Ahem

World AIDS Day 2006

With this being the last week of the term, I will no doubt be sucked in and spit back out on Friday... just in time to join this important event:

World AIDS Day Prayer evening Dec. 1st at the Well Church from 7 - 9:30pm.

This is (hooray) a collaborative event with many local communities involved, come and join in the conversation and prayer.   This is an important and timely opportunity to talk about what is happening in our own backyard.  Come and be a part of this. 

Are you out there God? It's me, Melissa

It’s funny the paths that we take as we move through the days and times that mark our life.  Seemingly insignificant choices that lead us to come to know certain people and not know others, influences we make ourselves available to and ones that we shield ourselves from.  I find myself in an interesting space these days.  I am wrapping up my grad program in the spring, and it occurs to me, in varying degrees of joy and alarm, that the world is wide open to me.   I am unmarried, no kids, no real "ties" to any one place or another.  Sure, there are family and friends, community that I love and those types of things, which are valuable and meaningful to me, and there is a large question that has been growing on the horizon when I stop to consider it... What do I want my life to look like, what does God intend for this time that He has given to me?  I suppose this could be one of those life long questions, the ones where older, and considerably wiser people than myself, smile those wry "oh-sweetie-you-are-so-young" smiles and say sarcastic things like, "when you find out, let me know". 

This morning we talked about hearing from God, it was an interesting conversation, though some of it left many questions forming in my mind. There was a great deal of the usual responses/interpretations of the topic that I have heard throughout a lifetime of being a part of a church community. There were also a few other ideas that I can tell I will be pondering for some time.   I believe I can often put a great deal of pressure on myself to "do something big", to really prove I'm in His camp or on His side.  (Yuck, can I just say, you don't earn it, baby.) 

I am reminded of a conversation that I had with a classmate about interpreting an email from a professor.   It feels so unnerving getting an email from a professor as they have so much power in so many circumstances.  Its one of those, "for God's sake, don't upset them" moments as they can really bring the ceiling down on your head, academically speaking.  Through the course of the conversation, and subsequent emails, we realized that we were reading condemnation into the text that was never really there.... this is a significant point for me, both in my academic world and in a larger understanding of the nature of God.  I fight against a doctrine that has been handed down to me since childhood, through a steady spoon feeding in church pews; I have often expected swift condemnation from God. Perhaps not in the Sodom and Gomorra "you're toast" variety, but in the "I am removing my blessing from you" sense. I have often felt in a deep place that we must be somewhat careful because, though He says He is love, He might turn on a dime and become the God of wrath.  Quick to send those of us stupid enough to put our necks out there scurrying to take cover.   Sadly, much of what is still taught in many communities today is just that, a laundry list of new laws, of proper living, of acceptable vocations, political beliefs, associations, and the like. It is perhaps one of the most effective driving forces of our nature; fear. 

Today in a coffee shop I ran into an old high school classmate.  I did not know this guy well, and it was so nice to reconnect and see that, as adults (I use that term loosely), we have a great deal in common.   He described to me a friend who is currently in grad school in Washington State. He immediately reamrked that his friend was not enjoying it at all.  When I questioned him a bit about what it was he didn't like, my high school friend shrugged and remarked, "I think he just chose the wrong path." To which I nodded and responded, "It happens."   And the truth is, it does happen, we do make the wrong choice, we do take the wrong path, we do make an error in judgment or find out we were wrong.  Herein lays the fear, the greatest fear for most of us, making the wrong choice; choosing a path that leads to utter ruin and destruction.  In my more dramatic moments it feels like a huge decision, what to do next year and the year after.  It feels very black and white (this way to a life of bliss and being right with God vs. this way to a life of squandered opportunities and regret), and I think that in truth (and the scary part is) its most likely shades of grey, where a variety of paths would also be in line with moving closer to Christ, and not away.  As long as Christ is the magnetic pull for the needle of my life’s ambitions and dreams, the path is not a Door #1 or Door #2 option, I will find the path is under my feet, and most likely, I will really only get to see a few steps in front of me all the time.  It is not a grand test, as some people would try to tell me, it is (as Clive tells it) a moving farther up and further in. It is allowing God to redirect my steps as I begin to swing a little wide with one turn or move a little too slowly and cautiously when it is my time to run.

 I believe that God does speak directly to His people, and even to those that do not see Him in that light.  I am comforted to know that God remembers that we are a fragile people, that we are dust.    I need patient reminders, and sometimes, I need to hear a shout of warning.   I need the tugs to become more persistent and for the decisions I make in the near future, to be based on something steadier than my own thoughts and less easily swayed by fear of the unknown.  I need to hear from God.  I think that we are often afraid to listen to God because we are afraid of hearing the words of anger and condemnation we expect in the text, which, as with my professor’s email, is not really there.  We are equally afraid to hear words of tenderness, love, compassion and self sacrifice, as we know those words are costly and precious, and push us to live differently.   As this ramble is self evident, I do not have a profound and/or easy answer, no bow to tie to the top of these questions of direction and choices, and I do feel comforted to know that God is there. 

He is sitting with me even now as I type out this mess of words, and is working out the details.  And just as simply as I do with the children in my class, offering me His hand, while speaking the words, "walk with me".

 

Now, O people, the Lord has told you what is good,
      and this is what he requires of you:
   to do what is right, to love mercy,
      and to walk humbly with your God.

Does size really matter?

Being home sick today has its advantages, though I feel terrible, (I am hopeful I can pull through for turkey day tomorrow) I am getting an opportunity to read some new blogs (new to me, that is).

I came across a reference to A Nun's Life, a blog by, you guessed it, a nun living in Monroe, Michigan. Her blog was recently highlighted in TIME, as were several others, to discuss the changes occurring within cloistered communities.

One of her recent posts struck a cord with me, even though she was discussing numbers in the sense of those within a monastic lifestyle, I think there are many parallels to other Christian communities that so often attribute growth (numbers) to success/blessing... here are some of Sister Julie Vieira's thoughts along those lines...

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I find this utterly preposterous. Somehow we got stuck with this idea that religious communities should be large, ever-growing bigger, with novitate buildings that are as big as city blocks. We think that this is the sign of “success” and, dare I say, God’s favor. I am truly happy for communities that experience this kind of growth in their communities today. But, this is not the norm, nor should we expect it to be so. Religious life was never meant to be measured in size. In fact, the first communities were made up of a handful of people. Religious life was highly countercultural which meant it really wasn’t attractive to the vast majority of people. It wasn’t a popularity contest then or now.

Jesus himself said, “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20). He did not say, “Where institutions, buildings, and popularity abound, there I am.” Certainly, Jesus is there wherever and however many we are. No question about that. But size was not the criterion for following the gospel, being a viable community, or pursuing a mission that God planted in people’s heart. We have no right to proclaim that a religious community is dying because of its numbers. No right whatsoever. Where only two or three are gathered, we must not assume that they are dying or that they have somehow failed in their mission (if they failed the popularity test, then I take this as a sign of health). God is at the heart of their community, their vocation, and their future. I for one would not want to suggest that God is incapable of inspiring any community because they are “too small” or “too old” or “not attractive enough.” I think such comments are more a reflection on our own assumptions and limited imagination than it is about the community.

Such thinking about numbers and religious life is disturbing to me on another level as well. When the focus of religious life becomes the religious community itself or the individual herself/himself, then something has gone terribly wrong. Religious life is not about any one of us or our community. To get caught up in such navel-gazing is to neglect the whole reason religious life exists: to serve the world and Church. It’s about MISSION. Without mission, it doesn’t matter how many people come through the convent doors or how consecrated you look or what lofty ideals you subscribe to.

So what’s the measure of a religious community? Serving the poor, caring for the sick, praying for the needs of the world, being open to God’s Spirit, striving for holiness, encouraging others …. It’s about following the Gospel, plain and simple.

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Preach it, Sister! ;-)

Amazing what happens...

When people are given a unique way to express what they care about.

YouTube has an interesting one up right now called One World... an opportunity for people to make personal statements simply by writing it on their hands and then videoing the results.  Some are inspiring, some funny, and as is usual in the free-for-all zone that is YouTube, some are a bit.... different.  One that I watched was filmed by a father that has been radically impacted by the birth of his first child.  It is one of the more profound communications (via film) that I have experienced in recent weeks....unfortunately, I now can't find it (in the multitude of other videos) to share with you, so you will have to take my word for it, or send me a link when you find it.  Its pretty interesting to see what people are writing and how they are making it  their own.

Check out the hands-as-mini-soapboxes... here.

Make a loan

... Change a life

I first heard of microlending (or microfinance) in the form of businesses or investors financially supporting and nurturing entrepreneurial opportunities in other countries. These resources were used as a way to help stabilize communities and build potential for future trade and industry.  Since then, many non profits have entered the fray as a movement (it gives me a little grassroots buzz just thinking about it) to combat global poverty in a practical and empowering way for those living in the midst of often crippling and demoralizing circumstances.  A dear friend of mine who plans to get involved on a larger scale through her business contacts (Em, you’re my hero) mentioned that Frontline highlighted a small microlending program out of San Francisco.

 
Kiva, which is a Swahili word meaning “agreement” or “unity”, is the answer to the question that I posed to my friend about opportunities for individuals to be a part of the loan process. As the loan is repaid the money can then be re-invested in another person, another community, another opportunity to stand with the working poor of the world and offer them the first stabilizing steps they need to move out into independence. Here is a perfect opportunity to turn those Christmas dollars into a remarkable renewable resource for the good of our most vulnerable sisters and brothers.

Time... for a breather

Its amazing to me, with the holidays coming, how much “stuff” it brings up for people, and how early that stress begins to twist and turn in our troubled psyches. Today at lunch we spent an hour talking about how to say “no sis, I don’t want you to come on my honeymoon”, or “no, Mom, I won’t be able to be there this year for Thanksgiving.”  The only brave one at the table that had actually chosen something different for the holidays other than the usual "family traditions" (aka the sacred cow) had only managed it once in her forty-five years.  What is it about saying “no” to others that puts us into such a tailspin?? I sat at the table listening to stories of women trying to establish an adult to adult relationship in place of the usual parent/child interactions and realized many of these women are decades ahead of me and still haven’t worked it out. I am all for families making peace, spending time together, and being able to make healthy choices like, “I love you, and I need a break this year”. It is surprising how quickly that can upset the apple cart and how many families need to practice the art (and grace) of creating a little space to find your bearings, reconnect with your frazzled nuclear family, or just take a breather from the usual family dynamics.  And, as we all agreed at the table today, it is very difficult to ask for what we need from our families, especially if we perceive that disappointing and/or hurting the feelings of loved ones will be a part of voicing them.

Anna Quindlen, in her book One True Thing, expressed it best,

oh the tenacious umbilical cord.

The least of these

Riding the bus and max regularly opens my world up to a mix of people.  It is infinitely good for me.  It forces me to interact, even if for but a few brief moments, with peeps outside of my comfortable mix.   It also regularly forces me to stare down my own stereotypes and assumptions about the people I pass on the street or ride close to on the max (though if you sit too close to me, you are likely to make me nervous, with the one caveat that if you look like Jude Law and smell like cinnamon, then by all means, snuggle up sugar). 

Rarely do I get the chance to observe people interacting in a way that sticks with me for the rest of the day, and yet this morning was an exception. It could be that this particular interaction is sticking with me as I am pondering homelessness with some other friends this month by reading articles, having talks, looking at our own preconceived ideas, etc.  It is stretching as I consider how I am a part of that cycle, and also what I can do to engage... but I digress...it all went down on the street as I waited for the bus this morning.  As is typical while waiting for the bus, a (I presume) homeless guy in his late teens/early twenties walked up to the woman in front of me and asked for some spare change.  The woman started to reply that she did not have any and that she was sorry, checked herself mid-sentence, and began to verbalize how not sorry she was.  She was not sorry she did not have change; in fact, she would not give it to him if she had it. She works six days a week to support her family, and his "hangover" t-shirt under the rather nice looking (albeit dirty) sweatshirt, is just not working for her, its just not working. 

I was a little shocked; I personally have never seen a homeless person yelled at before.  I have heard tirades like that before, and never with a homeless person present.   The kid just stood there, he looked down and took it, much like an abused dog.  (if he had had a tail it would have been firmly between his legs)  All he said in reply was that he was wearing what he was wearing because it was cold and that was all he had.  The way he reacted spoke volumes to me about how often he must hear those identical remarks.

We often reduce issues like this into an either/or conversation.  Either the homeless kid is right, has had a difficult existence and we should have compassion on him, making the lady a sadistic capitalist.  Or the lady is right. She is right for feeling outraged, which conveniently files the kid in the lazy, and drug addicted category.  In an attempt to move out of that simplistic territory, I am trying to consider the both/and perspective.   They both have a right to experience things the way they are experiencing them, and they both have a point. The homeless person is cold and looking for some change whatever might have transpired to land him on the streets.   The woman on the street is just trying to get through her day without being reminded that other people are not working six days a week to keep their family afloat.  As is typical with things like this, I am still thinking about it, and pondering it in my mind because these are complex issues.   It would be all too easy to make some sort of statement here about homelessness, the need for employment opportunities/training, or the large percentage of working poor in our country, however, as true as all those things are and worthy of consideration, at best, those would all be platitudes.  I can not begin to understand the concerns and experiences of others, if I am not willing to simply listen.   I think we do these people a great disservice when we do not begin the process of restoring by hearing their story, giving it the time and value it deserves.  These things are not occuring in a vaccum, they occur on a daily basis in indiviual lives.  In the daily experience of one family, sister, mother, brother, father and son.