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.

My Way to be Christian

The Weapon...I am a Christian....the rest of the world be damned...
Have you accepted Christ as your Lord and Savior???
Do you have all of your questions answered???
The Weapon...I am a Christian...the rest of the world be damned...

The Instrument...I am a Christian....the rest of the world be peace-filled...
I know what Christ teaches about how to save myself and the world.
I listen...I question...I challenge the call to conform...
The Instrument...I am a Christian...the rest of the world be peace-filled...

The Instrument...I am a Christian...the world will peace-filled...
I live by Christ's words...I speak the words Christ speaks to me...
I live with Christ's heart...I act with Christ's hear...
The Instrument...I am a Christian...the rest of the world be damned...

The Weapon...I am a Christian...the rest of the world be damned...
Have you joined Minnesota Citizens Concerned for Life...
Do you respect all of life...or do you respect only the life as you conceive it should be...
The Weapon...I am a Christian...the rest of the world be damned...

The Instrument...I am a Christian...the world be peace-filled...
I breathe Christ...
I respect life that differs from me...I am strengthened by differences in my life...
The Instrument...I am a Christian...the world be peace-filled...

The Instrument...I am a Christian...the world be peace-filled...
I am an instrument of thy peace...
Where there is hatred, I sow love...
The Instrument...I am a Christian...the world be peace-filled...

Changes of Worship

     In college, my political science advisor instructed us to begin with the primary source documents, rather than secondary analyses on any given subject.  He was not dismissive of the value secondary sources provide.  Yet, he advised that any quest for information begin with primary source materials.
     Such might be said of the upcoming revisions to the Catholic Mass.   Deafening analysis of the changes is being given before the changes have been implemented.
     Much is being spoken of the changes that will take place in the Catholic liturgy, before we have an experience of how we will live the changes.  Honestly, I do not know what it will mean to live the changes.  I do not have the requisite experience to reflect on how change of the Mass I celebrate will change me.
     Will it damage me?  Will it diminish my spirituality?  Will it destroy me?
     Liberals are quick to say that religious conservatives, who hold on to the words, and practices of the past, are damaging, diminishing, and destroying the Catholic Church by their resistance.  I question that.  Rather, I wonder.  As a liberal, is there any room within the upcoming changes to enrich my spiritual life--to enrich our communal spiritual life?
     I was raised by a father, who experienced rote Catholicism.  I entered a Church far different from the one he left.  Since 1982, I have been blessed by a wide variety of vibrant faith communities.  The closest I came to the Church my father left was my time at a small, traditional Catholic parish several blocks from my home.  Although I did not experience vibrancy in much of my time there, I remember with fondness the gift the Irish priest gave each Sunday.
     Father Philip nurtured in me a personal bond to God.  How?
     Children of God, was his invitation.  I shudder to think of the foundation I had, when I met him each Sunday.  Any intellectual foundation I might have had needed to be instructed--seasoned.
     Father Philip's beaming smile, and his deep faith were his invitations.  His deep faith was his prayer for mercy.
     Forgive us of any skepticism--distrust--of the motives of other people.
     Those were not his precise words.  Yet, that was the message that I heard.
      I did not embrace many of his words.  Most of what he said is lost to my memory.  Yet, I treasure the personal bond he nurtured.
     People of God.
     I needed years of instruction, much seasoning, before I was worthy of being invited to, "People of God."

     I remember earlier experiences going to Mass on campus.  I was deeply moved by the weekly exchange, "Peace be with you."

     It took me many years to be comfortable with the fullness of the exchange, "May the peace of Christ be with you."  My faith--my understanding--was not deep enough to extend myself in that manner.  I needed tremendous mercy before I was able to affirm, "May the Peace of Christ be with you."
     A friend, who was a child during the 1950s, and embraces the Catholic Church that Vatican II has nurtured, offered a telling observation.
     "Well, it is back to the 1950s."
     I do not have the credibility that living in the 1950s Catholic Church affords.  I pray her words may be an invitation, rather than a eulogy.
      I do not know what her experiences were.  I was born in 1960.  I was raised as a Universalist, some say Unitarian.
      With that said, I pray.
       May we listen to the words we utter.  May we breathe the changes that will be ushered into the Catholic Mass.  May we exhale the cynicism that some meet the changes.  May we come to the changes attentive to the nuances they might offer to us.
     I am not an apologist for the changes that Advent will bring.  I do not know enough to be so.  I welcome the challenge to discover the nuances--to uncover the pearls of wisdom--that the changes might offer.

An Invitation

This morning, I greeted a woman at Cabrini, whom I have known by face for many years.  I, like many others, have dismissed her as having much noteworthy to offer.  In a parish--a faith community--with so many social justice activists, this woman has been overlooked.  I am not proud of that fact.
     This week, I looked on the Cabrini website.  I was taken for a moment to see a beautiful picture of the front of our church.  Who took the picture?  You guessed it.  The woman overlooked by many.  I was given the opportunity to express how much I enjoyed the picture.
    I was touched.  In many ways, I was moved.  She was clear.  She knew that people did not like her, per se. She explained that she had been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome.  Her feelings--her experience of other people--were clarified.  Awkwardness in communication.
     She expressed frustration.  "At least with you, they can see your disability."  She asked me about it.  I explained the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck five times, and the resultant cerebral palsy.  Yet, I conveyed genuine understanding of her frustration.  I explained my epilepsy to her.  We talked.
     She spoke of determination to continue working--the desire of supervisors that she stop working.
     I encouraged her to continue taking pictures.
     I learned a lot this morning.  I have been dismissive of her prayers for the Minnesota Vikings football team, at various points.  I did not view this woman to be someone, who was driven by social justice issues per se.  Fleetingly, I have asked myself, "what draws this woman to Cabrini."
    This morning, the priest, known for being outspoken on controversial issues offered a clue.  He juxtaposed recent objections to his outspokenness with the deaths--the wakes, and burials--of an 11-year-old girl, and an adult.  He needed to leave early to attend to the services for those individuals.  He said the message of this week's events to him was that we needed to be more about love.
     That may sound trite.  Not new, or earth-shaking.  Yet, in those moments this morning, it was clear.  His outspokenness is not pursued for its own sake.  His outspokenness was--is--deeply felt.
     He invited us to pray for a more loving archdioceses.

A Mermaid's Tone

     Muscle tone.  Not of a body builder.  Muscle tone.  A Mermaid's Tone.
     I hope for it.  I will it to be.  I pray with fervor that it be--all mine.  Yet, hope, will, and prayer are not God's promise to me.  Yet, I must hope.  I must will it.  I must pray.
     Arms arise skyward.  Into the pool's water they plunge.  Alternating.  One, then the other, as oars in a river's current.  From my shoulders, this mermaid's oars are anchored.
     Arms outstretched.  Wrists pulled together.  With the force of a magnet, their cymbals clash.  With a strong will, her wrists resist the temptation of a lifelong embrace.  The force of her forearms cry out.
     "Strengthen me.  Use me.  Believe in me.  Do not waste my muscles.  Use me.  Do not will my muscles to be withering, dying willows.  Use me.  Teach me to reach outward--to branch out-- to blossom  in full glory."  
     The Mermaid's biceps believe.  Though not her eyes, the Mermaid's biceps believe in the vision--A Muscle's Tone.  With their tissues, the biceps connect the oars to the force of the forearms.
     The Mermaid's calves circle on the water's unicycle.  On her back, she floats.  The Mermaid's ankles pedal.  Her feet flutter.  The Mermaid's thighs push toward a toned spirit.  Not atrophy.  The Mermaid paddles toward a Muscle's Tone.
     I seek not the strength of the Bodybuilder.  I am the Mermaid.  I seek the strength of a Muscle's Tone.  No boorish bravado do I seek.  I seek a softer strength.  Not submissive.  Not boastful.
     I am a Mermaid.  I seek a Mermaid's Tone.

The Mermaid Chronicles: The Right Way

Upward this mermaid's arm rises,
Right wrist bent, fingers tight-fisted.
In the pool, this mermaid moves.
With bent right wrist, her left-bent elbow lowers,
They break the water's calm.
Through the waterway,
Her forearm rows forward.
Upward her right arm ascends airborne.
Rightly, she aims upward.
Straight to the sky she stretches.
Seeking no splashing,
She strives a straight, uplifted stroke.
Yet, with right wrist bent, and elbow left bent,
All she may do is sway.
Downward her left leaning elbow lowers,
Below the water's top, she skims.
She stirs, and showers surrounding swimmers.
Yet, no mind the gulped water--the blinding showers.
Her firming forearms, beefing biceps, and circling shoulders,
Will triumph.

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...  

Epilepsy Chronicles: The Morning After

...
     Slowly...ever so slowly....I awaken from a deep sleep.  I awaken.  I have slept off my throbbing headache.  Or so I think.  Is my epileptic hangover over?
     Can I be so bold as to hold out that hope?
     Slowly, I question....
     Was that just a bad dream--a nightmare--or did I have a seizure last night?
     My headache is gone.  Will I have another seizure?
     My knees feel wobbly.  The firmness of my step tentative.  Will I have another seizure?  Honestly, I don't know.  But, I can't admit that, at least not to everyone.   
     What can I do?  What should I do?  What action will give me what I need--what we need, to move us forward from doubt, uncertainty, and fear?  God, I don't think I am being selfish.  But, what can I do?  What should I do?
     I can't add to the doubts, and anxiety of my coworkers as to whether I will have another seizure.  God knows, some people are convinced that I can have a seizure on command, without my feeding into their fears.
    I need their confidence in me.  So, what do I do?  How do I garner that confidence--that positive energy?

How Do You Say Hello???

     Today is Pentacost Sunday.  I find the celebration of Pentacost--at least at Cabrini--to be quite exhilarating.  I confess I missed this celebration.  All dressed in red, ready to celebrate, my body had other ideas--sleep.  Yet, nonetheless, Pentacost, and how we communicate it is alive in me tonight.
     How Pentacost is celebrated in my life, how it was celebrated in a friend's life?  By what means do we communicate today?  First.  Pentacost.  A celebration of the descent of the Holy Spirit on the disciples of Jesus after his Ascension. That is a definition of the day.  Yet, definition is meaningless without context within our own lives, be it our own, someone we know, or a combination.  [Interesting.  I hadn't thought about that until this very moment.]
    The context of Pentacost in my life is twofold.  I was told of the Pentacostal celebration involving speaking in tongues.  That celebration was meaningless because it was not shared with any context in his life.  I do not know the spirituality--the spiritual context--in which my friend's mother celebrated Pentacost.  So, to comment further would be a grave injustice--unforgivable disrespect.
    My experience of Pentacost comes within the context of a Catholic faith community.  Cabrini celebrates life and death with intense passion.
     Fast forward 70 years. My experience of Pentacost?  Different--not better, just different.
     Pentacost.  Cabrini--a faith community that celebrates life and death with the same passion.  Pentacost, as I have experienced it is a celebration of our communal diversity.  In the stead of spontaneous expressions of need and thanksgiving, Pentacost welcomes different intentions.  Individuals fluent in various world tongues offer intentions in those foreign languages.  But, the offering of intentions does not stop there.  Cabrini is a community of passionate context.  Following intentional expressions in foreign tongues, the individuals repeat the intentions in English.  We are offered context.  We celebrate that context.
    How do you say hello???

A Universalist Catholic

     I am a Universalist Catholic.  Being raised as a Universalist informs my Catholic being.
     In 29 years, my understanding of being Catholic has evolved.  Raised as a Universalist, more commonly referred to as a Unitarian, my basic orientation was different than it is now--not in opposition, but different.
     Catholic means universal.  For many years, I was timid in admitting, "I am a Catholic."  That proclamation was ladened with many stereotypes.  To say, "I am a Universalist Catholic," sounded as a contradiction of terms.  It is not.
     Just now, I am able to articulate a distinction that has been elusive to me.  By external terminology, the name Universalist-Unitarian Fellowship identifies the religion.  
    Faith is a term anthetical to many Universalists, or Unitarians.  I was raised to believe that intellect and faith were mutually exclusive.  I continue to discover how faith is informed by the intellect, and how the intellect is informed by faith.
     I did not know any Unitarian individuals by name.  Yet, I had a sense of a distinction between the two.  I am willing to be challenged as to my claims.  Yet, I resent attempts to engage in "gotcha" discourse in which  my knowledge is challenged as a means of discrediting me.  The first is possible.  The first is enlightening.  The first is engagement that broadens everyone involved. "Gotcha discourse" begins when someone asks what you know about a given person, term, or basic tenet central to faith and religion without any interest in broadening anyone's understanding.
    Being raised in the Universalist tradition, I was raised to believe that there is good to be found in all world religions--in all traditions.  Although I identify myself as Christian, and Catholic now, my belief that there is good to be found in all world religions--in all traditions--is strong.  It is alive and well within who I am, and how I pray I live in communion with family, and friends.
    Although I never knew an individual who identified themselves as Unitarians, I had a militant sense of what it meant to be a Unitarian.  Part of that sense was in the context of the time--the end of the 1960s in the midst of the Vietnam War.  I do not know if there was a Unitarian church in my area that was engaged in a vociferous protest of the Vietnam War.  The sentiment was certainly the same in the Universalist church community in which I was raised.  The distinction I sense may be Uni tarian versus trinitarian.  There was no way to intellectualize the Holy Spirit.  The notion of Holy Ghost was still alive and well casting white shadows over any understanding that may have existed.
   My return to my Universalist roots is inspired by a change in pastors, where I belong.  My approach to any announcement was cautious patience.  I wanted to wait until I met, and worshipped with the priest before making pronouncements about those in leadership, who are responsible for the naming.
   I am encouraged by what I have read and heard.  I do not want any excitement I feel cloud my experience of his preaching--of his pastoral care.  I want a keen ear, and an open heart to greet him--to greet how we come together in communion.
    Much has changed in 29 years.
    I entered the Catholic Church with clear values, and instructions.  Be intellectual.  Obey my admonitions.  "Don't keep your mind outside the door of the church."  "Know the meanings of the words you utter them."
   Twenty-nine years later, different values guide me.  I have not abandoned my intellect.
   I am guided by different voices.  Although the voices have no human faces visible to me, the message is clear.
  Don't let your mind consume awe--swallow wonder.
  Treasure each moment.
  Life is a gift.
  For better or for worse, life is a lesson to be learned--answers to be lived.

Maundy Thursday and Disbelief

     Last night, belief, logic, and belittlement clashed, and I failed on all counts to live with integrity within its triangle. I was raised by my parents--two individuals who were raised during a time when they experienced the rituals of Christ's life.  Absent from their experience, as I understand it to be, was a lack of how Christ teaches us to meet and build upon the events of his life--the spirit and wisdom by which he lived his life.  How do you explain Holy Spirit in logical terms--a 1940s white ghost?
     How do we affirm the life of Christ without sterilizing it to its bare realities?  How do you prove the truths Christ lived in concrete terms.  These questions drove two people of integrity from the Christian Church.  The subsequent answers they have lived, in part, is to belittle individuals, who commit themselves to Christ's life as being simple-minded.  My parents do live lives built upon much of what Christ taught and advocated--called for in our lives.
    In 1982, I committed myself to a life of celebration that exceeded logic's limits--reason's realm.  I committed myself to learn from, grow through, and live what Jesus lived.  In so doing, I was not decrying the foundation of the Universalism of my upbringing--there is good to be found in all world faith traditions, and we should support one another in a free and disciplined search for truth.
    Drawn to Christ by questions in search of answers beyond logic, or logic as it was lived in my home, I committed myself to listen to the words of Christ, to observe, and affirm--authenticate--Christ's teachings in my own life going forward.  Contrary to first glance, Universalist/Unitarian fellowship is not, or need not be diametrically opposed to Christianity.  I did not reject my Universalist roots as it seemed to my family and a Christian mentor.  No.  I embraced Christ as I saw him in expressed in a Catholic campus community, through Mass, and in the diversity of friends.
     Since 1982, I have not done well in meeting the criticism of faith in Christ.  The only meeting I have done has been in trying to share my life freely--trying to share how I live my life.  I do not do well to meet questions of fact that I understand to be static within Jesus' life historically ignorant of its vibrancy to life today.  I do not mean to imply that the way I live is better.  I do not want to entrap myself by belittling logic's limits, or reason's realm.
     In recent years, I have heard two types of Catholics, and Christians identified.  There are the thinking Catholics, and then there are Catholics.  Polite disdain is the best description I know to give to the attitude toward Catholics.  Rather than engagement with all Catholics, as I understood the call of Universalism to be--finding the best in all faith traditions--I am met with belittlement of other Catholics, and the smug tolerance of thinking Catholics.  I hear complaints that Catholics, and other Christians, I do not witness the recognition of the smug criticism, and intolerance.  I speak of Catholics, because it is in the Catholic Church that I have met beauty.  Yet, the same basic distinction has been drawn between Christians and Christians.
    I confess I do not understand the distinction--the need for smugness, intolerance, and recognition.  I want to understand.  I do understand that I met a different Catholic Church--a different expression of Jesus--in 1982 than was experienced in the 1940s.  I do know that they experienced a monolithic expression of Christianity.  There was one, and only one, way to be Catholic.
    I was astounded to discover the rich diversity of Christian faith's expression.  My new college friends did not fit into neat little boxes.  Intellect was not mutually exclusive to Christian faith.  Yet, intellect was not a guarantor of Christian faith.  Integrity was not the titled property of intellect.  Christian faith was not--is not--integrity's competitor.
    I can etch in stone definitions of Christianity's core--of Catholicism's essence.  Yet, I cannot etch in stone a static description of Christ, of Catholicism, of Christianity, as I will live it for the rest of my life.  I can and will share as much as a tolerant door--a tolerant window--is opened to me.

Spiritual Divorce???

     Several hours of love, spiritual commitment, and celebration of our lives' joys and sorrows leads me to wonder regarding the future of our worshipping community.  An Archdiocesan action may well result in a change of priests.
     I cannot respond in anger, submissiveness, hostility, or cynicism.  I responded to spiritual vacancy quite early in my adult life by converting to Christianity from Universalism.  I did not abandon my Universalist roots.  They inform my Christian life.  Twenty-nine years after my conversion, I cannot go back.  I cannot live by my intellect, logic, and reason alone.  Faith is essential to my life.  I have been spoiled by the integrity of the Catholic parishes--the Catholic worshiping communities in which I have lived.
    I have experienced the closing of one campus worshiping community due to an Archdiocesan action approximately eleven years ago.  Though painful, I am much stronger--much richer--by the move into a different Catholic faith community.
     Trademarked words that represent the best in their respective product, or service fields lead to the making the names verbalizing imProper nouns--trademark.  We wipe our tears with Kleenex, clean our ears with Q-Tips, we google the world wide web for information, etc.
     A spiritual profile of myself is not simple.  It complexity is essential to understand, not elusive, but, essential.  Most identifiable to most are the words Catholic in ritual, Christian in my living.  Not perfect, by any stretch.  Yet, isn't that what it means to be Christian.  It is an imperfect striving to be perfect?  Were our strivings perfect, then what would the need be for perfection? After all, wouldn't perfection be an achievement, and not a goal?
    Catholic and Christian are words that describe me as an adult seeker of ritual, and life.
    More elusive to many are my childhood cornerstones--Universalist, and Unitarian.  I understand them more as one fellowship today.  As a child, there seemed to be a more peaceful, maybe less militant understanding of what Unitarian meant.
   Only as an adult have I come to understand that each fellowship shapes, or expresses what it means to be Universalist, or Unitarian.  I was raised in the First Universalist Church in Minnesota during the 1960s.  Although the denomination was always known as the Universalist-Unitarian Fellowship, the individual churches were known as either Universalist, or Unitarian.  I don't remember knowing any Unitarians.  I understood "Unitarians" to be more militant in the expression of their commitments.  I have no recollection of what led me to that sense.  It may be the stark contrast between Unitarian versus the Trinitarian foundation upon which Christianity is built.  Universalism, I was raised to believe, was built upon the belief that there is good to be found in all world religions.  My child sense of the Universalist church that I was raised in was composed of individuals who were quite active in their support for the United Nations, and the World Federalists.
    Only as an adult have I begun to understood how the current affairs in the world shape how each Universalist, or Unitarian Church expresses its commitment to the belief in the pursuit of thoughtful, logical, reasonable deliberations.  As a Universalist, I was raised to believe that there is good to be found in all world religions.
    Only as a Catholic have I come to appreciate the vast difference between religion and faith.
Much moreso than in Christian denominations.  The gradations among Catholic parishes--Catholic communities--are understood by many Catholics to vary much more dramatic than they are.  Yet, the gradations are not as grandiose as they may seem to some.  The structure of the Catholic celebration focuses around the altar--the Table of Christ.  A Catholic could walk into any Catholic church, and be reasonably certain that they would hear one reading from the Old Testament, a second reading from the New Testament, a psalm, and a reading from one of the Gospels--Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John.  Acts might be read during the Easter season.   Three liturgical cycles of biblical readings, seasons of the liturgical year including Advent, Christmas, Ordinary Time, Lent, the Triduum, and Easter are constant across all Catholic parishes.
    In no way do I mean to dismiss the vast differences between the Catholic Church pre-Vatican II, and Post-Vatican II.  Though born in 1960, I am a child of the Post-Vatican II Catholic Church.  My sense from Pre-Vatican II Catholics is that to be Catholic implied much more of a unified expression of beliefs and forms of expression, than is the case today.
    Individuals I knew, who were raised as pre-Vatican II Catholics, led me to believe that there was one way to be Catholic.  I do not mean to blame them, or denigrate their message to me.  They were expressing their experience to me.  When I was introduced to post-Vatican II Catholics, I was blown away--perplexed.  Each individual had tremendous integrity, and yet, they were not expressing their Catholicism identically--not by a long shot.
     I do not think that the changes that are forthcoming in my Catholic faith community will be as drastic as the  Universalist versus Catholic, or the pre- versus post-Vatican II Catholics I experienced during the last thirty years.  Yet, I do believe the change will be radical.  I pray it may inform my faith, and the faith of my community, rather than weaken its fabric.

Islam's Friday

     God Be Our Help.  Peace Be With You.
     Egypt's leader of the military uttered these eight words in his closing conveyance of the military's control.
     Though this be an English translation of the Egyptian language spoken by the head of the military, these words are moving--affirming.  The head of the military affirms Egypt's security blanket of control following these precarious moments following Mubarak's resignation.
     The temptation we have in America is to speak of the repression under which Egyptians have during Mubarak's 30-year autocracy.  We pride ourselves in nearly 245 years of democracy--in our declaration of independence.  America's democracy--Egypt's repression--are truths to be honored.
     Yet, America has much to learn from Egypt.
     In America, we broadcast the First Amendment's blessing of freedom of religion, which is conferred upon us. Seemingly, freedom of religion is at odds--is to be sublimated--to the freedoms of speech, of the press, of assembly, and to petition the Government for redress of grievances.  A political officeholder may not exercise political power guided by their life of faith.  An apology for faith is requisite for the exercise of politics' power.
    Yet, Egyptians--the military and the protesters alike, may teach us freedom's essence.
     Today, the head of the military affirmed the military's leadership.  In closing, he uttered eight instructive words to take to heart:
    God Be Our Help.  Peace Be With You.
     Too often, the military AND deeply-rooted faith are characterized as Beasts of Oppression.  Liberals are quick to embrace a repulsive smugness, "Don't you dare let your freedom of religion out of Pandora's Box."
Conservatives become strident advocates of inaction's mask of order.  There is a middle ground on which to stand firm.  Let us look to Egypt.  Let us look to Islam.  Not at the surrender of Christian faith, of Hebrew tradition, of other world beliefs--of other world philosophies.
     Today--Friday--is Islam's day of prayer.
     The revolution of Egypt's protesters is built upon, not framed within Islam's Friday morning of prayer.  No strident dogma rules this revolution.  The depth of Egypt's uprising is inspiring.  Guides of Egypt's uprising signal the locus of Egypt's freedom.  Only in God's time, may we know the future of today's events--of this month's movement.
     Are we witnesses to seismic change? Or will we suffer from the aftershocks of long-time suppression?
     Let us look to Egypt.  Let us look to Islam.  In this moment's history, let Egypt be our Guide.
     Islam's Friday is Hebrew's Saturday.
     I pray.
     May Christianity's Sunday be guided by the holy spirit of Islam's Friday, and Hebrew's Saturday.

Good Citizens

[Hester] feared that Catholicism would limit her intellectual horizons and require her to shut down her reason...."I doubt if your interests get less intellectual as you become more deeply involved in the Church, but...the intellect will take its place in a larger context and will cease to be tyrannical, if it has been."  In her opinion, a "tyrannical intellect was a danger; instead the mind serves best "when its anchored in the word of God."  
     The Abbess of Andalusia: Flannery O'Connor's Spiritual Journey by Lorraine V. Murray
     Raised to believe that all truth was confined to reason, I read this passage with great interest.  A younger Patty struggled to understand this seeming dichotomy between intellect and faith in God.  
     Today I read of the "tyrannical intellect," the mind, and, "being anchored in the word of God," and I find myself understanding faithfully that this is true.  Yet, I am perplexed as to how to convey its truth.  It may be that it is not the words of the mind that are the conveyors of O'Connor's words.  Presenting an offering of words is far easier.  But, the true conveyor of O'Connor's words is the offering of our life's example--the example of our daily living.  
      Many years ago, I was counseled, "Don't leave your mind outside the door of the church."  That advice was rooted in experiencing religion practiced by rote recitation.  I understand, treasure, and strive to live by that advice--by not leaving my mind outside the door of the church.  I seek out people, whose lives exemplify that mental engagement.                                                      Yet, as much as I treasure that advice, more is called for to live with spiritual engagement.  What is that?  I know it when I experience it in people I meet, know, and love.
     If we are to not leave our minds outside the door of the church, then what?  What are we called to convey from our inner sanctum?  How may we transform the Spirit of our inner sanctum outside the door of the church?  

Good citizens are engaged in their geographical community.   

Are we willing to be good citizens of our Faith?   

How--By What Spirit--Will I Walk?

I will walk in the presence of God, in the light of the living.

http://www.usccb.org/nab/091810.shtml#reading1 

All of the lessons for today remind us that there is something quite different from the natural body and the spiritual realms of our being.  But because we are so firmly locked into our natural bodies, we often let that realm of our experience dominate our realities.  And despite the problems associated with our natural bodies, we like to hold on to them and would even like to have them back in the same form again when we are resurrected.  We are really quite fond of our earthly selves.  Paul tries to help us to get past that hang up and to think of our futures in terms of the spiritual.   He tells us that we are not going to be resurrected in our earthly forms, but something a lot better.  I am old enough to be pretty glad about that.  My body has all sorts of aches and pains.  Focusing more on the spiritual is getting a lot more appealing for me now that it is quite clear that my natural body is pretty fallible.   

                                                                             Barbara Dilly, Creighton University

      http://onlineministries.creighton.edu/CollaborativeMinistry/091810.html

    I meet this morning's readings as I confront the reality that this 50-year-old body of mine, altered at birth by cerebral palsy, is at the point of diminishing stamina, and in need of today's technology--a motorized scooter.  My head and my heart are yet to be in unison in embracing this reality.  Yet, my heart knows what is coming--what will be.

    Physical balance has been an issue throughout my life.  A different balance presents itself to me now.  In question?

    What is the difference between accommodating to the needs of a physical body, who is aging, and submitting to the physical body's changing needs?  Better stated, what is the difference between being accommodating to, and being submissive to my changing body?  

   I have lived 50 years by confronting life head on, without knowing that that was what I was doing.  If someone said, "I don't think you can do it," my response has been, "Do you wanna make a bet!"

     Before I was able to be defiant intentionally or habitually, I found a way to perform the two-handed exercises the physical therapists designed to get me to use both hands by using only my fully-functioning left hand.  Before I knew what I was doing, I accommodated to my physically-impaired right hand.

     I am less defiant than I was then.  I recognize the need--the wisdom-- to be so.  

     Today's psalm says, "I will walk in the presence of God, in the light of the living."

     "How will I walk?"  The means is clear.  My question is, "How do I bring the spirit by which I lived--walked--49 of my 50 years into harmony with the Spirit by whom I am called to  live--to create?"