Stop. Listen. Negotiate. Compromise.

     I do my best to steer clear of political commentary on events of the day--events that everyone blogs about, screams about on television.  But.  I am disgusted.  I shall say my peace, sign any constructive petitions I become aware of.  Then, I shall return to the world where I am making a constructive contribution.  Catholic Church reform.  Donor research at a local museum.  Serving on a regional accessible transportation planning committee.  Proofreading print versions of braille books occasionally.
     Somehow, when I wasn't looking, my life became full, richer than I imagined possible.
     So, what engenders disgust in me?  Simple.  Congress.  The Tea Party.  The government shutdown.  The debt ceiling.
     Up until I was 40 to 45, I kept abreast of current events every day, and with great passion.
     Occasionally, I would write a letter to the editor, when I felt the issue warranted it.
     I am 53.  I have reached a point in my life, rightly or wrongly, that I want people to take responsibility for their actions.  Honestly, I am reaching the point where specific positions matter less to me than moral and ethical behavior by which every adult is called.
     Specific to Congress, and the decisions they are supposed to make, my cry is simple.
     "Whatever decision you make regarding the need for government services, I ask you to answer a question, "Do you believe that you are guaranteed that you will wake up tomorrow with the same capacities you have as you go to bed tonight?'"
     My immediate appeal regards personal health.  However, the more I think about it, the more I realize that my question goes deeper than that.
     "Do you believe that you are guaranteed that you will wake up tomorrow morning with the same economic resources that you have going to bed tonight."
     Initially, when I moderated my habits regarding news, I felt guilty.  I felt that I was not fulfilling my responsibilities as a citizen to be informed.  However, coverage of health care reform--the intensity and nature of the coverage--led me to seek refuge in calmer places.  I was faced with my own health challenges.      I could not handle the challenges presented by coverage of health care reform.
    My health challenges are manageable now--not gone, but, manageable.  Slowly I have developed a rich life in which I use my gifts, rather than taxing my body.
    To Congress--to individual decisionmakers who comprise Congress--I offer my comments.  The challenges before you well may be extremely difficult to address.  However, let me be quite clear.  Its nature as a difficult challenge does not serve as an excuse to delay or negate addressing the challenge.  As an individual, serious consequences would result from my failing to take the medication available to control my seizures, and tremors.
     To Congress--to individual decisionmakers who comprise Congress--I offer my comments.  Principles are good to have when serving in leadership positions.  Principles are the foundation of moral and ethical behavior.  But, principles cannot be substitutes for--obstacles to--engaging in negotiation.
None of us "gets our way" in this life.  Life is not perfect.
    Central to leadership are clear principles.  Listen.  Negotiate.  Listen.  Compromise.  Listen.
    Let me know when it is safe to come out from the rock--the refuge of peace--where I have put myself.

Antibullying and Religious Freedom

     I am a reasonable, rational person--most times.
     Antibullying legislation is being opposed by the Minnesota Catholic Conference, and Catholic dioceses in Minnesota?
     Why you ask?
     Antibullying legislation violates religious freedom!
     How!
     I am Catholic.  I was drawn to Catholicism by virtue of peace and respect that pervades Catholic traditions.
     Bullying cannot be tolerated in a civil society.  It just can't.  Case closed.
     Antibullying is an instrument of moral, and ethical accountability, which the Catholic Church must embrace.  Freedom without moral and ethical accountability is hollow at best.
     Bullying is not an academic matter to me.
     Bullying.  Patty.  Bullying.  Palsy Patty.  Bullying.  Being tossed off the junior high bus seat.  Bullying.  The principal, "Just bring in the names of the bullies, and we will take care of it,"  Bullying.  Risking a junior high school friendship-- getting the names of the bullies.  Bullying.  The principal, "Oh, we can't do anything."  Bullying.  Mimicking my bent, cerebral palsied hand.  Bullying.
     Forty years have passed between then and now.  Yet, my visceral response to bullying is undiluted.
     1974.  I vowed that whatever form it might take, I would act to ensure that no other individual had to experience--endure--the pain--the stolen dignity that bullying effects on innocent human beings.
     Bullies moved me to embrace the respect and peace that Catholicism exuded--the Treasure of Christ.
    The Catholic Church opposes antibullying legislation in the name of religious liberty.  How!  Tell me how!
That is unconscionable.  Absolutely unconscionable.
    Being Catholic has taught me to be a Child of God.  Not in the level of my maturity.  Being Catholic has taught me to be a Person of God--full of unjaded wonder, untarnished awe at life that surrounds me.
    Being Catholic has taught me to be a Person of God.  Not in the level of my maturity.  Being Catholic has taught me to be a Person of God--embracing joy, embracing God.  Relinquishing temptation to be held captive to the dark skepticism and cynicism of life that surrounds me.
    Antibullying legislation is not an obstacle to religious liberty.  Antibullying legislation is an instrumentt of love--a staff to guide us into human decency.

But...If My Life Was Perfect...

     But...if my life was perfect....
     I would not:
          Be sensitive
          Be compassionate
          Be understanding of other people--of the world around me
          Be flexible in how I approach and accomplish physical tasks
          Be flexible in how I view the diversity of people, beliefs, and cultures
          Be awe-struck by beauty around me
          Be wonder-filled about life within and around me--life distant from me
          Be appreciative of basic human capacities--thinking, and walking, to name a few
          Be attentive to how words are used--how I use words
          Be attentive to how my words and actions affect other people I know and do not know
          Be blessed with a sense of humor
          Be determined to live my life fully
          Be passionate about pursuing my interests
          Be interested in learning every day--each moment--of my life
          Be willing to apologize when I had offended someone else, or stolen someone's dignity
          Be dedicated to fulfilling my human potential, and encouraging others to do so
          Be open to the notion that this list is not complete
          Be baptized...be willing to seek an ongoing living of baptism        
     If My Life Were Perfect, I Would Not Be Human.

If My Life Was Perfect...

     I have struggled to advise a family member as to how to fulfill their unique human potential.  Knowing the position of respect bestowed on me has given me a sense of responsibility.  Only following the Boston Marathon Bombings have I been given an inkling as to how to fulfill my responsibility.
    My family member lacks the sense of how to fulfill his adult responsibilities--fulfill his human potential.  Ascribing responsibilities on other intimates how they have failed their responsibiltiies to my family member has clouded his willingness to look at his own human potential--the gift he has been given by God--by his belief in God.  I know that belief exists in him.  I do not know the form of belief.
    My belief--the form of my belief--calls me to offer something.
    From an unlikely source--the Boston Marathon Bombings suspect--I understand one way--one something--I may offer.
    Optimist--idealist--that I am, recent years have taught me, "life is not perfect."  Self-pity is not the sum of that equation in my life.  So where does that leave me--how does that affect my offering to my family member.
     A List.  An Itemized--A Humbling List.
     If My Life Was Perfect...    
     I Would Not:
          Need to wear my ankle foot orthotic--my brace on my right leg
          Need to walk long distances with a cane
          Need to use a wheelchair
          Need to take medication to control my intentional tremors
          Need to take anticonvulsants to control my seizures
          Need to grab the right handrail with my left hand when walking up or down a flight of stairs
     I Would Not Fear:
          Outstretching my left hand--lose the use of my left and right hand by:
               Opening doorknobs
               Carrying heavy bags of groceries
               Carrying heavy loads of laundry
            My capacity to stand up from the ground
     People Would:
         Think my handwriting was beautiful

Intentional Failings. Human Potential.

     Be it Mom's "focus on the positive, and ignore on the negative" mantra, strengthened by my necessary modification of that mantra, "focus on the positive and learn from the negative," not since my junior high school cry, "Mom, don't you know I can't do that!" have I allowed myself to itemize "the negative" and use that low "bank [of capabilities] balance" deter me from investing my life in what I could do.  In fact, many times, truth be told, use of "the negative" as a justification for not acting or doing a given task leads me to cry out in opposition.
     The Boston Marathon Bombings suspect has led me to revisit my mantra, "Focus on the positive and learn from the negative."
     We have not heard from the the Boston Marathon bombings suspect regarding his motivations and intent.    I have not addressed--I cannot--my questions, or feelings with him.  Only in prayers seeking understanding have I done so.
     I believe he might describe some failing in his upbringing that led him to his actions.  Failings in his perceptions of given aspects of his upbringing.  Economic situation.  Family dynamic.  Social interactions in the community.  Experiences and influences of formative years--of current worldview, have overridden any belief in his power to learn from his experiences and influences, and dedicate himself to others not experiencing the same situation.
     Two caveats.  First, the actions--the intents--of the individuals or groups credited with causing the negative experiences and influences must be separated from the individuals or groups credited so credited.
    Second, condemning other human beings for any action overlooks a fundamental reality.  We are all human beings created with enduring frailty.  As hard as we may try, we cannot escape the fact we fail our potential.
    Our enduring human frailty is not an excuse, or a justification for acting with intentional failing--from intentional failings.  Intentional failings that rise to the threshold of criminality must be treated as such.
     We must strive to achieve to our human potential--forever and in all ways.  Failing to do so is the ultimate intentional failing we may commit with our lives.

Language of War. Language of Peace.

     Little riles me.  Underestimation of my employment worth, potential and economic contribution.  Personal confrontation necessary to meet my personal needs--perceived on my part.  Rhetoric.  Political  confrontation.  I work to dissipate such feelings before I succumb to the temptation of nervous obsession.  I strive to be at peace with myself--with the world.  Do not be mistaken.  I am passionate.  I am animated.  But...I choose the issues, and people in whom I will invest and share my passion.
     War and peace are at the core of my passions.  I work against war, and strive for peace.
     War.  Military action.  The position of conflict--be it liberal or conservative--matters none.  The means do not justify the ends.
     War.  War monger.  Enemy.  Hawk.  Play book.  War games.  Show of strength.  Win.  Lose.  War.
                   War of words.  Rhetoric.  Negotiation.  Mediation.  Compromise.  Treaty.  Peace.
     Peace.  Pacifist.  Ally.  Dove.  Diplomacy.  Tact.  Pacifist.  Conscientious objector.  Pacifist.  Peace.
     Words matter.  Civil society matters.  Reconciliation matters.
      Diversity of thought, beliefs, culture, and ways of living need not be the price we pay in order to nurture a  civil society.
     Yet, time and time again we find ourselves at the precipice--we find ourselves willing to jeopardize the peace we claim as our national aspiration.  Within my lifetime--since April 1960--we have succumb to single words.
     Vietnam.  Iran.  Iraq.  Afghanistan.  The Taliban.  Saddam Hussein.  Moammar Gahadafi.  Al Qaeda.
     I am too young to remember World War II.  Korea preceded my conception.
     However, I have witnessed the lingering effects of World War II and the Korean War.  In 1972, I was 12.  I took extreme statements literally--the hallmark of a young mind with a narrow prism through which I saw and understood the world.
     In 1972, I visited Dachau--the first World War II concentration camp opened in Germany.  More precisely, I visited the grounds of  Dachau.  I sheltered myself behind the safety of our car.
     Mom and Dad told me that the concentration camp had gas chambers in which many--countless--human beings had been killed.  I understood that it was important  to visit Dachau, to see  it.  But, I thought that I would view physical remains--bodies rotted by time, but, kept in place to be viewed such that that piece of history would never be replicated.
     I knew that I did not have the inner strength to go into the Dachau Concentration Camp.  I waited outside  while Mom and Dad spent time inside.
     That was World War II--my narrow prism into a human atrocity.
     Korea.
     The prism through which I view Korea--the war that preceded my conception--was slightly broader, not much, but slightly broader.
     My dad.  A forward observer in the Army.  A man entrenched--literally entrenched--in the most destructive human action imaginable.  My dad.  A man who used his love of photography to document his experience, so that he would remember it clearly--so that he would not glorify the human destruction he had witnessed.  It took me many years to understand that.  I could not reconcile those pictures with the advocate for peace I knew.
     Korea.
    My mom.  A young housewife--a homeowner--a woman left to wonder whether she would ever see her husband again.  My mom.  Not yet a mother.  My mom.  A witness to the other side of war--left alone to continue her life in limbo wondering what the future would bring.  A witness to the forgotten side of war.  Just as many men, who were war veterans, did not want to talk of that time of their lives, she too did not want to return to that time.
    Vietnam.  Seven years older than I, my brother came too close to being a part of that war.  Conscientious objector status.  That was his saving grace from his draft number--30.  Draft number 30, and posters in our kitchen with monthly tallies of the men killed in Vietnam--men on all sides of the war.  That was my witness to Vietnam.
    2013.  North Korea.
    I pray we may change the language of war we speak.  Words matter.  Lives matter.
    War.  War monger.  Enemy.  Hawk.  Play book.  War games.  Show of strength.  Win.  Lose.  War.    War of words.  Rhetoric.  Negotiation.  Mediation.  Compromise.  Treaty.  Peace.
     Peace.  Pacifist.  Ally.  Dove.  Diplomacy.  Tact.  Pacifist.  Conscientious objector.  Pacifist.  Peace.
     Words matter.  Civil society matters.  Reconciliation matters.
     May the Peace of Christ be with you.  May the Peace of Chris be with us all.

The System's Face. Me. The System's Face.

     2009 found me at my stamina's end.  In alphabetical order, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, osteoarthritis converged with the aging process.  My get-up-and-go got up and went.  A sharp mind and 49 years under my belt--I was left to build a new life.
      A lifelong follower of the news, diagnosed anxiety left me stressed beyond the days' news to bear.  Though "a bleeding heart liberal" by common parlance, no longer could I listen to defenders of the system--the safety net for those unable to work any more than I could tolerate, I cannot tolerate those with no time for--no understanding of--why any "system" might need to exist.
      I paid into "The System" for more than 25 years.  I paid into Social Security.  I paid into private long-term disability insurance--not so that I might cash in some day.  I "paid in"--I invested in--because, as much as I believe "all men [and women] are created equal,"  it is with no cynicism that I say, "life is not equal."
      Not everyone lives with an equal inventory of life's parts.  Bodily.  Economic.  Social.  More I am sure.  Life is not Perfect.  For whatever reason--however it manifests itself--each life is not on the same level with the same resources--the same needs.
      Yet, each life is precious.  The System is the Net to protect those lives.  Not for pity.  Not for poster children to yield tears from others, raise funds, or intimidate others into different beliefs.  Such defiles the very preciousness it claims to magnify.
       In 2009, I was brought to the front door knocking at "The System," with need.  No begging.  No laziness.  No nefarious intent to abuse--to cheat--The System.  I came to the front door of "The System" with need and guilt--Guilt with a capital "G," that I was not living up to the Ethic I was raised to uphold--the Work Ethic.  No bravado, just the conviction that I had to contribute to society--to the community in which I live.
     Nearly four years later, I continue to redefine "Work Ethic" means within my body's limits.
      I am learning a new vocabulary.  New roles.  New activities.  New balances.
     Volunteer.  Catholic.  Reflect. Write.  Blog.  Neither lazy nor cheat flows through my bloodstream.  Yet, Guilt persists--"intellectually" unjustified guilt--guilt that I personify the very stereotype I abhor.
     47% helped no one.  Not just as you might think.  47% as proclaimed by conservatives, and decried by liberals--helps no one.  Highlighting--not worshipping, but highlighting--how victim is not the essence of "The System's Face"--those who must knock at The System's Front Door-- is essential.  
     If the lazy, cheating, victim stereotype were in fact true, as some conservatives genuinely may believe, then, conservatives need to articulate how to live within inescapable boundaries imposed by the body.
 If conservatives believe that The System--the safety net it provides is not needed--then, talk about how to work within the limits of the body.
     Bleeding heart liberal though I may be, I do not hold liberals free of responsibility.  Liberals pound their chests with pride proclaiming the virtues of the Safety Net.  Hold your horses.
     Clear your throats.  Speak with clarity not with political banter volleying useless debate back into the court of conservatives who decry The System--the conservatives who decry The Safety Net.
     I am The System's Face.  Look at me.  Defense of your positions--volleying of the political football--does nothing to tell me, and you, how to live fully within the limits of my body--the limits of your body.
     I am The System's Face.  Look at me.  I have needs--undeniable needs.
    You are The System's Face.  Look at yourself.
    You are not immune from need--be it physical, economic, or social.  Though today may not be your day of need, such inevitable may come to be.  Do not hide from its possibility.
   The System's Face.  Do not Deface me.
   Conservatives dig deep into the Spiritual Wellspring from which you proclaim your value.
   Tell me.  If I am not to be suspended from an eternal fall by the Safety's Net, then, tell me.  How am I to live?  How are others, whose bodies are similarly compromised to live?  Don't speak of Survival of the Fittest.
    The System's Face.  Do not Deface me.
    Liberals.  Draw from your Thinker's Tank from which you Talk.
    Tell me.  Can you still your political bravado of The System--The Safety Net--in confrontation with conservatives who decry it?  Liberals.  Can you help me--help others--in the Safety Net--the System's Face to redefine how to live within the Safety's Net?
    Conservatives.  Liberals.  Can you tell me?
    Are you willing to work together to redefine the life--the fruit we may bear--in the Safety's Net?
    Conservatives.  Liberals.  Can you tell me?
     Are You willing to change the Pronouns by which you Think--the Pronouns by which you Speak?
     Liberals.  Conservatives.  Can you tell me?
     Will You speak not of They?  Will You work together to redefine the life--the fruit We may bear--in the Safety's Net?

My Subconscious View. Me. LTD. SSDI.

    Me.  Work Ethic.  LTD.  SSDI.  Me.
    Work ethic was instilled in me from childhood.  By example.  By parental instruction.  By familial heritage.  From 1960 til 2009, Work Ethic was held in high esteem--faithfully unquestioned.
     SSDI.  Before 2009, initials.  Social Security Disability Income.  A paragraph in a yearly Social Security Administration statement of credits earned.  SSDI.
     LTD.   Before 2009, initials.  Long-Term Disability.  A sensible work benefit offering.  An insurance policy.  A minuscule deduction--$2.72? per paycheck I presume.  A remote need that echoed it the possibility of my imagination--a need vague to my view, yet, haunting to my anxiety.  An anxiety inexpensive to appease, however remote it seemed.  LTD.
    SSDI.  LTD.  I knew no one within the limits of LTD--of SSDI.  LTD.  SSDI.
    LTD.  My knowledge of anyone on long-term disability was LTD to no one.  LTD.
    2009.
    A defining moment in my view of the world--in a view of myself.
    2009.
    SSDI.  I knew no one on SSDI.  Enlightened though I thought myself to be, I had far different images of who were receiving SSDI.  Some of those images haunt me yet today.  They do not describe who I am, yet, they define my sense of what I believe I must be in order to receive SSDI.
    SSDI.  Bedridden.  Paralyzed.  Confined to a wheelchair.  Totally dependent.  Unable to meet my activities of daily living independently.  Feeding.  Bathing.  Dressing.  SSDI.
    Bedridden.  Paralyzed.  Confined.  Incapable.  Unable.  Incontinent.  Dependent.
    2013.
    Four years have passed since 2009.
    2013.
    I am redefining what my life within the limits of my body is.  Volunteer.  Researcher.  Swimmer.  Friend.  Sister.  Cousin.  Aunt.  Daughter.  Writer.  Catholic activist.
    2013.
    Yet, four years later, the haunting drumbeat of my Subconscious View tower over me--the haunting drumbeat is deafening.  LTD.  SSDI.
    2009.
    Periodically--necessarily--surveyed, the haunting drumbeat is pounded into my spirit.  LTD.  SSDI.
    Surveyed--periodically--necessarily.  My personal questionnaire.
    2013.
    Do I fulfill my misconception--the haunting drumbeat?
    OR
    Am I moving forward to Redefine My Life within my Body's Limits.
    Me.  SSDI.  LTD.  The haunting drumbeat is deafening to my spirit.  LTD.  SSDI.  Me.

At Arm's Length--Or--Take to Heart

     A fortuitous nightmare awakened me to the installation of Pope Francis I.  A moment before me--before my eyes--a moment before the eyes of the world.  The moment is now.
     Pope Francis I touched me--touched the world--with the Hand of Jesus.  He held a baby.  He went to a man unable to come to him.
     Some spoke of--whispered "the economic"--the Poor, the Weak, the Vulnerable--as others within view safely from an arm's length.
     Others speculate whether this is The Moment when administrative mismanagement within the Catholic Church will be cleaned up--whether church management will be made transparent.  Management in the Vatican.  Management in local dioceses.
     Still others ask whether this is The Moment when the Catholic Church will move into the twenty-first century.  Will the Catholic Church embrace married priesthood?  Women's ordination.  Same-sex marriage.
     I shall work--continue to work--with those dedicated to Church Transparency.  I shall work--I shall continue to work--with those dedicated to moving the Catholic Church in the twenty-first century.
     I like others are elated--surprisingly elated.  Yet, I pray of This Moment differently.
     I pray.
     May We embrace This Moment--This Franciscan Moment.
     May we embrace not just the economically--the socially--Poor--the physically Weak, and the Visibly Vulnerable.
     May we embrace our Inner Poverty, our Unifying Weakness, our Inescapable Vulnerability.
     May we not hide under the Guise of Heroism--the Cry of Pity--at those Stronger or Weaker than we see ourselves to be.
     Are you--are We--up to the task of embracing this Franciscan Moment?
      I pray.  May we open our arms to Pope Francis I--to this Franciscan Moment.

Pope Francis I

     February 11th 2013 was a day of historic surprise.  Adrift in the Mediterranean on vacation, I floated in my own excitement--surprise at my own excitement--regarding the resignation of Pope Benedict XVI.  I was aflutter with excitement over who the next pope might be--over what people at home, invested in church reform, were thinking and saying.
     My faith does not rest--does not depend upon--the stance of the Pope, or the state of the Vatican in the Catholic Church.
     Raised as a Universalist, "church hierarchy" was not an issue.  By its very nature, church hierarchy was nonexistent.  Sometimes I feel out of step when I hear that phrase, because it is not a part of my spiritual heritage.
     I am reticent to criticize the Universalist Church, more often referred to as the Unitarian Universalist Federation today.  Rather, with all due respect, I want to speak as someone who understands the need to have church hierarchy of some form in order to have a rich spiritual heritage, which may be transmitted--communicated--from one generation to the next.  The Universalist Church, as I was raised to call it, was a marvelous home for my parents.  They did not find their needs to be met in the Catholic, or Episcopalian Churches of the 1940s.  Later, the Congregationalist Church specific to their experience was a transition time for them.  Later, with young children, the Universalist Church met their needs.  From the Catholic, and Episcopalian Churches, my parents left the pageantry, not the basic Christian values of love and hope.  Although "faith" was something understood to them as a trapping--a mindless trapping of the pageantry they sought to escape.
     I came into their lives without the heritage of the Catholic or Episcopalian Churches--without the Christian tradition--to draw upon in my childhood.  I was left to draw upon the Universalist Church tradition that worshipped the mind, the intellect, and reason, as the sole sources of answers to the big questions of life.
     I value my mind, my intellect, and reason.  However, the answers I sought, and the answers I seek exceed the purview of the mind, the intellect, and reason.  Beyond words to explain--beyond any words, faith is my home in which I form my questions, and search for answers.
     Structure is necessary.  Many times when I hear people spew venom about CHURCH HIERARCHY, I silently wonder, "Do you really want religion without some hierarchy?  How do you propose to build community without some foundation."
    We idolize democracy, yet, we must not confuse democracy in religion as being free of some hierarchy--some structure--on which to build a foundation for communion.  We need some structure.  We need leadership.
     Many times in the 31 years I have been Catholic, I have heard differing views regarding the obligation to go to Mass.  I confess, I do not have a perfect attendance record at Mass.  Yet, when I hear people bemoan having to go to Mass with a heavy heart, I scream silently, "DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS LIKE NOT TO HAVE MASS TO GO TO?"
     I confess, I have been very blessed in awesome worship communities.  Save one parish, my mind has been fed, my spirit filled with joyous notes of music, and a wealth of people surrounding me as models of living what Christ taught--what Christ teaches--through the words spoken, and actions taken each Sunday at Mass.
     I do not know where Pope Francis I will lead the Church.  Where will he lead me through the life he lives?  Where will I entrust myself to be led by him.
     I am quite surprised by how excited I have felt about Pope Francis I.  Never have I felt much, if any, investment in who the Pope in the distant place called the Vatican in Rome  thousands of miles from me in St. Paul.
     Some people I know are concerned--disappointed--by his conservative stances on issues such as same-sex marriage, and women's ordination, to name a few.  I pray some day these issues will be given the heartfelt blessing of the Catholic Church they deserve.
     For now, I shall work to advance what it means to be a progressive Catholic.  For now, however contradictory it may seem, I invest myself--I celebrate--the opportunity to live the poverty of my body.  When we hear, "the poor,"  or "poverty," immediately our minds go to economic poverty, or begging for food, clothing, and shelter.  Is that the full meaning of poverty?
     Pope Francis I, teach us the meaning of Poverty that we may embrace it, not run from it.  Teach us to Listen through the vessel of Poverty.

Jorge Mario Bergoglio

     What do we know of Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio?  Today he took a new name--Pope Francis I.  What does he tell of who we are as human beings?  What can he tell us, if we open ourselves to him--to the person of God that he is?
     Many people look to his country of origin--Argentina, Buenos Aires to be specific as to his home.  Others speak of his age--76 years old.  Still others highlight his positions on issues facing the Catholic Church.  I hear some people note his personal qualities--his pastoral nature--his humility.
     I am deeply struck by another aspect of Jorge Mario.  Since he was a teenager, he has lived--breathed--with the capacity of one lung.  An infection left him to live differently than he might have otherwise.
     Jesus spoke of--speaks of--living open to vulnerabilities in all areas of our lives.  The College of Cardinals did what I questioned--yet hoped--they would have the courage to do.  The College of Cardinals has given their blessings to the service of a man who may bring his vulnerabilities to us in service.
     Are we willing--can we open ourselves to living our vulnerabilities as the gifts of our lives?
     Is the threshold of our judgment of the Pope--our assessment, be it positive, or negative--his positions on "the issues?"
     Are we up to the spiritual challenge of making ourselves open to the vulnerabilities of Jorge Mario Bergoglio as personified in Pope Francis I?  Are we willing to be mirrored in the face of Pope Francis I?
     In the name of Jesus, as a child of God--a person of God--I pray we may so be.

The Papacy...Physical Vulnerability....

     I am a Catholic.  Vacationing left me to Pope Benedict XVI's resignation only last week.  Acquaintance with likely papal candidates is now my undertaking.  Not experienced in church matters, nary a neophyte to this process.
     Who might lead the Catholic Church next?  What are his perspectives?  His visions?  What of his person-as a human being, not as anything theologically, or hierarchically?
     Learning about the selection process of bishops--according to Canon Law--is a filter for my own views--educated in the possible while open to the yet-to-be lived.
Contemplating possibilities is a passion.  Cynicism is a toxin I do my best to avoid.
     Theologian Thomas Reese provided a questionnaire sent to bishop candidates seeking basic information about the candidates to be used in decision making.
     "1. Personal Characteristics:  Physical appearance, health, work capacity; family condition, especially regarding any manifestations of hereditary illness."  [Thomas Reese, Archbishop:  Inside the Power Structure of the Roman Catholic Church, Chapter 1, pp.20-21.]
     I do not know if the questionnaire is used currently or not in the selection of bishops, or other church leaders, such as the Pope.
    Among attributes polled was "physical condition."  Living with cerebral palsy, epilepsy, essential tremors, and osteoarthritis, I am attuned to the "physical condition" aspect of evaluating church leaders.  Thomas Reese noted that "physical conditions" could be used  to disqualify men from consideration to be a bishop.
     Papal selection is a more secretive process to say the least.  Yet, I am called to evaluate the current papal selection process by Reese's "physical conditions" revelation.  John Paul II was noted to have Parkinson's Disease only in his death certificate.
     I am led to wonder.  If disclosure of "physical conditions" were the norm, who might be selected Pope?
What might physical vulnerability bring to papal leadership?
    Papal wish lists are being proffered at the pace of children's Christmas letters to Santa in December.  Many Catholic papal wish lists to the College of Cardinals at the Vatican include leadership on vital issues, such as:
    1.  Clergy sex abuse
     2.  Financial accountability and transparency
     3.  Married priests
     4.  Women's ordination
     These are but a few of the issues put forth.  All are vital.  I defer to other advocates more experienced than I to speak to these and other valid issues of concern.
     No litmus test on a single issue will lead to selection of our next Pope.  The most effective leader is a man who understands these issues.  I pray we may have a Pope receptive to Catholics, and individuals of all world religions of diverse perspectives and convictions.
     Within that context, may the College of Cardinals be open to a man who is vulnerable in spirit, compassionate in heart, mindful of understanding, and receptive in manner of being.
     Physical condition should be no more a positive selector of a new Pope any more than a negative disqualification to be Pope, or a matter seen worthy of no more note than a death certificate--as with Pope John Paul II's death certificate.
    What might the result--the possibilities--be if we opened the papacy to an exemplar of vulnerability?  What might the result--the possibilities--be if we opened the papacy who a man who understands being brought to his knees, literally, by his own vulnerability?
    [I was witness to breaths held by the physical vulnerability of a priest at Easter time.  Would the priest be able to uphold his priestly duties in his physically compromised condition?  Yet, that priest's physically vulnerable presence at Easter intensified his message far more than any words could ever have done.]
    Others offer themselves as the champions of clergy sex abuse issues, the advocates for financial accountability, the proponents of married priesthood, or the pioneers for women's ordination.  I give voice to  vulnerability--physical vulnerability.
    How might physical vulnerability humble our next Pope to understand the diverse issues, needs, and hopes of Catholics and other world citizens?  How might physical vulnerability of our next Pope reveal to each of us to live with our own vulnerabilities as human beings?