Dear Francis

A few weeks ago, my latest column for the Global Sisters Report was published. In it, I talk about what seems to be the preeminent topic here in Philadelphia these days: Pope Francis' Visit in a few weeks.  My column sorts through the process of deciding whether to write and all the considerations of what one might write to the Pope.  As I say towards the end of the column, who knows if I will write... that's between me and Francis. What I do know is that I have great love and admiration for this man and what he is doing for our world and our church. (Just look at last night's 20/20 Audience.)

And so with that out of the way... here's my column:

The first call came after five days. Pope Francis called the newsstand where he would buy his daily paper in Buenos Aires to cancel his subscription. It seemed he was going to be away longer than expected. 

I remember reading that first news report in March 2013; it was almost as surreal as the turn of events that had taken place over the preceding weeks. For the first time in six hundred years, a pope resigned and for the first time ever, a Jesuit was elected to the papacy.  Now it is history, tempered by time, but still no less remarkable.

The world has sat intrigued with each phone call- with the pope who would call and the people who have written. There was the young student who shared his hopes, the single mother who was trying to make it on her own, the newspaper editor and atheist. They all wrote and Francis called. 

I remember as a student reading about the great people of faith who had written to popes. They were distant figures of faith. They were people the likes of whom time holds sparingly- the saints and rulers, reformers and rabble-rousers, the Catherine’s of Siena and not the Jane Doe’s of this world. And yet, in a world where popes resign and successors make follow-up phone calls, the thought of writing a pope doesn’t seem so far-fetched.

So, how do you write to a pope? Or more importantly, what do you write to the pope?

With Pope Francis headed to the United States, and in particular to my own city of Philadelphia, in a few short weeks, I found myself asking that exact question.

If watching Francis has taught me anything, though, the answer to that first question is clear. The only way you could possibly write is from the heart.  Any other way would be a sham. A letter from me would be different from your letter just as my life is different from yours. And yet, to write from the heart is to mirror the deeper call within and beyond us to live from the heart too. To live lives of such authenticity, we have to align ourselves with the heart of Gospel, beginning with the way we relate to one another and to God. Any other way would be a deception.

This is the foundation of our being.  And beyond the boundaries of language or religion, Francis has made this point poignantly in the witness he bears.  This is not always perfect but it is honest and for that, I give thanks.  If nothing else, that way of living and being-from the heart- gives us the example of how to far beyond letter-writing.

From the heart come words of gratitude, statements of truth, and deep sharing of hopes and dreams.  Putting any one of those things into writing is a task and yet, when I consider what, if anything, I would want to write to the Pope, it is those deeply-held beliefs, deeply-transformed visions, and deeply-fostered emotions and dreams that rise to the surface.

Somehow, even though I have never met the man, there is a desire within me to share from the depths of my being with him. That compulsion, at times, seems to me to be foolish. Why write? What difference could it make? Would the letter even be read? And if it was, is there a risk to such honest sharing? 

I wonder all these things and yet, the desire to write still remains.

Part of that desire is to say thank you:

Thank you for listening and collaborating. Thank you for taking into account a vision that is bigger than any one of us can see. Thank you for challenging the way things are and for being open to what might be. Thank you for discerning in an open and ongoing way. And thank you for your example of mercy, of faith and of vocation.

Early on in Francis’ papacy a reporter asked me if my vocation was influenced by Pope Francis. I was already a novice in a congregation of women religious by the time Francis was elected, so the initial planting and pursuit of my vocation didn’t have anything to do with him, I explained. Yet as I spoke, I came to realize the influence he was having (and continues to have) on me and my vocation.

There’s something spontaneous and compelling about seeing someone lead the life they are meant to live. Francis does that. For all the shifts that come with becoming an international figure/celebrity/leader, Francis remains a vowed religious. It is something in his blood and being, a product of his ongoing formation and commitment as a Jesuit. This makes him not only an example of faith but also an example of what it means to live a committed vowed religious life.

There is a deep blessing in witnessing the principles of my life not only lived out in the everyday, but also exemplified by the leader of our church. It adds to his allure and speaks deeply to me as a young woman religious.

The community Pope Francis refers to is not in theory, it’s a lived reality. Anyone living religious life will tell you that the theology of encounter is not just about beautiful relationships with others. More often, it is the courage and compassion to find Christ in the one across from you. That isn’t always easy when the signs of grace aren’t so clear, when you’ve just gotten home from a long day of ministering, or when the one who needs to take a long hard look at his or her living is, in fact, you.

True to his vocation as a vowed religious, Francis’ life gives flesh words and actions in a way that is revolutionary and real. Who else could declare a year of consecrated life with such conviction and deeper appreciation of the internal and external work that declaration would precipitate? Only time will tell what the full impact of such actions on religious life and the church will be.

Write to the realities

Where gratitude begins, however, reality must interject. There’s a certain balance to be found in conveying the reality of what it means to enter religious life today. The church and the world are at critical moments, just as religious life is. I know the pope knows this — it is reflected in the signs of the times, the news of the world, and Francis’ own writings.

Still, there is something to the perspective the next generation brings. This is the reality we are facing as religious congregations. Telling the story of religious life (and the church) from a perspective other than from the top down would be helpful and healthy. We need to listen to the voices on the margins, to incorporate the gift of our individual stories, to create connections beyond provincial boundaries, and to share honestly from the heart our hopes, fears, dreams and struggles. That at least would be a start.

Out of reality, dreams and hopes emerge. It’s facing that reality with honest hearts and faithful desires that leads us forward. I can only speak from where I stand. My perspective is influenced by my life and the way I hear the call. As a young, educated, vowed religious in a first-world country, I know I don’t have all the answers, but I know my experience and my desire for a deeper, more intentional and authentic life lived in Christ through the church. This means letting go, facing change and voicing what is and could be. It may also mean asking where the greatest needs are in the world for all that I/we have to offer.

No letter will ever be complete, but perhaps the best place to end is where Francis has led us from the very beginning of his papacy on that balcony high above St. Peter’s square: a place of prayer.

I’ll pray for Francis whether I end up writing a letter or not. I trust he’s already praying for me, maybe not by name, but as a shepherd cares for his flock. The assurance of prayer is a call I can answer, so that even when the words escape me I can pause, give thanks, ask blessing and engage reality wherever it may lead.

Embrace the Good

A year ago plus one day I began my ministry as a campus minister at Chestnut Hill College. In lots of ways the last year was about learning. I learned what I didn't know. I learned more about who I want to be. I discovered what is authentic in this ministry and what isn't.

I'm still learning the balance of time and the distribution of energy. Campus ministry could easily take up my whole life. There is always a need; there is always more to do and yet, I have to give myself permission to recognize what is necessary and what isn't. Relationships take priority.  And for all the energy that the ministry of presence and especially being "on" all the time take from me, I have to give myself permission to recoup what I've lost.

I am determined to keep writing... to keep going to speak in places... to grow in this ministry and outside of it. After all, my truest vocation is to be who I am and that is a multi-faceted individual offering herself in the pursuit of and service of God.  That mission pulls me in numerous directions and I pray I can embrace all it calls forth and that God will bless what is meant to be.

As I reflect on the year that has been and all that lies ahead, I recognize another need. I need to embrace the good this year. I need to celebrate what is good in my life and find the joy and gratitude that each situation presents to me.

Today, I gave hours worth of presentations on our charism and heritage to students.  Going into it I was nervous- another round of the new... the story of the last year for me. And yet, as I spoke and led groups in conversation and learning, I felt the world within me opening up.  This is where I've been called and to pass it on is a blessing in and of itself.  Maybe some of these students won't retain everything. Actually, most of them won't but if I can help to provide an experience that gives them just a little bit to grow with and into I have done my job and in the process of realizing that I am embracing the good. The good of my gifts, the good of life, the good of learning, and the good of being united in a mission far beyond myself.

That sounds like a pretty good life. As year two begins at the college, I hope I can embrace the goodness in my midst and even if I fall short sometimes, hopefully the goodness will embrace me.

Like a Rainbow

I laughed like a rainbow

and all the colors came out

from the corners of my eyes

from the belly of my soul

It rolled off my tongue

and the car swerved as I drove

and like ultraviolet 

the laugh went silent

imperceptible but present

the car swerved back

nothing lost

nothing stopped

and it shot out in a squeal

making room so I could breathe

in beautiful technicolor majesty.

Re-entry & Two Voices

Sorry for a bit of radio silence there folks! For the last four weeks I have been away on retreat in Cape May and then was studying at Boston College, but have no fear- I have returned and hopefully new reflections on my time away will be up here soon. Suffice it to say, for now, that the time was refreshing and rejuvenating.

In the meantime, you can read my latest column on the Global Sisters Report: "Speaking with two voices, listening to one." In it I deal with the tenuous role of the voices you come to speak with and have to possess as a vowed religious. Not an easy space to navigate but hopefully I've been able to put words to my experience and my many and varied feeling around this all.  Here's a sneak peak:

Being a young religious sister means you represent a lot of things to a lot of people. You are an anomaly; you are the image of a teacher/counselor/nurse/confidant/relative from the past; you are a beacon of hope or a bearer of harsh realities. You come to embody the church. And, whether you like it or not, you will be called upon, time and time again, to represent issues and viewpoints much larger than yourself.

In many ways, you can get lost behind the title and qualifier of “sister.” Before they know you, people will read their opinions on to you. And even after they’ve engaged with you, many will make assumptions about where you stand on subjects. Marriage Equality. Women’s Ordination. Pope Francis. No matter the topic, there are presumptions of how I feel and think.

I don’t know if it’s a reality that I will ever get used to, yet I know that this is my reality: I am in the unique possession of two voices – my own and that of an authority far greater than just me.
I speak for myself, but I also speak on behalf of my congregation, my church and my faith. The responsibility is as tremendous as it is ridiculous. It is a position that requires prudence and humility, as well as a healthy dose of humor.

How can one person embody a whole system, its values and its truth? How can she be held accountable for the actions of an institution she finds herself a faithful member of? How does one reconcile the two voices they hold in tandem? These are the questions I find myself beholden to.

The answers to these questions aren’t easy, first and foremost, because our world isn’t so starkly binary. We operate in a world of in-betweens, a world of grey. Anyone who ministers, be they a committed lay person, a religious brother, a priest or a woman religious, knows this reality. We have to uphold our obligations and commitments to those we serve, both the organizations we belong to and those who place their trust in us as representatives. That trust gives us a distinct authority and responsibility in our interactions with others. It (whether rightfully or not) makes us agents of truth.

As a result, we must respond and act with compassion. A pastoral response is the only response.

The nature of such a response can be complicated. To be pastoral does not mean dismissing doctrine. It does, however, mean vowing to do no harm. That is the trust others place in us, that we will act responsibly, love fully, embrace vulnerability, and embody compassion. And that’s where having two voices takes on another dimension.

Recently, while I was away taking theology classes for the summer, a fellow student and friend pulled me aside before class. “Did you hear the news?” she asked looking at me wide eyed, “About the teacher in Philadelphia?”

I nodded. I knew the story; the head of the religious education department at an academy run by a group of women religious hadn’t had her contract renewed after a complaint was filed by a parent about her same-sex marriage. The school had cited the upholding of its Catholic identity in its letter to the community, a defense applauded by the bishop and supported by the congregation. My friend spoke vehemently about what she saw as the injustice of it all. How could this happen? What could be done? Why stay in the church? Is there any hope?

She looked deep into my eyes as I listened to the pain and struggle she shared. Suddenly, she took a step back. “I’m sorry,” she said breaking eye contact, shaking her head to loosen her focus. “I know you deal with this all the time . . . it’s your life . . . I just needed to say something to someone.”

I thanked her for trusting me and offered what I could: compassion, hope and understanding.

I could hear my voice speaking – a mix of my own desires for the church, my deep belief in God’s love, and an active attentiveness to and acknowledgement of her feelings. The two voices within me intertwining in response.

“I don’t know what more I can say,” I uttered softly, focusing with empathy on her eyes. This is my life. I thought to myself.

______

No matter what we say, in whatever voice, speaking with reverence is pivotal. In that moment (like so many other moments), I had the opportunity to give voice to the love of God for all people.

That love knows no bounds.

It is patient; it is kind; it is not rude; it does not seek its own interests. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. It is the love of Christ. A love that has embraced us and so we are able to embrace others.

Ultimately, it is a love that creates the space for dialogue both within ourselves and with the world. We enter into this conversation with true humility. Secure in who we are, we are able to open ourselves to the conflict, nuance and discovery inherently present in conversation. We do not fear change, but prayerfully allow the Spirit to work in and among us. I can be who I am with integrity and openness. This does not silence any one voice, but listens attentively for the voice I’ve given myself to, the One who seeks union in all things.

I may speak with two voices, but there is only one voice I need to be listening for, the voice of the one who called me and continues to call: God.

Listening attentively to God in prayer and in action, we emerge from a place of compassion, where we can critically consider the situations and opinions before us. This may mean responding in a way that steps outside of our bounds, to a place where we must reach out to the other, making ourselves just as vulnerable as the one we serve.

On a large scale, there is perhaps no better example of this than the Leadership Council of Women Religious’ response to the doctrinal assessment. With time and prayer, the group came to a place where union was possible, where all voices could be heard, and the voice of the Spirit could be heard. On the smaller scale, this happens each time we make the space for another to share with us. Standing with my friend before class, I could hear her and acknowledge all she needed to say in word and in feeling. I couldn’t solve the problem, but I could respond to it with compassion. The voice was my own, a gift of God and a reflection, I pray, of the voice of the Divine I seek to follow each day.

That is the voice I listen for, the voice that reverberates in my bones. It is the voice that I fell in love with and that called me once and continues to call. It is the voice that teaches me each day how to speak, not in a scripted way but from the heart. Creating harmony between the voices of my being and my vocation in a way that speaks far beyond me and also deep within me . . . to the heart of the true heart of the matter.

A Changing Call

Over the last year, I've come to the realization that my call to religious life has changed. It isn't gone, but it is distinctly different. In my latest column for the Global Sisters Report, I try to explain the nature of this change. I don't think it's just me either...it's the nature of call.  For our church, our society, and each one of us, our call is changing. Recognizing that is the first step in more consciously living out our call. Below my column. Enjoy!

_________________________________________________ 

There’s a tightness in my chest that is hard to explain. I can’t remember when it first started or on what occasion it became noticeable. In a way, it feels like it has always been there, loosening and tightening over time. Like a band wrapped tightly around my chest, it binds up my heart; not in a painful way but as a steadfast reminder of a presence deeper than myself. In simplest terms, it’s the feeling I get when I find myself deep in prayer. And for good or for ill, it’s also what I’ve come to associate with call.

A friend once told me, she’d considered religious life and could see herself becoming a sister except for one small thing: the call.  “I can do the apostolic works, the study, the community, but I don’t know if I know what it means to be called” she said, “is it a voice or a feeling or what?”

That’s a hard question to answer. God speaks differently to different people. (My friend would also take issue, I’m sure, with what it means to “hear God’s call” on grounds that call is something far beyond a momentary utterance.)  For me, though, there’s a deep sense of serenity, a steadfast groundedness that signifies that sense of being called.

For a long time, I didn’t know what to do with that feeling. In prayer, in writing, in service, in reflection, and in conversations, it would surface. It came and went freely; yet it stayed present enough in my muscle memory that I could never forget it.  I recall times as I was discerning religious life that I actively ran from that feeling and yet each time it came, I knew I was in the right place.

---

Sitting across from my formation director a few weeks ago, I panicked: that feeling was missing.  It had been for months and as I looked back at my first year as a professed woman religious, I wondered what might be happening.

At the end of a year heavy in transition, I knew that feeling wasn’t gone, yet in the moment I couldn’t exactly feel it.  God has had a firm hold on me, but the tightness I cherish has been intermittent.  “My call has changed.” I stammered out to my director. 

What I thought this year might be, it wasn’t. My call to religious life felt different than I thought it would. And to my dismay and delight, I’ve discovered this is a changing call.

And that’s the thing about call: you answer the call awesomely unaware of where it will lead you and all it will drag you through.  This almost always guarantees that life and call will feel different than you thought they would.  The answer isn’t to run, though, it’s to keep discerning.

My sense of God’s call has shifted. The white hot lightning of initial fervor has cooled, making way for a tempered tension, reliant on prayer, reflection, and balance. Passion percolates with nuance in a way that’s become more apparent in the months and years since I first answered the call to religious life. I’ve come to realize that what I feel called to hasn’t changed, how I feel called, though, has. 

In time, part of this call has become more apparent: being called is about recognizing a need and filling it.  That need is not just in the world, it’s also in yourself.  I need to be here. Not because my religious congregation needs me, but because in order to live the life I am called to- a life dedicated to Jesus- I need to live my life for now as a religious sister.  This need is one that has been underscored over time.  If I hadn’t met God in a very real and tangible way in my life would I still be here?  If this way of life didn’t allow me to foster and focus on that relationship, would I remain? Probably not.  I need to be bound up in love; in a tightness that frees me by holding me close in a world of risk, uncertainty, and instability.

In the day-to-day, holding firm and staying focused explicitly on call can be difficult. What we are called to is embodied in how we live and who we are. Day-to-day life tempers idealism, draws us into relationship with the world and others, and changes the way we understand call. If call means living, it is the life we live that influences the way we hear the call, melding together the theoretical and the actual in what we hope is harmony.

In that way, we come to realize that the call is not something that is answered once and for all. The call requires living. And such a requirement is sure to be messy.  Living the call presents surprising changes to our lives. We are changed in the process of answering.  “What you want me to do”; “who you want me to be”; and “what I actually know” become questions relative to a call that leads ultimately and primarily to Christ.

So, how do I know this call is the same despite its new feel? I know it because I feel it in the same place even if in a different way.  Like a foreign touch that produces a familiar sensation, it is a changing call that tightens the heart as an act of constriction, not restriction.  Thus the heart beats, bringing life, growth, and strength to the body as it is stretched in new ways of listening to and living out the call every day.

Such growth comes from openness to the Spirit.  We change in the act of answering the call, becoming, in the process, more authentically who God has called us to be.  This process is one of renewal and reawakening. With intention and the Spirit, we come to hear in a new way, live in a new way, and love God in new ways. 

And I can’t help but think that this changing call is not just on an individual level.  As a church, as religious communities, and as the People of God, our call is changing too.  We are called to love and to live the Gospel. And so, the same question proceeds- not what are we called to do, that’s constant, but- how we are being called to do so.

Recent weeks have brought great cause to consider this everyday question of call. How is our love – God’s love – being felt in the world? As Pope Francis offers his latest encyclical Laudato Si’, how are we living our faith and answering the call of the Gospel in relation to the natural world? As the Supreme Court rules on same-sex marriage, and Ireland offers a “reality check” (in the words of Archbishop Diarmuid Martin of Dublin) by constitutionally redefining civil marriage, how are we continuing to be called to love in transformative ways for the world and ourselves? And as the Vatican implements a process of accountability for bishops on sexual abuse, how are we working towards healing and justice through accountability and compassion? 

These are but a few questions (of many) to ask as we consider our call and the ever evolving nature of our response. As is so often the case, there are many more questions than answers. The process of answering the call though is a gift. We’ll surely be changed in the process – that’s the nature of our faith and of call. It makes us who we are and that process of becoming transforms us as we journey with Christ into who God has meant for us to be.

Be Generous.

I have been away these past few days at the national conference for the Association of Colleges of the Sisters of Saint Joseph (ACSSJ) at Elms College in Chicopee, MA. Yet today as I sat in sessions about how we might refocus our mission, how we can learn from the Second Vatican Council, and how we work with dysfunction and allow the Spirit to flow in all things, I am struck by a sentiment that rings true in the midst of all that this day has held.  From the release of the Pope's latest encyclical to the tragic shooting in Charleston, one feeling...one imperative strikes me: Be generous.

Beyond all else, let us be generous to one another. Let us lavish love upon those who deserve it and those we might not think do. Why? Because that isn't our call. For all that frustrates us, let there be a spirit of generosity that lives within us.  Let us give to others, for in giving generously, we receive generously.  Where you doubt others or yourself, have faith... give freely... try to find hope where all else points to hopelessness.

That can be hard and still we try.

Sitting in a workshop this morning, the presenter said something that struck me. He quoted part of Pope John XXIII's first encyclical Ad Petri Cathedram, which falsely attributes this quote to Augustine: "In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity." 


And reading this quote he stated simply- the worst thing we can do in creating dialogue and relationship is to sin against charity.  We must give fully to the one in front of us.  This doesn't mean ignoring what is but instead it means offering a openness and sincerity in consideration and love for the one you are in relationship with.  We share the essentials of our being and life; we allow others to be in what is not essential; and in coming to discover all that is in between we offer charity of Spirit and being. 

Be Generous; Love Freely; Practice Charity; and sanctity will flourish.

 Amen.

To Love and to let go

I don't think I have a story to go with this post. I just have the simple insight gained: that to learn to love is also to learn to let go.

I imagine the disciples watching as Christ ascended into heaven. They needed to let go, just as I'm sure Jesus was learning to let go too.  The relationship between them was not ending; it was changing.  He wouldn't be here with them in the same way, but still he wasn't gone. They need not stand and wait for his return. No, his return would be in their love, made manifest in their living and discovered in the eyes and arms of others.  That is where they would find him. I can say that because for anyone who has found God- who has fallen in love with the Divine- that is how we've done it... in others, in prayer, in experiences...in some way other than explicit, literal, actual face-to-face contact.

The last week has been full of goodbyes.  As I come to the end of my first year of full time ministry as a Sister of St. Joseph, I realize the intense nature of the relationships we maintain. We are relational people.  We live and work so that all people may be in union with God and with one another. That's who we are; that's who I am. At times, I'm not very good at that. At other times, by grace, it comes easily. Either way though, hard or easy, relationships come and with/in them there is love.  It's a love beyond bounds of being. It means being vulnerable. Opening yourself to the love of another and discovering what happens in the process.

A friend posted earlier in the week on Facebook about how life turns out. She wondered aloud- Does anyone's life turn out how they expected? Is being flexible with one's expectations make for a happier life? Can one be too open to what happens next in life?

Reading those questions, I wondered. Has my life turned out how I expected? Have my expectations changed?  How am I still discovering who I am? and in what ways, am I striving to most perfectly (and thus imperfectly) be myself?

Talking to another friend later in the week, we drew the conclusion that life is complicated.  And despite what we might hope, life is just going to keep being complicated. 

In the end, I guess, we just have to learn to live in the complications. Live in, not with. To "live with" is to passively acquiesce to it all; to "live in" is to say yeah this is complicated, but it's also life...my life and I'm going to live and love in it no matter what.

Sometimes that requires letting go. It means being a little less serious so you can just be  and so, ultimately, love can do its work in you and through you.  You're changed.  The hope is that that change is for the better (and if you let go a little, lean in to God and trust, it probably is). Then you can most fully be yourself and you can allow those around you to be themselves- the very person you love them most for being.

And there's something freeing in that... something complicated... something called Life.