knew something was a little different in my classes. I still don't know what the cause was, though I have three theories.

But proof before theories. Well, I can't really prove it, but here's what convinced me in the last few days. I was giving oral exams, which is mostly very fun, because most of the students have really prepared well and they really know their stuff, which is great to see "live," as opposed to reading it later in a blue book. But I had more students than I can count shake my hand and say to me, with convincing sincerity and enthusiasm, that they really enjoyed the class, quite an achievement for a core requirement.

But there were 3 moments that just bowled me over, in some very different ways. First, a student (and not one who seemed to be particularly connected to me nor particularly affectionate) thanked me for the class and I reached out to shake his hand. He looked at me as though offended, said "Come on!" Then he pulled me into a hug. It was so unexpected. And it hit me that the course hit him in a more-than-intellectual way.

Second, one of my students told me, as several of them had, that she enjoyed my class much more than she thought she would, since it was just a core requirement. I thanked her, nodded and said that she wasn't the first to say that. I didn't mean that to sound dismissive, but apparently it did. She launched into something of a defense. She explained that she had sort of come to think that core requirements (like philosophy and theology) were old and irrelevant, and her major field (economics) is contemporary and relevant. She said that my course (Catholic social thought) helped her think about everything differently and helped her see how everything was connected. Wow.

Third, another student finished the exam and asked for a minute to tell me something. She told me that she hadn't really been to church since she was confirmed several years ago. She told me that she thought of the church as out of touch, as making pronouncements but not really concerned about anything real and significant. She told me that my class showed her a different face of the church and made it possible for her to begin to go back. Double wow.

Certainly some of my students have reacted a bit like this before, but I really have not heard so much directly from them before. Still curious about my theories about what was different? Well, one is that the clickers I used (a student-response system) helped all the students to get more invested in the class and in one another sooner. Second, I had a group of students that already knew each other, and perhaps they helped everyone else to connect a bit more than usual. Third is simply that I am more known on campus than I was a couple of years ago. More students come into my class having seen me give a lecture on campus or having had a friend or a roommate who already had my class. Maybe all of these are factors; maybe none are.

Like many people who teach, early in my career, I used to say, "If I can make a difference in the life of one student, it's worth it." It didn't take me too long to learn that I actually need a bit more than that. To have 50 or more students in a semester and to only make a difference in the life of one can be pretty frustrating. But this semester, this semester has been a good one.

Cinco de Mayo

2010-05-05T22:23:00.004-04:00

Happy Cinco de Mayo to all!

In my life, Cinco de Mayo is always definitively my brother Paul's birthday. We celebrated a bit last night and will do so again this weekend. And, thanks to a friend of ours, Paul is promised a day of surfing when the weather gets warmer, so the celebration will continue in a month or two.

I've been thinking a lot about Paul lately and what he means to me. His birthday gives a particular occasion to reflect upon the years going by, and the wonderful gift that time together brings. I was reminded of a post that I wrote last October, especially this part.

The reality of the thing is that I--like most family members of people with a severe persistent mental illness--often feel very isolated. People sort of share the burden and sort of understand; people try. But it is impossible to convey, even to those who know me well, what it means to remember my brother not simply as this semi-stable though unpredictable and socially awkward man, but also as the sweet baby, slightly devilish boy, troubled teen, and truly psychotic young adult. To carry that whole history with him in a way that no one else does (not even our brothers who mostly haven't seen him in years) is a gift and a burden.

If I had to judge Paul only on some of those most psychotic moments--well, it would be hard to be in any sort of relationship with him. But, through the gift--unexpected, unsought, but given--of having years of closeness with Paul, everything balances out. Don't imagine some sort of perfect balance as you read that. But, somehow, having seen the psychosis, the sadness, the mania, the various forms of cognitive dysfunction, I know this is an illness. And that is a gift. Knowing that gets me through the times (so few of late, thank God) when Paul's behavior would be nearly unforgivable without that knowledge. (It is odd, because in a way this means that the very worst times are what get you through the moderately bad times.)

As I said in October, that gift is also a burden. At dinner last night, Paul and I had a couple of moments where we were sharing stories from the past. It was so clear to me how often he had completely forgotten pretty crucial stories. I realized that part of my responsibility is to remember the story and to tell it, including to Paul.

May is Mental Health Month

2010-05-03T22:25:00.002-04:00

May, though it apparently has some other identities as well, has been designated Mental Health Month. Of course, in my life, most months are mental health months. I seldom need an excuse to turn this blog to the topic of mental illness, but I will try to make particular efforts to hit some key stories.

I'll try harder after I get my grades in.

But for now, just this. Although the mental health issues in my family are on the severe side of things, I am reminded again and again of just how prevalent these issues are. In my 3 classes, I had fewer than 50 students this semester, and 3 of them mentioned to me that they are now struggling or have in the past struggled with a major mental mental illness. That's just the 3 who found their way to my office and for whatever reason trusted me enough to say something. I heard a bit more about roommates and friends.

So many of us are struggling with mental illness issues. I wonder what it would take to end the stigma. I really believe that there is so much healing in sharing our stories.

Revisionist history

2010-04-28T13:26:00.004-04:00

My favorite picture from last year's NAMIWalk is now historically inaccurate, but grammatically correct. Thanks to Diana for taking the picture and Adam for fixing it. And, for those of you who don't know or remember, the shirt was printed (printer's error, not mine!): "Because mental illness is to tough a road to walk alone." And yes, I got free replacements, but not until after the walk. A grammatically-sensitive person's nightmare!

And no, it's not too early to sign up for this year's walk. The walk is scheduled for the morning of Saturday, October 2nd, in Roger Williams Park. You can join the team here.

Hard but good

2010-04-27T23:32:00.006-04:00

I spent the past weekend in St. Louis doing a training that will allow me to train other people to teach in NAMI's Family to Family program. I blogged about some of my experiences of teaching in this program before. I'll tell you what I've been telling folks for the past couple of days: it was a hard but good weekend. Spending a weekend with people who have a family member with a serious mental illness is never easy. Every family has its own story of unpredictable behavior, difficulty understanding what is going on, struggle to get a clear diagnosis, more struggle for treatment, and a hundred little dark moments along the way. And did I mention the suicide attempts? And, worse, in some cases those were successful. So much pain and loss and grief.

It is hard to hear story after story, and hard to tell your own. It is also incredibly good. I saw and experienced in sort of a compressed way what I have seen and experienced in my Family to Family classes. It is an amazing thing to watch families with these particular kinds of stories find one another, share their frustrations and their losses and somehow discover two very basic truths. (1) We are not alone. (2) There is hope.

Somehow, the goodness of the community and the hope seem to outweigh the pain and the tragedy. Our presence in the room and our commitment to the program testify to that. Everyone in that room was going to go home and keep telling their stories, keep teaching others, keep reaching out to try to give other families a few more resources, a few more skills to get them through. And, probably much more important, the reminder that they are not alone, that there is hope. It isn't easy, but it is good.

(If you want to donate to NAMI, one great way to do that is to support our team for NAMIwalks here.)

Good fences?

2010-04-16T15:47:00.003-04:00

I've been thinking a lot about fencing in my backyard. I think of it mostly as a way to allow my dog to run around off-leash. But lately, I've been thinking about privacy.

There are two brothers who live in the house behind mine, probably about 13 and 11. I happened to look out my back window the other day and I saw the two of them running around playing soccer. Catch number 1: the older brother mostly stayed in his own yard, but the younger kept following the ball into my yard and running around a bit. Not really a big deal, until the second catch.

Second catch: both brothers were rockin' the oh-so-cool jeans-at-a-level-that-you-show-about-6- inches-of-your-underwear look. The older one wasn't so bad. But the younger one simply could not keep his pants at that level. He kept adjusting them back there when there was a break in the action, but most of the time, he was running around in off-white briefs with his pants around his knees or ankles. Not really a good look on anyone.

So, anyone up for a fence-building party?

The Widow's Mite

2010-04-11T14:44:00.004-04:00

I know, the story of the widow who gives more than all the rest in giving her two cents is not really a story you hear on the second Sunday of Easter, but here's why this story is on my mind today.

I generally write one check a month for my "tithe" to my church. I put that in quotes because I don't want to imply that I actually manage 10%. But I do manage regular giving, most of the time. I aim for the first Sunday of the month, but many months (like this one), I don't quite manage to remember until a week or two later. Ah well....

So today, I had my envelope ready to go. At the offertory, I handed it to my brother with two thoughts in mind. The first was simple logistics: he was closer to the end of the pew; it just seemed easier. But, secondly, it did cross my mind that it might help him feel like he was giving something. A perhaps overstatedly evil, but not unfair, way to put it: I thought I'd give him the illusion of making a real contribution by letting him hand mine in.

He took the envelope from me but he also dug into his own pocket and pulled out a quarter. I actually almost stopped him. I mean, that quarter means a lot more to him on his fixed income (with his nicotine addiction!) than it does to the parish. I almost told him to keep it.

I'm really glad I didn't. He gave far more than I did, and who am I to stop that? I often find myself wondering what sort of calculus God will use to judge Paul. (Okay, really, it is more primary for me to wonder what battles I should fight with Paul, what to hold him accountable to and what to let go, and only by extension wonder the divine calculus of such things.) But, suddenly it seems clear that the story of the widow's mite must loom large here.

I don't just mean that in terms of financial donations. The widow did not have much, yet she gave all she had. When I pause and think about the way Paul's illness deforms and distorts his own intellectual gifts, even his personality, let alone his finances, I think that surely he is giving all he has. And surely God, who knows Paul and his illness in their fullness, sees his challenges and what he gives in their fullness. And like the widow, may Paul be judged not on how much he puts in the collection basket, but on how he manages to give "all his living" (to twist one translation of the widow's story). For surely Paul gives "all his living" just getting through the day.

And still, somehow, a quarter for the church.

Footwashing

2010-04-01T21:31:00.002-04:00

No, I didn't get my feet washed tonight, and I didn't wash any feet. But I did go to Mass of the Lord's Supper and watched my pastor wash feet. And I found myself thinking about a couple of footwashing experiences I've had, and I thought I'd tell you two stories.

About 10 years ago, I spent Holy Week (which was also my spring break that year) at Andre House in Phoenix, Arizona. At the time, Andre House was feeding about 800 people every night. I helped all week. But on Holy Thursday, they did something pretty special. They set up about 8-10 chairs. Anyone who came through the line and who wanted to could sit down and get their feet washed, their nails trimmed, and a new pair of socks.

I didn't end up getting to wash any feet that night. My job, pretty much the whole night long, was dumping dirty water and bringing fresh water so that those who were washing could keep at it. It was a pretty amazing thing to see the folks (at least one priest, some staff, some volunteers) sit people down and treat them with care and compassion. It was actually a very, very profound moment where you saw something that was pretty efficient, and yet everyone was also treated with profound dignity and respect. It was really amazing to watch.

At the end of the night, there was finally no one else waiting, but I had brought more fresh water, and one of the footwashers invited me to sit down and have my feet washed. I gently refused. Funny thing: I have never had so much sympathy for St. Peter! I really didn't feel worthy: not to sit in the same seat that "the least of these" had occupied all night, not to have this young volunteer wash my own smelly feet. He insisted; gently, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. I remember feeling vulnerable, exposed. I remember also feeling soothed, comforted, cared for. It was powerful.

A few years later, I had been drafted into some pretty serious volunteer work at a parish. And the priest and I had a few issues along the way. Quite a few. It was hard. And somehow--I forget how--I was asked to have my feet washed on Holy Thursday. Actually, truth be told, I was pretty much told I was expected. Typical, really. And then, somehow, there he was: humbly washing feet. My feet.

There is an intimacy in this act, and it is hard to be angry at someone who does this for you. It makes forgiveness that had seemed impossible seem possible. It can change everything. It is no wonder that Jesus did this. For Peter. For Judas. For all of us.

Haunted by family history

2010-03-08T23:24:00.005-05:00

Most of the people who knew my father know that he was obsessed with family history. He researched and compiled and always checked things out on travels. One of my great memories of him is a trip I took with him to the town of Snow, Georgia, where a first cousin of my mom's whom neither of us ever remembered meeting put us up and gave us a tour of the town cemeteries, focusing on our ancestors' graves. Best moment: we're standing before his grandmother's grave (my great-grandmother's) and he says, "You know, that funeral might have been the last time I saw your mama." I looked at the headstone and expressed doubt that my mom had been able to make that trip. He insisted. I said, "No way. She had just given birth to me 3 weeks before." Without missing a beat, he replied, "Look at that! We have met before. You were here, too!" Sure enough, my dad vouched for the fact that my mom made the trip with me along for the ride.

Anyway, I say all this because, at some point in the last week, looking for something else entirely, I came across the binder I have that represents the "best summary" of all my dad's work on family history. And I've been playing around with it on ancestry.com. And I've already made some amazing discoveries. Of course, I wonder what my dad might have known or suspected about these things. I always felt like dad was a little more interested in connecting the dots than in the stories, so who knows.

So, just logistically, I want you to picture this. I have this big binder with all this information (I haven't even typed in half of what I have yet). And as I put in each new name, about 80% of the time, the system suggests hints to me--other people's trees, sometimes census records, or even pictures (usually of headstones)--but usually, the parents' names come up and I confirm that it's the same as (or close) to my dad's info and import it.

I'm paying a lot of attention to people in Massachusetts and Connecticut (of which there are quite a few), because I'm so close and I'm starting to think a pilgrimage might be in order. (Actually, I'm realizing that had my dad lived to the point that I moved here, he would have moved in with me and used my place as a base for exploring our New England roots.)

Anyway, my head was spinning a bit because I discovered my Great x 10 grandfather Benjamin Scott was born in 1612 (dad actually had the name and the birth year) and was married (1642) and buried (1654) in Rowley, Massachusetts, which really isn't far away at all. So, I'm kind of excited and thinking about a trip. As I look at Rowley on the map, I admit that two of its neighbors stood out for their historical significance: Plymouth and Salem. But I really didn't think much about it. And then I clicked on the picture someone had linked to his wife, Margaret Stephenson Scott. I could see from the thumbnail that it was a headstone, which didn't surprise me in the least. But what I saw written there shocked me:

In case you can't make it out with the shading: Margaret Scott, Hanged, Sept 22, 1692. Did I mention that Rowley is in the greater Salem area? If you want to read more on her story, here's a page from another of her descendants.

Let me simply say this. One of the things I read on her conviction suggests that she was a widow who had had some sort of difficulty raising her kids. I'm not sure what that means. It looks like she gave birth to 11, but only about half made it beyond the age of 10. That certainly wasn't uncommon. Most of her adult children seemed to be flourishing in a little town 50 miles west by the time of the execution. One does wonder why she didn't go with them.

I want to be careful how I say this next part. I think the Salem witch trials were all about hysteria, about a panicked reaction to threats ranging from sicknesses to deaths and raids at the hands of natives. I think it beyond bizarre that they regularly admitted the testimony of people who said they saw specters and likenesses of people harming people and that was often enough for convictions. But it also seems to me that people who "play well with others" are likely not going to be accused of witchcraft. And, given our recent family history, I do find myself wondering if mental illness might not have been a factor.

Of course, Margaret may simply have been the victim of even more mundane dynamics: she was a poor widow whose husband had only left her a small estate and whose children had left town even before their father died. But it seems like those same dynamics might correspond to a woman who struggled with mental health issues.

Either way, I find myself haunted by this finding on so many levels. So strange to discover a family connection to such an infamous event in history.

What so proudly we hail

2010-02-15T14:09:00.002-05:00

As many of my readers know, I'm always alert to incidents that raise the question of the relative importance of our allegiances to God and country. So, when a request to sign this petition crossed my awareness today, I signed. The quick summary (to save you the link) is that Goshen College, a Mennonite institution with a century-old tradition of NOT playing the national anthem before its sporting events, has changed that practice in the face of public pressure, which took the form of about 300 emails received in response to the mention of this practice in an NPR piece.

I think that, pacifist or no, every Christian (in fact, every religious person in this country) ought to be appalled to see (to some extent) this sort of pressure, and (much, much more so) this sort of caving. I also think that a long tradition of protesters who are actually best described by no other term than "American" ought also to be appalled that patriotism in this country apparently must take this particular ritual form.

But, honestly, I'm more concerned about the Christians. I found myself thinking a lot of the time when I was teaching high school theology in Victoria, Texas. Every morning, a voice on the P.A. would ask us to stand for the pledge, which we would all do. Then, we were invited to be seated for prayer. This struck me as quite odd. The flag must be stood before, but God ... not so much. Of course, the "prayer" for the most part didn't address God so much as serve as a little spiritual thought for the day--the "Footprints" poem or something from Chicken Soup for the Soul.

My little chat with the principal resulted in two small victories, one immediate and one kicking in a few weeks later. We were soon asked to "stand for the prayer and the pledge," so God was moved to relatively equal footing with the flag. And before too long, as students began to complain about having to stand so long, prayer began to get shorter and shorter. In general, this meant it became more an actual prayer, which was a good thing.

It is strange--and even more so that we don't think about how strange it is--that our devotions to God and to Caesar have become so intertwined here in the U.S. I am thankful for all the people and institutions that gently (or not so gently) point it out and question it. In general, the Mennonites have been such a group. I hope and pray that they will continue to be so.

Way to go, Saints!

2010-02-07T22:22:00.004-05:00

I don't care much about professional football. I'm much more into the college game.

But I've found myself in the past week or so really hoping the New Orleans Saints would pull off a win in Superbowl XLIV. And now they have.

Why do I care? Well, my mom grew up in New Orleans, and I have all kinds of cousins and aunts and uncles who have always been Saints fans. Not that my mom really cared that much about football, but I know she would have been happy with this victory.

And what a strange and wonderful thing that, thinking about my mom and my aunts and uncles who have died but who would love this, I keep hearing the song (either playing in the background somewhere, or simply in my head as I recall the victory) "Oh when the saints go marching in ... how I want to be in that number ... when the saints go marching in." I certainly hope and pray that all my beloved dead (and yours!) are in that number, and that you and I will be in it as well.

Scarcely restraining tears

2010-02-03T10:30:00.003-05:00

I'm thinking this morning of something St. Augustine said about the pervasive sadness of the plight of the mentally ill. He writes, "Crazy people say and do many incongruous things, things for the most part alien to their intentions and their characters, certainly contrary to their good intentions and characters; and when we think about their words and actions, or see them with our eyes, we can scarcely -- or possibly we cannot at all -- restrain our tears, if we consider their situation as it deserves to be considered."

I'm thinking of this for two reasons this morning. One is that a friend has invited and encouraged me to think a bit more intentionally about theology and mental illness. The other is the fact that a moment last night with Paul--funny in the moment--has left me feeling the sadness of his plight in a particular way today.

Paul is now going with me to monthly Harbor House meetings, and we had one last night. He does really well. He sits there patiently through about 90 minutes of what must be to him (and are sometimes to me!) very boring logistical details concerning the work needed to make Harbor House a reality.

Paul's major incentive for this, in addition to the long-term promise of being a part of the clubhouse and the always-lovely prospect of spending time with his favorite sister, is the more immediate promise that I'll take him out to dinner afterwards. This is all good. But on last night's adventure, we had one of those little moments that reminds me (in a funny little way) how deeply devastating his illness is.

So, last night we left the meeting and headed to a not-too-far-away Mexican restaurant. I basically knew where I was going, but had one of those minor navigational mix-ups where I pull up to a light at a certain intersection in the right hand lane. Once stopped at the light, I realized that this was in fact the LEFT turn I was looking for.

So, I cursed a little. Paul asked me what was wrong. I explained. In fact, I went into a bit of a monologue that lasted until after the light turned. "Lemme see. Maybe if I put on my blinker and get this guy's attention I can ... no, I can't really turn left here. Shoot! Going to have to go up there and turn around... don't worry, Paul, we're almost there. You hungry?" "Starving!" "Me, too!"

I thought he was paying attention. He offered some (brief) responses! And then I did the thing we've all done a thousand times. I took the first left I could take safely, which took me onto a residential street. I turned into the first driveway to turn around. And all of a sudden, Paul bursts out (I think he was both surprised and angry), "Hey! Why are we coming here? I thought we were going to that Mexican place!" I actually kind of forgot how distracted he gets sometimes and thought he was joking, so I said, "What? You wouldn't rather knock on these strangers' door and see what they'll feed us?" He was horrified at the suggestion (I mean, he had EARNED that Mexican food by sitting through that meeting). Backing out of the driveway I said, "Paul, I'm just turning around."

We were at the restaurant in less than 2 minutes and all was well. In fact, I was chuckling the whole way. What a funny thing that he somehow thought we were going to that house! But it stayed with me and began to eat away at me. This isn't just one of MY funny moments, one of those misunderstandings we all have, because we missed something important in the conversation. This is about his inability to stay with a conversation, to focus, to follow a thread. I think it's actually easier to get used the idea of hallucinations and delusions than just how hard it is for him to really stay focused, to pay attention to the aspects of the world that seem so obvious to the rest of us.

People distinguish between the positive symptoms of mental illness (things added, like hallucinations and delusions) and negative symptoms (the aspects of a healthy mind that are taken away). I'm told that there wasn't too much talk about these negative symptoms until the anti-psychotic medications got good enough to be truly effective (in most cases) in treating the positive symptoms.

I was thinking about how the positive symptoms can be scary and strange, but in a relatively isolated way. It's so easy in those moments to say "It's not him, it's the illness." But the negative symptoms--how do you separate those out? Their pervasiveness in shaping how he is in the world, how he sees it, who he is and can be--it just makes me so sad. And made me think, this morning and about this, that Augustine surely had it right.

Scratch and Dent Dreams: Legal Here?

2010-01-18T14:16:00.003-05:00

Sorry for the radio silence. My excuses include recovering from the semester, illness, travel, and, really, no good reason.

But in the last week or so, I've been doing a lot of reading for the course I'm teaching this semester on race, gender, and Christian discipleship. I've also spent a little time on YouTube, visiting some DefJam poetry.

Today being MLK day, I have "I have a dream" echoing in my head. That speech is of course well worth listening too, and easy enough to find on YouTube if you are so inclined. I'm thinking very seriously about starting my class with that, and then following it up with the two below. I find them, respectively, so hopeful and so hopeless. I find the second very disturbing, but not nearly as disturbing as the contrast between the two. How do you--whether you teach or write or raise kids or whatever--how do you disturb the optimism without killing the hope?

College student ingenuity

2009-12-17T07:51:00.003-05:00

Since I'm doing far too much grading to blog much this week, here's something quick and easy and impressive to share with you. A friend of mine at the University of Dayton knows (teaches?) one of the responsible students. Enjoy!

Jonathon's Christmas Lights 2009 - Carol of the Bells from Jonathon Reinhart on Vimeo.

Function with relative ease

2009-12-10T21:12:00.003-05:00

I can't resist posting this. I came home tonight and turned on the TV and caught the end of a show called "Community" on NBC. I only caught the last 5 minutes or so, but they were clearly having some issues with how to have a pluralistic holiday party. There was also something going on that might have been quite interesting about Christianity, forgiveness, and violence. One guy seemed to have been uninvited to the party because he wanted to fight someone, and that seemed to the Christian to be not in keeping with the peace of the season; but other people seemed to think that Christianity ought to be about forgiveness.

Somehow, they all ended up finding a way to support both the brawl and the party, where the following lyrics were sung to the tune of "Silent Night":

Sensible night, appropriate night,
Snow on ground, left and right.
Round yon purchase of decorative things,
Tolerant re-write of carol to sing,
Function with relative ease,
Function with relative ease.

I think the same observations about predictable offense that I made about the could be repeated about this.

Merry Smorgitysmorg from SNL

2009-12-05T23:46:00.004-05:00

I'm trying to figure out how I feel about about the following little bit done as the bulk of the host's monologue on Saturday Night Live this week.

Blake Lively starts the host's monologue, mentioned she met the Muppets at the lighting of the tree in Rockefeller Center. Is suddenly interrupted by the Swedish chef--not the muppet, but one of the actors very cleverly costumed to look like the Swedish chef. And, of course, he talked like the Swedish chef. "Smorgaty smorgasborg, etc." Before long, he and Blakely were joined by some of the other actors, costumed as Fozzy Bear, Beaker, Gonzo, and Animal.

They say that they should kick off the holiday season with a holiday song. After some debate on what they can get the rights to, they land on a classic. But note what they do.

Together they all sing: "Hark the herald angels sing..."
Then just Animal: "Aaaaah gah gah gah aah aah yah!"
Then all: "Peace on earth and mercy mild..."
Then Swedish chef: "Smorgady borgy dee borg ee smorg."

Then (and let me admit that this was funny) Beaker starts singing, in a very clear, powerful unBeakerlike (and very female) voice, as the others looked on, rather shocked: "Joyful all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies, with angelic hosts proclaim ... beep bee-bee-beep beep bee-bee-beep," going right back into Beaker mode when the line would have been "Christ is born in Bethlehem."

Then, the Swedish chef sings loudly "Smorgady borg..." And then everyone together with him: "smorg smorg smorg borg!"

Actually, you can watch it here:

Now, on the one hand, I find this predictably offensive. I mean, you expect that people will co-opt the peace and mercy and joy of Christmas and leave Christ out of it. It's offensive, but it is predictable. On the other hand, I feel like, if one found this pattern predictably offensive, a skit like this would be a pretty good way to make fun of exactly how predictable this creative selective embrace of Christmas can be. I find myself hoping that someone is that clever, but I'm afraid that's not it.

But it was funny. Brilliant to gather this assortment of semi-verbal muppets to sing a traditional Christmas carol. I wonder how many people realized how carefully their lines were chosen, and what words were missing.

Conquer the world, lose the game

2009-12-05T21:24:00.003-05:00

So my first football love is always the Irish, but since their season is beyond over, I watched the SEC championship game today. I'll admit, I'm a bit of a Tim Tebow fan. He's a likeable, dedicated young man, and he takes his faith very seriously, and he uses his fame to witness to that faith. I like that about him.

He usually puts a scripture verse in his eyeblack. Today, it proclaimed John 16:33, and I went ahead and looked it up. I found: "I have told you this so that you might have peace in me. In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world."

Now, I'm all about Jesus having conquered the world. But, is it just me, or does this sound like a guy who is at peace with the fact that he's about to have some serious trouble in the big game?

Of course, at least he has his priorities straight. What would it profit a man to win the game and lose his soul? But still.

Global Warming?

2009-12-04T21:41:00.001-05:00

Let me give you a quick glimpse into my walk home this December afternoon.

It was sunny. It was downright warm. As I exited my office, I ran into one of my freshman and a couple of his buddies on their way to toss a football around. I passed numerous joggers and dogwalkers. There was some sort of game going on in the softball field. There were a couple of guys skateboarding in front of my house. In December. In New England in December.

I know this is wrong to say on some level, but this Texas girl displaced to the great white north can't resist: if this is global warming, I'm thinking we should keep it up.

A son of God

2009-11-29T15:01:00.002-05:00

I received the sacrament of confirmation as a 6th grader. Sometime in the 4 years between when I was in 6th grade and when my brother Paul was, the parish shifted to 11th grade for confirmation. However, Paul spent much of his junior year of high school away from home (a state juvenile detention center resulting from his drug and/or alcohol choices). So, he was never confirmed. And occasionally, he expresses a very strong desire to remedy that situation. To date, that desire has never turned out to be a sustained desire.

In the last year or so, however, he mentioned it persistently enough that I mentioned it to the friars at our parish, and they are ready to create a program that attends to his special needs whenever he is ready.

So this morning at coffee and donuts, Paul and Fr. A and I ended up talking a bit, and the question of Paul's readiness to pursue confirmation came up. Paul said (oddly enough) that he is of two minds on the question, because sometimes he feels like really pursuing his relationship with Jesus and the church is very important. On the other hand, he feels like when he is closest to God, his psychosis is at its worst. And he just isn't sure how he feels about God these days.

I pointed out to him that the sacrament of confirmation is not about Paul's confirming God, but about God's confirming him. He asked, "Confirming me as what?" I gave what is absolutely the theologically right answer: "As a son of God." And Paul said, with just the exquisitely right amount of sarcasm in his voice, "Yeah, that's really going to help my psychosis."

Rudy!

2009-11-27T22:28:00.004-05:00

Okay, I admit it. I've seen this movie a thousand times. It was filmed my senior year at Notre Dame, and when it came out the fall following my graduation, it was like coming home again to walk into a theater somewhere in Seattle and watch this. The soundtrack seems so well to capture the movie's spirit of you-can-do-anything-if-you-work-hard-enough-and-believe-in-yourself that it became my near-constant companion in the 6-week desperate dash to finish my dissertation by the deadline.

Tonight, for the first time that I remember since going with friends to see the film in 1993, I watched it with a crowd of people. Sometimes in the right kind of mood, I pop in the DVD. Or sometimes I catch it on cable. But I'm almost always alone when I watch it. Alone with the memories and the sense of what my time at ND means to me, alone with the thrill that haunts me (despite my two advanced degrees) when Fortune says to him that he's getting out of here with a degree that says he doesn't have to prove nothin' to nobody except himself, and the chill that I get every time Dan Devine tells Roland to act like the All-American and the captain that he is and Roland replies, "I believe I am."

It was a little strange, because, although I was watching with friends who know me pretty well (and their children), it is odd to share a movie that is so much a part of you with people who have seen it once, or not at all. And it's so impossible to convey to people who don't understand it that football really is everything at Notre Dame, and still nothing at all. And this movie is about football, and achieving impossible dreams through perseverance, and, yes, it's about Notre Dame. And somehow, those are all rolled together for me. Not inextricably, but still.

Our students' other side

2009-11-17T15:07:00.005-05:00

As I was walking back towards my house for lunch after class today, I passed, as I often do, this statue of St. Martin de Porres on campus.

Still quite far away, I noticed a young man sitting on the bench, clearly pretty deep in prayer. As I approached, I watched him as he sat, head bowed and in his hands, and then stood up. He approached the statue and tenderly stroked St. Martin's left foot.

It was such a sweet moment of devotion. It was also so good for my soul to see this moment. So often I find myself in conversations about our students' drinking or their apathy. It was very nice to see something so different. I really do believe that this side is present in so many of our students, but it is hard for them to show it, so we so rarely get to see it.

Glenn Close is my hero

2009-11-11T20:12:00.003-05:00

I know, the star of Fatal Attraction is an unlikely subject for my adulation. But are you paying attention to what she's been up to in the recent past? She's become quite the advocate for the mentally ill. Check her out in this incredibly touching stigma-fighting PSA on mental illness (directed by Ron Howard).

Obviously (if you've watched the video), her sister Jess suffers from bipolar disease, and that has inspired Close to "dig deep," to be more than just a celebrity endorser of a cause, but someone who really gets involved. She volunteers at Fountainhouse, a clubhouse for the mentally ill in New York City. She was part of NAMIWalks in her home state of Maine. And for all that, tonight's NBC News singled her out as one of five people this week who are making a difference.

I say the following as someone who is also making a difference, as someone who is also the sister of someone with a severe mental illness, as someone who is an advocate for the mentally ill, and as someone who I know inspires others (because they've told me I do). To see folks like Glenn Close and her sister Jess stand up and "out" themselves as folks affected by mental illness makes it that much easier for me to do the same. To see Glenn Close get on national television and talk about her love for her sister, about the fact that her sister is her hero, makes me feel a little less strange for my own sense that Paul, despite evidence to the contrary, is an incredible success.

Thanks to Glenn Close for her advocacy and to the folks at NBC for paying attention to those making a difference for the mentally ill. And just in case anyone reads this who has Glenn Close's ear, or the ear of anyone else who would like to help, we're trying to build a clubhouse for the mentally ill (like Fountainhouse) here in Providence, RI. Check out just a bit about us at Harbor House.

Boys, pirates, and mint chocolate chip

2009-11-10T20:21:00.003-05:00

This weekend, some young friends of mine were starring in a community theater production of Treasure Island. And, the really delightful thing was that my friends James and Ben, who love pirates, wanted to come with me. Their parents and sister were otherwise occupied, so we ended up on this special little adventure together, which was a lot of fun.

There is something about these two little boys, the rawness of James' delight next to the the quiet, measured joy of his brother. It really was a wonder to share this with them.

Two favorite moments. First, I asked what their favorite moment of the play was. Ben gets a little evil look in his eye and says (speaking of our friend, who played Long John Silver), "When Joel shot that guy." Second, as I was sending them off to the bathroom to wash the evidence of our ice cream stop from their hands and faces, Ben said, "If we get in trouble for stopping for ice cream, you'll tell them it was James' idea, right?"

James did say that he was hungry, but the ice cream stop was someone else's idea entirely. :)

Cute theological moment

2009-11-03T21:16:00.002-05:00

I ran into a friend of mine at All Souls' Day Mass yesterday. She had her daughter with her, who is about 2 and a half. The little one was a constant refrain "Mom, Mom, Mom, can we go home? Can we go home PLEASE? Can we go home NOW? Can we go home yet?" The mom was pretty frustrated, so I turned to her and said, "You know, that was a pretty good All Souls' Day antiphon, as though she was crying out for the poor souls in purgatory who are yearning for home/heaven." She replied, "That's so cute!" And I said, "That's not cute, that's theological reflection!"

Not walking alone

2009-10-07T23:15:00.006-04:00

On the back of the Paul's Pals t-shirts this year, I placed the line "Because mental illness is too tough a road to walk alone." It's funny, because when I did that, I was thinking of Paul and the lonely road he walks and how important it is for me to try to be there for him. But what I had forgotten, and what the walk reminded me of, was how alone I feel sometimes, and how not-alone I really am.

The reality of the thing is that I--like most family members of people with a severe persistent mental illness--often feel very isolated. People sort of share the burden and sort of understand; people try. But it is impossible to convey, even to those who know me well, what it means to remember my brother not simply as this semi-stable though unpredictable and socially awkward man, but also as the sweet baby, slightly devilish boy, troubled teen, and truly psychotic young adult. To carry that whole history with him in a way that no one else does (not even our brothers who mostly haven't seen him in years) is a gift and a burden.

But on Sunday's walk my friends came out, and they came out strong. We had about 35 people out in our purple Paul's Pals shirts. We were the 2nd largest team in number of walkers. The largest team was fielded by PeaceLove Studios. They are a great organization that helps people, including people with mental illness issues, to use art as part of healing and achieving peace of mind. But ... they are an organization. About three or four times during the walk, people asked me "What is this 'Paul's Pals'?" Or, my favorite, "Do you work at Paul's Pals?" I explained that Paul was just my brother and that a bunch of our pals came out to walk with us. People were astounded that such a large team could simply be a group of friends. And I was reminded of what good friends I have and that neither Paul nor I must walk alone.

By the way, this was not simply about the folks who gathered with us in the purple shirts. I was absolutely astounded that about 40 of my friends (and/or their spouses!) donated to NAMI either in my name or Paul's. The two of us raised about $1700 for NAMI, more than half of our team's impressive $3300. (Just $200 short of our goal!) As I look at the list of donors, there are aunts and uncles and brothers, friends from elementary school, junior high, and high school, friends from my parish youth group, from my college days and my M.Div. days at Notre Dame, and a bunch of friends from Duke and from Providence College. I can't resist chronicling the PC departments represented: walkers and donors from theology (of course), philosophy, political science, history, English, education, information technology, and donors from biology, campus ministry, and the Feinstein Institute for Public and Community Service. It really astounds me how many of my friends stepped up and donated. It is deeply touching, and indeed it is another wonderful reminder that neither Paul nor I have to walk alone.

Exhausted from the walk and from my travels this weekend, I dragged myself to church on Sunday night, alone. And yet, somehow, I carried with me every walker, every donor, every friend who has supported us along the way. The communion song was "Blest Are They," and I found myself in tears through it. How truly, truly, blest I am to have such friends.

If you'd like to join us and help us raise that last $200, please click here!

Going to the chapel

2009-10-04T21:59:00.003-04:00

My goddaughter and good friend Sheryl got married Friday night in Durham, NC. It was a lovely ceremony, and I was very grateful to be there. Grateful to be there to share the moment with her and her husband (a strange word still, though he will wear it well), but even more so because this wedding was one that, for me at least, wove together well the love story of groom and bride with the love story of Christ and church.

I could say much more in this regard, but two quick points and two quick stories. First, the preacher certainly made the point that learning to love one’s spouse over time can be as difficult as the great challenges of the Christian life, like learning to love one’s enemy. Thus he drew a strong connection between marriage and the life of Christian discipleship more generally. And, secondly, the group assembled for these particular vows was an oddly ecumenical bunch.
There was something wonderful about how many people of different faiths came together. And yet it was painful to know that we could not share Eucharist together because of those divisions. Still, I have strong hopes that, like our love for Andy and Sheryl brought us together across various divides, our love for Christ will likewise restore the unity of the church.

First story: I was speaking with one of my former professors after the ceremony. He mentioned being surprised that I had made the trip. I think that he was thinking of Sheryl and me as friends and colleagues, but perhaps not close enough to justify the trip (or perhaps the invitation!). I simply said, “She’s my goddaughter.” He remembered that connection, and it immediately accounted for my presence. I love people who take church seriously enough that such answers are sufficient.

Second story: the groom was received into full communion in the Catholic Church this past Easter. The man who served as his sponsor was talking to me about his own journey into full communion with Rome. He told me that the first time he ever attended a Catholic liturgy was when he came to the Easter Vigil for Sheryl’s baptism four years ago. I don’t think you can draw any kind of causal chain from Sheryl’s baptism through Nate’s becoming Catholic to Andy’s doing the same. But the set of connections is striking. It just seems to me that you begin to see the strange workings of God’s providence in such things. Our lives are woven together more intimately than we can imagine.

It was truly a gift to be a part of it. It was a joy to be reminded of how much history I share with Sheryl, of the power of Christ to connect his people, and of the privilege it is to have such friends.

Weird liturgical incident

2009-09-26T12:40:00.004-04:00

There's a part of me that feels it's a little wrong to post this. But I was so fascinated by the whole affair I just can't resist.

I was at Mass the other night--late-night weeknight, on-campus, 20 or 30 people there, mostly students. The priest asked for someone to come forward and administer the cup, and a young woman did. She was clearly quite pious and reverent in her bearing and intent. But the result was comical.

This young woman--and I've never seen anything even approaching what she did--lifted the cup above the heads of every communicant. This would have been merely odd, except for the (relatively new) practice of bowing before you receive.

How this basically worked was this. As each (highly pious daily-mass-going) communicant approached the cup, s/he made a deep bow. Almost in time with the downward movement of the bow, the cup began to rise. Each communicant came up expecting to see the cup at the normal level (about chest level), the level it had been when they started bowing. But it was at least at face-level, and, as they came up, the cup minister gave it one last little lift, as if she needed to see them see that this cup was above them. (It reminded me a bit of how my dog looks when I hold a treat above her nose.) Everyone of them was a little surprised, but followed the cup.

The whole movement, repeated so many times, reminded me of little windup figures, stuck making the same movements over and over again.

Just a strange thing that made me laugh.

A poem for fall

2009-09-23T22:36:00.002-04:00

Those of you who also follow me on Facebook know that I'm teaching in an interdisciplinary course this semester, which means that I'm reading such great works of literature as Gilgamesh and The Odyssey. Something about the questions of mortality in those texts and the seasonal shift to fall has had me thinking about the poem below. And since the poem is by Gerard Manley Hopkins, who inspired the title of this blog, it seemed appropriate to share it here.

Spring and Fall:

to a Young Child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

Success?

2009-08-26T17:36:00.003-04:00

How do you know if you are a success? I suppose it's all about how you measure.

Paul and I went to a NAMI luncheon today, kicking off the preparation for NAMIWalks for the Mind of America. The walk is October 4th. If you can, please walk with us or at least donate to the cause. The team is Paul's Pals, in Paul's honor.

As we were driving home, stopped at a light, Paul suddenly asked me if he is a success. I didn't quite know what to say, so I used that famous stall tactic of teachers everywhere: "well, what do you mean by success?" Paul sort stumbled through a definition that rolled into some assessment "I guess having a good job ... I'm not really working now ... and maybe ... I don't know...." It was heartbreaking.

And I had one of those moments--I've had about 3 in my life--where I felt REALLY inspired, almost like I was hearing someone else say these things as they came out of my mouth. I wish I could remember it, but it was basically this: Paul, you've been given burdens and obstacles that would have defeated most people, but here you are day after day, still standing, still putting one foot in front of the other. There is no question that, if you take everything into account, you are a success. There were tears in my eyes as I spoke. Paul pretty much shrugged and said "Yeah, I guess."

Checking in

2009-08-23T22:49:00.002-04:00

Yes, I know I've been a horrible blogger. But now I have the internet at my house, which might possibly change my blogging life. Plus, now I'm on twitter. If you still follow this blog, let me know.

Two more places

2009-02-17T19:53:00.002-05:00

I know. I need to blog more.

Here are two quick stories about encountering Christ at play in our world.

One story starts, more or less, on Facebook. My friend Erik, whose life overlapped mine for both undergraduate and masters work, found me on Facebook a couple months ago. He lives less than an hour away from me now, and we talked about getting together sometime, but he had this interesting suggestion: he was going to be going on a retreat on Cape Cod the first weekend of February. Why didn't I come along? So I did, and I reconnected with Erik and some other old friends, and met some new ones. The theme of the retreat? "Christ in Ten Thousand Places." Very nice. Restored my desire to try to look for and write about all the places Christ is playing in my life. And the Cape was beautiful!

So this weekend, I was back at home in my own parish, and undertaking my second time serving as a eucharistic minister. (I've done so before, but it's been years!) I was struck by the sensation of repeating the phrase "The Body of Christ" as I looked at face after face. "...for Christ plays in ten thousand places, / Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his / To the Father through the features of men’s faces." Not hard to see Christ there!

Virtual Reunions

2008-12-10T23:03:00.000-05:00

I've been found by and been finding lots of old friends on Facebook lately. It's wonderful, and a more than a little strange. It's viral how it happens. This latest round, best I can tell, went like this.

My church youth group in high school did a camping/adventure trip every summer. I honestly don't quite remember exactly how many years I went, but I think I went, first as a kid and then as a leader, probably every summer but one from the time I was a junior in high school to the time I was a junior in college.

Anyway, so a guy I hadn't seen in at least 15 years puts up a group photo of about 15 of us taken just before we went white water rafting. He tags a couple of folks he's still in touch with, and then they tag a couple more, and then they start looking for the ones they don't know yet. One of them found me, friended me, and tagged me. Then all of a sudden we're all "Facebook friends," and I'm part of the group looking for some others who are missing. We find them. More connections. And suddenly, I'm reunited with this entire group of people that really significantly shaped who I am, how I see myself, and the world, and especially God and church, things that have become very important to me.

I spent more than 6 hours on the phone this weekend with three people that I haven't seen in years. One of them, I spoke to about 5 years ago. The other two, I don't think I've seen or spoken to in more than fifteen years. But these 3 people probably knew me better than anyone in the world from the time I was about 16 to 21 years old.

Strange how such a random set of connections can open a door into the past, into memories and feelings and thoughts, into a sense of self lost and found. My head is still spinning a bit with the wonder of God's providence in the whole thing. We come into each other's lives for a time and we give and receive what we have to give and need to receive. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I would not be who I am had these friends not crossed my path 20 years ago. How does one say thank you for such profound gifts?

For now, it is enough to cherish the memories, to embrace the invitation to relish a bit what we meant to one another, how we helped one another to give and to grow. And whither then? I cannot say....

Testing

2008-12-08T11:14:00.000-05:00

Just checking a little something. Don't get too excited.

Confessions of a bad blogger

2008-11-12T22:27:00.003-05:00

I have no excuses, really. At least no really compelling ones. I could tell you about the sporadic nature of the internet at my house, and how it is most reliable on the porch and how it's a bit too cold out to comfortably type on the porch. Or how my google-identity has become a little confused, so sometimes I'm logged into another account and not authorized to publish here.

But mostly I'm finding it hard to walk the line between saying enough to make it worth my while and yours and saying far too much than I have time for. And so, silence.

Tonight, I'm breaking the silence from the warmth of my office. Much nicer.

I find, however, that I don't have much to say. It is, yet again, that strange time of year where the feeling of fall and of the passing away of the things of this world comes upon me. My father died 6 years ago this October--hard to believe it's been so long. My mom's birthday was last week; she would have been 67. And now, the holidays begin to come upon us, more than a little bittersweet.

I think, though, that it will be good for my soul to try to blog again; I keep being reminded that people do in fact read these musings. So, stay tuned, and I'll see what I can do.

Strange and Wonderful Gift

2008-10-01T22:10:00.007-04:00

(Thanks to Jim for the support and encouragement to write. I think you'll like this one.)

One of the promises I made to myself in grad school was that if I ever finished, I would find a way to get involved with an organization called NAMI when I did. NAMI is the National Alliance on Mental Illness. Readers of this blog know that mental illness shapes my life in some significant ways, largely through my brother Paul who has a severe persistent case of schizo-affective disorder.

I have vague memories of my parents talking about NAMI, but what I remember more than anything is all the NAMI folks showing up to their funerals, and, even more so, after my dad died folks from NAMI would email and call to let me know that they'd seen Paul somewhere and he was doing okay. NAMI folks in North Carolina helped me find care and housing for Paul when I had to move him there, and NAMI-RI gave me support and information when I came here with Paul. And now, finally, I'm giving back--in two ways. And you can help with one of them.

First, I want to tell you about NAMI Family-to-Family. This is a program taught by family members of folks with mental illness for family members of mental illness. It used to be called Journey of Hope, and my mom took the class. I had the opportunity a couple of weeks ago to take the training session, and now I'm helping to teach the class. It's funny, because although there is a lot of helpful information to present, it seems like the real gift of the class is connecting people with others who have similar stories. Imagine sitting in a room of about 20 people and watching a couple of youngish folks who are there because their spouses have been diagnosed with bipolar listening to a couple married almost 50 years talk about having lived through the onset of the wife's bipolar disorder 30 years before; they are coming to class now out of a shared concern for another family member. Think of watching tears in a young wife's eyes as she looks at this older couple and says (very quietly) "Maybe there is hope for my marriage." NAMI connects people like this. My co-teachers and I mostly show up and watch it happen, and they thank us for it like we did something. It's a gift and a blessing.

The second way I'm getting involved in NAMI is that I am captaining a team for their main fundraiser, NAMI Walks. The team is called Paul's Pals, in honor of my brother. We'll have about 15 people walking with us this Saturday. Most of our walkers are colleagues of mine at work, though the Coolpeople (my friends from grad school and former housemates!) will be joining us, and a few of my new NAMI Family to Family friends as well. If you can spare a little cash in these hard times, head over the the Paul's Pals team site and give a little something. And if you have friends looking for a great cause to support with their charitable giving, or if you know someone who would benefit from knowing about NAMI and some of its programs and services, please send this post along.

It's strange and wonderful to be getting involved in these ways. Since August of 2003, when I moved Paul to North Carolina, that relationship really has defined me in some significant ways. Often, that felt like a burden and a distraction from what I needed to be doing. It is, of course, also a gift. It is strange and wonderful to find myself in roles and relationships where I really do remember what a gift it is to be Paul's sister. Not an easy gift, but gift indeed.

A step in the right direction

2008-07-02T22:49:00.003-04:00

Well, the (alleged) pedophile who caused so much trouble in our parish, for the province, and, especially to a young man in Maryland and (I fear) several other young men and their families, has turned himself in. A warrant was issued for his arrest. Pray for justice and peace for all concerned. The local news report (Maryland/DC area) can be viewed here.

10, 000 Saints

2008-06-18T22:07:00.003-04:00

I realized tonight that, in the spirit of the name of my blog, it was time to blog about the places in my current life. I am teaching a summer class at St. John's University in Minnesota. And I have to say that I love the place names here. Most Catholic colleges and universities where I have been name a few buildings after saints and such, but most end up being named after donors or past presidents.

I'm living in Virgil Michel (a twentieth century Benedictine instrumental in the liturgical movement and quite influential upon Dorothy Day). My office is in St. Luke. My class meets in Emmaus, which means that I walk the road to Emmaus each morning. Along the way, I see St. Patrick Hall, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Benet, and St. Luke, as well as the Liturgical Press.

Anyway, this delights me. The land of 10, 000 lakes is also a land of many saints. I like that.

Because I can

2008-06-05T10:38:00.002-04:00

In the spirit of documenting places, especially places of unexpected grace, I thought I would document a small grace in an unexpected place. I opened up my laptop here in the Charlotte, NC, airport and found free internet access (Thanks, citizens of Charlotte!).

I'm on my way to a conference in Miami, where many of my most important friends and colleagues will be assembled. I'm looking forward to it. But for now, I need to get to work on my presentation!

Superbad

2008-05-13T08:50:00.003-04:00

Some friends and I watched the movie Superbad last night. Their husbands and some other guys had watched it last week, and we decided, despite warnings about its overly sexual language etc, that we wanted to watch it too.

Now, it wasn't the best movie I've ever seen, and it was saturated with all the worst aspects of an adolescent culture formed by pornography and soaked in alcohol. But, somehow in the midst of all that, friendship and love and even innocence shined through.

I found myself thinking of a storyline in one of my favorite movies, Love Actually. Two characters lighting stand-ins on a movie set. All of their early scenes find them naked in some sort of sex pose with one another. It's almost shocking enough to turn off the film. But their conversation begins with very awkward banter about traffic, moves into exchange of small stories and small kindnesses, and then, eventually, finds that strangely awkward moment where, naked in bed with her, he very haltingly stumbles through asking her to go for a drink after work. What is so intriguing about this storyline to me is that it shows pretty clearly how, in today's world, sex and nakedness do not necessarily mean intimacy and vulnerability. But, oddly enough, they don't mean that they can't develop, either.

In Superbad, something similar seems to be going on. It seemed to me that many of the characters were enacting cultural scripts that had to do with highly sexual language and action. That is to say, they were talking about enacting sexual fantasies, about what would happen with that girl when they got her drunk enough etc. But the reality of the thing was so much different. One girl turned out not to drink. Another was drunk, and pretty much up for anything, but when they got in bed a whole lotta workup ended up resulting in nothing much but, well, puke.

And the film pretty much ended with the two major male characters meeting their love interests randomly at the mall. And despite all the drunken bravado and overt, forward, sexual propositioning of the night before, they met up with awkward shyness.

It was a rather painful reminder to me, however, of this crazy world that our young people are growing up in, where sex isn't simply casual anymore, but moreover conversation about sex is so mainstream and so pornographic that they end up learning how to talk about trading sexual favors before they have learned how to ask someone to spend a little time just hanging out together at the mall. And, of course, that is superbad.

The Third Degree

2008-05-10T19:11:00.004-04:00

Hello, friends.

I know it's been a while. And though I probably could go on for a while on this topic, I'm going to make a brief observation, sigh, and then share a couple of thoughts. Then I'll sigh again and sign off to go raise a glass to my own accomplishment here.

Today is my very last day with any claim to the title of "student." Tomorrow, I graduate and officially earn my third (and hopefully final) degree.

(Sigh.)

This milestone has past oddly in stages, as I haven't been in residence at the university for two years, as I actually turned in the dissertation a couple of months ago now, and defended it nearly a month ago. Graduation itself, which I am not attending, has seemed a mere formality. But tonight, perhaps in part due to the visit of a dear friend from my soon-to-be alma mater, I am surprisingly nostalgic and emotional. Strange.

(Deeper sigh.)

Clink.

I'm back

2008-04-28T23:30:00.003-04:00

OK, as promised and by popular demand, I'm going to start blogging again. The dissertation is now complete and defended. All went well with that.

I'm now swimming in the midst of a pile of long-delayed grading as well as slogging through what seems to be the obligatory post-stress illness (just an annoying little sinus thing that keeps everything foggy).

There is surprisingly little to say at this point. Just trying to get through to the end of the semester. I'm incredibly relieved to be done with grad school. But it will be nice to put this whole semester behind me.

By the way, last class day: Thursday.

Small update

2008-03-15T09:12:00.002-04:00

Don't get too excited or think that I'm back to even the sporadic blogging that was, for a time, semi-regular, but I thought I would post this here. My dissertation needs an intro, a conclusion, some formatting work and a bibliography. Still a lot of work to be done, but I'll be defending this puppy in mid-April. And then maybe I'll blog here again!

How many words is this worth?

2008-01-21T22:31:00.000-05:00

This picture just captures something about my life right now, something that defies expression but is somewhere in the direction of my dissertation going to the dogs. Anyway, it makes me laugh. I like how this somehow reverses our life together; it seems as though I have disturbed her in the middle of her reading.

Of course, the picture I really wanted was ruined in finding the camera: dog sleeping on book.

NPR weighs in

2008-01-03T22:45:00.000-05:00

As most of you know, I'm not blogging much as other writing must take precedence right now. But I do have a couple of things to say quickly.

Some of you may have heard it, but if not, NPR did a story on the Dominicans and the alleged pedophile they placed at our parish for a while. You can find both text and audio here.

Check the October archives for some of my earlier commentary. I have a couple things to add. The Dominican provincial has really been trying to do right by the parish, and has been in residence here (more or less) since the week before Thanksgiving. He can preach and he strikes me as a holy man and a good priest. I'm afraid, though, that he will fail in the end to really do right by the people his brothers have hurt. I mean not simply the (alleged) pedophile but also all the folks who lived with him, who supervised him, or who had administrative responsibilities for him. The pattern I see is a tendancy to protect the brother and the Order, even at the expense of children, the truth, and the Gospel. It actually saddens me greatly. I think I have more respect for this man than for most priests, most people, I have met. And yet I think he has been a part of the problem and I think he will likely--despite intentions to the contrary--remain so.

Let me be clear: I do think that there is a very real desire to deal with the problem of pedophilia. But what I have seen in reading some of the depositions attached to the legal proceedings related to Fr. Cote indicates to me that there are very deep patterns of prioritizing a brother's input and needs and marginalizing lay persons and their concerns. I think there is a system which (contrary to the stated aims of religious life) encourages one brother to look the other way in the face of his brother's shortcomings/issues/sins, because, after all, then he can look the other way if (when!) he notices those of the first. I think the good friars, like the rest of us, find it hard to live Christian community in this age of "live and let live."

In the depositions it was clear that there were a few friars and a few lay persons who really tried to step up and say something. And there were friars, diocesan staff, and lay persons who ignored the stated concerns, missed the warning signs, amd dismissed or marginalized the folks who spoke up.

I wish I could somehow bring together in the same room some of my friends who think I should leave the Catholic Church and/or the Dominican institutions I've associated myself with over all of this with some of the good Dominicans I know. I wish that they could see how deeply this shakes their credibility, how important it is that they respond not just with the "justice" that the legal system demands but with that deeper justice which is enlivened by charity. I want to see them give all involved their due, but more than that, I want to see their love of the Gospel, their love of the people they are called to serve (especially the children), and their willingness to do something radical to show that love. I'm not sure what that would be, but I sure do wish that the responses (on all sides) to clergy sex abuse involved more love and fewer lawyers.

Last day of class

2007-12-09T15:12:00.000-05:00

I taught two sections this semester of a course on social justice. I never write out what I am going to say--I have outlines, plans, but never anything word-for-word. At the end of one class, I sort of stumbled through a "here's what I hope for you" speech, and walked away thinking, "I sure wish I'd said...." So I wrote it down. And the next day, when the other section met for the last time, I mostly said, but at points actually read them this:

Whether you are Catholic or not, Christian or not, I hope that you come away with a deeper sense that a better world is possible and that you can work in small ways and/or in large ways to help make that possible

Again Catholic, Christian, or not, I hope that you have come to a deeper understanding that the Church is convinced that the gospel demands that all people, especially Christians, should work for justice in the world, and especially that they attend to the needs of the poor and marginalized. (I know the Church fails to live this, I know I—like most “first world” Christians—fail to live it, but) I hope that you have seen something more of the Church’s vision of a world where the dignity of the human person is respected, the common good is worked for, creation is cared for, and the poor and marginalized are included and have all that they need.

I also hope that those of you who do consider yourselves Christian have come to see that the Gospel demands more of you than going to Mass an hour every week on your way to the same ole American Dream the rest of the world is pursuing. I hope that this class has helped you to rethink a bit what you will do with your life. It’s funny. Sometimes I wonder if the next Dorothy Day, the next Daniel Berrigan, the next St. Francis, the next St. Therese of Liseuax might not be sitting in my class. Their lives, to borrow Daniel Berrigan’s line about Dorothy Day, were lived as though the truth is true.

I know none of us will live it perfectly. But I hope this class has given you something to aspire to. The gospel that God so loved the world that He gave his only Son for us, and that we encounter Christ in each encounter with the least of these. I hope that all of us go forth from this semester together a bit more equipped to live as though that truth is true.

I loved watching their faces as I said the line about the next Dorothy Day being in the class. I actually added a line there about how they all had to start learning that truth sometime, somewhere. Why not here?

Anyway, it occurs to me that it is of course a good Advent message, heck, a good anytime-of-the-year challenge to all of us: let us live as though the truth is true. Of course, I'm also tempted to add: and if we don't know what's true, by God, let's start trying to figure it out!

Happy New Year!

2007-12-02T13:53:00.000-05:00

Well, the vestments have changed to purple, and a single candle of four is glowing on all the wreaths. It's always fascinated me that we have so many kinds of years--calendar years, school years, fiscal years, and, of course, liturgical years. So strange that this particular year begins as so much is coming to an end--the semester, the leaves, etc. It's also a bit scary to feel so scattered, overwhelmed, and not-ready-for-anything in the face of that for which advent would have us prepare. Find us ready, Lord.

Transcendent rational animals

2007-10-08T11:11:00.000-04:00

On a lighter note than recent postings....

As most of you know, I currently have the Coolclan residing with me. It makes for many fun and interesting and sometimes strange moments, most of which I have been too busy to blog about. But here's one I couldn't let go by.

As I headed upstairs this morning, I heard the sounds of Handel's Hallelujah chorus echoing forth from the bathroom. The door was wide open so I risked a peek inside. There was young James (4 years old) sitting completely naked on the toilet, singing at the top of his lungs. The mood of the music was such that I had to ask the question "Are things going well in here?" I got his pretty typical joyful smile and the seemingly delighted claim "I'm pooping!" I said, "I figured that. But you seem so happy about it!" He added "I'm singing!" "I know, I heard you." He said--with no change in mood at all--"Did you know that people aren't supposed to see other people pooping?" I said, "I've heard that. Did you know that people ought to shut doors when they are pooping so that other people don't see them? I'll get it for you." I closed the door and walked away.

There is something so strange and beautiful about the whole thing. His innocent joy, which certainly had more to do with the echo-y quality of the bathroom than with nakedness or poop, was still just unabashed by my presence. And of course he merely sang Alleluia after Alleluia because he knew the words and the tune, not because he was trying to express that kind of joy, but it sure seemed like it. It seemed like he was celebrating the transcendent in the midst of this very animal human moment.

What a strange and beautiful ability children have to embody, more deeply than they can possibly know, the strange contradictions of being a trascendent rational animal.

Good news, bad news, and hope

2007-10-07T17:06:00.000-04:00

If you haven't read my last blog entry, you probably should before you continue with this one. When last we left things, the provincial (let's call him Fr. D) had done a lot of listening and basically refused to respond, prefering to sit with what he had heard and come back about 10 days later for another meeting and respond then. That meeting happened Thursday, on the feast of St. Francis. The humble peacemaker seemed to have intervened for us, because the meeting could not have begun better.

Fr. D began by saying that he had heard a lot of pain and anger and disappointment, but also a love and care and concern for the parish. He admitted (more clearly than I imagine could be prudent from a legal point of view) that he made a mistake when he assigned the priest in question to the parish, and he was also mistaken not to come in person to talk to the parish about the law suit and about the settlement when each of those things occurred. He said that he listened to lawyers and all the concerns about what could not be said, when he should have listened to his own instincts about the importance of presence and all the things that could be said, without regard to the law. He said very clearly "I apologize for all this and I ask for your forgiveness." It seemed to be just about everything we could have hoped for.

He went on to talk about the new norms the Order has in place to review their personnel, and they seem, for the most part, to be the right things. He spoke of ensuring that the children of the parish get Safe Environment training and that outside professionals come to talk to children who had significant contact with the priest in question (especially them and their parents, but actually, this is extended to anyone for whom this has created or re-surfaced issues). This will include informational sessions on everything from working through anger issues to recognizing signs of abuse in your child. In addition, there will be counsellors available for those who have individual issues to talk about. I mean, really, this is all the right stuff, right?

He mentioned that he knew there were other issues in the parish and he is sending a trained facilitator to help the parish through some listening sessions and a visioning process for overall healing and renewal. Again, seems pretty great.

But apparently even St. Francis cannot hold evil at bay, because then, for some reason, perhaps in response to a question, he began to talk about the settlement, in which the Order paid a young man $1.2 million dollars related to his allegations of abuse by this priest that Fr. D had just apologized for assigning to our parish. It started pretty informationally: "By the way, although some alleged victims insist on such a clause, nothing in this settlement demands or includes or implies an admission of guilt." And then, the very clear statement: "I do not believe that this priest has ever molested a child."

Well, that's when the wheels began to come off. Now, I have read many but not all of the depositions and supporting evidence that we have and let me state this clearly: I do not see anything in all of that that makes me what I would call "absolutely certain" that this priest ever molested a child. But there are very clear descriptions of inappropriate behavior and there is testimony about concerns dating back to 1985, in four completely different locations. And there is this very clear allegation that was settled for over a million dollars. I am not absolutely certain that this priest ever abused anyone, but I cannot imagine any reasonable person claiming to be even relatively convinced that he did not.

So, the responses went in three basic directions. One set pointed toward specific information from the depositions: how can you know that blah blah blah and still believe that he is not a child molester? Easy answer, but deeply disturbing: I haven't read all that information. This led many to another disturbing question: why are many of us so interested in understanding what happened here that we stayed up late in the last two weeks reading this and you ... didn't? Do you just not care that much about us? About the truth? Direction #2 was simply but poignant: so then, the children who made these claims ... do you think they were lying? You must not understand much about children. And direction #3--perhaps this was simply where the first two directions rejoined, because everyone seemed to go here eventually: so, if you think he never molested any children, what exactly were you apologizing for at the beginning?

I actually felt quite bad for him. I really believe that he means well and that he really is doing all the right things. But another great saint of a friar used to insist (quoting Aristotle of course) that the virtuous man is the one who not only does the virtuous thing, but does it in the right way, at the right time, for the right reason, etc. Any defect is enough to make an action--even a mostly good action--evil. And it just began to seem to people, I think, that he was apologizing and changing the norms and attending to the needs of the parish not because his desires are rightly ordered and he truly sees the good of all these things, but because the legal and financial well-being of his Order demands it. One can be a prudent thief, Thomas says, but such an end distorts the virtue itself. I would suspect he would also argue that if the provincial is prudent qua CEO and not prudent qua friar, prudent qua priest, even prudent qua Christian, he is pretty distorted as well.

I remain deeply hopeful that this particular friar means to be putting his prudence at the service of charity, which is the right way around. I think he is open to hearing from us, his brothers and sisters, the ways he has allowed a disordered charity for his brother friars to become uncharitable both to them and to us, and, of course, especially to our children.

Please continue to pray for our parish, and for the victims, the perpetrators, and the unwitting abettors (lay, religious, and ordained) of clergy sexual abuse.

Under the Ruins

2007-09-25T21:14:00.000-04:00

Sorry I haven't blogged in a while. I've been trying to do other sorts of writing. Which are coming along ... slowly.

I know some of you have been concerned about life in my parish. That's what the disturbing statuses on Facebook have been about. Quick reminder of some old news can be had here. For the past month, I've been going to Mass across town, but also meeting with some folks who want to save the parish. A little research and a few phone calls, and the lawyer for the alleged victim in the case emailed us all the depositions of everyone involved.

Now, let me acknowledge a couple of things, which still astound me when I think about it. Having read most of these depositions, I now have more information available to me about the alleged abuser's history than the relevant responsible parties had available to them in 2003 when they assigned him to the parish. I also want to acknowledge that I have read what is basically the alleged victim's case (his lawyer deposing the alleged perpetrator, who took the fifth on everything, and a bunch of other witnesses; the exhibits and supporting evidence that they filed etc). But it's pretty clear to me that there were a TON of red flags on this guy and he could have reasonably been denied access to children as early as 1985, but by the mid-90s it was getting increasingly unreasonable not to deny him access. And, at this point, it looks like so many people in his religious community could have easily decided to look a little deeper, but instead, they looked away.

So, here's this horrible, horrible situation, right. And a bunch of us wrote letters to the priest in charge of the Province, who made the assignment, and more or less demanded that he come up here and meet with us regarding the whole thing. He actually agreed, and came, and we had the meeting last night. So here was the train-wreck waiting to happen: some of us having read all these depositions, convinced this guy was really the best face of the sex abuse crisis since Cardinal Law; him and his entourage, who seemed likely, from his initial email responses to some of us, to dismiss our concerns; plus, many people in parish leadership who had no clue about any of this, and thought we were simply going to talk about 1 abusive priest and had no idea that there was even a hint of anyone else's complicity in the thing.

But the funny thing is, the wreck didn't exactly happen. First, the priest involved was very reconciliatory and, by my read, humble. (Others mentioned that they found his silent nodding offensively condescending.) He did NOT defend his actions in assigning the priest here. That was somewhat disappointing, as I would still love to hear what he possibly could have been thinking. Basically, he let us beat him up for about an hour. Then he responded a little and we beat him up a little more.

By the way, he told us what penances he was doing related to clergy sex abuse and volunteered to do more if we didn't think it was enough. He didn't quite give us the satisfaction of the truth, nor did he give us platitudinous affirmations. He did apologize.

Many people spoke of the pain of this assignment, of the fear that struck them and the news came out and they began to wonder which of their sons or their friends' sons might have been victimized. They also spoke of a long pattern of poor communication and pastoral neglect that the order as a whole has shown the parish, and how this assignment was not an abnormality but the straw that has broken the camel's back. But they also spoke of how much the community has meant, how much life it has given them, how much of their own lives they have given it. And then the message, loud and clear. Never said quite like this, though close: we are the Church, Father, and we will be the Church with or without you. We don't exactly trust you anymore, but we'll give you another chance. Help us rebuild this place. Help us nurture a place where our kids can learn the faith and be safe. Or get out of the way.

I really was inspired, and I'm still not sure why. It is certainly too much to say that forgiveness and reconciliation have been accomplished. Perhaps I'm astounded that everyone hung in the conversation as long as they did. It feels a bit like a miracle, a bit like Christ's promise that the gates of hell would not prevail against us might be true.

I'm so hopeful, and so afraid to hope. And I've only been here about a year. A strange gift to discover a community I think I might value so much in the basement under the ruins of the nearly-empty church that has been killing my soul all year.

Adventures in Dog-parenting

2007-08-31T16:45:00.000-04:00

I alluded to more chaos coming, and it has arrived. The Coolclan is coming to stay for a few weeks while they await the completion of some work on their house. They stopped in for about an hour today to drop off some stuff before heading out of town for the long weekend.

Their 4 year old son James (who has had his own share of adventures) handed me an empty container and said "I fed Lily her food." The problem was that the container he handed me had formerly held raisins. There was a little debate about what had actually been in the container, but I was pretty sure it had been half full of raisins. I had a very clear but unsubstantiated memory that the top three foods never to feed a dog were chocolate, grapes/raisins, and onions.

I headed out to the back yard, where Lily and Digger were tied up running around, and all looked normal. I came back inside and checked the internet and found that, indeed, raisins are among the most toxic foods for dogs, at least potentially. As little as 9 ounces of raisins has led to death through renal failure. My guess is that Lily consumed about 6 ounces of raisins. The article I clicked on said that you would see vomiting immediately and then ... well, all sorts of scary things would happen. But no vomiting ensued right then, so we figured all was well and the Coolclan left.

But I am, apparently, an obsessive dog parent. I googled again and clicked on another 3 or 4 articles. From these I basically gleaned that symptoms would not appear for 6-24 hours. So, I decided we weren't out of the woods. I was basically thinking about rushing off to the vet with no apparent symptoms. I did a little more reading. The main recommendation that emerged was not going to the vet but inducing vomiting. I pictured myself trying to shove a finger down Lily's throat and didn't like the image at all.

It turns out there is a much easier way to induce vomiting in a dog: hydrogen peroxide. You give them 1 tsp for each 10 pounds of body weight. I couldn't figure out if she would just drink it or not. By the way, this is the part where I really started to feel slightly evil. I took 2.5 teaspoons of hydrogen peroxide and mixed it into Lily's favorite creamy snack: peanut butter. My poor unsuspecting pup thought she was getting a treat and lapped it right up.

About 10 minutes later, she was puking all over the backyard. Poor thing. Five or six gross little piles. And let's just say the piles clearly ended any debate about whether she had eaten raisins or dogfood.

And here's the moment where I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she is mine and I am hers and I'll always take care of her no matter how gross it gets. I realized that she (and Digger) were going to eat the puke if I left it there, toxic raisins and all. So I went through my yard and picked up all the puke, making certain not to miss a single raisin. I didn't do it bare-handed or anything, but it is among the grosser things I think I've done.

And I'd do it again.

Lily, though somewhat subdued for a while, seems no worse for the wear now. I do wonder if she'll ever eat peanut butter again. I have a feeling the answer is yes.

The police called me

2007-08-30T00:17:00.000-04:00

Not too long ago, I wrote about the first time I finally broke down and called the police. Tonight, the shoe was on the other foot: the police called me.

Okay, it wasn't exactly the police; it was campus security. But they were calling with a message from the police. The police had the family of one of my semi-dependent, semi-rational housemates with them, and they were desperately looking for her, and they only knew that she was staying with a prof on my street. I'm guessing that campus security perused some sort of faculty address list, because, well, they called me.

(Random aside on the gift of dogs in my life. The phone call began with, "Hello, Professor, this is So-and-so in campus security. I think I met you the other night. You were walking two cute little doggies." Yep, that's me.)

Security wasn't going to disclose my info without my permission, but there were distraught parents looking for their daughter and ....

I met the parents. Well, it turned out it was mom and a brother. Of course, there is a lot more to the drama, but I think it's more than I really want to blog. Actually, it's more than I really want to be a part of right now. Strange that the looming semester promises a certain amount of rest from the chaos of the summer.

Well, actually, the chaos is just beginning. But I'll save that for my next post.

Parish shopping?

2007-08-29T14:48:00.000-04:00

I think I may be shopping for a new parish soon, which really bothers me, since I don't believe in parish shopping.

But here's the deal. This article was in the paper last Friday: the Dominican priest who served in my parish as a youth minister was moved here by his province after he got caught playing with teenage altar boys in another state. Disturbing enough.

But my current pastor was the guy who fired the well-loved lay youth minister (supposedly to save money) since Fr. AJ was perfectly capable of doing the youth ministry. Let me say this clearly: aware of the allegations, my pastor decided to make it the guy's job to hang out with teenagers. Are you more disturbed yet?

OK, one more then. After the news broke on Friday that the Dominicans paid out 1.2 million bucks to the guy's major victim/accuser, our pastor felt a need to address the congregation. He read a prepared statement that made no acknowledgement of the knowledge that he and/or his brother Dominicans had before placing AJ here, took no responsibility, and made no apology. It simply expressed the hope that the financial settlement would begin to bring healing.

Huh?

With all due respect to the pain and the need for healing of the victim (seriously--he is definitely the most damaged, the most in need of healing), he wasn't there, and his pain and healing was not what needed to be addressed as Fr. Mike talked to his flock 48 hours after the news broke.

So, what does that statement mean? Is the idea that the victim is getting money supposed to lessen this parish's sense of betrayal? It seems to many of the folks around here that this is an extreme but typical manifestation of the sort of pastoral attention this parish tends to get.

So I'm disturbed. And I'm thinking of shopping....

You can drag a dog to water....

2007-08-25T21:21:00.000-04:00

The pack (Lily and Digger and I) send you our greetings from Bow Lake in New Hampshire. We are here for "adults and dogs" weekend, courtesy of some friends who have delightedly sent their two boys off with the grandparents for a while. Walking, swimming and boating were our mejor accomplishments today.

Lily didn't exactly take to the water like her alleged labrador heritage would suggest she might. She actually swam quite handily with no assistance whatsoever, unless of course you count dragging her to the water, coaxing her in, cuddling with her while she just barely had her paws in, and that finally sort of walking her in and letting her go. So she can most definitely swim, but she pretty much hates it.

Digger frolicked along the edge of the water, but never got in deep. Well, almost never. I decided that we should see if he could swim. He can. He also isn't wild about it.

Oh well.

Tripped on any good smells lately?

2007-08-23T14:41:00.000-04:00

A few days ago, the pack and I were running around campus (leashes off--ah, the freedom!) with some friends, including 7-year-old J-boy. I had called Lily back to me from quite a distance--maybe 30 yards or so. Being the almost-well-trained dog she is, she immediately dropped what she was doing and ran straight to me. And then, halfway to me, she stopped abruptly and stumbled a bit as she skidded to a halt, turned around and began to root around in the ground for something.

J-boy, having seen all this, turned to me, and, sounding a bit worried, said, "I guess she tripped over something." I said, "Yeah, I think she tripped over a smell."

He saw what I meant almost immediately, and has been revisiting the joke frequently. "Have you tripped over any good smells lately, Lily?" "Smell this, but don't trip!" It's pretty cute.

So, the phrase is on my mind a bit, and comes to the fore when I notice myself smelling something. For instance, lately I've been tripping over the smell of the basil in the herb garden just outside my kitchen door. And, what a delight it is when I remember to set the timer on my coffeemaker and groggily trip all the way down the stairs on the smell of freshly brewing coffee!

I've also been thinking a little about the idea of tripping on a smell in another sense, that sense in which a smell takes you on a trip, usually down memory lane. There are a thousand smells, I'm sure, that would take me instantly back to my mother's kitchen, but I can't really thiink of any right now. It's very hard, for me at least, to bring a smell to mind without a smell to remind me. Funny how easily the memories come flooding back together with a smell, and how hard it is to remember a smell.

Trippin' on smells, indeed.

Back to the dogs

2007-08-18T21:57:00.003-04:00

I have, before in this pages, reflected on the tragic fate of the almost-virtuous. This fate, which I feel to be my own, involves being good enough to see and to recognize the good, but not good enough to really desire it, so you do it but you resent it, or fall short in a similar way.

So, lately, I am haunted by the question of whether I am doing right by my foster dog, Digger T. Cooldog. How virtuous, of course, for me to take him in. Or should I say almost virtuous? I fear I may be treating him with a little less love and affection than my beloved Lilypup. And it manifests itself more than anything, in this: when we go out in the backyard, they fight. And Digger seems to get the worst of it all of the time. I think the exercise does them good. But sometimes she seems downright mean to him. In fact, Lily is always playing and playful, wagging her tail. Digger spends half the time cowering in fear.

So, most of the day today, when it happened, I broke it up. I pulled her off of him. I made her sit and stay. I stepped on her leash and extended his, so that he could get away from her if he wanted. Then tonight, not too long ago, we came in from a walk, and here's what happened.

He tried to hump her. (For you doggie novices, don't worry. They are both fixed, and also, this is as much about dominance in the "pack" as about sex.) He spent all day cowering and having me pull her off of him, and now he's going to try to hump her? Good luck! I watched as she tossed him off of her back, onto his back on the floor, and then held him down with her teeth on his throat. I let them stay like that growling at each other for a little while, then made her release him. I kept them separate to calm down for a little while.

Guess what happened next? Just read the last paragraph again. Same exact thing.

I've decided that tomorrow, I won't protect him. And I'm not so bothered by the idea that I might not be protecting him enough.

Benevolent Dictator of the Animal Shelter

2007-08-16T11:29:00.000-04:00

A quick update from life in the animal shelter. I call it an animal shelter because I am currently offering shelter to two rational animals (a student and a recent grad who had some gaps in their summer housing plans) and, of course, two nonrational canine animals, affectionately known as the Cooldog and the Lilypup.

It’s interesting to have spent so much time living in community and thinking about how to get along with many animals (mostly rational) sharing life and space together, and now have some animals with a definite pack mentality thrown into the mix, along with two young women in their very early twenties. To twist Alasdair MacIntyre, the phrase independent rational animals comes to mind.

It is interesting to feel, in the midst of this community of animals, that the dogs and I are a pack, a community, and the others are passing through, especially since one of the dogs is really just passing through. But, in the pack, as mentioned before, I’m the alpha dog: I give care and direction. I make sure all their needs are met and I pretty much control their lives. Harder to do—and, of course, I wouldn’t really want the responsibility—with rational animals.

It’s hard, living among independent rational animals—especially those who have made no real commitments to one another, who share neither covenant nor goals, nor have any real claims on one another. Dependence and interdependence, among rational animals, must be very carefully negotiated. One cannot simply—as one does with a puppy or even a child—take responsibility for another rational animal’s well being. Even when you suspect they could really use the help.

Yet again, I find myself recalling and continuing to renounce my now-defunct campaign to become benevolent dictator of the world. I pushed for this a bit during the presidential election campaign in 2004. I was, in part, trying to make the point that dictatorship doesn't have to be all bad and, actually, doesn't have to be totalitarian. I finally renounced it, not because I gave up on the idea, so much as I realized that, though it would have been good for the world, but it would have been bad for my soul.

It's too bad, eh, that life isn't easier sometimes, for all the animals? Too bad that it is so hard to find real shelter and peace and community, the kind that would really allow for right flourishing, especially for rational animals struggling somewhere between dependence, independence, and interdependence.

But dang! I'm glad I'm not in charge of arranging it for everyone in the world!

Gone to the Dogs: The Return of Heidegger T. Cooldog

2007-08-11T20:48:00.000-04:00

Things have changed in casa-de-danedy since the Cooldog was last among us. It seems that Digger is no longer top dog. He's not even number two.

Well, it depends how you count.

When Digger was here in May, I knew nothing about dogs, except that one should feed them and walk them occasionally. So, when Digger whined outside my bedroom door, I let him in so I could get some sleep. I tried to persuade him to sleep on the floor, to no avail. Within about a half an hour, he had persuaded me that the only way I was going to get any sleep was to let him into my bed, which I did. (A pause to note that most rational animals couldn't have accomplished that, and certainly not so fast!)

But now, Lily has arrived. And because of her, I have acquired a certain amount of knowledge about dogs and about pack dynamics. I did a little reading (Monks of New Skete; Cesar Millan) and learned that I should be the pack leader and some ways of maintaining that. The Monks of New Skete sold me on the idea that dogs do best when they sleep in your room but not your bed. This communicates to them both that they are part of your pack and that you are the leader. Lily sleeps in a crate on the floor near the foot of my bed. So, what to do with Digger?

I decided to put his bed on the floor near Lily, but not too close. He was determined not to stay there but to climb in bed with me. I ended up anchoring him by his leash to a knob on my dresser, where he had a little play in the leash, but certainly not enough to get to my bed. He whined, he yelped, he begged to be released. It seemed clear to me that he remembered the sleeping arrangements from before. I ignored him. He kept yelping. I kept ignoring. And before TOO long (maybe 20 minutes), he calmed down and went to sleep. (Thank God!)

By the way, Lily was an angel through all his yelping last night. Today, of course, was another story. There was about 20 minutes where Digger lay at my feet like a saint while Lily yelped and whined from her crate. (I suspect that his non-verbals were communicating (you have to read this to the "tune" of a playground taunt) "Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, she likes me better, I'm at her feet and you're in a jail cell!")

I think that we've settled into a sense that, for a couple weeks at least, this is the pack, like it or not. Also, we ended up having 2 doggie-play-dates with other (big, rough, wrassling) dogs and one run-around-romp with 2 kids and a tennis ball in a fenced-in softball field). I think we're all exhausted, especially the beta and gamma dogs that did all the serious running and wrassling.

Actually, Alpha Dog is a little tired, too. But she's writing a page of her dissertation before she turns in.

Nuns and puppy love

2007-07-22T08:36:00.000-04:00

Yesterday (after the book was finished), Lily and I went for her first walk onto campus with some friends. We didn't get far when we ran into a couple of nuns who are here for graduate classes this summer, whom I had met a couple of weeks ago. They were so excited to see the puppy, but then one asked me "Do you have a minute? Sr. Mary So-and-so would be so SAD to hear she missed the puppy, can I go get her?" Of course I agreed to wait.

Most of these sisters are Nashville Dominicans, though 2 are from Ann Arbor. We have 4 of the Nashville sisters running our parish school. They are always among the most joyful people--I mean absolutely radiating a joyfulness--that you would ever want to meet.

So, the sisters returned, and before long we had about 7 nuns gathered, in their full Dominican habits (white robe with a black veil), loving on my puppy. And the joy being radiated was extraordinary. It was fun.

And it's good to have a dog. (And, of course, it is good to have nuns!)

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

2007-07-22T08:27:00.000-04:00

I was standing at a register with my prepaid gift cards in the exact amount of the 3 copies I was buying (only 1 for me; 2 for friends taking advantage of my willingness to stand in line and obtain wristbands # 6, 7, and 8. With 6 registers working, the first 6 of us got to be waiting at the register as they counted down until midnight. Very exciting.

Even better was the fact that I went home, took my puppy on a potty break, got in my pjs and was in bed reading by 12:25. Woo-hoo! I read until about 4am, then started again not too long after Lily woke me up about 7am. Except for potty breaks and feedings (human and canine), I pretty much read all day yesterday, finishing around 4pm. The last third or so was slow going, as I was crying on and off.

What happened? Well, there was death, sacrifice, redemption, forgiveness, and new life, together with a lot of explanation about what has gone on in the past. Good, good stuff. But I'll refrain from putting the details here. At least for a while.

So excited!

2007-07-20T21:23:00.000-04:00

Lily (the pup) does a thing when I start getting her food together: sprints a quick lap around the house, jumps, turns quick circles, wags her tail like crazy. The excitement is palpable. That's how I feel: Harry Potter book 7 will be in my hands in 2.5 hours (wag, jump, pant, sprint!). So excited!

Lily: Week 1

2007-07-19T21:04:00.000-04:00

Well, it hasn't quite been a week yet, but this report is overdue anyway. Lily, my beautiful 12-week-old labrador retriever, arrived as scheduled to a McDonald's parking lot on the Rhode Island/Connecticut border. (I will post pix soon; I've taken several, but can't find the connection cord anywhere!) She is a very deep golden--almost brown, with maybe a hint of gold. I think her color is like a darkish golden retriever. The thing that is slightly weird about it is that she is a lab, with lab short hair, but golden-colored. She's beautiful.

The arrival was very smooth. There were probably 5 or 6 of us adopters waiting for dogs. Many of us found one another before the transport arrived. I talked for a while with an older couple who had always had dogs but had been without one for the past five years since their last one died. They were waiting for their 3 year old, a Katrina refugee.

Once the transport arrived, my girl stole everyone's heart (mine first!). She was the youngest pup arriving (though two of her littermates were to get out at the next stop), and she jumped and nipped and was all around energetic and adorable.

I got her into the car. I had a cardboard box in the passenger seat. I figured it would contain her (and any accidents!) a bit, but allow me more access to pet and comfort her than a crate would. It worked pretty well.

And every since, it's been wonderful, exhausting fun, but has been incredibly smooth. I got sold on crate training, so that what we're doing. I know, some people think it's cruel, but from wht I read and from what I can tell, she loves it. Don't get me wrong, she'll whimper to get let out, especially since I have her crate positioned right near my computer, so I am usually about 5 feet from her when she is crated. But generally, if I ignore her for about 5 minutes (or less!) she settles down.

And the best part: we have had no accidents in the house yet. She hasn't gone in the crate; she hasn't gone in the house. Woo-hoo! She has slept through every night but one, and that was really not her fault, but the fact that a car alarm went off and unsettled us both.

She can more or less sit, and she can sort of do "down." She occasionally retrieves (ah! instincts!), though rarely on command. She really doesn't know her name yet. But it will come.

Two of the most fun things for me so far. One is that a neighborhood friend of mine has twice brought her dogs over to play. Jake is an older pit/great dane mix--lovable but a big guy. Zoe is a 1-year-old pure pug, who thinks she's a big dog because she's been raised with Jake. She's a tad smaller than Lily, but they're close. You really haven't seen anything until you have seen these two full body dog wrestle, complete with puppy pounces and combat rolls. It's amazing.

The other isn't quite that fun, but it is pretty cool. I bought a dog toy that is shaped like a football and is designed to be filled with treats. The dog has to shake it to get the treats out. I fill it up with a few treats and a little kibble and I put it on the floor. Lily attacks it like crazy. She swats it, she pounces on it, she grabs one end of it and shakes it ... it's hilarious! Makes me wish I had a video camera! (No, I'm not going there!)

Anyway, it is good to have her here. At least it feels that way right now!