What're you going as?

Here are some possible Halloween costumes for me this year:

• girl with bad eyesight
• girl with beer in living room while husband is giving out candy at the kitchen door
• girl with who needs to pluck her eyebrows
• one of the mysterious childless neighbors. What's their deal? They seem nice, though, and they keep the yard neat. 
• girl who shouldn't have picked at that blemish on her nose this morning, seriously, no one would have even noticed it but now look at it.
• girl who owns one orange shirt
• girl wearing the same jeans she wore yesterday
• girl with random hot flashes
• un-sexy pastoral minister
• survivor of some awful illness that doesn't actually show. Stomach ulcers?
• girl who doesn't dress up for work
• girl who's really not into Halloween

Really the options are endless, and all of them apply today- so take your pick! Happy Halloween, or whatever, everyone!

7 Quick Takes, don'tcha know

1) I went to an exercise class at my church the other night. It's offered a couple of times a week, through our senior citizen group, so I was one of the younger people there. It's called Aerobics Plus, and the Plus is weights and stretches. I haven't been to an exercise class in probably 10 years, so I was a little nervous, but the leader is encouraging and positive, and when I got to the point where I thought I couldn't go on, there were a few people there to look at who were significantly older than me, and they were doing it... or, there were some people there who are younger than me who were taking breaks, like I was, whenever the teacher turned her back. Encouraging!
The next day I felt pretty good, not agonizingly sore like I expected to be, and I slept great that night. I'll go back.

2) I heard Eve Ensler interviewed today on the CBC- she wrote The Vagina Monologues, which I have never seen but the title of which has always kind of conjured an odd mental image for me. It was a great interview, and she said some beautiful things about the work she is doing for girls around the world. She said (and I'm paraphrasing) that girls must be powerful because they are so feared- the one thing everyone tells both boys AND girls not to be, it's a girl. She said girls are emotional, intense, dramatic, and can't be talked out of what they know. She cited Malala Yousafzai, the young girl who was recently shot by the Taliban. She said great, intriguing things. 

3) Tonight I was sitting here with a cat in my lap, who then stepped on my iPad, snapping the cover off, which made him leap directly into my face. I have tiny cuts on my nose, cheek and ear- I mean tiny, really- but holy hell that hurt! I burst into tears and cried straight out for about ten minutes. I thought, Yes, Eve Ensler, I shall cry with abandon, and honor my girl-ness. I guess I've cried a couple of times since the kittens have joined our household, and whenever I do, they sit a few feet away from me, tails curled around them, watching me with expressions of horrified fascination. If I weren't already crying, it would totally make me laugh. 

4) It's 11:00 PM and I should be going... Tonight is the youth group laser tag overnight. I meet them at the LT place, which is here in our area, stay a while, and then come home to bed. It is a purely awesome night for young-people watching, complete with busy middle school power-walking, drama, bravado and sometimes fights. Great stuff. But it is really not my style to be going out after 11. I resolved pretty early in my youth ministry career that lock-ins were not going to be my signature move. Retreats, yes. Overnights, not so much. Since I am not The Youth Minister at these things, I get to play the part of a grandparent- coming in, loving everyone, and leaving when I need a nap.

5) Here comes Election Day and I'm as curious about its outcome as I am glad to not have to watch those damned ads anymore. I've been thinking a lot lately about how the moment of voting is a purely private moment, one where no one knows how I will act, and where the decision as to how to act is fully mine. It's a moment for me to use my conscience and faith and understanding without having to convince anyone that I'm right, or worry about judgment. It's a faith-filled moment, for me. My parents taught me long ago that our votes are private, and I am relishing that unique moment of privacy that voting will afford me this year. 

6) Here comes Sandy! This weekend we'll be battening down the hatches, and then, dammit, battening them down again. (Ha! Old movie joke!) We've got  lots if emergency supplies by virtue of being campers, and live at the top of a hill, and I have a whole passel of books to read should the power go out, so I get to be relatively excited about this. Have I mentioned my storm-geekery? I love watching them approach on the radar, love the updates, love watching the weather reporters being tossed around, LOVE snow days. As long as our big old maple tree hangs in there, I'm ready!

7) I am feeling calm and happy and good lately- maybe because my Dad is doing well, and that feeling of crisis has passed for now. But also, I'm trying not to worry a out the changes that will eventually hit our Archdiocese, and I'm really enjoying the events that come around at work. I am so glad to not be carrying around fear like I was. The trick has been, I think, that old cliche of taking things on one at a time. When I group things together in my mind, it gets overwhelming-  but individually, they're just not so scary. I feel lighter and more joyful and more fun to be around when I'm carrying less fear. I'm just so panicked that it'll come back again. Just kidding. :)

Circumambulating the Stupa

Right now, I'm watching the Buddhist temple down the street online- they are streaming a live visit from the Dali Lama this afternoon, which everyone around here has been very excited about.
I'll confess that I don't know much about the DL, and probably should. I asked a friend "what is everyone so excited about?" Is he going to say something earth-shattering? Does he have a message from... somewhere? God, or aliens? Or, is he just a really inspiring speaker? Would it be like having a Pope come here?
My friend said that he brings a message of compassion. So, okay, I'll watch.
When I tuned in, people were chanting, and other people were singing, and still other people were dancing but it didn't appear that they were dancing either to the chanting or to the music. Now people are dancing along to music by a band.
It reminds me of something my mother once said. She imagined that anyone peeking in the window of a Catholic Church on Good Friday, not knowing anything about our Story, might think there was something crazy and cultish going on.
In the early Church, going to Mass was not an entry-level activity. You became involved in the Church through interacting with its members, inquiring to know more, proving yourself sincere, and learning your way into the sacred rites that the Church held so dearly, like the Mass. You can still see RCIA candidates leaving after the reading of the Gospel as Easter nears, harkening back to those early days. Now it's a bit of an empty (or, even, non-sensical) gesture, as it means that those who are sincerely seeking entry to the Church are removed from the assembly before the Communion Rite but any other person who may not even want to be there in the first place, is welcome to stay.
Back in the day the Church was protective of Her rites, because Christians were persecuted, and so they needed to be really sure a person wanted to commit themselves to the faith before they would expose their sacred rituals to potentially dangerous outsiders.
Today I am an outsider looking in, and it reminds me to pray for those people who sit inside our Church but still feel like outsiders. It reminds me to pray for seekers everywhere.

the Work of the People (two new posts)

PRE-DENDUM:
I should mention that I'm not trying to say that the Mass that is most meaningful to me is the RIGHT Mass. A  wise professor of mine pointed out that conservatives do just that... they work to conserve what has been. During this week's Mass I felt a strong kinship to the pre-Vatican II conservatives who might be longing for the Mass of their youth, because I am longing for the Mass of mine. That's all.


I went to Mass the other night to kick off the Year of Faith, and to celebrate the 50th anniversary of Vatican II. I was starting to get excited to learn more about the Council, which is directly shaped my faith and my life in the church since I was born. We invited the priests from our local area to come and concelebrate, and asked them to advertise the Mass in their bulletin (and, we called that "collaboration"- it wasn't, and I'll write more about that in another post). We had a smattering of priests participating, and about 50 people sprinkled throughout the pews of our giant church.
It was, as we joked about afterward over coffee, less than "scintillating". I love the Mass, although I do confess to feeling a little out of step with it since the new translation. We had invited the local Bishop who has been named to be in charge of the New Evangelization, and ordered cool prayer cards to hand out. In short, and without pointing fingers, the Mass was overall (in my opinion) a joyless experience. It was somber, not celebratory, and... even a little boring. I struggled through it.
As I sat there in the last pew, camera poised to catch anything great that came up, my mind wandered to other Masses that have imprinted in my memory. Memorable Masses.
I remember gathering for Mass with our parish priest at Bradbury State Park after climbing around the mountain all day on a youth group trip. There were probably only 10-20 of us there, but I was transfixed by the priest's words, the readings, and the community in the midst of God's beautiful creation. I remember sitting on boulders in a circle and sharing Communion with my peers.
I remember being given the opportunity to plan Mass at Catholic Leadership Institute back in 1986. Each small group had a turn planning the Mass for a night during that week, choosing the readings, the Psalm, and the music from scratch to reflect what we had done that day, and to connect with our little community. It felt so moving to seek out inspiration from the Word of God for our peers, and to be given the opportunity to minister to each other through the liturgy. The music was scrapped together with whatever shreds of talent happened to be present in the group, and sometimes the readings were less than polished. But it brought us closer as a group of leaders and as a community every time, without fail.
I remembered being with my friend Ann-Marie at a Good Friday Mass, sensing her start to cry as the story of Christ's Passion was read.
Another Mass I witnessed from the back pew of my parish, celebrating an anniversary of Cursillo. The large crowd was packed in the front of the church, wanting to be near each other and near the altar. The music was imperfect but that crowd sang their hearts out, because each song was meaningful to them as worshipers and as a community. It was breathtaking to see their earnest and expressive faith.
I guess I've been to Mass thousands of times... I've forgotten a lot of them, which is natural, I guess. I remember more important Masses and moments than I could write about here. But I can see a thread that connects the Masses that have stayed in my heart- these were liturgies that reflected the community, bonded us, responded to our individual and communal needs. They were Masses where my God-given gifts counted and mattered. They were Masses where I knew the people around me. They were Masses that acknowledged my existence and my importance to God and His church.
My weekly experience at my own parish fits those characteristics, and I'm afraid that I am one of the very few blessed in that way, these days. But to get to that point, it has taken hard work on my part. It's work I'm willing to do and work that the Church might really benefit from encouraging among all its members.

Love

I saw a secret the other day, saw it happen in a room full of people but no one else did, and if I hadn't, the moment would have been lost to history, lost to consciousness.
My Dad, in his nursing home bed, was groggy and sluggish, struggling mightily to stay awake because he had loved ones in his room. His bed was up, letting him sit upright-ish, but his eyes kept closing and his head easing back, despite his obvious efforts to resist. My Mom was in her wheelchair next to his bed, holding his hand, and trying to wake him so she could visit with him.
But she was sleepy too- it had been an absolutely exhausting week- and they kept missing each other's awake moments. She'd stare into his face, willing him to wake up, and then she'd close her eyes for a minute and he'd wrest his eyelids open and try to talk to her.
As I watched, Mom closed her eyes and Dad opened his. They were still holding hands, and he turned to look at her. He tried to will her to look back, but couldn't muster a word, couldn't catch her attention. He kissed her through the air, two kisses, and then surrendered to sleep. She didn't catch those kisses, opened her eyes too late to see them, only in time to see his head fall back on his pillow.
But I saw them.
Their love for each other is deep and strong, romantic and care-ful, thoughtful and sweet. My siblings and I have been raised through a marriage of love that is patient, is kind. Their love does not seem to envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Their love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 
I'm thankful to have been, and to still be, a life-long witness to that kind of love. 

I just quit my volunteer job

...well, not exactly. But I am continuing to learn a lot about volunteering and supporting volunteers, by being a volunteer. I've written here about some of that learning, but here's the latest lesson: if they come, you'd better build it.
I imagine the old saw is true, too, in volunteering: if you build it (opportunities to serve- really serve- people will come and get to work) but in my case, the opposite has happened. Over a year and a half ago I felt a burning call to volunteer with people who dying. Actively dying. Now I'm here in volunteering purgatory, doing something I don't feel called to, to try and get to the point where I can finally be trained (!) to do that thing that I do feel called to. That is, in order to be trained to do vigil work, I had to do 9 weeks of training, followed by 6 months of another kind of volunteering, and after that they'd train me to do vigils. But, at our last volunteer support meeting, the coordinator mentioned that she was pretty sure a training for vigils would be coming up, but that they'd actually never done that before, and she wasn't at all sure how the whole vigil-ing thing would work, but they were working on it, and to hang in there.
I was willing to do the training, and it was good, and worth my time, and I was willing to do the time volunteering dying (but not actively dying) people. Visiting dying people, as it turns out, is the same thing as visiting living people. I'm not bad at it, but it is not something I feel very suited to. My introvert-self kind of dreads trying to make conversation for an hour, or two, and then is exhausted afterward. I've met some lovely people and it's all been nice, but it's not for me.
And when the coordinator confessed that what I had signed on for, well, didn't exist, I felt a little used. It's the old bait-and-switch. I understand her wanting to sign on volunteers whenever they come forward, and I understand the point of visiting people in preparation for vigiling, except, I've been visiting people for years. I've got it down, I think... I don't need 6 months more of it to get me ready for doing something very different.
I'm not sure how I wish it had all been handled. Should the coordinator, after I contacted her initially, said "well, we don't do that yet, but I will get started and call you when we've got it up and running"? Well, yeah! I might have waited just as long as I am now, but not filling the time with busywork to fulfill their requirements. Or, I might have contacted a hospital nearby and offered to start a vigiling ministry with them. Maybe we'd be doing vigils by now, as a church.
Anyway, I wrote to the coordinator, explained that it's been a really long time and I'm not doing what I felt called to, and that I wouldn't like to take on another (relatively) long-term patient. She asked me to stay tuned, but granted my request to step out of ongoing visits. We'll see where this goes. But in the meantime, I want to remember as a volunteer coordinator that if they come, I'd better get to work building.

Faith By Association

  Where was I? Oh my, what is up with September?? It seems like the last several Septembers have held family and friend health crises and serious work stress. This year's September was no different, and all in all, however nicely things seem to have turned out, I'm glad it's October!
  This week was a doozy- not just because of my elevator-sized bottom lip (a pox on whoever invented cold sores!) but my Dad's bypass surgery, and a big week at work. Last Sunday was our volunteer luncheon and workshop and this weekend we kicked off our Generations of Faith events.
  I come away from the parish events feeling encouraged and proud. At the luncheon we had almost a hundred volunteers present, and looking over that room I could see so many people that I know well (a testament to the connectedness of this parish) and so many people who care so deeply about their faith and their parish. They jumped in to the conversation about the mission of the parish and had wonderful answers, and all their answers folded so neatly into Jesus' mandatum (Matthew 28). As a staff we've worked so hard to teach that mandatum and empower the parish to follow it, and it was just so lovely to hear it echoed in their words, these faithful leaders on the ground in the parish.
   This weekend's GOF sessions were full and full of happy people. Again, there were so many familiar faces and a lot of new ones, too. We worked so darn hard to do something for them that would make them glad to be there, to bring them closer to God, to remind them of how important each member of the community- each generation- is in the learning process. We got great feedback.
   Every day I'm learning about how people perceive the Church and the parish, how families work, how deep the faith is of people who we might think are not dedicated. I'm more and more convinced that inter-generational, whole-community total catechesis is the way to go. I feel hope for the lowerarchy and the survival of parish life. My faith is strengthened by association, and I think there's a lot to that.

Read My Lips (braille)

So maybe I'm a little stressed, so what?
As we move in time toward Dad's bypass surgery, we count down the days while trying to think ahead, imagine every possible need and outcome, and plan for any and every sequence of events. We can't change anything in my Dad's heart but we can think about what meals to prepare for them, what visits to schedule, what snacks to bring for eating in the waiting room, etc. etc... lots of Facebook messages and phone calls.
Overall, I've felt pretty good about the whole thing- no nagging anxiety, no sleepless nights, I really feel pretty positive about it and am looking forward to having it behind us all. I am sure the recovery will be hard and uncomfortable for Dad (and for all of us) but it'll be better than the suspense, waiting for the day to come and hoping he doesn't have a heart attack before then.
So, in sum: feeling good, not stressed. But yesterday my face erupted!! I have a massive cold store on the corner of my lower lip. Judging by how it feels, I'd say it's about the size of a small oven-stuffer roaster. But it's probably smaller than that, to the casual observer.
I haven't had a cold sore in... I can't even remember! So it makes me think... maybe I'm a little anxious after all. The surgery happens 4 days before our first big event at work, which is a pretty major undertaking, with lots of details that I  am (or Scott is) in charge of. It's a good thing, and I'm excited for it, but... lots of details and hard work. Two days before the surgery is another big event (volunteer luncheon/workshop) that I'm in charge of. Lots of details. I mean, hey, that's my job, and all these events will be great, and maybe it'll be good for me to be distracted and busy during this time. But at the same time, it's a lot.
So while I feel pretty calm, I guess my lips say otherwise!

7 Quick Takes, random as you please

1) Let's just get this out of the way. My Dad is scheduled for bypass surgery in a couple of weeks. There are lots of us- a base group of 10 people (11 counting Mom) on Team Dad. It's good- very good. And believe me when I tell you that communication is copious. Over the past several months, Dad has not been able to drive, so we've been taking turns getting him and my Mom where they need to go. The bulk of the burden has sat on the shoulders of my sister and brother, who live in the same town as Mom and Dad, but we've been trying to help out some, from here in MA- which, after all, isn't that far away. Now that we have a date, we're battening down the hatches, and getting ready to support Mom through Dad's days in the hospital and maybe rehab. We are mobilizing the troops. It's good not to be an only child. Anyhoo, keep him in your prayers, would ya?
2) I have been reading up a storm! I guess I'm finally fully recovered from grad school... this summer I've read some great fiction- just today I finished Code Name Verity, which incredibly is called a teen book (Amazon at least says it's for age 14+, which I guess sounds about right). It's full of intrigue and suspense and dear characters that I couldn't help but root for, and some surprises too.
3) I am the daughter of a World War II buff, and learned a lot about the war through him (the aforementioned Dad). Lots of WWII movies, lots of documentaries, lots of books. I have a pretty vivid imagined image of war, at least the version of war that happened back in the day before drones and when everything was analog and low-tech. When I have nightmares, which is rare, they usually feature a WWII kind of scene, bombed out or under air attack. One early morning as I was leaving my apartment, a WWII-model plane buzzed over my head, low and loud. It was nothing like the little planes that usually fly over (we live near a little municipal airport- turned out there was an air show going on that I hadn't heard about...) and I had this weird flashback to something I'd never actually experienced. It was all I could do not to hit the deck.
4) I think it's my vicarious war experience (which is to say, Dad didn't exactly "experience" the War himself- he was a kid- he experienced it from the home front) that helps me be satisfied with just enough. I have a plan for evacuation, if it ever comes to that, and I think about food sources and emergency supplies, for the day that maybe we don't have access to the things we have now. I appreciate our abundance, and feel unbelievably fortunate. Vicariously-vicarious experience of war, I reckon, is the best way to experience it.
5) On yet another completely un-related topic, I am realizing that something needs to change for me, footwear-wise. Every summer for the last few years, I've bought a new pair of teva flip-flops, which have been lovely. They have "mush" bottoms, and I could stay on my feet for a long time. But this summer, one day while I was working in the garden, I heard and felt my big toe SNAP, and OOOEEEY did it hurt! For a long time! I don't know if it was broken, or sprained? Or if you can sprain your toe? But all I could do was limp and tape my foot on big walking days.
This summer, though, I discovered espadrilles. They're heaven!! They smell pretty bad, and are NOT good in the rain, but they feel wonderful and are closed-toe, comfortable but just dressy enough to wear to Mass.
6) In other beauty news, this summer I ordered the wrong thing on Amazon when I was trying to buy face lotion (I use Nutritioniste lotion, but it's hard to find in stores, so I order it online). What I got instead was Nutritioniste serum, whatever that is. I mean it, I don't know what it is, and can't really figure it out from any online descriptions. Is it a medicine?Is it a moisturizer? I know one thing- my face is smooth now!! So smooth!!! So, there you go. Hurray for serum.
7) as a closing kiss, here's my favorite pic of the new kitten, Charley:

Lookit that face!!!! I'm smitten with this kitten.

Bait-and-Wait... and Wait...

If you are one of my (6) loyal readers, then you probably know I've started volunteering for Hospice. It started over a year ago, when I heard this story about vigil volunteering, which is sitting with people who are actively dying (yes, that's a real term) and thought, "I could do that."
I spoke to a Hospice nurse in my parish, and she connected me with the volunteer coordinator at the local Hospice organization. I dragged some parishioners in with me, and a few of us did the initial training for volunteers there this past spring.
I have learned a lot from being on the volunteer-end of things, where I usually am the coordinator of the volunteers- mostly that when someone like me feels called to volunteer in a particular way, we'll be willing to work for it, give time, and fulfill expectations- that how rewarding that is.
Another part of me, though, is feeling a little like a victim of the ol' bait-and-switch. At the information meeting the Hosp. coordinator gave at my parish for those of us who wanted to do vigil work, they told us that we'd need to participate in a 9 week training. Okay. Then, we found out we'd have to do 6 months of direct care volunteering, before doing a vigil volunteer training. Ah... fine. Now I'm 4 months through the 6 months of DC volunteering, and it's nice enough- as it turns out, visiting dying people is pretty much exactly the same thing as visiting living people- and that, I could do through work-  I am not doing what I want to do.
Tonight at the volunteer support group, our (lovely, really) coordinator said that pretty soon, they'd be starting to plan vigil volunteer training, which is something she's never done before, and didn't exactly know how to do.
What?
I'm wondering if (despite the worthwhile training and good experience so far) I should have just called a hospital to begin with, almost 2 years ago, and offered to start a NODA list there. Toot-sweet. At this point, I've come awfully far to turn back, but I'm frustrated.
Another valuable lesson in volunteer coordination!

Back At It

I just want to say: if you can ever, possibly, take two weeks of vacation in a row, DO IT.
I'm back to work after my first-ever two-weeker, and I feel excited to be here and anxious to get going on things. Of course, it's the end of August so these feelings are a mix of excitement and panic that I've wasted the summer and now I have to catch up and get ready at the same time. But this is going to be a good year at the parish, I can feel it... as long as nothing catastrophic happens in the Archdiocese and everyone on the team stays healthy, we're poised to do great work.
I had taken a mere week off at the beginning of the summer and at the end of it, I felt like I'd wasted it. All week I felt a little guilty whenever I sat still, hearing the time tick away, and then feeling like an idiot for worrying about relaxing too much on my vacation. This time we had a camping trip in the middle, and the rest of the days just fell out as they came, and I did lots of fun things, lots of productive things, lots of nothing. It felt great and I still feel great.
Now I'm gung-ho to get going again at work and loving all of humanity mostly, and full of ideas. Yes, two weeks is the way to go.

Scars: A Response to A Response

I took FrChip's dare and posted his response, and have waited some days to respond, so I could do so respecfully. As soon as I read his comment, I went back to re-read my post and thought that really, if he'd written his first, my post would have been a great response to his charges. So I won't say much, but there are two things that I think I might as well respond to, and they are these:

1) I chose the word organization purposely in my post, because it is with the organization side of the Church that I struggle. I'm flat-out, head over heels in love with the Mystical Body of Christ- in fact the existence of the MBOC is the reason I still have hope for the organization. I don't think we can just deny that the Church is an organization, and in fact I think it's really dangerous to do so.

2) I know FrChip's "BC boys" jab is just a lame attempt at a personal dig, but here's the thing. I'm not a cheerleader for BC, just went there because opportunity knocked. For the record, I didn't find it to be the bastion of liberality that everyone warned me it would be. But here's the important thing- I didn't get my theology from BC, not from the "boys" or the "girls" there. What I did get from BC, and for which I'll be eternally grateful, was encouragement not to live in fear of people like FrChip, who just want me (and people like me) to shut up and not make waves, who want me to leave well enough alone so that everyone can pretend the emperor's clothes are fine.

Thanks to everyone who sent me great encouragement off the blog. I hope my writing here is always as kind and thoughtful as it is honest, and I appreciate the opportunity to let my thoughts and feelings bleed out through my fingertips and onto your screen. Always, feel free to comment.

ahhh relaxation

Holy shmoley my back is out. I think it knows I'm on vacation, did a hard relax, and now it's a mess. Two spots; one up just under my shoulder and one down at the bottom of my back, which feels mostly okay until I turn or bend a particular, slight way, and then POW it spazzes out. Feels like I imagine being stabbed might feel. When it happens, I bleat out "OH!" or something like it, automatically. Poor Scott.
I'm doing everything I can think to do outside of involving people who could actually help me. What is that?? I've never been to a chiropractor, and I don't call because... I don't know. My beloved massage therapist moved and now I don't have one, and it's so expensive... and the doctor, well, I dunno. Would the Minute Clinic take me in, and give me medicine? Hmmm...
While I muddle around not doing anything actually helpful, I'm icing, and taking Aleve (kidneys be damned) and trying to keep moving, or stay still. I have a lot to do, plenty of ways to keep moving.
Maybe I'll lay on the hard floor for a bit. OH!

Scars

I spoke to an old friend recently about what I do for a living, that is, working for the Catholic Church.87 I am always ready to talk about what that means, even about the cognitive dissonance involved in working for this organization. But when I mentioned a well-known bone of theological contention, my friend rolled her eyes, hard, and said something about pedophile priests. Now, I understand that this is a natural reaction for people who only know the Church by what they hear in the news, or by people who have left in disgust over this very issue. I so understand that this is the baseline that we, as a Church, have created for ourselves. But I can't help wincing when I hear it from people, especially  people I care about. It's all at once freshly raw and something I wish we could pretend never to have happened.
It's an issue close to my heart- not because I was abused (I wasn't), but because it has been such an earth-shattering experience to live through, in a religion that holds not only my belief system but my family, my marriage, my career, my identity. It has been a struggle of how to stay in an organization such as this, how to justify teaching Her ways to others while feeling deep hurt. and if you've been reading here for very long, you know how hard that struggle is for me, as well as how genuinely risky it is to admit that I struggle at all. We live in a time of fidelity oaths for catechists... it's not okay to struggle with with the faith and it's not okay to struggle with the leadership.
On the other side of the reactive spectrum, I know parish workers and diocesan workers who have clung to their faith in this church. Maybe it's their way of surviving through the state of things, to turn harder around and work harder at seeing only the good. I totally get the appeal of that response- I'd do that, too, if any fiber of my being would allow me to. But I watch my "company man" friends and fear for the day when they are bitten by the very snake they are trying to bandage. Maybe it never will happen, and I'll envy their lifetime un-scathed. But because I've been there (because I am there) I know that if it happens, in whatever form it happens, when people who are devoted and trusting of their Mother Church find themselves receiving the wrong side of Her hand, it's going to hurt and it's going to hurt BAD. I watch these people with a combination of envy and worry.
I love this Church, this Church that has made me question everything about my faith, my beliefs, my place in the world. On the whole I think it's healthier to be the kind of (suspicious, pained, grounded in recent history) Catholic that I am, than to be the Company Man kind of Catholic. I'm on the backside of the (inevitable?) fall from grace, for sure, but I'm not curled in a ball. I'm up, I'm walking, I'm shaking it off and healing my wounds. I'm still here and still in the game. I know stuff I never dreamed and would never hope to know. I'm part of the recovery.

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Remember Dick Tracy's radio watch? When the writers of that time thought about futuristic inventions, they knew that communications would be so important that everyone would need to do it, from any location. Especially people like Dick, out fighting crime and hunting down bad guys. And what did people always have with them? Their watches.
It never occurred to them (I mean, how could it?) that people would ever stop wearing watches. Everyone, they must have assumed, would always need to know what time it is.
Now, of course, in the actual future, we look at our phones to find out the time. How crazy is that?

Immersion Learning

I am an admitted Olympics geek. I love watching Olympic sports that I would never watch, in their non-olympic forms. At work this week I've even been streaming some games to keep an eye and ear on while I work, and I've been fascinated to find that some of them are being streamed without commentary.
There is something to be said about immersion in this. I just tuned in to badminton and it's impressive to see, but also sooooo quiet. I can hear the birdie hitting the racquets (or, vice-versa, I guess) with little clicks, and sometimes the squeak of a sneaker on the court. And when something good happens I can hear the crowd cheer. When something thrilling happens (a dive from one of the players, or a near-miss) I can hear the spectators say "ooooh!!!" I am learning a little bit about the game by experiencing it with my senses, even though no one is telling me outright what's going on.
I've learned a few things about a few sports already so far this Olympics, some of them through the commentary. I heard someone the other day talking about how fast that birdie flies, and that was pretty fascinating. But it was definitely a different kind of learning- facts, vs. experience. It was transactional, not communal. It's still good learning, but different.
It reminds me of the power of the community to teach. It makes me think of the catechetical power of attending Mass with a community, vs. sitting in front of a teacher, or textbook. And here's another thought: no one at the badminton game knows that I'm learning from them, but they're still teaching. They're teaching by being present, by caring about the game, by participating in their way. At Mass on any given Sunday, someone is learning from us as a community, even when we don't know that we're teaching.
We're teaching about how to behave at Mass. We're teaching someone that a lot of people care enough about the Eucharist to come to Mass every week. We're teaching that this Eucharist is good stuff, worth showing up for, and we're teaching that a community of believers exists and gathers.
What if we keep teaching, but no one comes to learn? What if someone comes to learn, and there are no teachers there? Just being Mass makes a difference- forms the next generations of Mass "fans". If we do it right, they'll catch on, and teach the generations after them.

Broken Watches

I wear a watch pretty much every day. I have a lovely watch that Scott gifted me for some holy day, which replaced the one he gave me on our wedding day. I have worn watches forever, I think- I remember I got  my first watch when I was just in kindergarten, it had a red alligator strap and gave me a rash, so my Mom painted the back of the watch (not the strap part...) with clear nail polish so I could wear it.
My current watch has a near-dead battery, and that means I've not been able to wear it for a week. I miss it! I can't tell you how many times I have looked at my naked wrist throughout the day. The other day while I was on my drive to work I thought about how weird I feel without a watch on and thought "I guess I could still wear it..." 
And I was struck by the silliness of that thought and thought "there's no point in wearing a broken watch." Of course there's no point! But it's tempting to wear it, useless as it is, because it's comfortable, it's what I'm used to. Even if it can't tell me the time, it at least would give me something to look at every time I hold my wrist up in front of my face... 
Really, it made me think of ministry (what doesn't?) and how we hang on to things that have become useless in our ministries. We know these things have long since lost their charm, relevance, ability to do what we want them to do, but we are comfortable with them. They fill space in our programs so that we can say "see, we're busy! We're doing something!"  Sure, we may say, hardly anyone continues with the Church after they're confirmed, but we have a busy program and they come to that consistently... until they are done.  They don't like it... but if it's there, it must be doing something-  no need to change it. 
I think it's a necessary skill for a minister to stop wearing broken watches. But not just a skill, it's... bravery. We need to step away from our comfortable, busy-looking, unproductive programs and try something new. If/when the new watch breaks, we change again. There's really no point in wearing a broken watch. 

God is Love, and Love is...

It's interesting (and completely understandable) to me how people start asking questions about God's whereabouts when tragedy strikes. It's then that our images of God so often turn out to be incomplete and unhelpful. If my idea of a God, of THE God, is one who keeps everyone safe and alive and comfortable, then what happens when the poop hits the fan?
What I'm suggesting is this: what if it's not God that fails in the hard times, but our understanding of God that falls short? A quick look around shows that God is clearly not a God who keeps us comfortable or safe or even alive. God is not like that, and believing in God that way does not keep anyone alive, safe, or comfortable.
But what if that's okay? What if God can be a God who doesn't make everything okay but still be a God who loves us? Would it be enough for God to be a God who walks with us, who weeps with us, who laughs and celebrates with us? Is the only God worth believing in a God who saves us from all harm and sadness?
If you're like me, then the more you think along these lines, the less comfortable you become with the kind of God that makes everything ok all the time. You start to notice how bad a job that God does, and how unfair the criteria seem to be. Why does this person get a "miracle" and that one doesn't? Why didn't God stop that man from shooting up the theater? Why did he "save" this girl once but not again?
The more I try to understand God, the more complex and simpler it becomes: God is love. Love doesn't fix things, love doesn't save us from harm, love doesn't make everything okay, love doesn't erase suffering. Love loves. God is love, and Love...
...is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

In My Own Horrifying Words

In my parents' move from their home to "The Home" (an apartment in a senior living community, really, not a HOME. But that's what they call it, affectionately). I was given boxes of my stuff that had languished in their basement for years.
We have no room in our house now for anything. Seriously, we are full-up. The process of claiming or reclaiming things from their home was fraught and difficult, with worries about hurting feelings, and actual hurting of feelings, and JUST TRYING TO GET THE DAMNED HOUSE CLEANED OUT FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, I'LL TAKE IT AND THROW IT AWAY AT A REST AREA ON THE WAY HOME IF WE CAN JUST KEEP MOVING... that kind of thing. Anyway, now it's done and everyone has a few (or, many many) extra boxes of things in their houses.
I was given a passel of my old diaries from high school and college, and this Summer I've read through them. Some of it is so fun to revisit, and some of it is so horrifying. It's a funny thing to see how dramatic I was, how typical-teen I was, how... (how to say this? I'll just say it) ...randy I was. I hope to God my mother and father never read these journals, for their sake. As for me, as an adult and as someone who has worked with kids for so long, some of it was horrifying to read, and it was about me! Ay.
I was telling a friend about how alarming my relationships back then were to me, reading them now. I want to go find my former self and give her a shake, tell her she can do better, tell her to play it COOL every once in a while for crying out loud. I want to tell her she's better than waiting for a boy to call, and that the boy is just messing with her head and probably could use a good therapist! (I'm not even being specific to a boy now, they all messed with my head and all could have used a good therapist, and I could have used that shake for letting them mess with my head.)
I told my friend that I wished someone had told me this stuff. My friend (who always asks me great questions!) asked, "who should have said that to you? Who would you have heard it from?" and that is a (see?) great question. It wouldn't have been my mother... in my reading I saw with 20/20 hindsight  some of the opportunities that my parents missed, to help me. I'm not sure my Mother could have done much right in my opinion by then, but I do think she blew some chances to be supportive and uplifting. 
I don't know if my siblings could have helped, either. The me writing those journals felt very much in control of the situation. The thing about being in a bad relationship (I remember well) is that you work so hard to make the world think you're doing just fine, and you convince yourself, in order to convince them. These relationships weren't abusive, I should clearly state here. They just weren't healthy, and didn't honor who I was. It was a pattern I lived over and over again, until I met my husband. By the time I met him, I was sick and tired of bad boyfriends, and was rewarded for my new strength with a prince. (cue: Awww.)
Anyway, I think that if I could have heard the advice, taken the shaking, it might have been from adult leaders in youth ministry. I had some great relationships with people through YM, and they really honored who I was. I think it was this genuine respect for me, in these wonderful God-loving people, that gave them the kind of credibility that I respected, that I might have listened to. 
We can't re-write our youth, and as it turned out I learned a whole heck of a lot from all those bad relationships and here I am alive and a-love to blog about it. I hope all those boys have found great therapists and mates who don't let them mess with their heads. I am at peace with the fact that my parents did the best they could, and I am so thankful to my YM leaders for showing me what was valuable in me, so long ago. All this makes me want to be a better minister to young women, and to be bold in reminding them that things can be different. They don't have to live like they've lived. And they are worthy of good boys.

Summer Peeves

I love Summer. I'm a Summer girl! I love it so much I always capitalize it! Heck, I'm a Leo, so, you know... Summer Summer Summer.
But I have some pet-peeves. I mean, no love is pure, right? Here are my pet peeves. Just two, really!
I hate the humming sound that is everywhere in the Summer. I don't particularly like silence- in fact, it has a similar affect on me. Both silence and a humming sound (like that of a fan or an air-conditioner, or our damned broken refrigerator, which has been humming like mad for over a year now, since the refrigerator repairman told our landlord that it would need to be replaced, and she said to let her know when it really does die, which it hasn't. It just hums, super-loud. But that is not a summ... Summer-related thing. Let's go back) drive me to distraction.
Air conditioners and fans and other humming things, and silence, they make me tense up. My neck and shoulder muscles cringe until I can't take it anymore, and I need a break. When the humming sound stops, I feel instant relief. So, there's a thing that I don't like about my otherwise beloved Summer.
Another thing is being COLD. I'm talking about how people crank up their Air Conditioners until the room is icy. I don't want to be cold in the Summer any more than I do in the winter. I am looking for a comfy medium! I want to be cool, is all! In the winter, do we turn the heat up to 90? No. Of course we don't! We don't want to sweat, we just want to be warm. Why doesn't the world get that concept, in the Summer? Come on, people. If it were 60 outside, you'd want a sweater. Your house should not be 60 degrees. And there's nothing worse than walking into a store in the Summer and wishing you had a sweatshirt. Because, and I mean this, COME ON.
Summer has other annoyances, I'm sure. OH mosquitos! Mosquito bites, ugh! Someday I'll blog about how much I loathe, hate and abominate itching. Stay tuned, friends!!
Otherwise, I LOVE SUMMER!!
PS: Earwigs. Bleah.