Major shout out to the Jesuit Volunteer Core Midwest staff, for knowing exactly how and when to light a fire under my ass. Re-Orientation came at a perfect time for me, and brought a string of very important realizations to carry forward with me into the rest of my experience in South Dakota this year.
I learned quickly that with distance, comes clarity. I have spent the entirety of the last 6 months on the Rosebud reservation, never leaving for more than 3 days at a time. For the last week, a total of almost 10 days, I was in the Chicagoland area, first in the city and then down to the suburbs for a retreat.
What a grace, and a huge privilege. I am a firm believer that too much time spent in any place without without distance can lead to a real narrowing of perspective. I recognize that not everyone has the ability to just pick up and leave their space easily, and that others have no desire to do so. For me, however, I have certainly found that taking space from a place is important to see it more clearly.
Being in Chicago helped me to realize a number of things. First, that I really am a city boy. I love the rush and whirl of people, the moving traffic, and the gruff demeanor of the inhabitants. Midwest cities have a certain charm that I appreciate, where they manage to be both hostile and welcoming all at the same time. I realized how much I appreciate the chance to see live music, attend comedy shows, drink good beer in cool pubs, ride public transit, and get lost in a crowd. All these things that fill me up and bring me joy. Which is to say, I struggle in South Dakota. Perhaps I didn't realize how much so, but I am in a desert - a cultural and spiritual desert, one where I am deprived of the things I have become so accustomed to relying on for joy and energy. It was important for me to get the fullness of this picture into my head, and more importantly, into my heart.
I also realized how much I appreciate and relied upon easy relationships. You know, the people who you hit it off with immediately, connect with on that deep soul level almost effortlessly. I never realized how much I valued those relationships, and how much I took them for granted in my life. I love my community mates. Mike and Jessica have been and will continue to be two of the most important people in my life to date. But if you ask any of us whether our relationships were "easy" and "effortlessly soul deep," you'd probably be met with laughter. Despite real deep love on all of our parts, learning to understand each other has been a difficult task, especially for me. I realized fully how much I had been distracting myself over the last few months - how often I retreated into technology, be it phone or computer, in order to not have to be present to the demands of community life, to what I was persistently perceiving as a struggle.
Re-O helped me understand that there is a big difference between committing and choosing. Angie Moloney, my Program Coordinator and general life motivator, laid it out clearly for me - until you choose your community mates, until you choose your placement, until you choose the Rez, it will continue to be only a struggle and burden.
What the hell? What do you mean "until I choose?" I've been there for 6 months already! I show up to all our community events, I check in with my housemates and make sure they are doing OK, I go to work and do all the things that are expected of me. I'm doing it - right?
I was doing exactly what it sounded like - showing up, doing what was expected of me. Honoring my commitment. Toughing it out, pushing through, making it work. That is not the same as choosing.
I learned at Re-O the concept of the "cash value" of a choice. When given the option of an apple or an orange, the cost of choosing an apple is not having the experience of an orange. If you only like apples, well, that isn't much of a cost. But when faced with two clear GOODS, to things that are desired, that decision becomes very hard. Almost painful.
For me, I was choosing not to choose. I was choosing to "stick it out" and remove any possibility of owning my situation as my own, taking my housemates as my own by choice and not simple happenstance. I was choosing to give up my freedom to choose and simply to see myself as victim of circumstance, forced to deal with whatever life brought my way.
There is truth to that - I can't control life, and I do have to try and work with much of what I am given. But there is a very subtle difference between simply seeing myself as needing to deal with what's in front of me as opposed to choosing what's in front of.
Chicago helped me to realize what I was choosing. Despite all these realizations of how much I enjoy city life, how much relationships I have in other places sustain, I can confidently say that here, on the Rez, with Mike and Jessica, is exactly where I want to be. I understand that cash value of my decision. I understand all the things I am choosing to miss out on experiencing at this time in my life. And I am OK with that. In fact, I am still finding joy in this choice - even as I balance it with the sadness of the missed experiences. There is now room for both, for a full heart to experience ALL of the things God is offering at this time.
Taking ownership of where I am and who I am with is one of the most important things I could have done entering into the second half of this year. I feel a fire in my belly that I haven't felt since the beginning of this experience. There is a renewed sense of purpose and of joy. Nothing has changed but my perspective. All the crap that bothered me before is still there, and probably will continue to bother me, but at this time, I am choosing to own it and love it rather than simply grit my teeth and bear it.
Hoka-he!
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Holy Rage
In the summer before my senior year of college, I was blessed to have received a fellowship through the Fund for Theological Education (FTE) which allowed me to meet up with other young Christians in Nashville to discuss faith and justice for a week (if you haven't figured out how much of a nerd I am yet, hopefully this gives a clear picture). One of the speakers was Father Mike Pfleger, a controversial priest and pastor at the Catholic parish of St. Sabina's in the South Side of Chicago. One of the main take-away points from his presentation was this idea of "holy-rage," the idea of being on fire with the Spirit, driven to righteous anger at the various injustices and structures of sin in the world. Throughout the Bible, there are a number of instances of this righteous anger - hell, if you've ever read the Prophets, you know what I'm talking about. Abuse of power and privilege, extreme gaps between the rich and poor, abandoning the God who had seen them through a difficult history of oppression - the Prophets are pissed off, and have a whole lot of reasons to justify that.
Even Jesus loses his shit at one point, tearing through the money-changers booths in the Temple, flipping tables and whipping people with a rope chord. I don't see this scene as trite, as play acting. I imagine a man whose life was so fully dedicated to the vision of the Kingdom that drove his ministry finally just having a breakdown. Preaching day in and day out a loving and forgiving God, a HUGE God with space for everyone, a return the the real Spirit of the Law, and a move away from the oppressive and life-draining legalistic religion that dominated his days - he finally just loses it in the Temple. All of the injustice, the complacency, the complete ignorance of the gift we have been given through our life in God - and he just lets it out. Jesus just gives into that holy rage and lets it fly for a little while.
Anger is something I fear a little bit. For a long time, anger was my only response to a lot of painful things - fear, sadness, pain - all of these things were expressed outwardly as aggressive anger. I have worked hard over the years to see through my anger to the deeper pain or wound that I am looking to have healed.
Imagine my surprise, then, when over my JVC re-orientation, I found old feelings of anger and rage rippling through my body. We were discussing privilege (white privilege, male privilege, etc.), and issues of societal injustice. I have known, for a long time, that I inhabit the single most privileged group of people in the entire world. Anywhere I go, any room I walk into, I will immediately receive respect and preference that I have done nothing to earn. Simply belonging to certain classes of people afford me this privilege. With this privilege, I have come to recognize that others, who were not born into the same classes as I, are ostracized and oppressed because of it. Their lives are somehow worth less than mine in the grand scheme of things.
These others are my friends. My sister and mom, two of the most powerful and influential women I have ever met, am I supposed to believe that their lives are worth less than mine due to their being female? The Lakota people who I have met this year, whose lives and stories have had such a profound affect on me, am I simply to believe that their needs and concerns are not as important as mine, simply because they are not white?
Fuck that. That's all I can say. It actually makes me sick to have to acknowledge that this is the way the world works - that certain people are given power and preference over than others, due to their being born into completely arbitrary categories. Not that arbitrary - categories that have been designed to be seen as "better" than the others, categories that are being continually supported in their oppressive dominance over the others.
If you are hearing guilt, then you are reading wrong, and I would suggest you check your own lens. Guilt is not a feeling I often have, and is one I rarely find too much use for. This is anger at injustice. This is the result of looking at the world and wondering why we seem to continually redesign it to keep out this enormous God I have so much love for, the God that doesn't know how to do anything other than love us - each and every one of us.
I can't and won't sit and stew in angry rage. That is destructive, and will certainly eat me up from the inside. But maybe like Jesus, I can let that out sometimes, without shame, but rather, as an authentic expression of my being alive, and my having love for this enormous God and all of Her creation. As a person of love, and as a person who has been touched by this love of God, what other response could I have to seeing people continually told and re-told that they are less than the glorious and wonderful beauty that they were created as?
I am angry. And I guess I can only give thanks that my heart can keep breaking and feeling, no matter how hard it gets.
Even Jesus loses his shit at one point, tearing through the money-changers booths in the Temple, flipping tables and whipping people with a rope chord. I don't see this scene as trite, as play acting. I imagine a man whose life was so fully dedicated to the vision of the Kingdom that drove his ministry finally just having a breakdown. Preaching day in and day out a loving and forgiving God, a HUGE God with space for everyone, a return the the real Spirit of the Law, and a move away from the oppressive and life-draining legalistic religion that dominated his days - he finally just loses it in the Temple. All of the injustice, the complacency, the complete ignorance of the gift we have been given through our life in God - and he just lets it out. Jesus just gives into that holy rage and lets it fly for a little while.
Anger is something I fear a little bit. For a long time, anger was my only response to a lot of painful things - fear, sadness, pain - all of these things were expressed outwardly as aggressive anger. I have worked hard over the years to see through my anger to the deeper pain or wound that I am looking to have healed.
Imagine my surprise, then, when over my JVC re-orientation, I found old feelings of anger and rage rippling through my body. We were discussing privilege (white privilege, male privilege, etc.), and issues of societal injustice. I have known, for a long time, that I inhabit the single most privileged group of people in the entire world. Anywhere I go, any room I walk into, I will immediately receive respect and preference that I have done nothing to earn. Simply belonging to certain classes of people afford me this privilege. With this privilege, I have come to recognize that others, who were not born into the same classes as I, are ostracized and oppressed because of it. Their lives are somehow worth less than mine in the grand scheme of things.
These others are my friends. My sister and mom, two of the most powerful and influential women I have ever met, am I supposed to believe that their lives are worth less than mine due to their being female? The Lakota people who I have met this year, whose lives and stories have had such a profound affect on me, am I simply to believe that their needs and concerns are not as important as mine, simply because they are not white?
Fuck that. That's all I can say. It actually makes me sick to have to acknowledge that this is the way the world works - that certain people are given power and preference over than others, due to their being born into completely arbitrary categories. Not that arbitrary - categories that have been designed to be seen as "better" than the others, categories that are being continually supported in their oppressive dominance over the others.
If you are hearing guilt, then you are reading wrong, and I would suggest you check your own lens. Guilt is not a feeling I often have, and is one I rarely find too much use for. This is anger at injustice. This is the result of looking at the world and wondering why we seem to continually redesign it to keep out this enormous God I have so much love for, the God that doesn't know how to do anything other than love us - each and every one of us.
I can't and won't sit and stew in angry rage. That is destructive, and will certainly eat me up from the inside. But maybe like Jesus, I can let that out sometimes, without shame, but rather, as an authentic expression of my being alive, and my having love for this enormous God and all of Her creation. As a person of love, and as a person who has been touched by this love of God, what other response could I have to seeing people continually told and re-told that they are less than the glorious and wonderful beauty that they were created as?
I am angry. And I guess I can only give thanks that my heart can keep breaking and feeling, no matter how hard it gets.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Forgiveness
Forgiveness is something that has been on my mind over the course of the last week. not necessarily because I am dwelling on any particular injury or wrong that has been done to me, but rather, due to events occurring around me.
"Forgive others not so much because they deserve to be forgiven, but because you deserve peace." I have seen this quote floating around the Facebook universe lately, and it is one that causes me to stop and think - who is forgiveness really for? We can't really offer to others cosmic forgiveness, our words do not erase any pain or guilt a person may feel - while certainly helpful, the final work has to be done by each individual, to move on and let go. The same goes with us. We can hear those words of forgiveness, but until we allow ourselves an interior letting go, a true "self-forgiveness" of sorts, we won't feel that freedom that comes from self-acceptance.
I am privileged to stand and witness the wide range of life that I do out here, and that's not just semantics. It is the truth.
There have been some tough times here on the Rez within the last two weeks, as word came out that two people were murdered. Growing up in New York, violence of this type is not unfamiliar, if not personally, then at least through the media. Living a small-town life, hopwever, where almost everyone knows everyone else (and in the case of the Rez, where everyone knows you AND your entire family), the sort of shocking quality of such events are brought sharply into focus.
I went to the funeral to pay respects and show support for the community and the family. It is one of those types of things that affect an entire community, so going just made sense. I sat in the back as I usually do, just listening and reflecting. One of the elder's spoke, first in Lakota, then in English. What he said sort of blew me away, made ME uncomfortable, because it was so raw and demanding - and true.
He told the family to look around, at all the people who were there to support them - these are your family, whoa re here in your difficult times. At the pall bearers, who were to step up and be there even more intimately for the family, to be adopted as sons and uncles and fathers. And he spoke to the family. In the modern incarnation of the Lakota tradition, the four days after a person passes are very important - the family and those mourning must pay extra attention to how the act and behave, how they think. Only good words are to be spoken, only positive thoughts. This behavior both affects the family and the spirit of the person who has passed - people must act in a way that allows the spirit to move on in its journey.
So he tells them - you need to forgive the people who did this. You can't hold that bitterness in your hearts, that anger, it has to be let go.
I'm sitting in the back just floored. At the funeral. No time to mess around, just get to the heart of it - holding in that resentment will be destructive. I'm not sure that I would ever have enough courage to say that in such a situation, even though I fully believe it.
Naturally, forgiveness was the topic of the JDC this week. It was so prominent in my mind that I figured I should ask these gurus, my spiritual teachers as of late. We started in silence, as we do each time. There is something really beautiful and awe-inspiring about watching these kids be still - they are normally so anxious and filled with life, ragging on each other (mostly me) and moving around their seats, unable to just sit still and be - so to watch them fall into contemplative silence is pretty amazing, and powerful. It's Holy.
We finish praying and I introduce the topic. Explain why it has been on my mind, the context of all that has happened within the last few weeks. They get it, we talk about it, and they have some really insightful things to say. They know that forgiveness is really about allowing yourself to heal and release toxic feelings that we hold - and they also know that, even though it might be best to forgive, it's still hard to let go of bad feelings that have become comfortable. They're wise, these ones.
But here, I come to the end of my reflection. Another moment that took my breath away, that I could only watch and smile, and tear up a little. I assign them their writing topic - who they want to ask forgiveness from, and who they need to forgive, concentrating on what is keeping them chained down and unable to live freely. Everyone puts their head down and sets into their writing. I start thinking of my own list, when suddenly a voice is speaking across the room.
One of the girls is speaking while she is writing. Almost unconsciously, like the words are just coming out. The general idea goes as such:
"I need to forgive my parents. The house I grew up in was bad, it was a hard place to grow up. I am carrying around a lot of anger about it, and it is eating me up. My mom came to visit today, and we hugged when it was time for her to go. She tried to pull away quick, but I held on, I just wouldn't let her go. 'Gee,' she said, shocked, 'you haven't hugged me like that in a long time.' So I told her that I really missed her, and she again said 'Gee, you haven't said that in a long time to me.' And as she had to leave I started to cry, and I told her I loved her. 'Gee, I can't remember the last time you said that to me.' I just want to go home. I want to be a better mom to my own son, so he doesn't have to grow up and hate me."
She was tearing up, red in her eyes while she said it. We just locked eyes and she told it how it is - in front of a room of her peers, something that takes an incredible amount of courage. That's real. And that is a lot for a 16 year old to carry.
But these kids show me every single time I go there what life is about, what true forgiveness could like, what healing looks like. What hope looks like.
"Forgive others not so much because they deserve to be forgiven, but because you deserve peace." I have seen this quote floating around the Facebook universe lately, and it is one that causes me to stop and think - who is forgiveness really for? We can't really offer to others cosmic forgiveness, our words do not erase any pain or guilt a person may feel - while certainly helpful, the final work has to be done by each individual, to move on and let go. The same goes with us. We can hear those words of forgiveness, but until we allow ourselves an interior letting go, a true "self-forgiveness" of sorts, we won't feel that freedom that comes from self-acceptance.
I am privileged to stand and witness the wide range of life that I do out here, and that's not just semantics. It is the truth.
There have been some tough times here on the Rez within the last two weeks, as word came out that two people were murdered. Growing up in New York, violence of this type is not unfamiliar, if not personally, then at least through the media. Living a small-town life, hopwever, where almost everyone knows everyone else (and in the case of the Rez, where everyone knows you AND your entire family), the sort of shocking quality of such events are brought sharply into focus.
I went to the funeral to pay respects and show support for the community and the family. It is one of those types of things that affect an entire community, so going just made sense. I sat in the back as I usually do, just listening and reflecting. One of the elder's spoke, first in Lakota, then in English. What he said sort of blew me away, made ME uncomfortable, because it was so raw and demanding - and true.
He told the family to look around, at all the people who were there to support them - these are your family, whoa re here in your difficult times. At the pall bearers, who were to step up and be there even more intimately for the family, to be adopted as sons and uncles and fathers. And he spoke to the family. In the modern incarnation of the Lakota tradition, the four days after a person passes are very important - the family and those mourning must pay extra attention to how the act and behave, how they think. Only good words are to be spoken, only positive thoughts. This behavior both affects the family and the spirit of the person who has passed - people must act in a way that allows the spirit to move on in its journey.
So he tells them - you need to forgive the people who did this. You can't hold that bitterness in your hearts, that anger, it has to be let go.
I'm sitting in the back just floored. At the funeral. No time to mess around, just get to the heart of it - holding in that resentment will be destructive. I'm not sure that I would ever have enough courage to say that in such a situation, even though I fully believe it.
Naturally, forgiveness was the topic of the JDC this week. It was so prominent in my mind that I figured I should ask these gurus, my spiritual teachers as of late. We started in silence, as we do each time. There is something really beautiful and awe-inspiring about watching these kids be still - they are normally so anxious and filled with life, ragging on each other (mostly me) and moving around their seats, unable to just sit still and be - so to watch them fall into contemplative silence is pretty amazing, and powerful. It's Holy.
We finish praying and I introduce the topic. Explain why it has been on my mind, the context of all that has happened within the last few weeks. They get it, we talk about it, and they have some really insightful things to say. They know that forgiveness is really about allowing yourself to heal and release toxic feelings that we hold - and they also know that, even though it might be best to forgive, it's still hard to let go of bad feelings that have become comfortable. They're wise, these ones.
But here, I come to the end of my reflection. Another moment that took my breath away, that I could only watch and smile, and tear up a little. I assign them their writing topic - who they want to ask forgiveness from, and who they need to forgive, concentrating on what is keeping them chained down and unable to live freely. Everyone puts their head down and sets into their writing. I start thinking of my own list, when suddenly a voice is speaking across the room.
One of the girls is speaking while she is writing. Almost unconsciously, like the words are just coming out. The general idea goes as such:
"I need to forgive my parents. The house I grew up in was bad, it was a hard place to grow up. I am carrying around a lot of anger about it, and it is eating me up. My mom came to visit today, and we hugged when it was time for her to go. She tried to pull away quick, but I held on, I just wouldn't let her go. 'Gee,' she said, shocked, 'you haven't hugged me like that in a long time.' So I told her that I really missed her, and she again said 'Gee, you haven't said that in a long time to me.' And as she had to leave I started to cry, and I told her I loved her. 'Gee, I can't remember the last time you said that to me.' I just want to go home. I want to be a better mom to my own son, so he doesn't have to grow up and hate me."
She was tearing up, red in her eyes while she said it. We just locked eyes and she told it how it is - in front of a room of her peers, something that takes an incredible amount of courage. That's real. And that is a lot for a 16 year old to carry.
But these kids show me every single time I go there what life is about, what true forgiveness could like, what healing looks like. What hope looks like.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)