I learned an important lesson about tears a few years back, while I was spending time on the Navajo Reservation. During one of the meals, our host began to tell us more about his family and life there. As he began to tell about his parents, who had since passed away, he started to cry. Just there, in the middle of the lunch table, in the middle of talking, just crying, missing the people who had brought him into the world. One of the girls who had initially got him talking on the subject quickly apologized, reflecting all of our discomfort at having pushed our normally stoic leader into such a sad state."
"Don't apologize," he said, getting serious as tears continued to stream down his cheeks. "Don't apologize for tears, that takes away from the importance of what you are crying for. I loved my parents, and I would never apologize for crying on their behalf."
"Way I see it," he says, "is that tears are our body's way of healing. It's not so much a falling apart as a falling back together - it's our body's way of putting itself back together after it is broken down."
Sometimes I wonder why we have such finite bodies. We come from something so vast, how are we suppose to live in these little finite temples.
Maybe it's a gift. God's way of allowing us something to hold on to, something to grab and touch and love. In a hug, maybe we can try and embrace everything a person carries - all the incredible joy and the immense sadness. Maybe when we hold each other, just for a second, we can hold all of that other stuff too.
That way, in holding these little finite bodies, we really hold all of existence.
Friday, December 27, 2013
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Fishing
Last night, as a community, Mike, Jessica, and I took the time to walk through the last 4 months of our lives. From Orientation up until this last hectic week before Christmas, we reflected back upon our experiences, the people we have met, the struggles and joys of our work and community life. We took this time to "paint the picture" - not necessarily to interpret or critique, but simply to be aware of it all, bring it into our consciousness. At the end of the reflection, we had to pick a word, an experience, an emotion, that seemed to be coming through more so than the others, something that was speaking about our overall experience.
I had an image that kept coming to mind. Fishing. I am not a huge fisher (although I would like to learn), but I have been a few times growing up. One of my best friends as a kid loved fishing, and he introduced me to the joys of crabbing and fishing for snappers in the bays of Long Island. He showed me how to do it right. We always went early in the morning, with a fully stocked cooler of sandwiches and soda, bags full of snacks, a radio, and some chairs to sit in. These are some of the best memories of my childhood, whole days spent fishing, shooting the shit, and just enjoying the salt air.
I guess my experience here has something to do with fishing, at least in the way I understand it. I do as much prep work as I can. Prepare the bait, make sure the rod and reel are in good working condition, pick a good spot to cast off - all the things to prepare and try and make the trip successful. But after that bait is in the water, it seems to be out of my hands. it's up to the fish. They bite when they bite, will come when they come. The ocean is a mysterious kind of place, and once in that water, it doesn't much seem able to be controlled.
Now, I can pace back and forth, asking why nothing is happening. I can keep reeling in and casting off, re-baiting my hook, adjusting and fidgeting, doing my best to sway the outcome. I can be impatient, and frustrated.
Or. I can bring a cooler full of good food and drink. Bring a friend along, share a beer, good stories, and the simple joy of being present to one another. I can feel the sea breeze and taste the salt water in the air. Watch the sunrise and feel it warm up the day. When the time comes for a bit, pick up that rod and engage, fight, and enjoy that struggle.
I can be focused only on the amount of fish I bring home, or I can be present to the whole experience. Enjoy each part of it.
Being here in South Dakota, on the Rez, it's kind of like fishing. I cast out every day. Do my best to prepare, taking time to be still and reconnect with myself and God, center myself out of the wellspring of love in my soul. Then I wait. Patiently and humbly. It's a mysterious thing to try and meet a community in their place, to encounter a person in the place of sorrow or joy, meet them in their deepest Truth. It is not something I can control. I have to wait to be invited. In the meanwhile, I can be angry or stressed, impatient and frustrated (which at times I certainly am). Or. I can bring my friends, family, and community members with me, enjoy their presence and company. I can enjoy the landscape, listen to good music (and play some), enjoy the whole process. And when the time comes for a bite, for an invitation or an opening up, I can be ready to wrestle, ready to fully engage. It isn't only about the catch, although that often makes the whole experience feel worth it, or gives hope for the next cast - but it's the whole experience.
I had an image that kept coming to mind. Fishing. I am not a huge fisher (although I would like to learn), but I have been a few times growing up. One of my best friends as a kid loved fishing, and he introduced me to the joys of crabbing and fishing for snappers in the bays of Long Island. He showed me how to do it right. We always went early in the morning, with a fully stocked cooler of sandwiches and soda, bags full of snacks, a radio, and some chairs to sit in. These are some of the best memories of my childhood, whole days spent fishing, shooting the shit, and just enjoying the salt air.
I guess my experience here has something to do with fishing, at least in the way I understand it. I do as much prep work as I can. Prepare the bait, make sure the rod and reel are in good working condition, pick a good spot to cast off - all the things to prepare and try and make the trip successful. But after that bait is in the water, it seems to be out of my hands. it's up to the fish. They bite when they bite, will come when they come. The ocean is a mysterious kind of place, and once in that water, it doesn't much seem able to be controlled.
Now, I can pace back and forth, asking why nothing is happening. I can keep reeling in and casting off, re-baiting my hook, adjusting and fidgeting, doing my best to sway the outcome. I can be impatient, and frustrated.
Or. I can bring a cooler full of good food and drink. Bring a friend along, share a beer, good stories, and the simple joy of being present to one another. I can feel the sea breeze and taste the salt water in the air. Watch the sunrise and feel it warm up the day. When the time comes for a bit, pick up that rod and engage, fight, and enjoy that struggle.
I can be focused only on the amount of fish I bring home, or I can be present to the whole experience. Enjoy each part of it.
Being here in South Dakota, on the Rez, it's kind of like fishing. I cast out every day. Do my best to prepare, taking time to be still and reconnect with myself and God, center myself out of the wellspring of love in my soul. Then I wait. Patiently and humbly. It's a mysterious thing to try and meet a community in their place, to encounter a person in the place of sorrow or joy, meet them in their deepest Truth. It is not something I can control. I have to wait to be invited. In the meanwhile, I can be angry or stressed, impatient and frustrated (which at times I certainly am). Or. I can bring my friends, family, and community members with me, enjoy their presence and company. I can enjoy the landscape, listen to good music (and play some), enjoy the whole process. And when the time comes for a bite, for an invitation or an opening up, I can be ready to wrestle, ready to fully engage. It isn't only about the catch, although that often makes the whole experience feel worth it, or gives hope for the next cast - but it's the whole experience.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Keep It Real
I often write about my experiences working with the youth at the Juvenile Detention Center, mainly because it is a ministry that I have found a well of passion for. No matter how tired, how cranky, how stressed, how busy I am, Sunday night, 5 P.M., you'll know where to find me, because there is no place I would rather be.
These kids have the surprising (but, alas, perhaps not so surprising), ability to give me exactly what I need at any given moment. When I am feeling too comfortable with myself and my situation, they shake me up and smack me around, leaving me feeling disoriented and sometimes angry, staggering at the weight young kids are made to carry just because of where they were born. When I am feeling too prideful, too focused on my "results," they humble me. Hard. Force me back into a space of prayer, of seeing myself simply as an instrument, filled with that More without which I couldn't do any of this work well. When I am sad, and frustrated, and hurting - they hold my heart just as surely as I try and hold theirs each week. They give me a space to be myself. Fully, and without hesitation. They make me laugh and bring my spirit back to a place filled with hope and purpose.
In honor of them and their spirit, and of the love I have for each and everyone I have met, and will continue to meet, here are a few stories of my time with them (I apologize for the tons of curses in the following stories, but it helps convey the environment-they appreciate keeping it real, so we do):
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Victor is a "quiet" kid. The quotes are there because while absolutely silent the first few times I met him, after he warmed up, I cannot get him to be quiet. A thoroughly likeable kid, he is one of the people I love to mess with and joke around with, because it never fails to draw a strong and hilarious reaction. He never stops asking questions. Such a naturally curious person, I hope he will take that and run throughout his life. During our last reflection, I implemented just a few minutes of silence before our opening prayer. The whole time, this kid is whistling, tapping, fidgeting, asking me questions about my hair - anything but what I asked him to do. After "silent" time, I explain the exercise - describe Where You Are - emotionally, physically, spiritually, mentally. In other words, paint a picture of your current situation in life - where are your relationships: with others, with God, with yourself. What are your wishes and desires, what do you want, what do you need, how do you feel, etc. After five minutes of explaining the exercise, we all set into the activity, until I hear Victor next to me.
"Hey, so what're we doing now?"
"What do you mean what're we doing, I just fucking explained it..."
"Yeah, something about where we are?"
"Yeah, but not just the physical place, where you are in a soul sense - like, for instance, you could write about why fuck you can't sit still and shut the hell up for the 3 minutes I ask you to. Or you could write about where it is you go whenever I explain any of the activities we do!"
Cue laughter. Relationships blooming.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\
Since being on the Rez, my hair has become a pretty constant topic of conversation. The first couple of weeks of teaching religious ed. to the younger kids, I quickly had to adjust any lesson plan we had. "Yes, you can touch my hair and beard, but only at the end of class/if you get this question right." One of my friends from the community came up to me one day and said to me, "Hey, people like you around here. They joke and tease with you, that's a good thing. It's your hair, they like it, there's something about it." I think it has some sort of disarming effect. "Shit, this kid is a nutjob, we don't have to be too closed off." The kids at the JDC are no different.
"Is that your real hair?"
"Yeah it's my real hair."
"How you get it like that?"
"Just twist it up, knowt it up, it's pretty easy."
"You wash that shit?"
"Yes. I wash it."
"Don't look like it man. And it looks like you're going bald. I don't know about it. But I guess it works."
(Well thank you! How kind of you for sharing, really, keep it coming).
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Why you always trying to get us to think about this stuff?"
"Cause, I think it's important to know who you really are and where you are in your life. It's good to be aware of this stuff."
"You tell us where you are then" So I do, tell them about what I am struggling with, where I am hurting, why I like being with them so much, etc. Keep it as real as I can, maybe they will too.
"Damn, you're pretty good at that.'
"Yeah, but not always. I practice, a lot. It's hard work, and it's painful too. You gotta confront a lot of things about yourself, it's tough shit."
"Why you tryin to make us do it then!? Cheeeee."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another staple of my wardrobe out here (much to the chagrin of my mom - sorry!), has been my poncho. I love the thing, it is so funky and warm, and I can't pass up on stuff like that. Of course, the kids at the JDC can't either.
"What's with the blanket?"
"My poncho?"
"Yeah what's up with that, is it warm? Why do you wear it?"
"It's real warm! I don't know, I just like it i guess."
"Oh, definitely feels pretty cool, he thinks it's cool," (like I am not even in the room), " You feel pretty cool when you wear it?"
"Mmm, yeah kinda (grinning sheepishly)."
Everyone laughs, "Yeah it's pretty cool, you got it."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Person meets person. Experience meets Experience. Heart meets heart. And we both meet at the deepest, truest place.
These kids have the surprising (but, alas, perhaps not so surprising), ability to give me exactly what I need at any given moment. When I am feeling too comfortable with myself and my situation, they shake me up and smack me around, leaving me feeling disoriented and sometimes angry, staggering at the weight young kids are made to carry just because of where they were born. When I am feeling too prideful, too focused on my "results," they humble me. Hard. Force me back into a space of prayer, of seeing myself simply as an instrument, filled with that More without which I couldn't do any of this work well. When I am sad, and frustrated, and hurting - they hold my heart just as surely as I try and hold theirs each week. They give me a space to be myself. Fully, and without hesitation. They make me laugh and bring my spirit back to a place filled with hope and purpose.
In honor of them and their spirit, and of the love I have for each and everyone I have met, and will continue to meet, here are a few stories of my time with them (I apologize for the tons of curses in the following stories, but it helps convey the environment-they appreciate keeping it real, so we do):
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Victor is a "quiet" kid. The quotes are there because while absolutely silent the first few times I met him, after he warmed up, I cannot get him to be quiet. A thoroughly likeable kid, he is one of the people I love to mess with and joke around with, because it never fails to draw a strong and hilarious reaction. He never stops asking questions. Such a naturally curious person, I hope he will take that and run throughout his life. During our last reflection, I implemented just a few minutes of silence before our opening prayer. The whole time, this kid is whistling, tapping, fidgeting, asking me questions about my hair - anything but what I asked him to do. After "silent" time, I explain the exercise - describe Where You Are - emotionally, physically, spiritually, mentally. In other words, paint a picture of your current situation in life - where are your relationships: with others, with God, with yourself. What are your wishes and desires, what do you want, what do you need, how do you feel, etc. After five minutes of explaining the exercise, we all set into the activity, until I hear Victor next to me.
"Hey, so what're we doing now?"
"What do you mean what're we doing, I just fucking explained it..."
"Yeah, something about where we are?"
"Yeah, but not just the physical place, where you are in a soul sense - like, for instance, you could write about why fuck you can't sit still and shut the hell up for the 3 minutes I ask you to. Or you could write about where it is you go whenever I explain any of the activities we do!"
Cue laughter. Relationships blooming.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\
Since being on the Rez, my hair has become a pretty constant topic of conversation. The first couple of weeks of teaching religious ed. to the younger kids, I quickly had to adjust any lesson plan we had. "Yes, you can touch my hair and beard, but only at the end of class/if you get this question right." One of my friends from the community came up to me one day and said to me, "Hey, people like you around here. They joke and tease with you, that's a good thing. It's your hair, they like it, there's something about it." I think it has some sort of disarming effect. "Shit, this kid is a nutjob, we don't have to be too closed off." The kids at the JDC are no different.
"Is that your real hair?"
"Yeah it's my real hair."
"How you get it like that?"
"Just twist it up, knowt it up, it's pretty easy."
"You wash that shit?"
"Yes. I wash it."
"Don't look like it man. And it looks like you're going bald. I don't know about it. But I guess it works."
(Well thank you! How kind of you for sharing, really, keep it coming).
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Why you always trying to get us to think about this stuff?"
"Cause, I think it's important to know who you really are and where you are in your life. It's good to be aware of this stuff."
"You tell us where you are then" So I do, tell them about what I am struggling with, where I am hurting, why I like being with them so much, etc. Keep it as real as I can, maybe they will too.
"Damn, you're pretty good at that.'
"Yeah, but not always. I practice, a lot. It's hard work, and it's painful too. You gotta confront a lot of things about yourself, it's tough shit."
"Why you tryin to make us do it then!? Cheeeee."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another staple of my wardrobe out here (much to the chagrin of my mom - sorry!), has been my poncho. I love the thing, it is so funky and warm, and I can't pass up on stuff like that. Of course, the kids at the JDC can't either.
"What's with the blanket?"
"My poncho?"
"Yeah what's up with that, is it warm? Why do you wear it?"
"It's real warm! I don't know, I just like it i guess."
"Oh, definitely feels pretty cool, he thinks it's cool," (like I am not even in the room), " You feel pretty cool when you wear it?"
"Mmm, yeah kinda (grinning sheepishly)."
Everyone laughs, "Yeah it's pretty cool, you got it."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Person meets person. Experience meets Experience. Heart meets heart. And we both meet at the deepest, truest place.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Holy Longings
Something that hit me pretty hard last night as I sat in the kitchen with Mike and Jessica, sharing pieces of our lives from home - it is the simple realization that, in order to present to someone or somewhere, we have to be absent in other places.
I got a restless and rambling heart. Many times I have said that, if I could, I would send it out and let it envelope the whole world, everyone and everything in it. Haven't quite figured out how to do that trick yet, so I have to content myself with longing for the places and people I miss.
I couldn't be happier in South Dakota. I am learning so much every day, about who I am and what I believe, about my talents and weaknesses, about my passions and the drive of my heart. I am meeting beautiful people who are continuing to show me more and more of the face of God, and to hold my heart captivated. I realized though, that as I am on my own journey, one that is completely and totally right for me at this time, that others who I love and care about are still making their own journeys as we'll. "Life moves on without us," Jessica said, and she couldn't be more right.
Part of walking my own path is dealing with the sadness and longing that comes with being separated from the people and things I love. My family is growing up every day. New boyfriends, college searches, growth spurts - after 4 years of being away for college and missing all of those years of my siblings lives, I continue to only hear about them through phone conversations. My parents are getting older, and while it may be weird for a son to comment on how much wiser they have seemed to grow (although it was probably just that I was a dumbass and couldn't see it, right mom??), I think they have. Our relationship ahs completely changed as I have gotten older - and being so far away, I can't just trek off to see Handel's Messiah with my mom during Christmas-time, or grab a beer with my dad and talk about the big questions of life. Things I cherish and miss terribly.
While in college, I missed a lot of my cousin's growing up, and when the youngest of them was born, I wasn't there for most of it. With another cousin on the way, I realize that, again, their oldest cousin Michael (or "Mahk-nul" as they used to say when they first started talking) won't be there. That is a hard thing to swallow.
College brought some great things for me. Some of my best friends wrote and produced a musical that I had the privilege of being a part of. Cowboys Don't Sing is the next big thing, for real. After selling out every show we did at Fordham, we were invited to take it off-Broadway the summer before my senior year. We killed that show, taking home every award possible for the festival we were a part of, making everyone who came forget life for a while and laugh their asses off. This summer, while I took that next step at JVC Orientation in Indianapolis, my cast members got ready for yet another off-Broadway production, this time at the much acclaimed Fringe festival in NYC. Big deal for a little show from the Blackbox at Fordham. As I spent my first moments and days in South Dakota, they were killing it in their first shows, making the same waves we did nearly a year before. I am so happy for them, and proud of them. And my heart hurts to not be there, celebrating with them and going through it all with them.
Towards the end of my senior year, I was a part of a band that absolutely helped make my year. The Keating Steps will always have my heart, and they have spoiled music for me, because I'm not sure I'll ever find such a great group of people - of friends - to play with again. Watching them this year? Killing it. Music videos, tons of concerts, triple-booked in one night, photo-shoots - just rockin it. The love and spirit of that family (get it guys?) trickles out to everyone around them. You can't help but clap and laugh and have a good time. it is absolutely contagious. Seeing them starting to write their won music, add fiddles and accordions, all good things that make my heart swell for them with pride - and hurt for my absence. There are many a day I rock around in my room, by myself, imaging them all there with me, belting out a chorus of "Leave Your Troubles" at the top of our lungs, full archway in front of us and the best time had by all.
None of this is to say that I wish I could be anywhere other than right where I am. I am occupying the exact space at this time that I need to be in. But much in the same way that F. Scott Fitzgerald said that the mark of a first rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in the mind at the same time and still function - well, I think the same for our desires. The ability to hold equal and opposite desires, emotions and feelings in one's heart at the same time. Immense joy and gratitude for my current experience, and large amounts of pain and longing at what I am missing.
Holding everything in one heart, all the complexities of being human.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4sa2HoXpsE
I got a restless and rambling heart. Many times I have said that, if I could, I would send it out and let it envelope the whole world, everyone and everything in it. Haven't quite figured out how to do that trick yet, so I have to content myself with longing for the places and people I miss.
I couldn't be happier in South Dakota. I am learning so much every day, about who I am and what I believe, about my talents and weaknesses, about my passions and the drive of my heart. I am meeting beautiful people who are continuing to show me more and more of the face of God, and to hold my heart captivated. I realized though, that as I am on my own journey, one that is completely and totally right for me at this time, that others who I love and care about are still making their own journeys as we'll. "Life moves on without us," Jessica said, and she couldn't be more right.
Part of walking my own path is dealing with the sadness and longing that comes with being separated from the people and things I love. My family is growing up every day. New boyfriends, college searches, growth spurts - after 4 years of being away for college and missing all of those years of my siblings lives, I continue to only hear about them through phone conversations. My parents are getting older, and while it may be weird for a son to comment on how much wiser they have seemed to grow (although it was probably just that I was a dumbass and couldn't see it, right mom??), I think they have. Our relationship ahs completely changed as I have gotten older - and being so far away, I can't just trek off to see Handel's Messiah with my mom during Christmas-time, or grab a beer with my dad and talk about the big questions of life. Things I cherish and miss terribly.
While in college, I missed a lot of my cousin's growing up, and when the youngest of them was born, I wasn't there for most of it. With another cousin on the way, I realize that, again, their oldest cousin Michael (or "Mahk-nul" as they used to say when they first started talking) won't be there. That is a hard thing to swallow.
College brought some great things for me. Some of my best friends wrote and produced a musical that I had the privilege of being a part of. Cowboys Don't Sing is the next big thing, for real. After selling out every show we did at Fordham, we were invited to take it off-Broadway the summer before my senior year. We killed that show, taking home every award possible for the festival we were a part of, making everyone who came forget life for a while and laugh their asses off. This summer, while I took that next step at JVC Orientation in Indianapolis, my cast members got ready for yet another off-Broadway production, this time at the much acclaimed Fringe festival in NYC. Big deal for a little show from the Blackbox at Fordham. As I spent my first moments and days in South Dakota, they were killing it in their first shows, making the same waves we did nearly a year before. I am so happy for them, and proud of them. And my heart hurts to not be there, celebrating with them and going through it all with them.
Towards the end of my senior year, I was a part of a band that absolutely helped make my year. The Keating Steps will always have my heart, and they have spoiled music for me, because I'm not sure I'll ever find such a great group of people - of friends - to play with again. Watching them this year? Killing it. Music videos, tons of concerts, triple-booked in one night, photo-shoots - just rockin it. The love and spirit of that family (get it guys?) trickles out to everyone around them. You can't help but clap and laugh and have a good time. it is absolutely contagious. Seeing them starting to write their won music, add fiddles and accordions, all good things that make my heart swell for them with pride - and hurt for my absence. There are many a day I rock around in my room, by myself, imaging them all there with me, belting out a chorus of "Leave Your Troubles" at the top of our lungs, full archway in front of us and the best time had by all.
None of this is to say that I wish I could be anywhere other than right where I am. I am occupying the exact space at this time that I need to be in. But much in the same way that F. Scott Fitzgerald said that the mark of a first rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in the mind at the same time and still function - well, I think the same for our desires. The ability to hold equal and opposite desires, emotions and feelings in one's heart at the same time. Immense joy and gratitude for my current experience, and large amounts of pain and longing at what I am missing.
Holding everything in one heart, all the complexities of being human.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4sa2HoXpsE
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Eyes to See, Ears to Hear
"What is the message God created you to bring into the world?" my reflection read not but a few days ago. I'm not sure I can answer that, but it might go something like this.
I am here to hold up a magic mirror in front of every person who crosses my path. A mirror that allows the person to trade in their eyes, if but for a moment, and borrow God's for a while. That way, even if only for a moment, they will know the fullness and splendor of their very being.
I seek to empty myself, of the small vision of my ego and the crippling effect of my fears, allowing those spaces to be so completely filled with God that I will no longer have to put unnecessary pressure on myself for a task I could never achieve alone.
I want to say to everyone person, "You are loved," and have them believe it. Have them know why. I want to say to the kids at the JDC, you are more than all of the abuse you have endured in your young lives; you are more than your crimes; you are more than your shame. To have them see that it isn't about changing to get more love, or acceptance, but about accepting the love they already have. Embracing the the beauty they already are, and living from that most basic truth.
And having everyone know that in living from their own beauty, from who they truly are in God, that they can help reflect that truth to me too. Be a magic mirror for my own hurting, doubtful heart.
May we have eyes to see, and ears to hear the truth that trumpets from the very core we are.
"We are love, and we are made for love, and our natural abiding place is love." (Richard Rohr)
I am here to hold up a magic mirror in front of every person who crosses my path. A mirror that allows the person to trade in their eyes, if but for a moment, and borrow God's for a while. That way, even if only for a moment, they will know the fullness and splendor of their very being.
I seek to empty myself, of the small vision of my ego and the crippling effect of my fears, allowing those spaces to be so completely filled with God that I will no longer have to put unnecessary pressure on myself for a task I could never achieve alone.
I want to say to everyone person, "You are loved," and have them believe it. Have them know why. I want to say to the kids at the JDC, you are more than all of the abuse you have endured in your young lives; you are more than your crimes; you are more than your shame. To have them see that it isn't about changing to get more love, or acceptance, but about accepting the love they already have. Embracing the the beauty they already are, and living from that most basic truth.
And having everyone know that in living from their own beauty, from who they truly are in God, that they can help reflect that truth to me too. Be a magic mirror for my own hurting, doubtful heart.
May we have eyes to see, and ears to hear the truth that trumpets from the very core we are.
"We are love, and we are made for love, and our natural abiding place is love." (Richard Rohr)
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Stand There
It is probably no coincidence that much of my favorite literature over the past few months has addressed, in some way, what I have come to know as a "ministry of presence." If you are familiar with Christian service circles, you have definitely heard this term (and are, perhaps, tired of hearing it - oh well!) It is the type of ministry that runs the risk of being ridiculed, of being pushed aside, because it may not produce tangible, traceable results. It is, exactly what the name sounds like - being present to people. The person who sums this up for me best as of late is Father Greg Boyle, of Tattoos on the Heart fame (if you have not read or heard of this book before, go get yourself a copy, a box of tissues, and buckle in for the ride). In short, he says that if looking at Jesus as a model, we are not called to take the right position on issues or politics, because really, who is to say ultimately what is absolutely right in those regards? Instead, we should seek to constantly find the right place to stand - and that will always be with the outcast and oppressed, the lowly and those in pain and on the margins.
Well, great! That is a perfectly awesome and inspiring thing to write about and believe in, but what the hell does it actually look like?
I've learned in the last few years, to be very careful what I pray for. Very careful. If you even want to know how I affectionately refer to God as a result of all my answered prayers, you can write me a message, because it is certainly not appropriate for this forum. God has this awfully annoying habit of listening to me when I pray, and giving me what I ask for, in the most roundabout, difficult, and anxiety inducing way possible. Cosmic pain-in-the-ass, although I'm fairly certain She would say the same.
I often pray to love more like God does, and since I'm not even entirely sure I know the consequences of what I'm asking for, I have to be shown. Two examples.
A very close friend of mine has been struggling lately. The particulars aren't terribly important for the purpose of this post - just that there is a lot difficulty in seeing themself as completely worthy in God's eyes, or anyone's really, including their own. After a long discussion filling me in on their feelings and struggles, this person proceeded to apologize for taking up my time on something that really couldn't be fixed. "It isn't your problem to be upset over, you shouldn't have to feel uncomfortable."
But that's just it - I am called to feel exactly that way. Uncomfortable, standing right there, with this person who I love tremendously, in the middle of their pain and struggle. Inhabit that wound with people. When invited into a person place of deep pain and hurt (or joy for that matter, it isn't only about pain and misery), it is the best I can do to just stand there with them while they untie their knots.
You better believe it is painful to watch someone you love suffer, and you also better believe that if I could take it away, I would. But, for some twisted, bizarre, (and ultimately supremely loving?) reason, it does not seem that God would choose to do this. Greg Boyle says, "[God's] ways are not our ways...but they sure could be." And I'm learning this the long way. It is a huge hit to my ego to have to admit that the best I can do for people in pain, people who I deeply love, is to stand there with them in it, in awe of their strength and their struggle. Sure, I can work to change social structures (and I better, because that is part of my understanding of the gospel as well!), but that doesn't heal the deep wounds of people, the wounds that allow us to truly believe we are "unable to be loved, a divine mistake, wholly unworthy of respect and even attention from anyone." Standing with people in their pain, while maybe difficult for me, is my only way of saying to that person, "You are worth it. And I love you very much." It allows me to touch the reality that I am human the same way they are, and can't carry their burdens for them. Just stand there with them, and allow their struggle to meld with my own.
Nowhere have I encountered the need for this more than in my work with the youth at the Juvenile Detention Center. I honestly can say that this is the most challenging and life-giving part of the work I do here on the Rosebud. I have so much passion for these kids, and it would take a lot for me to miss one of my sessions with them. I have often said that the poor, those in pain, have a claim on me - I can't help but move towards them. In my life, I have been blessed with many people, my family, friends, teachers and campus ministers, who have constantly held up a mirror in order to show me how God sees me - accepted and loved just the way I am, beloved. I have been graced enough to have eyes to see and ears to hear this message and receive it, to embrace that reality (for now at least, and I know there will be people to help remind me when I forget). I can't help but want to share a truth like that with everyone, because I have come to see it is true for everyone. I love raw and gritty experiences and people (I can thank the Bronx for that), and these kids at the JDC certainly give plenty of those.
Every week i show up to do reflections, and almost every week when I leave, I am in tears and yelling at God, only to find myself strangely at peace and rejuvenated. Maybe they just give me the opportunity and cause to "touch the center of my own sorrow...to sit with pain, mine or yours, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it," as Oriah Mountain Dreamer says. It has humbled me immensely to know that, no matter how much I love these kids, these brave and beautiful men and women, each uniquely shaped and created by God's loving hand, I might not be able to change anything. Even if I could miraculously have every one of them understand how worthy and precious they are in God's sight and mine, I have to understand that the world they will go back into will not reinforce them. It will not have changed from the violent, abusive, and oppressive place they were born into. The people who tear them down and tell them they are not worth spit will continue to do so.
All I can do, whether for my own sake or theirs I don't know, is to keep showing up. Keep standing right in the middle of that struggle and pain, and inhabit that space with them. Let them know that I am in awe of what they carry - that they inspire me. That they are loved enough to stand with, no matter how much it hurts me to do so.
Well, great! That is a perfectly awesome and inspiring thing to write about and believe in, but what the hell does it actually look like?
I've learned in the last few years, to be very careful what I pray for. Very careful. If you even want to know how I affectionately refer to God as a result of all my answered prayers, you can write me a message, because it is certainly not appropriate for this forum. God has this awfully annoying habit of listening to me when I pray, and giving me what I ask for, in the most roundabout, difficult, and anxiety inducing way possible. Cosmic pain-in-the-ass, although I'm fairly certain She would say the same.
I often pray to love more like God does, and since I'm not even entirely sure I know the consequences of what I'm asking for, I have to be shown. Two examples.
A very close friend of mine has been struggling lately. The particulars aren't terribly important for the purpose of this post - just that there is a lot difficulty in seeing themself as completely worthy in God's eyes, or anyone's really, including their own. After a long discussion filling me in on their feelings and struggles, this person proceeded to apologize for taking up my time on something that really couldn't be fixed. "It isn't your problem to be upset over, you shouldn't have to feel uncomfortable."
But that's just it - I am called to feel exactly that way. Uncomfortable, standing right there, with this person who I love tremendously, in the middle of their pain and struggle. Inhabit that wound with people. When invited into a person place of deep pain and hurt (or joy for that matter, it isn't only about pain and misery), it is the best I can do to just stand there with them while they untie their knots.
You better believe it is painful to watch someone you love suffer, and you also better believe that if I could take it away, I would. But, for some twisted, bizarre, (and ultimately supremely loving?) reason, it does not seem that God would choose to do this. Greg Boyle says, "[God's] ways are not our ways...but they sure could be." And I'm learning this the long way. It is a huge hit to my ego to have to admit that the best I can do for people in pain, people who I deeply love, is to stand there with them in it, in awe of their strength and their struggle. Sure, I can work to change social structures (and I better, because that is part of my understanding of the gospel as well!), but that doesn't heal the deep wounds of people, the wounds that allow us to truly believe we are "unable to be loved, a divine mistake, wholly unworthy of respect and even attention from anyone." Standing with people in their pain, while maybe difficult for me, is my only way of saying to that person, "You are worth it. And I love you very much." It allows me to touch the reality that I am human the same way they are, and can't carry their burdens for them. Just stand there with them, and allow their struggle to meld with my own.
Nowhere have I encountered the need for this more than in my work with the youth at the Juvenile Detention Center. I honestly can say that this is the most challenging and life-giving part of the work I do here on the Rosebud. I have so much passion for these kids, and it would take a lot for me to miss one of my sessions with them. I have often said that the poor, those in pain, have a claim on me - I can't help but move towards them. In my life, I have been blessed with many people, my family, friends, teachers and campus ministers, who have constantly held up a mirror in order to show me how God sees me - accepted and loved just the way I am, beloved. I have been graced enough to have eyes to see and ears to hear this message and receive it, to embrace that reality (for now at least, and I know there will be people to help remind me when I forget). I can't help but want to share a truth like that with everyone, because I have come to see it is true for everyone. I love raw and gritty experiences and people (I can thank the Bronx for that), and these kids at the JDC certainly give plenty of those.
Every week i show up to do reflections, and almost every week when I leave, I am in tears and yelling at God, only to find myself strangely at peace and rejuvenated. Maybe they just give me the opportunity and cause to "touch the center of my own sorrow...to sit with pain, mine or yours, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it," as Oriah Mountain Dreamer says. It has humbled me immensely to know that, no matter how much I love these kids, these brave and beautiful men and women, each uniquely shaped and created by God's loving hand, I might not be able to change anything. Even if I could miraculously have every one of them understand how worthy and precious they are in God's sight and mine, I have to understand that the world they will go back into will not reinforce them. It will not have changed from the violent, abusive, and oppressive place they were born into. The people who tear them down and tell them they are not worth spit will continue to do so.
All I can do, whether for my own sake or theirs I don't know, is to keep showing up. Keep standing right in the middle of that struggle and pain, and inhabit that space with them. Let them know that I am in awe of what they carry - that they inspire me. That they are loved enough to stand with, no matter how much it hurts me to do so.
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