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.

Relax...A Time for Joy. A Time for Sorrow.

    The premise of  Patty's Ponderings is to reflect on the fast-paced, deadline-driven world in which we live.  My disclaimer?  I am no longer in the work world.  Sometimes, I feel guilty that I am not offering my nephews an example of a good work ethic.  Yet, as my mom says, going swimming--strengthening my right arm, and preserving my right ankle as much as is possible--is my job.  I do not mean that my swimming is drudgery, as the work world often seemed to me to be.  My swimming is challenging.  Yet, it is rewarding--very rewarding.
    But, I digress.
    This morning, I went to work.  Zoomer and I left to swim at the YMCA.  Fifteen minutes after leaving home, she and I arrived at the pool,.  During those 15 minutes, I encountered two people engaged in my pet peeve--engrossment in their electronic devices.  First, a man in his twenties stood at the end of a switchback--an accessible ramp--engrossed in a conversation with someone.  Later in our travels, Zoomer and I met up with an attractive, blond woman dressed in a gray business suit, and a fuchsia blouse.  The blond businesswoman's head was buried in some electronic device.  Zoomer is my silent business partner.  Thus, while the electric wheelchairs of some people make noise that alerts people to their presence, such is not the case for me.  The businesswoman was so engrossed in her electronic encumbrances that she did not see me coming.  I spoke up.  We parted ways.
     Such encounters lead me to wonder--to ponder.  What is so important that we miss in our surroundings--people, beauty, and all that life offers?  What do we miss because of the magnetism of electronic devices?  Complaints are made that no one has time to relax anymore.  I challenge the premise.
     No one has time to relax anymore?  No.  That is wrong.  They do--we all do.  It is a choice.
     I confess that I am addicted to my computer.  I communicate with individuals living on other continents.  But, as much time as I spend sitting at my computer, I am not its slave.  Though my contact with people is radically different from my working days, such is not all bad.  I make choices.  Essential to engaged living is circulating with people every day.  Circulating without tether of wires, ear plugs, or other such appendages.  Be it the grocery store. the Y, the Children's Museum, or wherever I find myself, full attentiveness to the people I encounter, meet, and know is vital.  May  I help them?  May they help me?  May we share our joy?  Or are we called to share our sorrow.  Joy is not happy.  Sorrow is not sad.  Happy and sad are nothing more than superficial ways of gasping for air.  Joy and sorrow call us to inhale...to exhale--to live fully.
    Take time.  Take the time.  Read Ecclesiastes 3:1-15.

September 11...1948

     An oft-ask question is, "How will you be commemorating September 11th?"
     I commemorate September 11th with my life.  You see, on September 11, 1948, my parents were married.  While others commemorate the attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and on Shanksville, Pennsylvania, the people lost, the first responders--I celebrate the wedding of my parents in 1948--63 years ago.
     I commemorate September 11th--with the pursuit of peace and understanding among people--each day.  How?  A cliche? No.
     Among people is not a nebulous term.  I pursue peace and understanding with each individual I meet, know, and love each day.  I am not a Pollyanna.  Not everyone shares my views and preferences on issues and matters large and small.
     I do not claim myself to be a proud American.  I wave no flags.  I wear no pins.  I parade no routes.  I do get choked up on Election Day--on- and off-year elections just the same.  I do get choked up on Inauguration Day.  Party matters not to me.  I am not a proud American.  I am a committed world citizen.
     By definition, I am no patriot--I am not patriotic.  I devote my energies in search of peace and toward understanding, rather than in defense of America, and seeking vengeance, or being vigilant against acts of terror.  I prefer to be vigilant for acts of peace.      
     I seek peace each day with each individual I meet that day.  I seek not complete agreement.  I seek understanding.  Different views, different preferences--different perspectives--invite me to deeper understanding.
     Seeking peace--seeking understanding--is not grandiose.  Peace and understanding are my daily aspirations--one person, one day at a time.
     I commemorate the peace and understanding that was married on September 11, 1948.  Happy 63rd anniversary, Mom and Dad.  Thank you for your example of love--your commitment to peace.

A New Beginning...

     This week, I joined in welcoming a priest new to our faith community--Cabrini.  This celebration was a first.
     In 1982, I accepted an inviting admonition, "Don't leave your mind outside the door of the church."  Contrary to the admonition, and to my desire to abide by it, I did not know what I was doing intellectually.  I was petrified of being discovered a fraud--a fraud for not being able to articulate what I was seeking.
    I have been blessed by involvement in four communities in 29 years.  An interloper.  A parishioner.  A member.  An engaged witness.
    A college campus faith community.  Deemed too liberal--radical--by some.  Captivating to me.
     Raised to value pacifism, I found a community--a weekly celebration--in which, "Peace be with you" was the ever faithful invitation extended to all who entered.  I sat.  I questioned.  I wondered.  I graduated.
    The only "parish" church--a very traditional, old French church.  At home in spiritual geography.
    The priest memorable to me--an Irishman with a welcoming spirit--Father Philip McArdle.  Though at home in geography, never did the spirit of that church community reside in my heart and soul.  I single and 20ish.  They married and 70ish.  Yet, what I treasure of that time was Father McArdle's endearing words, "Children of God." No tones of condescension tempered his words.  "Children of God" were filled with a spirit of wonder--loving wonder--unjaded by adult cynicism.  Long since forgotten details of my differences with Father Philip.  The gift.  The differences.  They were present--they were real.
     Moved by differences, I joined the thoughtful tradition of John Henry Cardinal Newman.  For 11 years, a member--the Newman Center.
     Students came and went.  I listened.  The Gospels--all spiritual readings and reflections I was fed.  Established traditions cradled others, were still new to me.  Priests came.  Priests went.  Yet, no sense of welcoming any priest new to our community pierces my memory.  I was an attendant member, not a faithful worshipper.
     I entered the Catholic Church long after Vatican II closed.  The Church I entered was far different than the Church others close to me left, or so I sense it was.  I never walked in their shoes--never donned their Ojibwe moccasins.  I was churched a Universalist--a parental evolution from pre-Vatican II, less engaging worship to a more intellectually-challenging fellowship.  They left, I entered.  They seeking intellectual challenge.  I answers to long-held, inarticulable questions.
     Friends faithful to the Church--the hierarchy, the dysfunctions--left.  Yet, leave?  A spiritual cavern beyond my surmounting.
    The hierarchy closed my thoughtful haven.  Some balked.  I searched.  I found.  Welcomed, I found a new home.
    Cabrini.  Celebration.  Faith.  Engagement.  Passion.  Cabrini.

    Eleven years hence, hierarchy visits our home--my new home.  No closing.  A transfer of priests.  A priest new to my home of faith.  Others knew of him.  Yet, none of us knew him.  For the first time in 29 years, I welcome a priest new to me.  Together, I join others in welcome. 

    An interloper.  A parishioner.  A member.  An engaged witness.  A new beginning....What next???  An advocate. ... Whatever it may be, a new beginning...