A son of God

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

Confessions of a bad blogger

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

(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

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

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

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!