The Freedom of a Life Undictated

I thought I knew what this post was going to be about. The story was pretty well laid out. This morning I would go to the Lisa's house and with the help of our maintenance man we would help her pack up the last of her things and get her on the road to Florida.  The plan was simple. But, as is the case with stories, you can predict an ending but you can't guarantee that it will turn out exactly as planned.

You see, Lisa's story is a little more complicated than just a move.  For almost the last two years I have been visiting Lisa. A transplant to Philadelphia from Jersey, we had things we could relate about and in time I have become, in her words, Lisa's "go-to girl".  I did what I could. After all that seems to be my job where ever I go.   I had college volunteers clean out the basement after flooding ruined most of the items her and her boyfriend were storing there.  I would visit, drink tea, and just talk.  We worked with her to get the couple rides so that they could come to church. And when the block they were living on rapidly deteriorated and their landlord decided not to renew their lease, I gathered a crew helped them move into their new home.

The past few months we have shared rides to a store in Germantown that will accept her food stamps and has good deals.  Our time together has strengthened our relationship and in time, Lisa shared with me some of her burdens.  There was the insecurity that so many families face of not being able to make ends meet and there was the sorrow that comes with having lost both parents after having cared for them.  Then, there was the struggle of caring for her boyfriend who suffers from a degenerative condition of the back, started by a mysterious bacterial infection in the spine and which has brought the couple through thickness the last few years.  Although not easy by any means, these issues were ones that simply required a companion. They were the burdens made lighter by having someone to share feelings with and to simply have a compassion ear to hear and shoulder to lean on.  In time, I was able to provide a space of reason, to ask constructive questions and quiet Lisa's anxieties enough to let her think things through.

Yet, in the last few months a new, deeper burden surfaced. At first, Lisa would just mention it in passing. Then it became something that I could gauge by Lisa's mood when she got in my car or her voice on the phone.  She was being abused.  Not physically, but psychologically.  It started when her boyfriend stopped taking certain medications, but then it turned into a regular occurence with or without meds.  Lisa began to need more time outside of the house and the entire situation came to a head one night when she frantically called me.

I gave her numbers for shelters, explaining that what she was experiencing was indeed domestic abuse.  I told her that she deserved better and made all the recommendations in my power- call the hotline, get out of the house, go and stay with your family.  She didn't want to have to rely on anyone else, to have to ask for help, so she spun her wheels for a week. Finally it got to be too much.  She called me and told me that she had finally called her uncle in Florida and upon explaining the situation, he told her she needed to come to his house.  So, we began planning. I researched routes there, including places to stop along the way. We put in a change of address form and went shopping for all the necessities that she would need for the trip and that would keep the household set when she left.  With all the arrangements set, she decided that Wednesday, June 6th would be the day.  He boyfriend had a doctor's appointment so he would be out all morning, giving us ample time to pack and get her on the road before he returned, finally fulfilling what had been an empty threat up until then that she would leave.  By noon she would be on the road set to drive until her first stop in North Carolina. I had the entire story mapped out in my head.

This morning came and went... The story did not go according to plan.

I got a call just after 9AM that medical transport had just picked up her boyfriend. "He knows something's up" Lisa said over the phone, "He just kept asking if I was going to be there when he got back."

As our maintenance man, Leslie, and I drove to the house, I got another call. "He had them bring him back home." the voice said quietly, the fright and confusion coming right through the phone. As I hung up, I turned to Leslie and said, "This is going to be a wild ride." And it was.

I'll spare you the details, but after much "discussion" between all parties- Lisa and her boyfriend & Lisa and myself- she came to the conclusion that she could make it work. After all, he was saying he would change.  I looked her in the eyes said, "Do you really believe that, Lisa?"

With tears in her eyes, she nodded. "Is this what you really want?" Again, she nodded.

If there is one thing I've learned in this ministry, it is that you can't make anyone do what they aren't ready to do.  If there's a second thing I learned today/this week, it is that you can't write a story before it takes place. Even now, I can't completely describe the emotions I feel: disappointment, sadness, helplessness, fear, detachment, and cynicism.  I understand where they all come from, but that doesn't make me want embrace them at all.  I would rather be feeling triumph, justice, and peace.  No such luck- that isn't the story that was written today.

Lisa said she'll give it a week and then reevaluate the situation. As I left her, there was a lingering hesitation; she asked me multiple times when exactly it was that I leaving the center, as if she saw that as her only window to escape.  Over and over, I asked her if she was sure she wanted to stay. I can't imagine that she is.

There is no telling what story lies ahead for Lisa or for any of us.  Even thinking about my own life story, there is a certain unknown quality. More and more I am finding that in order to soar, in order to be free, I need to let go of whatever I thought my story was going to be.  That letting go allows me to be in the moment.

It is a rare occasion that we can be free of all assumptions and presumptions, all goals and foresight. No doubt, these things guide our paths and I don't know where I would be without them, but at the point at which they dictate your life, eliminating true discernment and grace, that is the point where they are more harm than good. When perceived security and staying in the comfort of what we've always known- even if we deserve better- takes control we are trapped, unable to be ourselves, captive to the world around us.  To be open to all God is offering us, we need to let God (with our experiences & hearts) dictate the next steps.  And to ultimately be free in our ongoing story, we need to move beyond what we tell ourselves to simply be OK and really, honestly ask ourselves and God- what is it that you really want?

Transfigured Beauty.

It happened twice in the span of one week. Two people, unbeknownst to each other, made the exact same comment to me. It was unsolicited and each time it rang in my ears.

"You look beautiful."

That statement hung in the air between us. To hear it, not just as words or an offhand compliment, but as a heartfelt observation and truth was something completely different.

It wasn't something I said or something I did. And it certainly wasn't what I was wearing. No. It was a spontaneous comment on two separate occasions from two women I deeply respect. One my spiritual director and another a friend I hadn't seen in a few months.

Really, the comment caught me off guard. The last few weeks have worn me down with their frantic pace.  I am serving as the interim director of the community center, trying to keep activities at the center running smoothly and at the same time serving the neighbors I have dedicated my work to over the last two years. All the while, trying to balance ministry, family, friends, community, and sanity, with mixed results.

So, understandably when I heard the beginning of the statement, "You look..." coming out of their mouths I had expected some other adjective to fill the void.

Tired. Rundown. Stressed. All would be fitting candidates. But there on the third syllable of their declaration lay a surprise- Beautiful.

"You look beautiful." At first, I was taken aback, resulting in a prolonged pause. Did I really? If this woman who I trusted was telling me that's how I looked, it must be true, even if I couldn't quite see it.

You. Look. Beautiful.  I ran that statement, word by word, through my head after our conversations were well over. I had to pause at each word to understand what they were really saying. Quite literally they were saying, I was giving off the outward appearance of something wonderful.

Looking at myself, I couldn't quite perceive that "something wonderful" in my outer appearance. That's not to say, that I wasn't aware that something wonderful has been going on inside me.  But, I figured it was buried under everything else going on around me.

You see, over the last few months, the Spirit has been moving within me and I have felt more and more called to the novitiate (i.e. to formally enter into becoming a sister.) That motion by the Spirit has required motion on my part and on that of the congregation I want to become a part of: the Sisters of Saint Joseph of Philadelphia (Chestnut Hill).  It is a step on the journey that officially began over a year ago and unofficially began about a decade ago; it is also a step that will make the biggest change in my journey thus far. You know, little things like leaving my job, moving into a new community, and dedicating myself to two years of prayer, study, and experience to help deepen my relationship with Jesus and prepare me to make vows of Poverty, Chastity, and Obedience... And, as of last week, I have officially been approved to enter the novitiate in September!

As I continued my conversation with one of the women who had pointed out my striking appearance, I came upon the story of the Transfiguration.  Surprise. Light. Fear. Guidance. Glory. Joy. Return.  All are aspects of the story and all continue to be aspects of my own story.  Yet, in the midst of it all- the chaos of the last few weeks, the many aspects of the story- there is transfiguration. That is, as the definition says, a change in outward appearance or a change so as to glorify or exalt. In these ways, I have been and continue to be transfigured.

Hopefully, that process will never stop. Transfiguration and transformation are the work of the Spirit in and through us. It's something that rings in our ears, something wonderful that takes hold of the whole of our being. As it grows, so do we into the ever-expansive love of God.

Back to the Blog

Hey Everyone,

Long time no chat. Yeah, sorry about that... things have been a little crazy on the other end of this computer, so please pardon the interruption. I have a new post in the works, a piece coming out in America very soon, and a whole lot of new steps coming up in crazy thing called religious life. Stay tuned & enjoy the ride. Peace & Blessings to you all.

Still Wandering in Wonder,
Colleen

Cross Roads

Lent is one of my favorite seasons of the year. It comes with such intention, such simplicity, such focus on who we are and what really matters-our relationship with the Divine.  That is what I love about Lent.

This year, though, has been different.  Through a confluence of life events, I find that the simplicity of Lent has been usurped by the barrenness that can only be found in the midst of chaos.  In the midst of scattered thoughts, deep emotions, and hectic happenings, the austerity of Lent is imposed as layers of being are stripped down by the natural occurances of life- unplanned, sometimes unwelcome, but never without the opportunity for growth.

In that spirit- the spirit of a Lent unlike any in recent memory- I find myself at the cross.

I have traced these lines over and over in my mind. I grip the marker in my hand like a child who has not yet learned how to write.  My fist holds tight and traces the lines from my mind onto the paper. The process is continuous, the pen's tip never leaving the page, my journey syncing with its movement up and down the page.

And as I draw this sign of faith and journey, I feel Jesus is there tracing it with me. Each step. Each line. Each movement. 

All roads lead to Jerusalem.

As this holy week begins, Jesus begins his journey to the cross and so do we.  Waving palms and welcoming God into our lives, we prepare for what is ahead. It is the journey we've been on and the journey that lasts so much longer than the next seven days. 

On the journey that is life, each road comes to the cross in one way or another.  For some the journey, in and of itself, is a cross to be borne. For others it is the experience of living the journey that brings us in time to the cross. And still for others the journey returns again and again to the cross. No matter how we experience the journey, this is the week that brings the cross to the forefront of our minds and asks that we examine where the cross is within our lives.  

Looking towards the cross this week, I find myself in the garden. Here, what will be will be.  The only thing that Jesus asks of his disciples is to "sit while I pray."  So, I sit attentively and, while God prays on his journey to the cross, let that prayer be within me. Let it be inside each one of us. 

Stay awake; Stay open; and keep your eyes focused on the cross- how it stands for you now on the journey and the bounty of promises that lie beyond it.

Seasons change and so do we, but we can always count on the fact that the cross will be part of our journey- a reminder of what is, what has been, and what always will be. Amen.

May this week be one of many blessing for you all as you journey in its mystery, on your own cross roads towards the promise of eternal life. 

With peace & prayers, Colleen

Silent Influence

Modern Day Joseph
Palestinian Father & Son in Exile

My path had never actually crossed that of a Sister of St. Joesph before I visited the SSJs for a come and see weekend in November of 2009. That's not to say that I didn't know them in some way. I had read Elizabeth Johnson's work in college and had followed the work and writings of Helen Prejean (of Dead Man Walking fame) since I had read her first book and heard her speak at my freshman commencement.

Aside from those two connections, I knew very little about the congregation. I mean, I had gleaned as much as I could from the congregation's website, a Jesuit friend had recommended the SSJs to me, and I had been in touch with the congregation's vocation director after being connected with the Philadelphia SSJs through a Vision Vocation Match (a crazy story in and of it self... see: over a hundred e-mails from different groups over the course of 3 days).   But aside from those points of contact, there were few connections I actually had to the Sisters of St. Joseph.

What I did know, I liked- mission and faith driven women engaged in work that united God and neighbor; Women committed to living the Gospel, making a difference through dedication.  

Perhaps the most familiar part of the entire journey of coming to the Sisters was Saint Joseph.

I had grown up in a parish named after the saint, so I knew plenty of what little is known about him . Having come to associate St. Joseph with work for social concerns and justice that my parish engaged in, I also connected to the model of Joseph as quiet and humble servant. That familiarity is part of what spoke to something deeper within me as I approached the SSJs.

Anyone willing to model their life after the simplicity and fidelity of Joseph had a good word in my book.  To bear the name of Joseph and follow in his footsteps meant for me, to live a life of service that trusts in the will of God and works diligently without the need for words or recognition. 

Relative to so many other saints, Joseph is unknown. Yet, his titles are numerous: father, spouse, guide, teacher, worker, dreamer, righteous man, protector. And as I have come to know him more and these women who live in his example, nurturing Christ and living the Gospel life each day, I have come to recognize that the Joseph that played such a part in forming Jesus, is today working to form me.  

His silent influence is incalculable and insurmountable.  By his example I seek to serve others. Like him, I want to hold Christ in my arms, lead others to God, and find God in the midst of the everyday. I want to follow the call that I have heard even through the darkness and my own sleep.  Ultimately, I want to live like the person who has helped me to recognize God and who's life speaks louder than words.  

For all intents and purposes, Joseph in the Gospels is mute.  No words pass his lips, but somehow his life speaks volumes. It has spoken to my heart and remains a silent influence that draws me forward, out of myself and into the life of God in the world.

Pondering of Grace: The Feast of St. Joseph

As a special treat for St. Joseph's Day, I'll be offering two blog posts (hopefully) for the price of one.  What follows is a prayer starter that I wrote for our congregation retreat house, St. Mary's-by-the-Sea. I hope that it brings insight within you on this feast of St. Joseph.

"How are you related to Saint Joseph?" 

That was the question that was directed at me by a second grader a few months ago during a vocation day at Visitation school in Kensington. I had prepared answers for a lot of questions, almost all of which I am still trying to figure out, but that was not one that was on my list.

I knew exactly what that seven year old was asking-if all of us in front of the class were sisters, then we must somehow be related. And if we were all sisters, then it wasn't too far-fetched to believe that surely we were sisters of Saint Joseph, too. My answer was short and simple (and seemed to satisfy the student's intrigue), yet, on this the feast of Saint Joseph, I return to that question which has remained on my heart since that day.

How am I related to Saint Joseph? As one who casts my lot in with Jesus and chooses to associate my name with that of Joseph, who do I say that I am?

Am I the dreamer?
          ...the comforter?
                      ...the diligent worker?
                                ... the caring teacher?
                                         ...the faithful spouse?
                                                 ...the one who goes where I am called?
                                                          ...whose actions speak far beyond words?

Christ asked his disciples early on, "Who do you say that I am?" In our living lives of faith we answer that question daily by laying claim to the person that we are in Christ. As we celebrate Saint Joseph, individually and communally, let us consider what it means to be sisters (and brothers) of Saint Joseph. How do we embody the person who helped to form Jesus? How are we living our call? And what might the Divine be inviting us to by giving us the example of Joseph to live our lives by and find God in during this season of Lent and every day of our lives?

Enduring Questions

There are some questions that stick with you. Those that are planted deep in your heart. Those that have answers that evolve over time. Questions that can't be solved. Questions that beg to be lived in, discovered over and over again.

Last Saturday, I went to Mass with the majority of the women I live with. Aside from Founders' Day back in October, this was the first time in a long time that we were all together to celebrate the Eucharist. The Vigil Mass came after an afternoon congregational meeting that acted as a spring consultation of the membership regarding the future of communal governance. (i.e. How we will meet/consult between major Chapters every 5 years & what format these meetings might take?)  As with any gathering of many people, there were many thoughts on the matter. And this being my first meeting of this type, I tried to absorb all that was being asked and all that was being said.

The questions were far and wide: from the concrete questions of how often and in what manner we would meet as small groups to the larger questions of where the Spirit is leading us and how do we want to be as a congregation.  By the end of the day, I expected Mass to be a capstone of quiet reflection, nothing too challenging, a time to be in union with my God and the women I live with.  And it was, but in the midst of reflection and union also came those enduring questions.

Preaching about the Transfiguration, the presider reflected on the questions that arose within the disciples.  Peter, dumbfounded by what was occurring before his very eyes on the mountain top, suggests pitching 3 tents.   But what's more he bumbles out the words, "It is good that we are here!" In the midst of what was surely terrifying and brought about an avalanche of questions, he recognized the goodness of the moment.

I could have just sat with that for a moment and have been fine, but the presider continued.  He spoke of the importance of questioning and then he recounted a story of how he'd come to question.  In 1995, he'd traveled with a group to Manila for World Youth Day. There he attended Mass with John Paul II and 5 million other people. During the course of that Mass he fainted multiple times and was held up by the crowd. So many people drawn together for their own reasons, supporting one another in the process.

His story though wasn't about that. It was about his first day in Manila.

As his group drove on a bus from the airport to their hotel, a tour guide pointed out sights all around them.  At one point they came to a stop in Manila's mid day traffic. Looking out his window he saw something the tour guide hadn't pointed out.  Down the alleyway, he saw little shacks made of tin and scrap.  He came to learn that this was how the majority of people in the Philippines lived. It made him question- why did they have to live like this? What could be done? Was there poverty just something to be ignored?- All good questions, but none of them made me stop and wonder.  Truth be told it wasn't the greatest homily in the world.Yet his story stirred in me my own memories and with them the enduring questions attached.

You see, I too was changed by a moment in the Philippines.  The story is one I've dwelt on before (read about it here or here). In the shadow of a mountain of trash, questions were awakened in my soul. They had vaguely been there before, but at that moment they took on new importance. They were questions of justice, but even more they were questions of humanity, incarnation, and vocation.

Each one of us has these moments in our lives. Moments that uncovered something we'd never be able to forget and which called us to something greater.  For me, I can trace part of my longing for God, desire to be with others, and need to find peace within chaos to that moment.  From there the enduring questions of who am I, whose am I, and who am I called to be took on new life.  A few days later, a Jesuit friend would ask me if I had ever considered religious life and prompt me not to abandon (but finally take some action on) another enduring question in my life.

Today I am still sorting through those questions given life by experiences far and wide. Each one of us has our own enduring questions.  They guide our lives and they come from having seen goodness in a way we can't quite explain. Like the disciples who came down from the mountaintop spellbound,  we stand in awe of the questions we've been blessed with. And as we travel with them, we are blessed that they endure- reminding us of who we are, where we've been, who God is, and calling us to live evermore into the wondering.