Today, this brown eyed Susan turns another year older. Three years into my fifth decade and I continue to be astounded.
Astounded by the love of God who created all things even you and me and everyone and everything in between, for all eternity … created out of and for love.
Astounded by the beauty of creation. No words necessary.
Astounded by the gift of life and the invitation to share my gifts (and even vulnerablities) for the good of the whole, to be present to the beauty and the pain, to witness to God’s love even amidst suffering, and to remember and re-member in service of God’s dreams for us.
Astounded by the witness, love and challenge of family, friends, community, colleagues, strangers, bunny rabbits and birds and dragonflies. You name it.
Today would have been my parents’ sixty-fifth wedding anniversary. Theirs was a partnership that was grounded in their love of God, one another, and all of God’s people, especially those who are experiencing poverty. This morning in prayer, as I reflected on what is happening in our country and to the very weft and weave of our democracy, I give thanks for all they taught me through their example about the dignity of love and public service. I am also calling for their intercession for our country at this time.
They both began their careers in public service before they met. My Dad came to Washington from Iowa in 1956 to work at the US Patent Office before going to law school at George Washington University. My mom grew up in the DC Suburbs and worked in office administration for the Department of Justice before working for NATO in Europe (Yes, she was in Paris in the 1950s!).
In my Dad’s memoir, Me? I’m from Iowa, he shares how during their courtship and after they were married, they talked about faith and politics, which were always intertwined throughout their lives.
“After meeting in May, we went out a lot. And we talked, and talked. Starting with religion, we discussed why we were both Catholic, and found that we had some devotions in common. We talked about international issues, Communism and its failings, and the need to get involved in politics. … Following up on the political discussions we had during our dating and while on our honeymoon, we said now is the time to move ahead.”
Over the course of their marriage, my parents participated in the political campaigns of others and for my Dad’s own campaigns for local elected office. Dad served as an elected judge and later member of the County Council for several decades, before moving into transportation policy at the state and federal level. Mom worked on the staff of members of Congress and in the area of social work to support incarcerated people. Throughout it all, they were guided by their faith and the Gospel call to seek justice, especially for the most vulnerable.
My siblings and I grew up with the expectation that it was our responsibility to leave the world a better place than we found it, and most importantly to use our God given gifts in service of the common good. We learned first hand the promise and possibility of good government to make systemic change in support of human dignity, such as when my Dad helped to pass fair housing laws and desegregate the public schools. We saw how important it is to use our voice and influence to advocate for justice, such as when my Mom joined protests organized against discriminatory housing sales practices in our town. There are so many more examples of their witness in action. It is no coincidence that at one point or another, all of their five children worked directly in public service.
Me in the corner at the feet of my Mom (Left), as my Dad (Right) talks with Senator Barbara Mikulski at a political event
During these times, I am feeling the pull to call on our Cloud of Witnesses. This morning I am asking my parents to pray for our country, for all public servants who are under attack, for the health of our democracy, and for those who are already being impacted by the takeover of government agencies and the rapid dismantling of life-saving programs. Eileen Schmelzer Francois and Frank Francois, pray for us.
Today is the Feast day of St. Kateri Tekakwitha. In today’s Blessed Among Us feature in Give Us This Day, Robert Ellsberg writes:
St. Kateri was born in 1656 near present-day Auriesville, New York. Her mother, a captured Algonquin, was a Christian, while her father, a Mohawk chief, viewed the new religion with deep suspicion. Both parents died from smallpox when Kateri was four. Her own scarred face showed the marks of the disease, which also darkened her vision, causing her to stumble in the light. As a result her people called her Tekakwitha—“the one who walks groping her way.” When a Jesuit missionary arrived in her village in 1674 she requested baptism. She was given the name Kateri—a Mohawk version of Katherine.
Don’t we all stumble at times and grope our way forward? I know I do. Kateri Tekakwitha may be just the companion we need for these complex days of chaos and uncertainty. Just because we stumble in the light does not mean the light is not there. And even if we must at times grope our way, we can walk the way of peace, love, justice, and integrity in gratitude and hope.
Painting by Nancy Marek (mareksaints.com)Statue of Kateri Tekakwitha in Collegeville, MN
I love these two images of Kateri Tekakwitha. The first, a painting by Nancy Marek, is new to me. The second is a photo I took of a statue on the path near a lake in Collegeville a few years ago. Knowing what I now know about her name and her challenge making her way in the light I love these images even more.
Do you see her posture? Sitting in one, standing in the other, looking ahead in both in faith, wonder, and awe, she is surrounded by the goodness of God’s creation. So too are we, even if we don’t always see it.
Pray for us St. Kateri Tekakwitha. Help us to face forward in hope, love, and trust even if we stumble or grope to find our way. Journey with us as we nevertheless walk together in faith. Inspire us to look for goodness and wonder. Be with us on the journey.
I have an affinity for those Scripture passages where the people or disciples complain to God. Because, who hasn’t? In today’s first reading Moses is also a target, the fate of leaders throughout history. (Numbers 21)
From Mount Hor the children of Israel set out on the Red Sea road, to bypass the land of Edom. But with their patience worn out by the journey, the people complained against God and Moses, “Why have you brought us up from Egypt to die in this desert, where there is no food or water? We are disgusted with this wretched food!”
Disgusted. Wretched. Very descriptive. And real.
The story continues that God sent serpents to bite the people as punishment for their complaints! Which spurred the folks to apologize, and then God helped Moses get everyone to chill out by making a bronze serpent on a pole, and everyone who looked at it lived.
The nitty gritty reality of the complaining is what sticks with me. And makes me laugh every time this reading comes up in the lectionary. Because if I am honest, my own conversations with my loving creator sometimes fall into the complaint variety. Sometimes they are substantive and grounded in true issues. Sometimes they are of the more petty variety. Most often probably in the middle? And if I am to be real before God, I can’t stuff it down or pretend I don’t feel all the feelings.
When my Mom was dying of cancer twenty years ago, I had my first true (adult) crisis of faith. It was accompanied by a lot of complaining of the substantive variety. I had a valid beef with the reality of suffering and most particularly the suffering my Mom was going through, and how God was seemingly ok with it. Still do all these years later, truth be told. A wise priest friend encouraged me to spend some time with the psalms. They were filled not only with complaining, he told me, but even anger at God. And anger, he pointed out, is a pretty intimate emotion.
Somehow reading those ancient complaints and screeds against God brought me closer to God in the midst of the reality of suffering. Here’s the thing … while in today’s story from Numbers, God may have punished the people first, the story ends with mercy. The story always ends with God’s mercy. God listens. God is with us. And God wants to hear our complaints! As we hear today in Psalm 102:
Let this be written for the generation to come, and let his future creatures praise the Lord:
“The Lord looked down from his holy height, from heaven he beheld the earth, To hear the groaning of the prisoners,to release those doomed to die.
So go ahead. Groan. Complain…. God has heard worse. We won’t find the way through by ignoring the death dealing realities of life, real and figurative. We might miss life giving opportunities if we do. God invites us always to bring our realities to our relationship with our loving creator. And for that I am very grateful.
Today, as I was driving to Heathrow airport to return my rental car before my departure,I drove by a street called “Makepeace Road.” What a name!
I wonder how often the residents of Makepeace Road think about the name. Is it something so familiar that it does not give them pause. Or do they see the name as they drive onto their street or write their return address on an envelope and think … yes, I should make peace with … [fill in blank].
As we finish the third week of Advent and begin what this year is an actual full fourth week of the Advent season, it is a good time to ponder how I am called to make peace
In my own heart.
With those I love, but where there may be some strained relationships or hurts.
With those who drive me a little crazy.
With those with whom I disagree or just don’t understand.
Peace is possible, but it begins at home and it takes effort and intention.
May we all strive to make peace in our lives, community, and world, no matter what street we happen to live on.
I like to begin my day with a cup of tea, some reflective reading, and quiet time with God.
I am slowly working my way through The Listening God by a Trappist nun, Miriam Pollard, OSCO. This morning I sat down for meditation time after reading a beautiful yet down to earth reflection by Sister Miriam. Pondering the “little pains” and “discordant restlessness” we all have in our pockets and on our hearts, she ends by turning to God who says to our most wounded self:
“Give me the self you do not want to be. Give it here. Let it stop squirming and be still in the self I am. Let it sleep my sleep and wake my waking.”
This spoke deeply to me. And so I sat in my favorite spot, holding my warm mug, and closed my eyes to sit with God for a bit before I started my day.. To sit with this giving over of my most wounded and squirmy bits to my loving creator. Breathing in. Breathing out. Peace.
And then.
I had forgotten they are doing road work outside my window. Bursts of rather boisterous jackhammering interrupted my quiet time. My peace. Sigh.
And yet.
Somehow, perhaps because I am becoming more accustomed to the mess and chaos of life these days, I found peace between the boisterous bursts. And humor in the interruptions. And gratitude for those people working on this early morning. And sympathy for neighbors roused from slumber or otherwise disturbed in their morning routines. And loving concern for all those truly suffering these days, lives interrupted by war and violence and illness and death of loved ones.
Once again I learn the lesson that God is with us IN the mess of life, in the noise, the chaos, the pain, the tearing down and building up. God is there, God is here, and so are we.
“I am,” a new-to-me song by Jill Phillips, speaks deeply to me of the invitation to let God be God. So I did what I do, and made a video prayer.
Lyrics by Jill Phillips:
Oh, gently lay your head upon my chest, And I will comfort you like a mother while you rest The tide can change so fast, but I will stay The same through past, the same in future, the same today
I am constant, I am near I am peace that shatters all your secret fears I am holy, I am wise I’m the only one who knows your hearts desires Your hearts desires
Oh weary, tired, and worn Let out your sighs And drop that heavy load you hold, ’cause mine is light I know you through and through There’s no need to hide I want to show you love that is deep, and high, and wide
Oh, gently lay your head upon my chest And I will comfort you like a mother while you rest
This week, on a day packed with very important zoom meetings (which seems like everyday of late, begging the question of how important they can actually be), I spotted this tableau on my way through the house.
Joseph, standing tall. The caption that came to me was “Joseph pondering the needs of the world.”
Given the caption, the needs of the world are pretty big, and Joseph, while standing tall, can barely peek into the top of the jar/well/container.
(What you don’t know is that Joseph has a broken foot, super glued back into place).
So here is Joe. Standing tall, but barely taller than the needs of the world. Standing on a broken, haphazardly fixed, ceramic foot. Looking tenderly upon the needs of our broken world. The needs of the family of God. His family.
Don’t know about you, but I found this very comforting.
St. Joseph, pray for the people of God, your family. We need your prayers and intercession!
Have you noticed that everyone (and everything) is weird these days.
And that no one is weird at the same time?
If you find yourself tired or anxious or frustrated or annoyed or even angry, of course you are. We are going on 2 months of this strange reality with no clear path forward that seems comfortable, sure or safe.
Yet here we are. Together. Alone. Safe in our homes or maybe on the newly redefined front lines, suddenly considered essential. Simple daily tasks seem daunting. We juggle home and work life all in one place. So many plans have suddenly disappeared. We might feel lost, dazed or confused.
In today’s Gospel (John 14), our friend Thomas follows his own doubts to help us find the way through. In my own simplified paraphrase of this passage, which I have often prayed with even before these pandemic days, we hear:
Thomas: How can we know the way?
Jesus: I am the way. Stay focused on me. Love a lot.
Yep. Love. A lot. Love is the way when people are weird. Love is the way when we are weird. Love is the way when your child/niece/student is sad that their graduation has been cancelled. Love is the way when you remind your grandmother/mother/sister/friend/yourself that all this isolation has a purpose. Love is the way when you reorganize your plans … again. Love is the way when [insert challenging situation here]. All the rest is distraction from what really matters.
A few years ago, in other life circumstances, my meditation on this Gospel led me to create a video prayer set to music by Sufjan Stevens. I find it is a fruitful prayer these days too, and so I offer it here in case it resonates with you.
We’re all a bit off these days. Our prayer space, time and experience is probably off kilter a bit as well. For those of us used to a sacramental shared liturgical experience, we have the option of watching mass online, but it’s not the same. We all know there is SO much to pray for, but that’s just it. There’s so much.
For years now I have “prayed the news,” reading the newspaper in the morning as part of my morning prayer. I hold in my heart and mind some of the stories of human suffering, joy, and life within those written words and pray for the people and realities behind the story.
Last month, I was able to carve a little space into my oddly busy quarantine life for a mini personal retreat weekend. I walked the grounds of the convent where I live, which is perched on the palisades across the Hudson River from New York City.
New York City of course has been so hard hit by COVID-19, as has New Jersey where I live. I prayed for all of it and everyone, and later made this video prayer of photos from that day set to the song “Island” by Audrey Assad.
We are knit together Together as one Where you’re going I will go Underneath the shelter of this love We will walk each other home You be home to me I will be home to you No one is an island You be home to me I will be home to you No one is an island
At the Corner of Susan and St. Joseph 