Cekiya. Pray.
It is a lesson I have learned here, among the Lakota. Cekiya. Pray.
From the heart, in all your pain, in all your joy. In the midst of struggle and suffering, in the midst of joking and laughter. Cekiya.
From the mind, focused in, to direct your prayers and energy to Tunkasila, the Grandfather, to Jesus, the Son, to whatever you call the Reality that holds us close and gives us life. Cekiya.
I have a hard time praying. I have a mind that wanders and doubts, that criticizes and analyzes, that tries to keep me safe. I have a heart that feels - a wild heart, beyond my ability to control and feel safe with, because it wills me out into the dangers of loving others. These two are not opposites - but I have found, in me, they are slow to understand one another.
I have been blessed in my year of service to be invited into so many spaces that the people here hold sacred. In these invitations, I am learning so much. Around the table at dinner-time on Christmas with local friends who are becoming family - here I understand what it means to be generous, to be welcoming. The office of the museum, where I listen to the thoughts and hopes and fears of a strong, strong woman who leaves me inspired and in awe - here I learn what it means to share wisdom, to teach and be taught. A classroom in the Juvenile Detention Center, where tough kids with no reason to trust open up just a bit every time I see them - here I learn what hope can look like.
Another space into which I have been invited is the inipi ceremony - sweat lodge. Here, I am learning how to pray.
Every time I enter this space, I find myself a little shocked. I look around and see the stars shining in the night sky. I see the horizon stretching over hills for miles and miles. I feel the cold breeze chill me to the bone as I huddle closer to the fire. I smell the smoke of a fire lovingly and selflessly prepared so that we can all pray better. I feel the handshakes of men and women who are willing to let me into their world, willing to let me hear their prayers, to hold those prayers as sacred. I hear the laughter that lives inside of this people, I hear the cries of pain that reside there as well - I hear the music they make together.
I am learning what it means to pray. To pray like you couldn't live without it - and maybe starting to let myself understand that, perhaps I can't live without it. Perhaps I am not as strong, as invincible as I want to convince myself.
"It's gonna get hot in here." That is how the last one started. All gathered were asked to pray for a relative, to offer our time and our prayers and our spirit to bring healing - we were asked to give up our own needs, to trust that they will be taken care of, and to pray for this relative.
I had a tough week. I carried a lot of weight in my mind and heart. I looked forward to this time of prayer to offer up what I had to say, to give voice to my difficulties.
It was not to be the case this time. Something I have struggle with lately has been the seeming selfishness of my prayer. I always seem to praying most intensely about something for myself. I have hoped to be more far reaching in my prayer, to get outside myself and pray for the people. This last ceremony was the experience that I needed.
It was the hottest sweat I have been in yet. I didn't think I would make it through. I found myself breathing fire as my mind raced around in panic.
But my heart was calm. I had something to pray for. Someone to pray for. There was purpose to that suffering and pain, and it was to support my relative, to pray for that spirit and for healing. That gave it purpose and meaning like it never had for me before. Took me outside of myself, outside of my own needs and own discomfort, and allowed me to sit and focus my prayers on a relative.
Cekiya. Like I never have before.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Thursday, March 20, 2014
From A Son to His Father
A few weeks back, Papa Prate decided that the best way to bring in his 50th birthday would be to fly out into the middle of nowhere in order to visit his oldest son.
I can't really describe how much it means to me that my family supports me in what I am doing this year (and next!) out in South Dakota with the Jesuit Volunteer Core. Even when, at times, we disagreed on what the best step would be for my life, both of my parents have always supported me, challenged me, and ultimately, loved me with the care that only parents can. To have my Dad choose to spend such a big moment out here with me brings a lot of joy to my heart.
We spent a great week driving (because that's a lot of what you do here), meeting and greeting, filling each other in, re-meeting each other (we have both grown a lot over these last 6 months), and praying. We attended a prayer service for life, held in order to address the murders and suicides that have occurred on the Rez over the last 2 months, in order to demonstrate, especially to the youth, that life is something to be valued. We attended the dinner afterwards and I introduced to everyone - co-workers from the mission, neighbors, other volunteers, drifters from the neighborhood - all glad to welcome him here. We went to a sweat that night, and I was grateful for all of those guys to welcome us in, to share their prayers with us, let us share ours - it meant a lot to me to share that experience with my Dad. That type of experience is so unique to where I am at this time in my life, it is not something either of us had ever really done before. It was humbling to hear the people in the lodge give thanks for our presence, a father and son, there to pray for the people and give thanks for our lives.
My Dad has always been a role model for me. I have looked up to this man for as long as I can remember. He is the kind of person that makes me want to be a better man myself, who gives me an example of what a good husband and father looks like, what a man committed to other people looks like. We might disagree on methods or style (put a picture of us next to each other now and you'll laugh for sure), but he has a heart I admire. Whether it be taking the time each morning to make coffee and leave my Mom a note before he left for work, or re-adjusting his schedule to make sure he could make it to every single one of my soccer games. I have learned much from him, and continue to learn.
In this volunteer year, I have begun to struggle with doing the little things. it bothers me, but I have to admit it's true. As a volunteer, people treat me so well - tons of food, opening their homes at a moments notice, sharing their families and their resources, asking for nothing in return. It is as if they are saying that while I give my time volunteering, they can help support me in that. I am very, very, appreciative of this. it is not always easy for me to let myself be taken care of, but it has been humbling for me to accept this. But despite all of this, I cannot help but feel that I am forgetting a major part of who I learned to be growing up. It makes me uncomfortable that, in the midst of all my "volunteering" and work, I have lost some of my attention to the little ways of showing my thanks and appreciation for people. To go out of my way to show people how valuable and loved they are. Despite my status as a volunteer, I don't want to lose sight of the things that made me the kind of human I want to be - because at the end of my time with JVC, I won't be a volunteer anymore, but the habits I formed and nurtured here will carry over.
My Dad helped remind me of that. Having him here with me renewed my spirit at a time where I was feeling stuck, uncertain what my next step should be, unaware of how I was being called to grow. Being around this man helped put me back in touch with my roots, with those roots of love that drove me to apply to do something like this in the first place. In my fight for global justice, in defying oppressive systems, in altering my lifestyle and life philosophy. I want to remember to make the coffee and write a not in the morning - for Mike and Jessica, for our new friends here, our coworkers, my family at home. All the people who make this whole experience possible in the first place.
I told Mike and Jessica this part of my childhood, but when I was younger, I would sometimes wait up for my Dad to get home late from a day of work that could span from before I woke up to after dinner. I would take out 2 glasses of milk and a package of graham crackers for each of us, and we would sit to share ourselves. This will remain for me one of my most sacred memories, these moments of true communion.
My Mom sent out some of these cookies with my Dad for me and my community (thanks Mom!). As I sit down with a glass of milk and cookies, I will think of my Dad, think of how he continues to guide me and point me in a good direction. it will help me to reflect back on what I want to move towards, and on the man who helped shaped me so much in the person I am becoming today.
Thanks for your life Dad, and for continuing to inspire me each day. I love you.
I can't really describe how much it means to me that my family supports me in what I am doing this year (and next!) out in South Dakota with the Jesuit Volunteer Core. Even when, at times, we disagreed on what the best step would be for my life, both of my parents have always supported me, challenged me, and ultimately, loved me with the care that only parents can. To have my Dad choose to spend such a big moment out here with me brings a lot of joy to my heart.
We spent a great week driving (because that's a lot of what you do here), meeting and greeting, filling each other in, re-meeting each other (we have both grown a lot over these last 6 months), and praying. We attended a prayer service for life, held in order to address the murders and suicides that have occurred on the Rez over the last 2 months, in order to demonstrate, especially to the youth, that life is something to be valued. We attended the dinner afterwards and I introduced to everyone - co-workers from the mission, neighbors, other volunteers, drifters from the neighborhood - all glad to welcome him here. We went to a sweat that night, and I was grateful for all of those guys to welcome us in, to share their prayers with us, let us share ours - it meant a lot to me to share that experience with my Dad. That type of experience is so unique to where I am at this time in my life, it is not something either of us had ever really done before. It was humbling to hear the people in the lodge give thanks for our presence, a father and son, there to pray for the people and give thanks for our lives.
My Dad has always been a role model for me. I have looked up to this man for as long as I can remember. He is the kind of person that makes me want to be a better man myself, who gives me an example of what a good husband and father looks like, what a man committed to other people looks like. We might disagree on methods or style (put a picture of us next to each other now and you'll laugh for sure), but he has a heart I admire. Whether it be taking the time each morning to make coffee and leave my Mom a note before he left for work, or re-adjusting his schedule to make sure he could make it to every single one of my soccer games. I have learned much from him, and continue to learn.
In this volunteer year, I have begun to struggle with doing the little things. it bothers me, but I have to admit it's true. As a volunteer, people treat me so well - tons of food, opening their homes at a moments notice, sharing their families and their resources, asking for nothing in return. It is as if they are saying that while I give my time volunteering, they can help support me in that. I am very, very, appreciative of this. it is not always easy for me to let myself be taken care of, but it has been humbling for me to accept this. But despite all of this, I cannot help but feel that I am forgetting a major part of who I learned to be growing up. It makes me uncomfortable that, in the midst of all my "volunteering" and work, I have lost some of my attention to the little ways of showing my thanks and appreciation for people. To go out of my way to show people how valuable and loved they are. Despite my status as a volunteer, I don't want to lose sight of the things that made me the kind of human I want to be - because at the end of my time with JVC, I won't be a volunteer anymore, but the habits I formed and nurtured here will carry over.
My Dad helped remind me of that. Having him here with me renewed my spirit at a time where I was feeling stuck, uncertain what my next step should be, unaware of how I was being called to grow. Being around this man helped put me back in touch with my roots, with those roots of love that drove me to apply to do something like this in the first place. In my fight for global justice, in defying oppressive systems, in altering my lifestyle and life philosophy. I want to remember to make the coffee and write a not in the morning - for Mike and Jessica, for our new friends here, our coworkers, my family at home. All the people who make this whole experience possible in the first place.
I told Mike and Jessica this part of my childhood, but when I was younger, I would sometimes wait up for my Dad to get home late from a day of work that could span from before I woke up to after dinner. I would take out 2 glasses of milk and a package of graham crackers for each of us, and we would sit to share ourselves. This will remain for me one of my most sacred memories, these moments of true communion.
My Mom sent out some of these cookies with my Dad for me and my community (thanks Mom!). As I sit down with a glass of milk and cookies, I will think of my Dad, think of how he continues to guide me and point me in a good direction. it will help me to reflect back on what I want to move towards, and on the man who helped shaped me so much in the person I am becoming today.
Thanks for your life Dad, and for continuing to inspire me each day. I love you.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Trim the Excess
Lent is probably one of my favorite times in the year. Sick? Maybe! But for those of you who know me a little, especially about my spiritual life, it shouldn't come as too much of a surprise. I am all about a challenge - mine is a God who loves to mess with me. Lent is intentional for me, a time to really choose where I want to put my time and energy, to practice in my spiritual life so I can make myself more open to spiritual growth.
My roommate, Mike, has got me working out this year, lifting weights and eating healthier. It has been an important part of my experience here. I am a very physical person - with so much energy, it has always been important for me to give that a positive physical outlet. For the last couple of years, however, I have really neglected this part of my health - I ate like crap and did not do nearly enough exercise to balance the negative effects of that. I am working hard on my physical health, and after some reflection, I thought that my health journey was more than just physical, but spiritual and emotional as well. It is holistic.
At first, I thought that I could theme my lent on the idea of "Trim the Fat." I still got a little belly that I wouldn't mind cutting down, and I thought this would be a perfect overall theme. Part of the JVC experience is a commitment to living simply, so I had started thinking of what other areas of "fat" in my life are. Trying to cut down on the amount of stuff I have, to get down to basics and what is necessary for me.
But. That doesn't really seem to be what I am called to. For all you lovers of steak out there - (despite new understanding of how awful meat production is in our country, I have to admit, that doesn't mean good meat tastes any less amazing to me) - if you know about steak, you know you want to get a good with good marbling in it. This means you want a piece of meat with good lines of fat running through it, for these are what are going to lend your meat tremendous amounts of flavor when you cook it. Thinking further, I realized how essential fat is to so many animals - a layer of fat is what helps them to survive, to stay warm, etc.
Maybe what I was trying to say was not just "trim the fat," but rather, "Trim the Excess." What are the fat parts of my life anyway - the parts that make it taste GREAT. Playing music with my friends? Watching a movie with people I care about, or playing a board game? Laying out in the sun in the middle of a long hike, just enjoying the life and beauty around me? Now that I think of it, fat is alright! It gives my life some beautiful flavor, some warmth.
It's excess that I am trying to trim down on. Excessive fat, sure - too much use of the amazing technology available to me and I start to become less present to the moment and people right in front of me - I start to convince myself I have no need that cannot immediately be satisfied, no desire that can't be fulfilled. Too much music and I get no work done. But too much of other things too! Too much work and stress, and I am not enjoying any of the things God put here for exactly that purposes - joy! Too much emphasis on healthy eating and living, and I become obsessive and one track in my thinking. Plus, shit, I still love a good milkshake!
I think this Lent for me is about shaving down all the things I do in excess, and that requires constant attention and reflection and vigilance. It forces me to ask questions in all areas of my life and see how I can best strike a balance. Too much here, not enough there, lacking here, saturated there. It is about learning how to be aware of my flow, and be flexible enough to adjust with my needs. So, to do that, I will practice being more disciplined, not for the sake of being disciplined, but so that I am able to till my soil, work my land, and leave myself more and more open for when those life-changing moments occur. Get myself ready to accept the things that are going to help me grow.
My roommate, Mike, has got me working out this year, lifting weights and eating healthier. It has been an important part of my experience here. I am a very physical person - with so much energy, it has always been important for me to give that a positive physical outlet. For the last couple of years, however, I have really neglected this part of my health - I ate like crap and did not do nearly enough exercise to balance the negative effects of that. I am working hard on my physical health, and after some reflection, I thought that my health journey was more than just physical, but spiritual and emotional as well. It is holistic.
At first, I thought that I could theme my lent on the idea of "Trim the Fat." I still got a little belly that I wouldn't mind cutting down, and I thought this would be a perfect overall theme. Part of the JVC experience is a commitment to living simply, so I had started thinking of what other areas of "fat" in my life are. Trying to cut down on the amount of stuff I have, to get down to basics and what is necessary for me.
But. That doesn't really seem to be what I am called to. For all you lovers of steak out there - (despite new understanding of how awful meat production is in our country, I have to admit, that doesn't mean good meat tastes any less amazing to me) - if you know about steak, you know you want to get a good with good marbling in it. This means you want a piece of meat with good lines of fat running through it, for these are what are going to lend your meat tremendous amounts of flavor when you cook it. Thinking further, I realized how essential fat is to so many animals - a layer of fat is what helps them to survive, to stay warm, etc.
Maybe what I was trying to say was not just "trim the fat," but rather, "Trim the Excess." What are the fat parts of my life anyway - the parts that make it taste GREAT. Playing music with my friends? Watching a movie with people I care about, or playing a board game? Laying out in the sun in the middle of a long hike, just enjoying the life and beauty around me? Now that I think of it, fat is alright! It gives my life some beautiful flavor, some warmth.
It's excess that I am trying to trim down on. Excessive fat, sure - too much use of the amazing technology available to me and I start to become less present to the moment and people right in front of me - I start to convince myself I have no need that cannot immediately be satisfied, no desire that can't be fulfilled. Too much music and I get no work done. But too much of other things too! Too much work and stress, and I am not enjoying any of the things God put here for exactly that purposes - joy! Too much emphasis on healthy eating and living, and I become obsessive and one track in my thinking. Plus, shit, I still love a good milkshake!
I think this Lent for me is about shaving down all the things I do in excess, and that requires constant attention and reflection and vigilance. It forces me to ask questions in all areas of my life and see how I can best strike a balance. Too much here, not enough there, lacking here, saturated there. It is about learning how to be aware of my flow, and be flexible enough to adjust with my needs. So, to do that, I will practice being more disciplined, not for the sake of being disciplined, but so that I am able to till my soil, work my land, and leave myself more and more open for when those life-changing moments occur. Get myself ready to accept the things that are going to help me grow.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Questions
In our session at the JDC last week, I asked the kids to draw or describe their image of hope. They laughed, cause that is the general response to any suggestion I make, but after a minute, people began to settle into their task. For the most part, when I look around the room, I see faces scrunched while pens are touching paper.
There are 3 faces I have never seen before, 2 back in after a few months of freedom, and another 2 who have been with me the last couple of weeks. There are always mixed feelings when a "new" but familiar face walks into a session - they always have a smile and are ready to say what's up, happy to see me, expecting a negative reaction, or at least some sort of admonishment. I try my best to walk that line between outward love and inward heartbreak. It is a hard thing to watch a 16 year old kid enter in and out of the system.
After a few minutes, I ask for people to share what they drew. Silence. I say I'll start it off, and show my image (an awful rendition of a 30 year sobriety coin that a friend received the weekend before). I explain that it gives me hope, that it is an image of someone who, through what they might call a miracle, turned their life around and embraced a new way of living. More silence, following by uncomfortable joking and giggling.
First question comes from me - "Why is it so much easier for us to tell our drunk stories? Our stories of fighting and drugging and abuse? But when it comes to hopes, dreams, fears, we can't talk about it. What's up with that?" More giggling, but some silent thinking faces too. Soon everyone is quiet. I guess it's hard to share your hopes, because that makes them real - and what if those are never realized? I guess it's hard to share your dreams, because what if they're laughed at or stepped on? You risk greatly to share those things.
Finally, someone shares that, while they didn't draw, the cancer ribbon is a symbol of hope for them. Their grandma had cancer and was able to beat it and recover, and this ribbon is a symbol of hope. I thank her for her courage, and for sharing that piece of her heart. It makes me proud to see a young person show so much courage.
I read our Scripture passage, and we shoot the shit for the next 10 minutes. I just listen to them talk and tell stories, and be kids. They ask me questions, and joke around, and bust my chops a little. One the way out I wish those getting released good luck, and tell the others I'll see them next week. On the way out, one hands me their paper to read.
And I do read it, as tenderly as any sacred scripture or holy book, because that is what it is to me each time one of these kids share their heart. I open it and already I am aching.
"My Cell" is the title. The drawing contains a room, a bed, a sink and toilet, a barred window, with the word SAFE in all caps on the inside. Outside the walls, words like DRUGS and ALCOHOL are written. The description on the bottom reads something to the effect of: My cell is my image of hope. In here I am protected and safe. I am happy to be here. I get three meals a day, hot water, structure, and people who care about me. Outside, my friends and family are still struggling with drugs and alcohol. This is a better environment for me.
It's ironic. I should be ecstatic. I am always trying to have the kids see that, while not ideal, their situation is not without it's positive aspects. There is space and support to do some serious thinking and reflection, some serious soulwork if they are up for it.
But this is different. This is saying that the prison cell is preferred to anything else that could be offered. It's not the first time I've heard this. "I consider more home than my actual house," one said. "This is way better than home, at least I'm not gettin beat up," another said.
What went wrong when a young kid declares that they feel safer in a prison than their home? When they can only get access to basic needs when they are in a prison facility? When they only get the positive attention they need within the four walls of a detention center?
And most importantly - how the hell can I engage in a positive way with this difficult reality?
There are 3 faces I have never seen before, 2 back in after a few months of freedom, and another 2 who have been with me the last couple of weeks. There are always mixed feelings when a "new" but familiar face walks into a session - they always have a smile and are ready to say what's up, happy to see me, expecting a negative reaction, or at least some sort of admonishment. I try my best to walk that line between outward love and inward heartbreak. It is a hard thing to watch a 16 year old kid enter in and out of the system.
After a few minutes, I ask for people to share what they drew. Silence. I say I'll start it off, and show my image (an awful rendition of a 30 year sobriety coin that a friend received the weekend before). I explain that it gives me hope, that it is an image of someone who, through what they might call a miracle, turned their life around and embraced a new way of living. More silence, following by uncomfortable joking and giggling.
First question comes from me - "Why is it so much easier for us to tell our drunk stories? Our stories of fighting and drugging and abuse? But when it comes to hopes, dreams, fears, we can't talk about it. What's up with that?" More giggling, but some silent thinking faces too. Soon everyone is quiet. I guess it's hard to share your hopes, because that makes them real - and what if those are never realized? I guess it's hard to share your dreams, because what if they're laughed at or stepped on? You risk greatly to share those things.
Finally, someone shares that, while they didn't draw, the cancer ribbon is a symbol of hope for them. Their grandma had cancer and was able to beat it and recover, and this ribbon is a symbol of hope. I thank her for her courage, and for sharing that piece of her heart. It makes me proud to see a young person show so much courage.
I read our Scripture passage, and we shoot the shit for the next 10 minutes. I just listen to them talk and tell stories, and be kids. They ask me questions, and joke around, and bust my chops a little. One the way out I wish those getting released good luck, and tell the others I'll see them next week. On the way out, one hands me their paper to read.
And I do read it, as tenderly as any sacred scripture or holy book, because that is what it is to me each time one of these kids share their heart. I open it and already I am aching.
"My Cell" is the title. The drawing contains a room, a bed, a sink and toilet, a barred window, with the word SAFE in all caps on the inside. Outside the walls, words like DRUGS and ALCOHOL are written. The description on the bottom reads something to the effect of: My cell is my image of hope. In here I am protected and safe. I am happy to be here. I get three meals a day, hot water, structure, and people who care about me. Outside, my friends and family are still struggling with drugs and alcohol. This is a better environment for me.
It's ironic. I should be ecstatic. I am always trying to have the kids see that, while not ideal, their situation is not without it's positive aspects. There is space and support to do some serious thinking and reflection, some serious soulwork if they are up for it.
But this is different. This is saying that the prison cell is preferred to anything else that could be offered. It's not the first time I've heard this. "I consider more home than my actual house," one said. "This is way better than home, at least I'm not gettin beat up," another said.
What went wrong when a young kid declares that they feel safer in a prison than their home? When they can only get access to basic needs when they are in a prison facility? When they only get the positive attention they need within the four walls of a detention center?
And most importantly - how the hell can I engage in a positive way with this difficult reality?
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
GO! Prate
This last week, I have been blessed with the presence of four very good friends of mine from college, T.J., Meg, Alexis, and Kevin. These clowns drove all the way out from New York, through multiple snow storms, to come out and visit. It is easy to feel loved when a car full of people you love and have missed pulls up, people flying out of every door, all ready to give you a hug.
This week has been filled with tons and tons of the things I love - lots of music and singing, and the joy that comes with that. T.J. has been a friend for a long time, and is my musical mentor - he is someone who gives me so much encouragement and energy to do something I love, and the opportunity to play with him again is something I had been looking forward to for months. It made my heart swell. Hiking the land with these friends, watching them smile and laugh, and fall silent before the sky and the setting sun. Good food, but more importantly, good fellowship. Huge meals with a mosaic family, some new and some old, all brought together to love and laugh.
I am full. Full means I can empty, I can give, I can let all of this joy and love flow out to others, in my work, in my community, with total strangers. Having good friends, old friends, come to remind you how much you are cared for, to remind you where you've come from, and that they still love - it's good for the soul.
I have observed and learned a few things this last week. Something that I have always known was a talent and passion was creating fellowship among people who otherwise may never have met. If I am honest, I do know a lot of people, people from very different circles and walks of life. It is such a joy for me to bring people into contact with one another, to give people I care about the opportunity to meet each other and share love and laughter. I look around my house this week, and I see my community mates, who I have come to love so deeply in these last few months. I see four familiar faces, four friends who I have shared many memories with. I see Richard, a local friend who has inspired me tremendously. I see my ciye, Allen, my mentor and friend who has supported and taught me so much in our short time together. Anna, a fellow volunteer who I have come to respect tremendously, and whose company I greatly enjoy. I see new faces, John and Steve, Toni and Nelly and their sons, all come to teach us hand games and share in our joy. It is good to see so many people, and so much joy in one place. People from ALL the different spheres of my life coming together to share love and life with each other.
I have traveled a good bit in my young life, and there are pieces of my heart all over this country - all over this world. Spain, and Chile, and Israel, the Navajo nation, Texas, New York, Chicago, China - everywhere I have been I have met people whom I love deeply and have given my heart to. To see some of these parts come together and love each other, that is a blessing.
I have traveled a good bit in my young life, and there are pieces of my heart all over this country - all over this world. Spain, and Chile, and Israel, the Navajo nation, Texas, New York, Chicago, China - everywhere I have been I have met people whom I love deeply and have given my heart to. To see some of these parts come together and love each other, that is a blessing.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Shame
I am struggling to understand this world we live in. I am trying to work through the various frustrations and emotions that accompany many daily experiences, many meaningful conversations. I am trying to make sense of it all.
I often have heard that Jesus came to free us from sin.
Sin is a word that often makes me cringe, and is a concept I have struggled with for a number of years now. But after an enlightening, passionate, and personal conversation with a good friend of mine, I feel that I am starting to make steps towards identifying how I understand the reality of sin. So often, I have been presented with models of sin that are highly focused on actions that people do or do not take. I have heard that sin is separation from God, and I think that starts to move closer to it for me. I see it like this. Sin is whatever it is that keeps us from looking at the overwhelming reality of who we are from and in God.
So. What is Jesus doing in the Gospels? I think he is helping people, and challenging people, to move out of that sin and look at what the reality of their life is - namely, that they come from God, are loved by God, find life in God, and overall are pretty incredible and overwhelmingly beautiful pieces of Creation. Sound cool? It is! Jesus is out there for errbody - he is healing lepers not only from a physical condition, but from their deep seated and often culturally reinforced sense of shame. He is challenging the pharisees and other rulers to look at the oppressive notion of sin that find justice in marginalizing people and obscuring the truth of that persons life. He is touching the adulteress, forgiving, saying that she is more than her actions and her mistakes, that her beauty and light can still reign if she can let it. He is challenging those wishing to stone her, so quick to condemn and deny their own predicament.
I think Jesus is coming to return people to their humanity. If Jesus is what it looks like to be fully human, then, I would have to conclude, that I am not living so fully. For me, Jesus is showing all of those people what it really means to be human - which is ultimately inseparable from God and is therefore holy and sacred. Lepers, Pharisees, adulteresses, condemning masses, all of them are far from the truth of their human condition, of being from and of God. The oppressed and oppressors both need to be reminded of their call to be human, and consequently, divine.
So. What would Jesus have to say about all the shit goin down in the world today? Well, from my secret telephone on which we frequently talk, this is what I got. Sin is still all over the place - in other words, we have a whole lot of people who do not know where they come from and who they are. We have a culture (and world), that chooses to continue to stigmatize experiences that people have, that continues to isolate and marginalize, rather than embrace and resurrect. Mental health, be it depression, mental illness, suicidality - all of these things are considered taboo, too awful to talk about, to shameful to be allowed out into the light. Drug and alcohol addiction, continuing to be seen simply as personal fault and weakness, depravity even. Systemic sin, like racism, like classicism - structures in places that continually embed a sense of "less than" and worthlessness in people.
We all suffer from this. The people who are oppressed are made to feel that the essence of who they are is flawed, broken, unworthy - they are made to believe that there are places within themselves, experiences they have had, where God cannot reside, where beauty and love and resurrection cannot occur. I think Jesus would call bullshit, and I would have to agree. Psalm 139 - there isn't anywhere we can run and hide from God - not because God is always trying to judge us and catch us, but because God is always trying to love us, even in the places we don't think it's possible. The oppressors, though, while maybe not in a material sense, are being challenged just as much to reclaim their own humanity. While they continue to reject and stigmatize aspects of the human experience, rejecting both themselves and God in the process, how can they claim to be full in their own humanity? They need healing too. We all do. We have become so caught up in feeling ashamed, in feeling guilty, in feeling wrong, that we spend all of our energy trying to hide the source of these feelings. We sit in these feelings as ends in themselves, rather than as pointing us to something better and more true.
Working on the Rez, among this Lakota people, it is obvious how trauma, handed down and continually reinforced throughout history, has evolved into shame, into the feeling that one's very being is wrong. After centuries of telling a people that they are less than human, it isn't hard to imagine why that feeling would become deeply embedded. A good friend of mine on the Rez, a brave and courageous man who inspires me every time I see him, has often said: "Alcoholism and addiction isn't the problem, it's the symptom. It is a symptom of a spiritual disease that has infiltrated our people." Shame. It is a problem here on the Rez, but it is just as much a problem in the inner cities of the Bronx and the million dollar brownstones in Brooklyn - we are a people who has forgotten who we are in God, who has forgotten the deepest truth of our being.
This shame, and the systems in place to reinforce it, are the greatest tragedies I can see in our time. It is against this I wish to fight. I hope to make my life a shining testament to something greater. To allowing people to move on that journey towards leaving behind all of this bullshit that clouds our vision from seeing fully and clearly what we were created for. That is what I see Jesus having done for the people of his time, and continuing to do to inspire people of our own time to take up that heavy burden of love. Let this veil be lifted from the eyes of this people, and let reclaim our own humanity, hand in hand, together.
Mitakuye Oyasin.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Choosing
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!
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!
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