Something of Substance

It is a few hours before the second presidential debate. I am decided, but not impressed. I heard what Obama said in the first campaign. I read what he wrote. As he feathered hope in our caps for what WE could do, he emerged as the one who could lead us. It was a tall order. If there is failure, we failed too. All of us. We failed to courageously confront injustice at every opportunity. I failed. I didn't always speak up and I didn't push forward in my community at times when I could have.

In politics, parties prevailed (which is always ugly.) As Lincoln said, "A house divided against itself cannot stand." Our president took many opportunities to lead and made some wise and courageous decisions. He also made some weak and ineffective decisions (apparently trying too hard to please.)Too many times, he surrendered where he might have fought for the poor, the marginalized and for the world. The last debate simply magnified where he has fallen short. We need him to stand up tonight. We need him to be our president. Pliable statistics will not do! We need to hear about hope and opportunity and our successes. We need to hear about this world where people are recognizing their worth and claiming their space. We need something of substance!


 And after he exits the room tonight (if we believe him), then we need to follow him. Not just to the voting booth, but to the mountain! We need to take on what is ours to carry. We cannot wait to hear about the bills we want to pass. We need to find the front lines and stand there in solidarity. Steps have been taken: to challenge the military-industrial complex, to create a safety net within a healthy competitive marketplace, to be stewards of the earth and to ensure that folks from all walks of life have access to the things we all deserve as children of a loving God. Let's walk together FORWARD, as they say, and make our country a better place by electing a leader who understands the value of all people in a democracy and welcomes all as participants. Let's help him get there!

Where Politics come home

I can not thrust my political opinion upon anyone else. I know that. There are many days that I'm not even sure what my political opinion is. I know where I lean. I'm pretty sure I know why. But I'm not intimately familiar with the ins and outs of Social Security.  I don't agree with either political party on what they would consider a just war. I think pronounced approaches toward Israel are lacking. Etc, etc.

There is a place where politics come home for me though. I will be impacted by how the Dream Act pans out after this election. The Development, Relief and Education of Alien Minors Act will help children of undocumented parents start a path to citizenship. More importantly, the youth who take advantage of this act will be recognized as valuable members of our society: a society they were thrust into and have come to know as their only influence. I will be affected because I have three nieces whose lives beyond school depend on if this act is upheld beyond this administration.

These young women are a part of my life. I love them like daughters and I would die for any one of them. They came to us eight years ago worn from a 2-day, sardine-packed van ride across the United States. The van was the easy part, after being separated from their mother and being held in a Safe (and I use that term loosely) House in Tuscon. Lizbeth was four, Lizeth six and Jessica eight. They were tired and timid when they arrived. Everything was strange. As hard as we tried to make our place a home for them, it took awhile. English was hard at first. It was hard making friends while learning the language. I can't speak for all of them, but I would guess the word to describe their first year of school would be "hell". But they learned and they made friends and they grew and have become sweet, intelligent, caring, aware young women- all of them.

Do they think about what it means to be here? Do they care about their immigration status? I'm not sure where it falls on the list after cell phones and first kisses, but I'm pretty sure it's not toward the top. Some day they'll care. Maybe when most young people start caring- when they start making their own decisions and when their lives depend on those decisions. I want them to have opportunities when they start caring. I don't want them to experience the humiliation of deportation. No matter what they decide to do as adults, I want them to be able to call this country home along with their native Mexico.

Some minds will turn to parental choices. As irrelevant as this is, I want to address it. If you had to choose to do something illegal to help your children survive, wouldn't you? Under the current economic system in Mexico, opportunities are scarce and U.S. businesses have not helped the situation by utilizing the cheap labor in Mexico and many other struggling countries. Our ancestors (with the exception of Native Americans) left somewhere to come here by whatever means necessary. Some of our ancestors forced slaves to transport them. The history is deep and complicated and most groups have some representation that wanted to close the door behind them. It seems it would be more productive to discuss how we are going to work to effectively reduce (and eventually end) global poverty. It's the only fair, humane solution to this problem and I hope my nieces will be here (or wherever they choose to be) to help our world take steps toward that solution.

Wherever You Go...

I hate the cold. I have never been a fan. I am from the Midwest and spent my fair share of time outside in the winter, but I always preferred a hot summer day running around shirtless, sweating in the summer sun. I know Cold though. We made friends once.

 I was working at the Saint Francis Catholic Worker in Waterloo, IA. It was my first experience of immersion. I lived and served and often did not know the difference as I slowly became part of a community. But violence would come to reign on us as a friend was taken in a shooting. Another friend died beneath a bridge. Another friend reached for help as he struggled in the grasp of mental illness and alcoholism and we all suffered as we watched him sabotage his success. Some who lived among us found they could show the worst of themselves where they knew they would still be loved, so they did and we had to evict people who could not respect the community. I loved what I was doing, but a part of me ached and I was not sure why. Community members helped me arrange a sabbatical. The first stage of the sabbatical was three days and nights at a Trappist Monastery. It was a few weeks before Christmas and the Iowa winter was already biting.

I honored the vow of silence the monks had taken and I kept silent even among the other retreatants. I read and reflected and I spent a lot of time outside, finding peace in the stillness of the trees and excitement as birds and squirrels rustled through the branches. My thick beard scarved my face but, even with gloves, my fingers ached. My body shivered and I let it. I was alone there, as alone as I'd ever been. I faced demons I had forgotten about and thought honestly about what God might be calling me to do next. There were worse things than cold and I had seen some.

I was fortunate to have those days at the monastery and I continued my spiritual journey after, then joining a friend and entering into prayer and study with a group at a retreat center in Wisconsin. When I returned to the Worker, my housemates were decorating the Christmas tree they had gotten while I was away. The house had light and color and I felt awake. Maybe I had needed the break. Maybe I could have listened better to my friends and let them help me through. Whatever the case, eventually I left the Catholic Worker and came East. Perhaps I was escaping something. But I soon learned to heed the words of author John Kabat-Zinn who penned a book entitled, "Wherever You Go, There You Are".  Maryland was a new experience with new friendships and new challenges. I was able to continue the work I believe I was called to. I had to learn to live in my skin though. I still struggle with that occasionally. Now I live in community with my family and we have a union within the community we live in. It is a rich way to live among the poor.

Nun is a lot!

Much of the influence that has helped to mold me as a person I credit to women of faith. First and foremost, to my mother, whom I have recognized and given to you in more detail in previous posts of this blog. But, more behind the scenes, I have benefited from the faith and wisdom of Catholic sisters. I owe much of my education and my catechism to them. Specifically, I remember Sister France Anne who was my first principal and led with love and courage (even when I was being disciplined.) I also remember Sister Judy who took a few of us out for Big Macs for helping her with office chores. Sister Carol was a gentle influence. She was one of the first teachers to encourage my creativity and share a bit of her religious life. Sister Rose Anne taught me passionately about social justice.

I observed, early on, that these sisters lived together. Only later would I discover that they lived in community, which heavily influenced my decision to work and live that way. In my adult life, I have had several fulfilling relationships with sisters who I have met through the the Catholic Worker movement and in other circles where I have chosen to associate myself with people who are committed to work for peace and justice.  I am indebted to them! I talk about this work. I have high ideals and want the world a certain way. They put themselves in harms way to make it so. They witness violence and terror in places most of us would not go.  They speak the truth in lands where this is dangerous to do and challenge politicians without being directly political. They live and work on the margins of our society, giving to the the poorest of the poor and the weakest of the weak. They are the servants of the church. (Let it be said that there are many priests and brothers doing this same work, but men are not being specifically challenged right now-to my knowledge.)

In recent days, the wisdom and value of these sisters has been questioned. An investigation, commissioned by the Vatican, has called sisters to the carpet and proposed that they are supporting values which are contrary to the values of the church. There are clear differences in the experiences of those on the front lines from those enforcing the laws of the church, pinned to its dogma. Any church doctrine that suggests someone operating outside the lines of the church is any less of a person or less whole in God's eyes needs to be questioned. As people, as a society, we have evolved in our recognition of the reality of human sexuality and we have given (at least lawfully) women the right to serve as equals in all offices. Women of the Catholic church deserve this same consideration. They fight for justice in the world and they deserve justice in their home, the church.

I stand with these sisters. I pray for them. I value what they have done for the church and for the world. I want to listen. I want to see what the church can learn from them. The officer commissioned to conduct the investigation has said, in so many words, that conformity is the only response the Vatican will accept. I hope this is not true. I hope the church will find an opportunity in this chasm to establish communities where people can hear the Word and know the Word is speaking to them. It will take time. It will take compromise and sacrifice. But this must happen for the church to survive these times. It must happen for the church to be whole and remain holy.

Beyond Imagination

"Did you ever imagine you could love anyone so much?" These were the words of your Grandma Craig when you were born, Valeria. This was a question that was easily answered. No. I never could have imagined. Even now, as you sit pouting in your bed, angry because you don't think I understand you...even now, it is hard to imagine how I am capable of loving you this much.

I have done some selfish things in my life and I once wondered if I was big enough to ever give my love unselfishly. You exist because I am and I will never stop loving you. I will disagree with you and look at you side-eyed and punish you when I feel there is no other way to teach you. I will be wrong and I will try to own up to mistakes as we go. I will forget things and get preoccupied with things not near as important as you are. But I promise I will do my best. You are in the front of my mind no matter where I am. There is not a day that I don't tell a story about you or brag about you or just gleam with pride and adoration as I show off your picture.

I hope that, by the time you read this, your memories give weight to what I'm saying here. I have big hopes for you. I worry sometimes, but not near as much as I hope. I hope you know you are loved, especially at the lowest and hardest times in your life. I hope you are held in esteem at the things that you love to do and in the company you choose to be with. I hope you remember how good you are even when others forget or don't know. Finally, I hope that your goodness spreads like wildfire to those around you and that you will know God's love as you give your heart to a hungry world.

You are my angel. Your small hand in mine so many times a day. Your sweet eyes that love me back  even when I don't feel loveable. And your tears and rage and resistance. All part of the moments that make me feel alive. I am with you- always.

Away with Words!

Honest armadillo- I'm just a short order, shank happy, beans and rice, kiss and make up kind of guy. And yet, on the wings of words, I feel higher than my limited stature would allow on a given day. In this window of space I am free to be the man I want to be, the man I dream to be or even some version of my real self. It's all good! There was a time when I thought maybe this venue would be a vessel to move toward greatness. Anymore I hope I can move toward grace. Words, in the recess of the mind, spill out like dice on a game board and I'm left to make the next move. If I delay, I forfeit. If I submit, I am ultimately rewarded with at least a feeling of release. Occasionally the result is relief. So I pause and ponder and pontificate. The words meet air and I scramble to gather all and keep them warm and sheltered in sentences. And, with a wisp; nothing, empty--out! "Come again" the sign might read. And I return to my dull existence.

Aware

There is something in my body that does not belong there. That is the easiest way to say it. No test has found it. Can't find a doctor who believes anything but tests. It has grown. Some days it is worse than others. I can hardly describe what it does inside me (and I'm damn tired of trying!) But I will say that it moves and it hurts. I have learned to focus myself around the pain and through it sometimes. This makes my case even weaker. It would be more distinct if I walked around with a grimace. I can't seem to make it evident though. I even push the triggers; caffeine, exertion, lack of sleep, in hopes that something will manifest and I'll start vomiting blood or pass out cold or something. I wish it were easier. I wish I knew if I was dying. For lack of an answer, I assume I'm dying. Not because I'm negative or glum, but because it helps me to really take in special moments. We're all dying. I am not scared anymore. I imagined for years I would be. I watched others who were sick and I didn't think I could ever be brave enough to die. Now I realize, if it's not today it will be tomorrow and so on and so on. I am still not brave. I am just aware. I never thought I would be but I am. When I wake up in the morning, the pain will just be there, like my shoes, waiting for me. It will be lighter in the morning, evident in the afternoon and perhaps only painful at night. And I'll sleep better tonight just because I took time to express myself.