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.

Touring Life: A Tale of Two Cities

This week has been quite unique... and it's only Tuesday.  In  the course of the last two days I've given two detailed tours of my neighborhood and of my [adopted] city.  These two tours were similar in a lot of ways- they were given via car, involved a whole lot of talking on my part (see: the sore throat I'm developing), and they gave me new insight into my life and the place in which I choose to live it.  They also both mark a collision of two worlds- a convergence of my life in Philly, which is tied up with my journey towards religious life, and my former life from college.  Really, those lives are the same, except they've happened to the same person on two separate plains.

This week two friends from college have come to visit me in Philly. The first, James, is now a theology teacher at a all-boys high school in Massachusetts.  He was traveling with a few of his students over their winter break on a service and advocacy trip that brought them to Philadelphia as they make their way circuitously to Washington D.C. learning about urban poverty, decline, and social injustice along the way.  I met the group (four students and one other chaperone) at the Covenant House of Philadelphia where they'd spent the morning learning about CH's mission and taking part in the organization's valuable work by sorting donations and helping around the site.  From there, I took the boys to get cheesesteaks, a Philadelphia must, and then we embarked on the second half of the day- a three hour tour.

To help illustrate the topics that the group had already heard about in Camden the day before and the state of Kensington, we began our journey in Mount Airy and moved our way down Germantown Avenue.  As long time readers of this blog would know, this is a journey I myself am familiar with and which was shared with me when I first arrived in the city as a volunteer.  It basically traces one of the oldest and longest roads in the city; it also traces the movement of wealth out of the city and the abandonment of certain neighborhoods over time.  As you ride down Germantown Avenue, you can watch the city change.  Homes that are majestic in one neighborhood are decrepit in the next. With every few blocks, the bars on the windows change shape, exchanging flourishes and adornments for practicality and brute strength.

Driving from Mount Airy through Germantown to Kensington provides a brief glimpse into this shift, and for the purposes of this tour (and James's group), our truncated excursion would do just fine in illustrating key points.

Once in Kensington, I showed the group the community center, explained our mission and programs, and then we walked our way around the block to the church.  After a brief tour and glimpse into the beauty of Visitation's upper church, we hopped back into the van to take a driving tour of Kensington.  Paradoxically there is a lot to see in Kensingotn but there also isn't. I asked the teenage girl manning the center's front desk what she thought I should share with the group on our tour and she honestly couldn't come up with anything, except for a little chuckle at the idea of a tour.

"The Coca-cola factory?" I suggested.
"Yeah, I guess." She replied.
 "How about the B St. Bridge or K&A?" I continued.
"Ummm that could work" she retorted half-heartedly.
"Anywhere else you think I should show them?" I asked in a last ditch effort.
"Not that I can think of, I think that's about it" she replied, her voice and expression conveying a genuine desire to help me out but also a real bewilderment at what exactly to show outsiders on a tour of the neighborhood.

Nonetheless, we toured the neighborhood- the murals, the social supports, the trash, the drugs, the factories, the developments, the devolution. We saw it all and before I knew it we were done. Leaving me off at the corner of Kensington and Lehigh, the boys continued on their journey headed towards Washington D.C.

Today, my friend Kristen arrived in Philadelphia.  Here for a conference, her visit is much different than James's and so was her tour.  Arriving at the center via the El this morning, she hopped in my car and we headed off to the Welcome Center. I pointed out the corner of Somerset and Kensington, sharing fun facts about heroin and tidbits picked up while living in the neighborhood. Soon enough conversation moved to mutual friends, updates on life, and just general enjoyment of each other's company as I showed her around my "new" home and got her settled in before I returned to work.

After work and dinner, Kristen and I headed out to explore the town.  Driving across North Philadelphia, we chatted less about the landscape than about life in general.  We then made our way down to the Schuylkill River, driving along MLK Boulevard, and making our way to the parking lot between the art museum and boat house row.  From there we walked the banks of the river.  I pointed out features of the skyline, gave fun facts about the city, and we soaked in the majestic beauty of the bustling urban landscape.

As we rounded our way around the Art Museum steps something struck me though. This city that I was showing Kristen was much different than the one I'd shown to James. Yet, they were (and are) the same city. Still, one felt more real to me than the other. I live in one, I visit the other.  Both inform the work that I do and how I choose to live my life.  I live in and work for Kensington so that one day it might enjoy the luxury of safety and civility so omnipresent at the Schuylkill's edge.  That's not to say it's always the safest, but you catch my drift.

My time with James and the boys was delightful, so was (and still is) my time with Kristen. But there is no mistaking that life has led me to a very interesting place. It is place that involves discomfort with the way things are, longing for the way they can be, and awareness of the reality of both of these things.  My time in college/before Philadelphia was blessed; indeed, without it I wouldn't have the wonderful friends I have today... and I probably never would have made my way to Philadelphia and the SSJs.

It's funny how journeys run together and even after they seemingly diverge, find themselves reunited. So it is that two tours and two visits have left me thinking about my own journey to the place I now call home.  Uniting the past with my present is a blessing, to express my knowledge of this community and also the connection I feel to it. In time, I have come to know this place and it has come to know me. With each new experience I uncover something new and discover that no matter how many times you've journeyed through a place there's always a fresh way of looking at it as you round familiar corners.

As we move into the season of Lent, the same could be said of our journeys through life: there's always a fresh way of looking at it as you round familiar corners.  Maybe it means being more present and aware of your surroundings, maybe it means being more available to your God and neighbor, and maybe, just maybe, it means journeying (for the next few weeks especially) with new eyes that see the old and bring it to bear on envisioning the new.

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.