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.
Showing posts with label understanding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label understanding. Show all posts
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Thursday, March 28, 2013
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?
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?
Monday, March 4, 2013
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?
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?
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Guns. Self-Defense. Inner Resources.
An understanding of what I do not understand regarding guns emerges as I watch the news--general crime stories involving guns--and listen to coverage of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings in Newtown, Connecticut.
My understanding--my lack of understanding--falls into two categories. First, beliefs regarding guns as vehicles of self-defense, and secondly, is my lack of understanding regarding the facts of guns. I shall address the first category as the foundation of my reflections for this post. I need to reflect further on the second category, and how to formulate my thoughts, and questions into a forthcoming post. I can ill-afford haste.
Some individuals say they want guns for purposes of self-defense--defense of self, or of family. I do not. I could say that I do not feel comfortable in holding the gun, and in aiming it appropriately in a timely manner. Such is true, and more so today with the presence of essential tremors in my left hand--tremors aggravated when I am very nervous. So, that is true, in part. But, to a far greater degree, I cannot bring myself to act so harshly toward another human being. I just cannot do so. Further, and most importantly, I believe that stronger than any bullet I might pierce the skin of another human being are my inner resources. Gun control advocates speak of the dangers of guns being used against the owners, who purchased them for self-protection--guns being used by perpetrators of crime against gun owners. I subscribe to that belief.
I take it one step further.
Beyond the reliability of any gun, whatever the type may be, is the reliability of my inner resources. I prefer relying on my inner resources any day.
As I child, I encountered many bullies--not everyone was a bully, but, there were more than my taste. Whenever, I encountered bullies, I asked myself what I could say to stop their behaviors. I failed many times, yet, I could never bring myself to return the favor of the hurt they inflicted on me, by trying to hurt them intentionally. Although I failed many more times than I like to admit, I developed tremendous inner resources. Some have said that I am too sensitive. I resist that characterization. Insights have been given to me through that sensitivity that have given me tremendous inner resources.
We need to look at inner resources--at nurturing strong inner resources to serve us through challenges that might otherwise call for a gun. We cannot afford to overlook the treasury of inner resources
My understanding--my lack of understanding--falls into two categories. First, beliefs regarding guns as vehicles of self-defense, and secondly, is my lack of understanding regarding the facts of guns. I shall address the first category as the foundation of my reflections for this post. I need to reflect further on the second category, and how to formulate my thoughts, and questions into a forthcoming post. I can ill-afford haste.
Some individuals say they want guns for purposes of self-defense--defense of self, or of family. I do not. I could say that I do not feel comfortable in holding the gun, and in aiming it appropriately in a timely manner. Such is true, and more so today with the presence of essential tremors in my left hand--tremors aggravated when I am very nervous. So, that is true, in part. But, to a far greater degree, I cannot bring myself to act so harshly toward another human being. I just cannot do so. Further, and most importantly, I believe that stronger than any bullet I might pierce the skin of another human being are my inner resources. Gun control advocates speak of the dangers of guns being used against the owners, who purchased them for self-protection--guns being used by perpetrators of crime against gun owners. I subscribe to that belief.
I take it one step further.
Beyond the reliability of any gun, whatever the type may be, is the reliability of my inner resources. I prefer relying on my inner resources any day.
As I child, I encountered many bullies--not everyone was a bully, but, there were more than my taste. Whenever, I encountered bullies, I asked myself what I could say to stop their behaviors. I failed many times, yet, I could never bring myself to return the favor of the hurt they inflicted on me, by trying to hurt them intentionally. Although I failed many more times than I like to admit, I developed tremendous inner resources. Some have said that I am too sensitive. I resist that characterization. Insights have been given to me through that sensitivity that have given me tremendous inner resources.
We need to look at inner resources--at nurturing strong inner resources to serve us through challenges that might otherwise call for a gun. We cannot afford to overlook the treasury of inner resources
Confessions of a Pacifist
I have no desire to jump on the bandwagon of every hot button issue in the news. Only when I do not hear what I believe--deeply believe--do I feel compelled to respond. The Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings fall into that category. Gun control. [Presently, my thoughts regarding mental health services are not well formed--maybe later I will address that. But, not without careful contemplation will I do so.]
I shall examine gun control, but, not as you might think--not as it is addressed in common parlance.
Under my rule, in a perfect society, no guns would exist. Yet, I am not the ruler. The world is not perfect--my understanding of guns does not suffice to be an "effective" advocate of gun control.
We speak of background checks. We speak of gun safety classes. Common agreement seems to exist on the reasonable nature of those two elements of gun ownership--of gun use.
Now, conceal and carry licenses are more controversial.
Several issues lend themselves to consideration separately--media coverage; online information regarding guns.
Media is moving toward avoiding mention of the names of the individuals who shoot numerous people--individuals who instigate rampages, or massacres. Both the availability of information regarding guns, and media usage of the shooter(s)' name(s) are driven by the concern that there will be copycats, who seek fame. That is sensible to me. Yet, I want to address some issues, and related questions separately.
All this is well and good. Yet this is not all that is needed by a second group of people involved in the gun control debate--advocates of gun control. I may be condemning all individuals who are advocates of gun control, who are more informed than I. I will take that risk, in the hope that I might be clarifying issues and questions not sufficiently included in the discussion--the national conversation regarding gun control that seems likely to be forthcoming. I do not know how to address directly the ardent supporters of the Second Amendment--those individuals who oppose gun control. My intent is not to inflame the debate. That is useless. Clarity is the essence of effective advocacy--advocacy regarding any issue.
I shall examine gun control, but, not as you might think--not as it is addressed in common parlance.
Under my rule, in a perfect society, no guns would exist. Yet, I am not the ruler. The world is not perfect--my understanding of guns does not suffice to be an "effective" advocate of gun control.
We speak of background checks. We speak of gun safety classes. Common agreement seems to exist on the reasonable nature of those two elements of gun ownership--of gun use.
Now, conceal and carry licenses are more controversial.
Several issues lend themselves to consideration separately--media coverage; online information regarding guns.
Media is moving toward avoiding mention of the names of the individuals who shoot numerous people--individuals who instigate rampages, or massacres. Both the availability of information regarding guns, and media usage of the shooter(s)' name(s) are driven by the concern that there will be copycats, who seek fame. That is sensible to me. Yet, I want to address some issues, and related questions separately.
All this is well and good. Yet this is not all that is needed by a second group of people involved in the gun control debate--advocates of gun control. I may be condemning all individuals who are advocates of gun control, who are more informed than I. I will take that risk, in the hope that I might be clarifying issues and questions not sufficiently included in the discussion--the national conversation regarding gun control that seems likely to be forthcoming. I do not know how to address directly the ardent supporters of the Second Amendment--those individuals who oppose gun control. My intent is not to inflame the debate. That is useless. Clarity is the essence of effective advocacy--advocacy regarding any issue.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Criminals' Acts...Wasted Lives...
Theater 9. Aurora, Colorado. James Eagan Holmes. Alleged Criminal. Criminal Acts. Wasted lives.
Engrossed in news coverage of the Aurora Shootings, some say they do not want to focus on Holmes. They want to put the spotlight on the lives of the 12 individuals who died.
Yes. By all means.
As of July 21, 2012 at 3:58: The Denver Post reports the names of Veronica Moser, Jessica Ghawi, Alex Sullivan, Matt McQuinn, Micayla Medek, John Thomas Larimer, Rebecca Wingo, and, on air, CNN reported A.J. Boik, and Jesse Childress. In coming hours--in coming days, more names will emerge--more profiles shall emerge. Read and listen to those coming names and stories, in coming days.
For now, I offer to you a question--a response--that haunts me.
What is the motivation--what possibly may explain such horrendous acts? What a wasted life.
What an excruciating extinguishment of human potential. Extinguishment of the crimes' commissioned subjects--extinguishment of the human potential of the crimes' commissioners.
The commissioner. A wasted life. Extinguished hopes of what might have been. Condemnation to a barred life--a mental hospital, a prison, an lethal injection, or an electric chair. What a wasted life.
Some spew anger. Damn him to the acts he committed. Inflict upon him an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Some forgive, the person, if not the act.
Some pray. We are called to pray. Some for the commissioned. Others for the commissioner. All are called to pray for both--the commissioned, and for the commissioner.
How may we speak--how may we act. How may we dedicate ourselves to learn from--commit ourselves to a positive response to such horrendous acts?
How? We must.
Engrossed in news coverage of the Aurora Shootings, some say they do not want to focus on Holmes. They want to put the spotlight on the lives of the 12 individuals who died.
Yes. By all means.
As of July 21, 2012 at 3:58: The Denver Post reports the names of Veronica Moser, Jessica Ghawi, Alex Sullivan, Matt McQuinn, Micayla Medek, John Thomas Larimer, Rebecca Wingo, and, on air, CNN reported A.J. Boik, and Jesse Childress. In coming hours--in coming days, more names will emerge--more profiles shall emerge. Read and listen to those coming names and stories, in coming days.
For now, I offer to you a question--a response--that haunts me.
What is the motivation--what possibly may explain such horrendous acts? What a wasted life.
What an excruciating extinguishment of human potential. Extinguishment of the crimes' commissioned subjects--extinguishment of the human potential of the crimes' commissioners.
The commissioner. A wasted life. Extinguished hopes of what might have been. Condemnation to a barred life--a mental hospital, a prison, an lethal injection, or an electric chair. What a wasted life.
Some spew anger. Damn him to the acts he committed. Inflict upon him an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Some forgive, the person, if not the act.
Some pray. We are called to pray. Some for the commissioned. Others for the commissioner. All are called to pray for both--the commissioned, and for the commissioner.
How may we speak--how may we act. How may we dedicate ourselves to learn from--commit ourselves to a positive response to such horrendous acts?
How? We must.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
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...
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...
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Prayer...A Nascent Transformation...
The Hail Mary.
Shall we pray? Sister Immaculata proffered.
Hail Mary, full of grace.
The Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women,
And, blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God.
Pray for us,
Now, and at the hour of our death.
Amen.
Seat of wisdom, pray for us.
The prayer was a reverential invitation to understand words new to me. I was never sure whether the words were, "Seat of wisdom, pray for us," or, "Seed of wisdom, pray for us." Yet, somehow, that detail did not matter. Both Seat and Seed confirmed a nascent transformation yet to be lived.
Hail Mary, Full of Grace.
As inexplicable as the Hail Mary's beauty on my first hearing 30 years ago is its beauty today. Whenever an ambulance passes by me, the Hail Mary comes to my ears. I do not recite it at other times. Yet, at the moments of urgent need--the need of others--the Hail Mary is given to me to utter.
I have no Rosary beads. I do not know the Rosary. I do not pray the Rosary. Not by my judgment of its value. Rosary has been in my vocabulary for nary three decades. Maybe in seven more decades, I will know the Rosary. Maybe in seven decades I may pray the Rosary.
Others better versed than I could recite the precise chapter and verse. Yet, I have heard it said that we need not fear, when needs arise we shall be given the appropriate words to utter. Whether spoken aloud, or held in my heart, confidence is given, and fears assuaged. Blessed by and with a faith-filled worship community, and Christians who care deeply about the heart and soul--far more than structures they enter, no longer is prayer a formula I grab from off the rack. I cannot explain its shape--its form. Thirty years ago, a formula. Today, a precious mystery. Thirty years from now? A precious mystery to be lived, not feared.
Prayer...It Makes No Sense to Me...
On April 25, 1982, had you asked me, "what does prayer mean to you," I would have said, "Lord Make Me an Instrument of Thy Peace," "The Hail Mary," and "Peace be with You."
Formulated. Off the Rack prayers ready for those wanting to wear religion on their sleeve.
Not quite. I had--I have--a deep love for each of those prayers.
Without knowing his name, The Prayer of St. Francis, St. Francis was introduced to me by a Christian choir director in junior high school--in a public school, no less, much to the chagrin of my parents. A Christian--not a Catholic--choir director.
Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And, where there is sadness, joy;
Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console.
To be understood as to understand.
To be loved, as to love.
For it is in the giving that we receive.
In the pardoning that we are pardoned.
And, it is in the dying,
That we are born to eternal life.
My maternal grandfather--Ray, a man who abhorred anything Catholic--would be horrified to hear me say so, yet, his inheritance to me, "Don't feel sad when I die, I have made amends with everyone [with whom] I had differences," reaffirmed what St. Francis told me.
Prayer.
It makes no sense to me. Words that speak such truth. Words--it is in the dying that we are born to eternal life--far from affirmed in my childhood home, in my family--speak such truth to me. It makes no sense. Yet, they are true.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Verbal Abuse
Recently, I heard myself to say that verbal abuse, and sexual abuse are not the same. I abhor little. Yet, abuse of any form, I abhor--tremble away from. I cannot speak to sexual abuse from first-hand experience. I know one, maybe two individuals whose lives have been touched--violently touched--by sexual abuse. Hostility, and submissiveness, respectively, make it difficult for me to address with compassion my friends' experiences.
Hostility, and submissiveness are common responses to sexual abuse. Yet, I do not feel I may address the issue with the respect it deserves.
For those reasons, I direct my ponderings to what I do understand from life experience. Bullying. Verbal abuse.
I do not feel the piercing sting--the deep pain--inflicted by Palsy Patty, and the mimicking of my bent right arm in my face during my childhood. It was not everyone--each of my peers, or every day of my life. Yet, I never knew the moment, when the bullying would attack.
My only response was to identify the words I could speak--the explanations I could give--that would make other kids understand why I looked different.
I do not understand. Contrary to each and every belief of everyone I knew, I knew that all I needed to be given were the words--the explanations--that would make people understand. I knew that I could create the understanding that did not exist--in which kids and parents were not willing to engage.
Compounding the verbal abuse---the lack of understanding--of my peers was the attitude--the belief--of adults that bullying--verbal abuse--was nothing more than a phase kids go through. No credence was given to the notion that the self-esteem of the kid being teased was not a phase that would be outgrown. No credence was given to the notion that the nurturing of positive self-esteem was essential--the positive self-esteem of kids who were being teased. I understood. Yet, far deeper than the physical disability I had, I was disabled from enlisting the support of my parents, the parents in my neighborhood, the authority figures--principals, most teachers, and counselors--people who I thought were supposed to know better.
I do not understand quite where my conviction came from--my belief that I could nurture understanding, if only some one of these adults would give me simple, logical, reasonable, understandable words, and explanations. Nascent faith, perhaps? I do not know. All I do know, is that in eight grade, I made a commitment to myself--I did not have a sense of God, or that might be what I might call it--to dedicate myself to work toward nurturing the understanding that I did not experience. It took me years to understand--to identify--what form my missionary work might take. Writing? That seemed the most likely to me, yet, I had no notion of what my outlet would be. My self-confidence--my introversion--did not lend itself to speaking, or assuming any leadership positions.
1978. College. A staff member asked if I was interested in serving on a campus-wide "Handicap Awareness Committee." Bingo. While people close to me did not understand my involvement, my dedication that precluded the studying I should have been doing, I knew better. I knew that if there was any hope of my making any meaningful contribution to society, I needed to work through the issues
Pervasive though my paralyzing fear was--fear that others would criticize me, and my actions--I assumed leadership of the Handicap Awareness Committee. I was driven by the knowledge that I was pursuing my missionary work. No trips to Central America for me. My missionary work was right at home.
My missionary work was being carried out. I spoke to education students at a college in South Dakota. I nurtured understanding in future teachers of the necessity of nurturing understanding, and building self-esteem. I shared the transcript of the speech I gave with parents in my neighborhood. I took the necessary risk of building understanding--of communicating to them what I had not been able to do twenty years earlier.
Palsy Patty died. No longer would she have negative, hurtful power over me. I do call upon her when communicating understanding, and compassion are my call to do.
"There goes another gimp," spoken by a coworker, who must have seen someone behind me with a walking disability, called the spirit of Palsy Patty to me in an instant. Gimp is not a word I use to describe myself. Gimp is not a word worthy of my speaking--reflective of the respect of other individuals I am called to express--to or in regard to any other human being.
Verbal abuse is not the same as sexual abuse. Yet, they do share an untenable violation of the human spirit.
Verbal abuse. Hostility. Anger. Submissiveness. Others may choose to respond in such spirit. I cannot respond in such a spirit. [In the heat of political debate, and hyperbole, name-calling of the individuals with opposite convictions is unthinkable. Yet, far too often, that seems the norm.] It is not a matter of whether I will not respond so. My will is not in question.
Verbal abuse. For a lifetime, I have been called to nurture understanding, build self-esteem, and most importantly separate actions from the individuals responsible for their commission. Verbal abuse--name calling. Physical proximity has no part in the commission of verbal abuse. I abhor the infliction of any derogatory word on the basis of different beliefs, or actions.
When I asked my father why the kids were teasing me, he said, with deep love, "There is nothing you did wrong, it is something wrong with them." Emotionally, I did not question his love. Yet, I could not reconcile how something could be wrong with the kids teasing me. Young as I was, that seemed an untenable response. An eye for an eye?
Verbal abuse. Bullying.
Thank God, bullying is finally getting its due in the United States. It has taken us until suicides rooted in sexual orientation-based situations for society to take bullying seriously. Suicides are the sad impetus to take seriously a grievous violation of the gifts of being human.
Verbal abuse. Bullying.
Whatever the subject may be, whoever the object may be, I cannot so engage. Such is my missionary work. I do so act. With Compassion. With Joy. With Resolution.
Verbal abuse. Bullying.
How do you respond? Do you erect physical boundaries? Or, is defamation limited to those human beings within your earshot?
Hostility, and submissiveness are common responses to sexual abuse. Yet, I do not feel I may address the issue with the respect it deserves.
For those reasons, I direct my ponderings to what I do understand from life experience. Bullying. Verbal abuse.
I do not feel the piercing sting--the deep pain--inflicted by Palsy Patty, and the mimicking of my bent right arm in my face during my childhood. It was not everyone--each of my peers, or every day of my life. Yet, I never knew the moment, when the bullying would attack.
My only response was to identify the words I could speak--the explanations I could give--that would make other kids understand why I looked different.
I do not understand. Contrary to each and every belief of everyone I knew, I knew that all I needed to be given were the words--the explanations--that would make people understand. I knew that I could create the understanding that did not exist--in which kids and parents were not willing to engage.
Compounding the verbal abuse---the lack of understanding--of my peers was the attitude--the belief--of adults that bullying--verbal abuse--was nothing more than a phase kids go through. No credence was given to the notion that the self-esteem of the kid being teased was not a phase that would be outgrown. No credence was given to the notion that the nurturing of positive self-esteem was essential--the positive self-esteem of kids who were being teased. I understood. Yet, far deeper than the physical disability I had, I was disabled from enlisting the support of my parents, the parents in my neighborhood, the authority figures--principals, most teachers, and counselors--people who I thought were supposed to know better.
I do not understand quite where my conviction came from--my belief that I could nurture understanding, if only some one of these adults would give me simple, logical, reasonable, understandable words, and explanations. Nascent faith, perhaps? I do not know. All I do know, is that in eight grade, I made a commitment to myself--I did not have a sense of God, or that might be what I might call it--to dedicate myself to work toward nurturing the understanding that I did not experience. It took me years to understand--to identify--what form my missionary work might take. Writing? That seemed the most likely to me, yet, I had no notion of what my outlet would be. My self-confidence--my introversion--did not lend itself to speaking, or assuming any leadership positions.
1978. College. A staff member asked if I was interested in serving on a campus-wide "Handicap Awareness Committee." Bingo. While people close to me did not understand my involvement, my dedication that precluded the studying I should have been doing, I knew better. I knew that if there was any hope of my making any meaningful contribution to society, I needed to work through the issues
Pervasive though my paralyzing fear was--fear that others would criticize me, and my actions--I assumed leadership of the Handicap Awareness Committee. I was driven by the knowledge that I was pursuing my missionary work. No trips to Central America for me. My missionary work was right at home.
My missionary work was being carried out. I spoke to education students at a college in South Dakota. I nurtured understanding in future teachers of the necessity of nurturing understanding, and building self-esteem. I shared the transcript of the speech I gave with parents in my neighborhood. I took the necessary risk of building understanding--of communicating to them what I had not been able to do twenty years earlier.
Palsy Patty died. No longer would she have negative, hurtful power over me. I do call upon her when communicating understanding, and compassion are my call to do.
"There goes another gimp," spoken by a coworker, who must have seen someone behind me with a walking disability, called the spirit of Palsy Patty to me in an instant. Gimp is not a word I use to describe myself. Gimp is not a word worthy of my speaking--reflective of the respect of other individuals I am called to express--to or in regard to any other human being.
Verbal abuse is not the same as sexual abuse. Yet, they do share an untenable violation of the human spirit.
Verbal abuse. Hostility. Anger. Submissiveness. Others may choose to respond in such spirit. I cannot respond in such a spirit. [In the heat of political debate, and hyperbole, name-calling of the individuals with opposite convictions is unthinkable. Yet, far too often, that seems the norm.] It is not a matter of whether I will not respond so. My will is not in question.
Verbal abuse. For a lifetime, I have been called to nurture understanding, build self-esteem, and most importantly separate actions from the individuals responsible for their commission. Verbal abuse--name calling. Physical proximity has no part in the commission of verbal abuse. I abhor the infliction of any derogatory word on the basis of different beliefs, or actions.
When I asked my father why the kids were teasing me, he said, with deep love, "There is nothing you did wrong, it is something wrong with them." Emotionally, I did not question his love. Yet, I could not reconcile how something could be wrong with the kids teasing me. Young as I was, that seemed an untenable response. An eye for an eye?
Verbal abuse. Bullying.
Thank God, bullying is finally getting its due in the United States. It has taken us until suicides rooted in sexual orientation-based situations for society to take bullying seriously. Suicides are the sad impetus to take seriously a grievous violation of the gifts of being human.
Verbal abuse. Bullying.
Whatever the subject may be, whoever the object may be, I cannot so engage. Such is my missionary work. I do so act. With Compassion. With Joy. With Resolution.
Verbal abuse. Bullying.
How do you respond? Do you erect physical boundaries? Or, is defamation limited to those human beings within your earshot?
PeaceNext...Intimate...Self-Disclosure...
During the 1960s, long before the advent of the World Wide Web, and social media, my parents involved our family in a foreign exchange program of social workers--the Twin Cities International Program--TCIP. Mom and Dad served as a host family to Knut from Denmark, Ilsa from Austria, Jun Bok from South Korea, and a man, whose name I believe was Daniel. These three men and one woman stayed with us during four years before I was ten. Knut seemed old to me, although he was probably 50:) Mature may be a more apt description than old. He was tall with balding light brown hair. I remember he gave me a book of Hans Christian Anderson's fairy tales. I think Mom and Dad still have the book. It has been many years since I have read the book. It is fairly small book with an ivory cover, and a picture on the front cover. Then there was Ilsa. Her father carved wood. Mom and Dad still have a shallow wooden plate with the names of my parents, my brother, sister, and me, carved around the edge. My parents have it mounted on the wall at the top of the bookshelves in their library. I can think of no more treasured symbol of our family. I do not remember much about Daniel, other than that he was from Italy. Jun Bok. Ah yes, Jun Bok. He was a borderline operator--definitely a character. He gave my parents at least one bottle of tabasco sauce. More memorable was his observation of my dad trying to assemble a new Weber grill. Dad was having the difficulty inherent to any item with the instructions, "Some assembly required." After watching Dad struggle for quite some time, Jun Bok said, "American technology. Nothing works." Jun Bok returned to South Korea many years ago. I do not know what has happened to him. Yet his words live on in my memory.
Each of the individuals we hosted, in addition to individuals from all around the world--not just Europe and Asia--who visited our home and attended a number of pool parties my parents hosted broadened my childhood horizons. Although I have not kept up with any of the individuals--a sad reality of life--I do bring from that experience openness to, and individuals from other countries.
I treasure the perspectives I have been given when I have spent time with individuals from other countries while at home, or when I have visited other countries. I will always remember with great fondness the conversations I had with a number of individuals from Norway while I spent nine days as a graduate school course. The Norwegians I met apologized to me for their poor English speaking skills. Such was not the case. My understanding of Norwegian was rudimentary at best. Yet, my love of the country--the fjords, the brisk air--is difficult to describe.
Now I find my connections to individuals in other countries through the World Wide Web--through e-mail, and social media. A skeptical eye is given to social media. I would warn against brandishing all social media outlets on the basis of how some individuals on some sites choose to use the sites.
PeaceNext. I am an incorrigible pacifist. Some say pacifist is synonymous with weakness, in a pejorative sense. I beg to differ. My interest in ecumenism led me to the PeaceNext website. The subtitle following the "PeaceNext" website title says, "Council for a Parliament of World Religions."
How, as someone raised to believe that there is good to be found in all world religions, could I pass up the opportunity to explore a network committed to integrity in nurturing constructive dialogue. Slowly I find myself open to friendship from around the world.
Some hesitate to engage in online networks of any form due to concerns for security, or personal disclosure. Others hesitate to engage in discussions of religion--it is too personal. Well....On one level--on an intellectual level--I understand. I respect the right of other individuals to not so engage.
Yet....yet....I cannot follow suit. It was not until this moment that I understood why. I am not a Bible-thumping woman on the street corner trying to force beliefs down people's throats. I try to be more subtle than that.
Long before I understood the intellectual nuances--the spiritual dimension--of engaging in social communities rooted in integrity, such as PeaceNext, I was confronted with the reality of bodily engagement. Not physical combat. No. Misunderstanding of my bent right arm, and my limping right leg led my peers to tease me. Kids mimicking my bent right wrist of my face was, "Palsy Patty." I was called to make myself understood--to make myself palatable in the eyes of people who met me.
No one may endanger me. My exterior is deceiving. As my sister says of me, "I don't worry about Patty out on the streets, I worry about the people who encounter her."
My life calls me to unequivocal self-disclosure. If I do not share of myself--if I do not reach out to other people-what am I living to do? I am called to find opportunities, such as PeaceNext, and other in-person, and online forums for the sharing of diverse perspectives dedicated to deeper understanding, and transformation.
Each of the individuals we hosted, in addition to individuals from all around the world--not just Europe and Asia--who visited our home and attended a number of pool parties my parents hosted broadened my childhood horizons. Although I have not kept up with any of the individuals--a sad reality of life--I do bring from that experience openness to, and individuals from other countries.
I treasure the perspectives I have been given when I have spent time with individuals from other countries while at home, or when I have visited other countries. I will always remember with great fondness the conversations I had with a number of individuals from Norway while I spent nine days as a graduate school course. The Norwegians I met apologized to me for their poor English speaking skills. Such was not the case. My understanding of Norwegian was rudimentary at best. Yet, my love of the country--the fjords, the brisk air--is difficult to describe.
Now I find my connections to individuals in other countries through the World Wide Web--through e-mail, and social media. A skeptical eye is given to social media. I would warn against brandishing all social media outlets on the basis of how some individuals on some sites choose to use the sites.
PeaceNext. I am an incorrigible pacifist. Some say pacifist is synonymous with weakness, in a pejorative sense. I beg to differ. My interest in ecumenism led me to the PeaceNext website. The subtitle following the "PeaceNext" website title says, "Council for a Parliament of World Religions."
How, as someone raised to believe that there is good to be found in all world religions, could I pass up the opportunity to explore a network committed to integrity in nurturing constructive dialogue. Slowly I find myself open to friendship from around the world.
Some hesitate to engage in online networks of any form due to concerns for security, or personal disclosure. Others hesitate to engage in discussions of religion--it is too personal. Well....On one level--on an intellectual level--I understand. I respect the right of other individuals to not so engage.
Yet....yet....I cannot follow suit. It was not until this moment that I understood why. I am not a Bible-thumping woman on the street corner trying to force beliefs down people's throats. I try to be more subtle than that.
Long before I understood the intellectual nuances--the spiritual dimension--of engaging in social communities rooted in integrity, such as PeaceNext, I was confronted with the reality of bodily engagement. Not physical combat. No. Misunderstanding of my bent right arm, and my limping right leg led my peers to tease me. Kids mimicking my bent right wrist of my face was, "Palsy Patty." I was called to make myself understood--to make myself palatable in the eyes of people who met me.
No one may endanger me. My exterior is deceiving. As my sister says of me, "I don't worry about Patty out on the streets, I worry about the people who encounter her."
My life calls me to unequivocal self-disclosure. If I do not share of myself--if I do not reach out to other people-what am I living to do? I am called to find opportunities, such as PeaceNext, and other in-person, and online forums for the sharing of diverse perspectives dedicated to deeper understanding, and transformation.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Words. Abbreviated. Language. Corrupted.
Obamacare. "Ronnie Ree gun." Pro-life. Pro-abortion. Romney-care.
I am not a fan of any of these words. Corruption of words. These four phrases are not political statements of my beliefs. Not at all.
Abbreviation of words. Corruption of language.
I value health care. I am not opposed to Obama's health care programs. "Obamacare" obliterates the reasons--the objections--people who use the phrase have. Romney-care is nothing more than a knee-jerk reaction--an attention-getting word created specifically to express objection.
Obstruction of justice. Obamacare. No, I don't mean "Obamacare" program is an obstruction of justice. Obstruction of justice? The term "Obamacare" obstructs the ability to revisit areas, which may be problematic in the execution of the statutes. If Senators, and/or Representatives want to propose any provisions to correct unintended consequences of the program, their efforts are hindered by the emotionally-explosive term, "Obamacare." O falls into the same pitfalls as does "Obamacare."
Abbreviation of language. Corruption of words.
"Ronnie Ree' gun." My elders have referred to President Ronald Reagan as, "Ronnie Ree' gun." Contrary to the pronunciation the President preferred during his political career, "Ronald Ray' gun." My sense is that he may have used the previous pronunciation during his movie career. If that is true, that does not forgive a "Ronnie Ree' gun." moniker being ascribed. Those who know me know that I am not a Ronald Reagan-apologist. I abhor name-calling.
I do not feel particularly effective in affirming my convictions. I pray my convictions will be heard without full benefit of my clearly-expressed thoughts and words.
Abbreviation of words. Corruption of language.
Pro-life. Pro-abortion. Pro-choice. Anti-choice.
Abbreviation of words. Corruption of language.
I intend no discussion of the issue of abortion. Many people on both sides of the issue are far better advocates than I could ever be, or aspire, if I were so inclined.
Life. Abortion. Choice. Respect.
Broad scope. Vast intent.
I treasure life. Abortion has never visited my door. I cannot speak from experience, or invest my precious energies in fighting for or against an issue with which I have no experience. My life has given me a well-spring of experience to which I feel called to advocate. I revere life. I value choice. I have made many choices, which are at the core of my past, current, and future life. I have deep respect for each human being I have met, know, love, and will never know.
Yet, I cannot distill my beliefs, simplify my convictions into nicknames, and slogans. My convictions exceed the tight spaces afforded by abbreviated language. My beliefs deserve more deliberation than nicknames, and abbreviated language afford.
Whatever the word, the language, or cause may be, may we abide by the treasure of life, the chalice from which our choice is poured, and the revere what respect deserves. This is my prayer.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Catholic Church Reform: What Is It?
Catholic Church reform. What is it? What should it be? Who decides? Who should decide?
What is it?
Hot button issues come to mind. Women's ordination. Married clergy. Liturgy--lay involvement. Liturgy--inclusive language.
These are valid, worthy issues central to Catholic Church reform. Yet, in defining what it should be, dangers need to be identified--dangers to effecting reform.
Herd mentality. Rote support of hot button issues. Rote support of advocates, who can speak the loudest.
I write cognizant of time's luxury, which long-term disability affords me. I write cognizant of my time's responsibility--God's time to me. I must not squander that precious time--that precious responsibility. Were I to squander, I would aggravate the problems--the issues--I sought to address.
Who decides?
"Church Hierarchy!" is the rallying cry of church reform campaigns. Yet, hierarchy, to some degree, is necessary for the advancement of any organization's issues. In the extreme, anarchy is hierarchy's adversary. Effective Catholic Church reform lies somewhere in the middle.
Catholic Church Reform. Who decides?
I know my place. I make no submissive cry to avoid responsibility. No. I know my place. I have been asked to help clarify issues. Research. Write drafts of recommendations. Listen. Heed direction of individuals who will make recommendations based in part upon my research. Revise. Rewrite. Submit. Listen.
I have tremendous respect for the knowledge, experience, convictions, and beliefs of the individuals I will work with. I pray that I will nurture and maintain that same level of respect of and for each individual I meet.
I pray that I will seek a broad understanding of the people, issues, organizations, and perspectives within the catholic church. I pray not to imprison myself within the popular positions on hot button issues just to do so. Already I sense myself doing just that.
Catholic Church Reform. What is it?
It is not for me to define in isolation. For now, I shall act as a squirrel might. I shall gather nuts--food for thought--for the work ahead--nuts that may sustain me. Websites. Blogs. Publications. These are but three of the nuts I gather for the exciting, daunting, scary, exhilarating, unknown journey ahead me--ahead of us.
What is it?
Hot button issues come to mind. Women's ordination. Married clergy. Liturgy--lay involvement. Liturgy--inclusive language.
These are valid, worthy issues central to Catholic Church reform. Yet, in defining what it should be, dangers need to be identified--dangers to effecting reform.
Herd mentality. Rote support of hot button issues. Rote support of advocates, who can speak the loudest.
I write cognizant of time's luxury, which long-term disability affords me. I write cognizant of my time's responsibility--God's time to me. I must not squander that precious time--that precious responsibility. Were I to squander, I would aggravate the problems--the issues--I sought to address.
Who decides?
"Church Hierarchy!" is the rallying cry of church reform campaigns. Yet, hierarchy, to some degree, is necessary for the advancement of any organization's issues. In the extreme, anarchy is hierarchy's adversary. Effective Catholic Church reform lies somewhere in the middle.
Catholic Church Reform. Who decides?
I know my place. I make no submissive cry to avoid responsibility. No. I know my place. I have been asked to help clarify issues. Research. Write drafts of recommendations. Listen. Heed direction of individuals who will make recommendations based in part upon my research. Revise. Rewrite. Submit. Listen.
I have tremendous respect for the knowledge, experience, convictions, and beliefs of the individuals I will work with. I pray that I will nurture and maintain that same level of respect of and for each individual I meet.
I pray that I will seek a broad understanding of the people, issues, organizations, and perspectives within the catholic church. I pray not to imprison myself within the popular positions on hot button issues just to do so. Already I sense myself doing just that.
Catholic Church Reform. What is it?
It is not for me to define in isolation. For now, I shall act as a squirrel might. I shall gather nuts--food for thought--for the work ahead--nuts that may sustain me. Websites. Blogs. Publications. These are but three of the nuts I gather for the exciting, daunting, scary, exhilarating, unknown journey ahead me--ahead of us.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Compassion
Compassion.
Compassion gets a bad wrap. Weak. Idealistic. Hopeless. Unrealistic.
I am not among those bad rappers. I believe in compassion. I believe in its ideal. I live by its hope.
Never before this week have a found a haven of individuals willing to admit--to affirm--their commitment to act with compassion--to live with and by compassion.
We live in a world of instant gratification. Impatience. Deadlines. As unsavory as those realities may be, these are facts of life.
So, how do we counteract those societal pressures--those necessities of a working world--a healthy economy? Some may say that there is no way to achieve those objectives. We live in the world of Facebook, Twitter. So, what hope is there to affirm--to advocate for--compassion?
Compassion. Achievable. If so committed--if so wiling--you do have opportunities. You do have options.
PeaceNext. Charter for Compassion. Two opportunities.
PeaceNext. Social media need not be frivolous. Peace Next. The Facebook of Compassion. Global. Ecumenical. Faith-filled. Committed.
I am new in my understanding of Peace Next. Yet, I am committed to following my instincts. As a lifelong pacifist, I am more than willing to open myself to this venue of hope.
Interreligious dialogue. Ecumenism. A Parliament of World Religions its aspiration.
In developing the World Wide Web--the human exchange of information and knowledge--within the architectural structure of the Internet, Tim Berners-Lee wrote of the opportunities for free, global communication, which are offered by such forums as PeaceNext.
Given a forum, concrete actions are the next steps necessary to give Compassion a firm foundation. So, what actions? Where do I give my voice to compassion???
The Charter for Compassion offers a wellspring of opportunity.
The Charter is distinct from PeaceNext. The Charter for Compassion sets forth commonsense principles to commit yourself to--to make yourself accountable to others. The Charter for Compassion offers the space, where you may commit yourself to intentions of compassion not listed.
In my humble opinion PeaceNext, and The Charter for Compassion are the World Wide Web at its very best.
Commit yourself to Compassion.
Compassion gets a bad wrap. Weak. Idealistic. Hopeless. Unrealistic.
I am not among those bad rappers. I believe in compassion. I believe in its ideal. I live by its hope.
Never before this week have a found a haven of individuals willing to admit--to affirm--their commitment to act with compassion--to live with and by compassion.
We live in a world of instant gratification. Impatience. Deadlines. As unsavory as those realities may be, these are facts of life.
So, how do we counteract those societal pressures--those necessities of a working world--a healthy economy? Some may say that there is no way to achieve those objectives. We live in the world of Facebook, Twitter. So, what hope is there to affirm--to advocate for--compassion?
Compassion. Achievable. If so committed--if so wiling--you do have opportunities. You do have options.
PeaceNext. Charter for Compassion. Two opportunities.
PeaceNext. Social media need not be frivolous. Peace Next. The Facebook of Compassion. Global. Ecumenical. Faith-filled. Committed.
I am new in my understanding of Peace Next. Yet, I am committed to following my instincts. As a lifelong pacifist, I am more than willing to open myself to this venue of hope.
Interreligious dialogue. Ecumenism. A Parliament of World Religions its aspiration.
In developing the World Wide Web--the human exchange of information and knowledge--within the architectural structure of the Internet, Tim Berners-Lee wrote of the opportunities for free, global communication, which are offered by such forums as PeaceNext.
Given a forum, concrete actions are the next steps necessary to give Compassion a firm foundation. So, what actions? Where do I give my voice to compassion???
The Charter for Compassion offers a wellspring of opportunity.
The Charter is distinct from PeaceNext. The Charter for Compassion sets forth commonsense principles to commit yourself to--to make yourself accountable to others. The Charter for Compassion offers the space, where you may commit yourself to intentions of compassion not listed.
In my humble opinion PeaceNext, and The Charter for Compassion are the World Wide Web at its very best.
Commit yourself to Compassion.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
The Stairway
2625 Vale Crest Road. April 26, 1960. A foundation was laid. A baby was born. A home. My values.
A split-level home. The front door. The front entryway. A stairway down to the den--an office, laundry room, a Singer sewing machine. Mom.
A defining moment.
Late 1960s. Pacifists. Vietnam. Mom's first-born son. My brother. My Idol. The Draft. Drawing "your" number. Lower numbers go to Vietnam first.
Me. The baby of the family. Home from school. I walk into the front entryway. Mom hears me. With baited breath I ask, "What was His Number?"
30
Not good. Frightening.
30
Conscientious Objector.
30
Only later--much later--did I learn how close we came. A hearing set. Our minister set to testify. Last minute change. The minister could not come. I do not remember what followed. How did we succeed? My memory fails me.
30
Our job? Prove why a very young man be drafted into the quagmire known as Vietnam. The quagmire put before our eyes by Walter Cronkite each night.
30
When Conscientious Objector status was granted, I understood the responsibility of pacifism. Diplomacy. World peace in our living room--conscientious objection at the Stairway.
30
Forty years have passed. The memory--the image--of that moment is as clear as when I first stood at the Stairway.
30
The waving of the United Nations flag on October 24--the anniversary of the UN's founding--added to the responsibility to live conscientious of our life's commitments. Meetings of the World Federalists in the living room--in the heart of our home--embodied the same spirit.
30
What happened to that young man? Did he ever offer service? Yes. Yet today, he offers medical care to those who come to him in need. Yes. He offered service. Yes. He offers service.
30
2625 Vale Crest Road. April 26, 1960.
My home has changed. Time has passed.
30
I pray we do not fall down The Stairway. I pray we remain steadfast Conscientious Objectors to actions that mask themselves as National Security. May we not pound our chests. May we seek peace, understanding, diplomacy, and care.
30
A split-level home. The front door. The front entryway. A stairway down to the den--an office, laundry room, a Singer sewing machine. Mom.
A defining moment.
Late 1960s. Pacifists. Vietnam. Mom's first-born son. My brother. My Idol. The Draft. Drawing "your" number. Lower numbers go to Vietnam first.
Me. The baby of the family. Home from school. I walk into the front entryway. Mom hears me. With baited breath I ask, "What was His Number?"
30
Not good. Frightening.
30
Conscientious Objector.
30
Only later--much later--did I learn how close we came. A hearing set. Our minister set to testify. Last minute change. The minister could not come. I do not remember what followed. How did we succeed? My memory fails me.
30
Our job? Prove why a very young man be drafted into the quagmire known as Vietnam. The quagmire put before our eyes by Walter Cronkite each night.
30
When Conscientious Objector status was granted, I understood the responsibility of pacifism. Diplomacy. World peace in our living room--conscientious objection at the Stairway.
30
Forty years have passed. The memory--the image--of that moment is as clear as when I first stood at the Stairway.
30
The waving of the United Nations flag on October 24--the anniversary of the UN's founding--added to the responsibility to live conscientious of our life's commitments. Meetings of the World Federalists in the living room--in the heart of our home--embodied the same spirit.
30
What happened to that young man? Did he ever offer service? Yes. Yet today, he offers medical care to those who come to him in need. Yes. He offered service. Yes. He offers service.
30
2625 Vale Crest Road. April 26, 1960.
My home has changed. Time has passed.
30
I pray we do not fall down The Stairway. I pray we remain steadfast Conscientious Objectors to actions that mask themselves as National Security. May we not pound our chests. May we seek peace, understanding, diplomacy, and care.
30
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Dr. Richard Owen
Richard R. Owen M.D.
Owen, Richard R., MD Age 83, died December 11, 2011. Preceded in death
by his parents, John and Ethel Owen; step- mother, Helen "Pat" Owen;
brother, John; and sister, Margaret. Survived by wife, Amy; sister, Suzy
Brickley; daughter, Marnie; sons, Rick (Ann), and Don (Meg); grandchildren,
Lauren Lusk (Jeremy), David Jacobs, David, and Rebecca; as well as many other
relatives. Richard was a doctor of physical medicine and rehabilitation who
practiced in many area hospitals and clinics. Before retiring, he was Medical
Director of Sister Kenny Institute. He enjoyed wheelchair athletics as a
participant and medical examiner. He served on the board of, and went on many
trips with, Wilderness Inquiry. A celebration of his life will be held at First
Unitarian Society of Minneapolis, 900 Mount Curve, Minneapolis at 2 PM on
Saturday, December 17, 2011. Memorial contributions can be made to the Sister
Kenny Foundation, First Unitarian Society of Minneapolis, or Wilderness
Inquiry.
Published in Star Tribune
from December 14 to December 15, 2011http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/startribune/obituary.aspx?n=richard-r-owen&pid=155035415
A gentle man. Wise. Knowing. Far-sighted.
Dr. Owen was my physical rehabilitation medicine doctor in the 1960s. At my first visit--before my first memory, he said, "Stand her up. How far can your daughter walk?"
"Don't you understand? She can't do that! Don't you understand?" my outraged mother exclaimed.
He stood up, transferred his brown, walking cane, and stepped forward. He understood. Polio met this doctor as a teenager. Wise beyond his years, Dr. Owen understood.
From my first memory, Mom and I went to see him to monitor the progression of my cerebral palsy, and identify courses of action we could take. For my part, I met his reflex hammer with a kick in his face. A grateful soul.
"Don't you understand? She can't do that! Don't you understand?" my outraged mother exclaimed.
He stood up, transferred his brown, walking cane, and stepped forward. He understood. Polio met this doctor as a teenager. Wise beyond his years, Dr. Owen understood.
From my first memory, Mom and I went to see him to monitor the progression of my cerebral palsy, and identify courses of action we could take. For my part, I met his reflex hammer with a kick in his face. A grateful soul.
Dr. Owen did not practice medicine. He gave medical care. Practical experience--living with polio since he was a teenager. He was in his 40s, when I received his care.
Dr. Owen knew the terrain of physical rehabilitation--not from a laboratory, but, from real life.
He was at peace with himself--with his life. He was not aggressive. He was affirming--with his manner, with his care. Dr. Owen understood the geography of disability. Without calling attention to "handicap," or "disability," he directed his energies toward how to live as fully as possible.
Dr. Owen earned the requisite schooling to be certified a medical practitioner. With little fanfare, and unwavering trust in his own life experience, he offered personal, medical care.
Thank you, Dr. Owen. Thank you.
Dr. Owen earned the requisite schooling to be certified a medical practitioner. With little fanfare, and unwavering trust in his own life experience, he offered personal, medical care.
Thank you, Dr. Owen. Thank you.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Neat Handwriting
"Based on the handwriting, I know it is yours. But, I have no idea what the paper says," my high school teacher said offhandedly.
I laugh. What else can I do? What can I say? I love school. I want to do well. How hard did she try to read my handwriting? Is it just an excuse?
I don't mean to be--I don't want to be--defensive. But, tell me, "What constitutes neat handwriting?"
...
I have had a wonderful weekend at Lake Superior. How can I express my thanks for our time at Bluefin Bay? A poem! Yes, a poem. Ode to Bluefin.
The words flow from my mind. While on the bus home, I craft the poem in my handwritten words. Carefully shaped letters. Carefully drawn between my ode's stanzas? Hand-sketched bluefins.
The words are written. The bluefins sketched. The ode complete. My gift is ready to present to Mom.
"Thank you for the poem. I want you to know, I typed the poem, 'Ode to Bluefin,' and I framed it."
I don't mean to be--I don't want to be--defensive. But, can you tell me, "What constitutes neat handwriting?"
...
Diagnosed. Intentional tremors. Cerebral palsy. Diagnosed. Long-term disability. Certification questionnaire.
"Itemize what you do from the time you wake up, until you go to bed at night." "Address the envelope, and return it to our office."
"I will type the form, so that my handwriting does not interfere in the message of my need."
"No, complete the form in your handwriting, so that they may see your need." Such was the essence of my family's advice.
I don't mean to be--I don't want to be--defensive. But, can you tell me, "What constitutes neat handwriting?"
I laugh. What else can I do? What can I say? I love school. I want to do well. How hard did she try to read my handwriting? Is it just an excuse?
I don't mean to be--I don't want to be--defensive. But, tell me, "What constitutes neat handwriting?"
...
I have had a wonderful weekend at Lake Superior. How can I express my thanks for our time at Bluefin Bay? A poem! Yes, a poem. Ode to Bluefin.
The words flow from my mind. While on the bus home, I craft the poem in my handwritten words. Carefully shaped letters. Carefully drawn between my ode's stanzas? Hand-sketched bluefins.
The words are written. The bluefins sketched. The ode complete. My gift is ready to present to Mom.
"Thank you for the poem. I want you to know, I typed the poem, 'Ode to Bluefin,' and I framed it."
I don't mean to be--I don't want to be--defensive. But, can you tell me, "What constitutes neat handwriting?"
...
Diagnosed. Intentional tremors. Cerebral palsy. Diagnosed. Long-term disability. Certification questionnaire.
"Itemize what you do from the time you wake up, until you go to bed at night." "Address the envelope, and return it to our office."
"I will type the form, so that my handwriting does not interfere in the message of my need."
"No, complete the form in your handwriting, so that they may see your need." Such was the essence of my family's advice.
I don't mean to be--I don't want to be--defensive. But, can you tell me, "What constitutes neat handwriting?"
Sunday, November 6, 2011
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."
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.
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.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Being a Follower
I have never considered myself to be a mindless follower. The appointment of a priest new to our parish community last July put that to a test. I was not familiar with the priest by name, although most everyone else seemed to be. I did not know what to expect.
Fears before the appointment were that a very conservative priest would be assigned to our parish community. I did not engage myself in the fear. I had a choice. I vetoed the worship of doom. I feared the tailspin such engagement might engender in me more than I did the appointment of a conservative priest. Not for any high-minded reason. I could not afford to do so.
The tension between fear and physical health is greatly underrated. Physical calm. Breathe in. Breathe out. Physical calm.
With the July, 2011 announcement all fears were allayed. So would seem the end of the story. The liberal...no...the spirit of engagement--engagement of the mind, spirit, and Body--would continue. Case closed.
Well...not so fast...
The priest joined the community--the priest became pastor to our community.
Whew! We are safe.
Well...not so fast...
Symbolic of the affection for the new priest is a woman, who was a member of the previous parish to which our priest pastored. Some refer to her as a "groupie." I have not met her. I know little more than the back of her head. Yet, she came in hopes of hearing the words, and receiving Holy Communion from this priest. After she satisfied that hunger, she left. Or so it seems.
It is easy to scorn her. Tempting to say, "Move forward. Welcome the priest, who pastors your parish now."
Well....not so fast...
Hospitality is not closing the door on someone on the basis of geographic boundaries. Our parish is enriched immeasurably by the geographic diversity that is the fabric of our community.
The "groupie" puts a question to me, "Are you listening to all of his words, and attending to all of his pastoral actions?" Or, "Are you getting up, walking out, and closing your ears and eyes to what you do not want to see or hear?"
It is tempting to do nothing more than "Like" what he, or anyone else in the Church, or community might say, in order to be in good standing. Yet, I find myself trying not to end with a Like link click, but, trying to begin with the Like link, and seeing where it leads me.
Where do I take it? What do I do with it?
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