Meeting Me, Myself, and I.

Two and a half years ago, I decided I wasn't going to do a year of service.  A year later I decided to reconsider and today I find myself on the cusp of a life of service that I don't know if I ever quite imagined in 2008.

This past weekend I had the opportunity to look back on the journey that led me to do a year of service by sharing the story of that decision with a group of juniors and seniors from Chestnut Hill College on their Life Choices Retreat.  The story is one that has shaped who I am and ultimately landed me where I am today.  Despite that fact, it's not a story that I reflect on in depth with much regularity anymore.

Yet in preparation for this retreat, I found myself examining the process I took to decide where I was called to be in a new way. It is a tale of two decisions: how I decided not to do service... and then ended up doing service.  I know it pretty well, since, well, I lived it. But being able to take the time to reflect on the decisions that I made which led me to service allowed me to see those decisions and the person who made them in a new light.

As is so often the case on this blog, and especially for the purposes of this post, the story isn't nearly as important as the reflection that has led to its telling.  Hindsight is 20/20, but even now looking back on where I've been and the decisions I've made teaches me something about myself, information that is as pertinent to who I was then as it is to the here and now.

From college to Commonweal to the SSJ Mission Corps to life as a candidate with the sisters, each step has been taken after much consideration and prayer.  Each move has come out of trust and remains in faith as I am led from one grace to another.  Honestly it couldn't have happened any other way. When I've tried to move forward otherwise, I see and experience the fault, I trip and stumble; I realize the need to walk in faith with God.

This weekend, though, God introduced me to some others I've been walking with- Me, Myself, and I.  They've been on this journey with me the whole time and reflecting on how I've come to where I am today I needed to sit with each one of them. As I did, I recognized that they were sitting with me. In each new moment, they journeyed with me and in striving to stand most honestly before my God the stood with (and deep within) me.

There was the little girl who dwells within me. With wonder and simple joy, she skips and squeals.  She longs for attention, makes herself giggle, and smiles at the world around her.  She is and was enamored by a God so great and powerful, who nonetheless takes the time to talk to little girls.  I am her and she is me.

I am also the teenager who obviously knows best but still yearns for love and approval, who just wants to be held tightly and know that the God who whispered into her ear was there. She is the one in whom the little girl jumped when God's voice was heard; so familiar, so fantastical, so fundamental.  Even though she cared to dictate the conditions of a call, God took her by the hand and led her until she realized that if this call was true, it couldn't work that way. God held tight, knowing her hands couldn't hold it all.

Her hands are your hands; her hands are my hands; her hands are God's hands.

That teen grew into a young woman- Pondering philosophy and religion, taking hold of desires and passions, staking claim more readily to who she is. As she grows, so does that claim... so does my claim.  She is in me. They all are. And they all stake a claim to who I am.

So does who I am becoming.  That woman is within me too.  I am slowly coming to know her. While I may not really know her, she still plays a part in who I am today, if only because that is part of who she'll be tomorrow.

Looking back on where I've been I see each one of them in my life... There is always a primary player but in the background the others play supporting roles.  As a child, the teen and young woman took notes so that the little girl would be comfortable when I grew up. With time, the little girl shared innocence, intuition, and joy in the most unexpected places as the other players took the reins. Each player takes cues from the others; they teach one another inadvertently and as a result, I grow. Without any one of them I am not truly who I am and at my best, I am the bond that somehow unites them all.

No matter where I go they travel with me- from college to Commonweal to the SSJ Mission Corps to life as a candidate with the sisters- I am their's, they are mine, and we are all God's.

Gratefully, Me, Myself, and I can rest assured in that.    

Having Lived

Last night I realized that over the last two years, I have come to learn that there are certain blessings to living in community... I have also come to understand that there are distinct blessings to having lived in community.

And believe me that when I say "having lived" I mean it in the best sense of the phrase.  Having lived means having made the investment of time and energy into a community that can only be measured in dirty dishes, television shows you'd never watch on your own, moments of intense laughter, listening when someone needs you to, and periods of heightened emotion- either communally or inside your own head.

As I sat across the table from Barbara, one of my community mates from the SSJ Mission Corps, I recognized that we had definitely lived in community.  At the time that we lived together, our community was an adventure, to say the least.  It's been over six months since we parted ways and I honestly don't know if there is a better way to describe our time together than as an adventure- full of ups and downs, teaching you to navigate life together in new ways daily.

Now, having lived together, I can only count the immense blessing that community has had on our relationship and my own understanding of myself.  Looking back on our year, we share fond memories, repeated eye rolls, and an understanding built on having lived.  That bond is deeper than most. It is deeper than I think I expected that first awkward night in community. It allows us to be real with one another, to share our own truth and to trust that the person we share with will honestly and compassionately handle what we give to them.  That is the blessing of having lived in community. Having lived gives us the ability to know one another, but it also gives us the distance necessary to point to what is most important in our stories, to know one another, and to continue on the journey together.

Moving into this new year that journey continues, as does my own journey in community.

As the clock struck midnight below the starry skied ceiling of the SSJ mother house, I found my cheeks dabbed with the kisses of sisters young and old as the New Year was quietly ushered in.  It was the quietest New Year I'd had in a while: a few hours of prayer and adoration as 2011 came to a close and we prayerfully considered all that had been and will be in 2012.  Our prayer traced the journey and although I knelt in the chapel awaiting the new year, silently and contently focused on Jesus, the spirit of the larger community made its way in.

Here were the names of our sisters who had passed on to new life this year. Here was hope for the year to come. Here was prayer that each person present might be more aware of the Truth in their life, here, now, and always. Here we welcomed whatever is ahead as a community, united in hope, faith, and love.

As my own local community celebrated Christmas together, a simple meal accompanied by simple gifts transformed into one of the greatest gifts- presence.  For hours, we sat together in our living room talking about life, telling stories, and simply enjoying the life we live together.

Having lived together now for nearly six months, I can say that the shift from simply living to having lived has begun and continues. No doubt living in community takes some adjustment, but, in this local community and on the larger scale of the SSJs in Philadelphia, I can sense a shift occurring within me.  Time has given me space to find the stories of importance within myself, within the sisters I live with, and within the larger community; that time and space continues to expand as this journey continues and as it does, I sense myself settling into the journey. Not settling for or being lulled by the journey, but finding a familiarity and discovering the expansive adventure that lies ahead.

In living and having lived this journey there is something more here for me. It brings with it grace and goodness, ever deepening in prayer and practice and peace. I stand open to whatever lies ahead knowing that includes joy, understanding, sadness, and struggle.  Those are not new to any of our journeys but the dimensions and depth in which they resonate all depend on our having lived. Having lived- having become accustomed to, having operated with, having truly given our selves to what and who surrounds us- we find peace, comfort, and challenge.

Having lived means giving our all for and to one another. It is the gift of community, not always readily apparent but plentiful nonetheless.  It happens gradually, almost as if we wouldn't notice it but in time we do.

Beneath the starry sky.
Around a living room.
Across the dinner table.

Here community flourishes and having lived it we know that in the midst of the joys and struggles, challenges and triumphs, we grow; Knowing more ourselves and more the other, so we can continue on the journey assured that if we live with openness to God and grace, within ourselves and others, our having lived will simply be the beginning of new life.

Ladybugs and Labyrinths

I sat at the entrance of the labyrinth for a few minutes before I started to walk. I had brought books and my journal with me but as I sat there in the drafty second floor of a quiet building that smelled of old books, I just looked at the swirling path before me. It was one I knew well.

The first time I encountered a labyrinth was when I was in about the 7th grade.  One painted on canvas was traveling around our diocese and was making a stop at my childhood parish where it was splayed out on the parish center's linoleum floor.  I can't quite remember what it was about the labyrinth that caught my attention.  Maybe it was its shape- smooth, concentric, intricately simple, and symmetric- or maybe it was because it was a treat for the youth group to be able to walk. No matter the reason, I can remember being ushered onto the canvas in my socks, being given a brief explanation of what the purpose of this experience was, and set loose to walk it with my peers.

Being the overtly intentional preteen that I was, I took my time as I was told, meandering through the twists and turns of the maze.  There was no rush after all. This was prayer and contemplation. There was no way to get lost; simply follow the path and you would be lead to the center.  There was something magical and mysterious about it.  The journey enticed me. It was my own and yet it was so many people's.  It is a path that has acted as a metaphor for life and it is a path that has met me on all different places on my journey, quite literally.

In Ireland, I would walk it on a hillside over looking Galway Bay.  In Connecticut, I would walk it in the wilderness of a retreat house.  At my home parish it would permanently be installed in paving stones, allowing me to walk it day and night. In Philadelphia, I would conveniently come to one at Sister of St. Joseph Motherhouse. In Sydney, it would greet me as a pilgrim. Each morning it greets me as I get ready for the day and pick up my rings and necklaces off a miniature version of the Chartres Labyrinth that I have come to love.

Friday I found myself again at the Labyrinth at the Lutheran Theological Seminary here in Philadelphia.  In its own room on the second floor of the school's library, the labyrinth is a smaller version of the Chartres Labyrinth that is open to the public whenever the library is open.  I've found myself there a few times, Friday it was a stop after a morning meeting about my Formation and a good time to just sit in prayer.

Certainly, my journey has led me places I never would have imagined, but like the labyrinth, you can only follow the path ahead of you sensing what might be ahead but never knowing more that a few steps ahead of yourself and a few steps behind.  There are times to pause and times to look up and see where you are in relation to the center.  For me, that is where God dwells.  If this path you follows is a journey or a metaphor for life- it is the constant pursuit of God.

You enter moving straight ahead, directly towards the God you desire, but, as is so often the case, that path soon turns.  You trace the Divine.  In and out you weave, knowing always where you are headed but not always knowing the exact route you're going to take to get there.

No matter how many times I walk it, I never remember the exact turns.  Each journey inward is its own. My feet fall softly and slowly.  I reflect and like my preteen self I travel slowly. In time I've learned to stop. To pause where necessary... to wait in the Spirit.

Friday, Jesus sat at the center of the labyrinth, sitting cross legged in prayer.  I knew I needed to move towards him, why else would I have stopped off at the labyrinth on a morning when I could be doing anything else.  Before I took my first step, a movement caught my eye- a lady bug dawdling over the tight wound fibers of the carpet.  This bug would be walking with me.  I paused and let her cross the entrance before I moved inward.  As I walked, more lady bugs made their way through the maze. They made me stop, cutting my thoughts short as I witnessed their slow movement.  Some would stop completely and I'd nudge them along- no need to stop moving little fellow, let your little legs carry you where they may.

In time, Christ, who remained at the center, came to lead me by the hand, pulling me faster than I might usually move along.  Gentle nudging, inward and outward, toward a place of contentment with my faithful companion.

Making the final ninety degree turn, I entered the sanctuary of the labyrinth. The journey takes time and yet when I make that final turn I always seem to be surprised that I am there already.  Aren't there more steps to be taken?  How could I already be here? Yet I am. The journey leads me here- as it always does, whether I'm ready or not- to God.

In Chartres Cathedral, the Labyrinth lies in the nave, as if it were a womb. There the Cathedral's famous rose window can cast a light that perfectly encompasses it. Recently I heard it said, "this blessed light reminds us that in the quest for the Divine, we must always remember that in Christ the Divine becomes man within Mary and within our own journeys we are invited to bring the Divine to life in us."

How fitting that new life come through divine light in this journey, especially in this season of Advent.  The Annunciation propels us into this last week of Advent. We look towards Christmas with the yes on our lips that will bring Christ to life in this world and in our lives.  The last four weeks we have prayed for that coming, as we have navigated the twists and turns of the season, of prayer, and of ourselves. Now we make that final faithful turn, the one that always seems to be a surprise. And trusting in the Word, we stand face to face with our God, the God who leads us on our journey, nudges us along, sits at our center, and asks simply in humility and trust that we give birth to him each and every day.  

An Advent Prayer

A prayer for all of you as we enter this last week of Advent and move towards the joy of Christmas. May God illuminate your lives with grace and meet you in the manger of your hearts, transforming you in ways truthful & ever unexpected.

O God, most high and most near,

you send glad tidings to the lowly,

you hide not your face from the poor;

those who dwell in darkness you call into the light.

Take away our blindness,

remove the hardness of our hearts,

and form us into a humble people,

that, at the advent of your Son,

we may recognize him in our midst

and find joy in his saving presence.

We ask this through him whose coming is certain,

whose day draws near:

Jesus, your Son and our brother.

Amen.

___________________+___________________

Taken from the Daily Prayer, Daily Bread, CSJ/SSJ Prayer Book, Advent/Christmas Edition. 

Maybe it will be clearer...

I had never met anyone named Ita before Ita Ford.  In fact, I don't know if I can say that I ever actually met Ita  Ford but at some point in my life, her words, which are in fact older than I am, entered into my life. And as is the case with words, with them came herself and so, we met. We met and the words she had written in 1980 to her niece on her sixteenth birthday spoke directly to me.


Brooklyn is not passing through the drama of El Salvador, but some things hold true wherever one is, and at whatever age. What I'm saying is, I hope you come to find that which gives life a deep meaning for you...something worth living for, maybe even worth dying for...something that energizes you, enthuses you, enables you to keep moving ahead. I can't tell you what it might be -- that's for you to find, to choose, to love. I can just encourage you to start looking, and support you in the search. Maybe this sounds weird and off-the-wall, and maybe, no one else will talk to you like this, but then, too, I'm seeing and living things that others around you aren't...

I want to say to you: don't waste the gifts and opportunities you have to make yourself and other people happy... I hope this doesn't sound like some kind of a sermon because I don't mean it that way. Rather, it's something you learn here, and I want to share it with you. In fact, it's my birthday present to you. If it doesn't make sense right at this moment, keep this and read it sometime from now. Maybe it will be clearer...


Each year I re-read those words on the second of December, the anniversary of Ita Ford, Maura Clark, Jean Donovan, and Dorothy Kozol's deaths.  In a way it is kind of like a birthday present. Reading them is like seeing candles burning brightly in the midst of the darkness.  Each time I read, there is something else that strikes me;  there is a new understanding to what I thought I understood.  Like the candles of a cake that illuminate your face and bring the hope of a new year.  Maybe this year it will be clearer...

Wherever one is... 

whatever age...

find that which...energizes...enthuses...enables... 

don't waste the gifts you have to make yourself and other people happy...

Maybe this year it will be clearer...

In the same way, the four American church women martyred in El Salvador offer hope and light in the darkness.  Yet rather than candles in a cake, I wonder if their lives and witness aren't better suited to the candles of the Advent wreath. As one blogger put it, "In El Salvador, a country named for the savior, they lived an Advent life, waiting for Christ to arrive amidst grave suffering, injustice and violence."  


The thing that drove them was a deep love of Christ and that is what shines forth in who they were.  There is a reason that Ita, Maura, Jean, and Dorothy have not been forgotten... that their light has not been extinguished.  It is because they embodied the light of Christ that gave them life and like Advent their lives call us to a new awareness of the work that is being done in us and all around us.  Christ is being born. We wait for him and hope for the day when he will come.  That day is coming and that day is already here. Today. Right now.


I talked to a dear friend this week and we struck on this same sentiment.  We want to give birth to God today.  Christ's love is dwelling deep within us and we can only wait for it to spring forth.  Waiting is not what my heart wants to do.  I want to keep moving. I want it to spring forth. Why can't it just be?!?  But that's the thing, most of the time it can't and I can't make it.  I want to want. But all I can do is recognize that desire and the simple waiting such a want requires.


We don't wait because we want to, we wait because we have to. We wait because God is nurturing His love in us. Advent is a time of waiting and in this time we live our lives awaiting the God we are invited to meet every day.  Along the way we encounter those who are sure to show us God's grace and love. Some we will know by name, some not. Some we will encounter in person, others in their affect on those we meet. Wherever and whatever.  We wait with them and as the weeks wear on, the light within us will grow brighter.  In our expectant waiting, our desire grows and our hearts find newness in this hope-filled season.  Coming again into Advent in a spirit of waiting, hoping that as the light grows, maybe this year it (God's Love & Our Desires) will be clearer.

Artist: Lewis Williams, SFO

This is not what I signed up for...

Work in the inner city is always full of surprises. Poverty. Violence. Drugs. Homelessness. Hunger. Unemployment.  Add on top of that the fact that as the director of social outreach at the community center I provide aid to those in need and my share of surprises becomes disproportionate to most.  For the most part (knock on wood), I have become more comfortable with handling the unexpected on a daily basis. As time has gone on, the importance of faith and trust have been reinforced and reaffirmed as "God will provide" has moved far beyond a simple axiom and become a way of being and ministering.

I truly believe that God will provide. If I didn't, I wouldn't be able to do the work that I do. That's because a) I would worry myself to death about where we would get all the help we need, i.e. why the food pantry is empty, b) I would realize that there is no way we should be able to do the work we do with the staff/help we have, i.e. who in their right mind delegates event coordination to teenagers?!?, and c) If I didn't think God would provide, I pretty sure I'd be saying that we can do/ are doing this on our own, which is just plain false.  Those are just some of the reasons I believe God will provide.

That faith though does come with some consequences.  God will provide. That means whether you like it or not, God is there and is going to come up with something. God will provide. And that means that you don't really get a free choice in what exactly the Good Lord giveth.  Whatever it is that God provides, I have to believe it's good.  That each new experience/ surprise/ twist in the road is a blessing and/or opportunity for grace. I wouldn't be able to do the work I do without that.

But what about when what God seems to provide isn't exactly what you signed up for?  Not that you were expecting something in particular, but nowhere in what you expected or thought would be expected of you did this ever come up.

Empty food pantry? Vietnamese elderly couple in need on Federal disaster grants? Volunteers with criminal backgrounds?  Putting on large scale community events on 2-weeks notice?  No problem. I've got it covered.

Accompanying a neighbor through diagnosis and treatment for breast and lymph node cancer? This is not what I signed up for.

In fact, I don't like doctors, I have no medical training, and blood makes me woozy.  Our neighbor, Sally, is not the most agreeable woman in the world, has smoked all her life and won't admit that that is the root of her emphysema. She can't and most likely wouldn't go to doctors appointments if someone didn't accompany her, in essence making her go.  That someone doing the accompanying is me.

In the midst of my ministry last year, I wrote about a breakthrough moment with Sally.  Soon after Sally opened up to me I wrote of the experience of caring for her:

I can feel that moment. The memory of it is triggered deep within me and while the details of our conversation fade, that touch does not. And I wonder, did Christ ever forget those he touched? The lepers and the blind people he healed- each one had a connection through touch with Christ. For healing to happen they needed to touch, not because healing is somehow linked to touch, no, they needed to touch to believe that change could happen. Such belief comes from a connection, a presence, a belief and care by those who touch us. Jesus touched those in need and changed their lives... I can hope to reach out like that in/with my life. If I do, God is bound to touch me and that's the type of feeling you don't forget- it changes you, it heals you, it stays with you, and it makes you stay in touch with what's all around you.

Our relationship had been rocky leading up to that moment of connection but in that moment barriers were broken and progress was made.

I wish I could say that the smoothness of that moment continued... it didn't.  That's probably why I haven't really written about Sally since.  Grace abounded vividly that day. It opened my heart and gave me the opportunity to love another in a new way, connecting with God and making a difference in the process.  The day that we spent seven hours in the waiting room of an inner city Emergency Room, because Sally told me she couldn't swallow and hadn't eaten in days, only to have Sally storm out of the waiting room without being seen and demand to be taken home was less obviously graceful.  As we yelled at each other in the parking garage, I could feel the moment but in a much different way.

The ensuing months have been rough. I've learned that giving your heart to others in ministry does not give them the right to trample all over it, that vulnerability is a two-way street that must be tread with caution, and that sometimes to best serve someone you need to detach yourself from them so that they can walk on their own. After all, once healing takes place it is the healed that gets up and walks not the healer that walks for them.

As we've traveled towards this diagnosis, I've put these lessons into action.  The work I do requires commitment to a lot of people and as such I can't let one person monopolize my time and energy and I also have to leave time and energy for myself.  I've made other parish staff go to appointments, dropped Sally off to fend for herself, and emotionally distanced myself from the case.  None of this has been easy.  Once my heart is invested in something or someone I want to see it through. Detaching my well-intentioned heart and placing responsibility on Sally has been difficult, but I know it is for the best.  In moments of doubt or guilt, I think that I should be doing more, that somehow pulling away and making Sally self reliant is cold-hearted and uncompassionate. Yet, this is what I need to do... for her and for me.  To do anything else would be a disservice.

So, when the results of a biopsy and other battery of tests came back today and the doctor called me into the examining room to bear the news and be with Sally as we looked towards what this future with cancer will mean, I didn't (and still don't) quite know what to do with it all.

This is not what I signed up for, no way no how.  Still it seems to be what I've got and what God is calling me to work in and learn from.  It's one of those surprises that comes with the work I do.  All I can say is that  God will provide.  What exactly? I'm not sure. Perhaps a new way to serve, a different way to grow, a discomfort that I would never wish for, or an opportunity for grace and mercy.  Really, I don't know. I can just believe that God will provide for Sally and myself.

A Balancing Act

The last few weeks, and in all truth months, have been filled with transition. That has left me out of whack and steered my writing much more toward the personal than the public.  A sort of haze settled in over my mind, clouding my writing process and leaving me to deal in the story of my life much more in person than in writing.  


What I have written for public consumption has been much more strained. Withstanding rounds of revision and slowly, laboriously being brought out of me, these pieces have been helpful in jump starting my writing if only through the necessity of deadlines.  Despite this block or in light of it, life has gone on.  I am transitioning into living in a local community with four Sisters of St. Joseph, women who are at least double my age but still companions and compatriots to me on this journey.  As I sit in the haze of transition, it is these women who sit with me, knowing all too well what it feels like to be in a new place, with new people, in a way of life that no matter how much you try to wrap your mind around is still very foreign.


A dear friend recently asked me what it was like to live with these women.  At first I looked back at her quizzically, how is this any different than the transition I made into community last year?  Then her question hit me. I knew what she was asking- what is it like to live with these women? These women are sisters... but even more, these women are old ladies. Truthfully, I didn't quite know how to answer. If I think about it, they are old. The thing is though that I haven't thought about it. Sure there are moments when it is striking clear that the women I live with have been alive much longer than I have, when stories predate my birth, and I realize the woman I am having a heart to heart with is my mother's age.  These are facts. And this is a fact of this life especially.


My preoccupation over the last few weeks though has been with my own life and not the sum of the years in anyone else's.  Moving into a new community, returning to an intense work setting, making my way along in my application to the SSJs, and dealing with the ups and downs of everyday life has shown me that life is a balancing act.  In the midst of transition, it is easy to get off balance.  Lots of things throw you for curves and everything seems to have a different degree of impact on you than it might otherwise. 


In times less hectic, balance is something that comes with greater ease. You have it and you must simply maintain it.  When life is jumbled, it takes the tension of honesty with yourself, others, and God to pull things together.  I catch glimpses of balance every now and then, but know it will be a while until it is a more permanent feature.  For now, I must simply recognize and be at peace with this fact. If I feel like life is balanced and the uneasiness of all this transition has passed for good, I am most likely lying to myself. Remember that whole honesty thing?! Truly though I am coming more and more to understand the balancing act.


This means balancing time with community and time of prayer and contemplation. It means straightening out tasks in my ministry so I can serve those most in need, while also giving myself enough space and time, to care for myself, so that I have enough energy to serve to the best of my ability.  It means being attentive to myself, being gentle, so that I do not lose the balance within myself that is so critical. Without such balance, I lose my adequacy in many things. I can't write. I falter in prayer. I find myself exhausted. I can't be present to others the way I'd like to be. I find myself unable to fully minister to those who come to the Center for help.


Yet, each day brings with it a new chance to take steps towards balance.  I find myself becoming more comfortable with my new community; comfortable enough to take time away from them- to walk out on a television show we're watching to go pray, to fond time to write or nap when I need it.  I'm not perfect. Sometimes the Spirit hits me and I choose to stay, bargaining for a few more minutes in community, only to find I'm tuckered out once I move out of the room. Still, even in not heeding the call, simply recognizing the call to balance is a step in and of itself.  


The same can be said in ministry.  Remembering why I do what I do in the midst of frantic demands on my time and energy is a blessing.  I do not do this for me. This is for God and neighbor.  I need balance so that I can be united with both.  Dependence on both will lead me to a well balanced life, one full of love, grace, joy, and gratitude.


Slowly but surely I will move toward balance.  Slower than I would like at times, but more surely than I could ever imagine. The work of such a balancing act is the act of living. It is takes a lifetime to achieve but ultimately, such balance will allow me to live this life... my life.