Endings

December 8, 2012

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. Henry David Thoreau


I’ve learned a few things about myself in these 40 days. Of course, you don’t need to escape to the desert to learn a few things about yourself; it’s possible anywhere, anytime- as long as there’s space to notice. One of my hopes is that I continue to make space to notice the lessons of the everyday, long after Nada.

Some Lessons from Life at Nada Hermitage: 
1. I can adjust to almost any environment, except those with rodents.
2. I enjoy cooking… alone. I can share the kitchen with others, but we must have separate projects.
3. Quinoa, oats, and apples can take you far.
4.  I can sit in the lotus position for 20 minutes in comfort and stillness.  30 minutes is pushing it.
5. I have a running commentary going on in my head at all times which is very difficult to silence.
6.  I love to read.
7.  I love to write.
8. I am so very impatient with humanity.
9. I can be quite content in a one room cabin.
10. I take beauty for granted.
11. I highly underestimate the importance of daily sunshine to my mental health. 
12. I don’t drink nearly enough water.
13. I need regular doses of unadulterated nature.
14. I can assimilate back into mainstream society with frightening ease.

And there’s more, which only those who read my journal after I’m long gone will be subjected to.

So, that’s it, for now anyway. Depending on my next adventure, I may or may not return to the land of the bloggers. It’s been fun, and especially worthwhile knowing that kind eyes were reading it. I hope it’s been worthwhile for you too! Thank you for your support and your interest during these 40 days.

So now tomorrow I start off again “on pilgrimage,” for we have here no abiding city. Much as we may want to strike our roots in, we are doomed to disappointment and unhappiness unless we preserve our detachment. It is the paradox of the Christian life… Dorothy Day

Reflection on Week 4


The all-too-familiar feeling of anxiety returned early last week as I noted the days at Nada winding down. It’s not anxiety about returning to “regular life” or facing up to a difficult relationship. Nor am I anxious about maintaining what I’ve begun here in much less conducive environments. It’s anxiety around the perennial question, “What’s next?” I’m not worried about finding something to occupy my time or even someone willing to pay me to keep busy. I don’t fear finding a job (thanks be to God) but, more critically, finding the right job. The question that permeates my world, year in and year out, is this: “To what shall I dedicate my life?”

Specifically, the anxiety reared its ugly head the evening I chose to take a quick glance at my typical job posting sites, after a two month hiatus. Prior to that hiatus I compulsively checked these sites for something that ignited me. (After all, we are meant to “set the world on afire!” with St. Ignatius’ blessing.) But few if any postings even sparked a notable interest. I chalked it up to burnout and, once my Nada plans were set, felt hopeful for renewed enthusiasm and focused direction post retreat.

Well, this desert retreat is ending and that quick glance of job postings left no impression on me and no motivation to submit a single application. I saw many fine jobs, mind you; there are plenty of jobs that I could do happily for awhile (assuming I’m offered the chance!) Yet still none that pull me, none to which I feel called to do.

Let me say that everything I’ve written is the epitome of privilege. That fact doesn’t escape me. Choosing among jobs is a dream come true for the unemployed. Taking time away from a paycheck to discern the next step is an unfathomable reality for most of the world. And it may be precisely because of my privilege that I feel such an intense responsibility to choose wisely, to think carefully about Frederick Buechner’s image of vocation: the place where your deep gladness meets the world’s deep hunger.

But my method of discerning sometimes looks a lot like beating a dead horse. I spend an extraordinary amount of time thinking, and praying, and choosing…which all conveniently delays any acting. I spend so much energy honing in on the right tree that I miss the very good forest. When awareness of that behavior hits, I recall Mary Jo Leddy’s necessary celebration of that which is “good enough” in her book, Radical Gratitude. Searching endlessly for the “right” job (read “perfect”) paralyzes my ability to share my skills and talents.

So, continuing in my tradition of following the wisdom of good writers, there are three guideposts I received from my readings here that need to accompany my job search:

I would like to do whatever it is that presses the essence from the hour. Mary Oliver, Blue Pastures

This desire must stay central throughout my search and throughout my work. It’s been one of my unnamed mantras during this contemplative experience. I’ve felt from the first day I arrived that this was precious time, not to be wasted, not to be used in an idle way. By that I don’t mean every moment demanded a productive “doing”, but rather a basic mindfulness. So, whether my chosen activity was reading, writing, walking, or sitting, it had to be done with intention and attention to feel worthwhile. Then, whatever the activity, if it brought me joy, it easily pressed every ounce of essence from that particular hour. I desire the same from my work.

I understood that Love embraces all vocations….at last I have found my vocation, my vocation is Love! Therese of Lisieux

This passage is such a critical addition to my repertoire of vocation insights. It’s a simple gift, as the Shakers would say. It lets me off the hook from finding the “perfect” job, knowing that I have the capacity to love in any situation. If loving is my primary vocation, there are a multitude of “right” paths at my door. I just need to pick one and start walking, in love. If I can do that, then the destination will be decided for me. In other…better…words:

For us there is only the trying. The rest is not our business. T.S. Eliot

Penultimate Day in the Desert

December 4, 2012
Tomorrow I must leave…and it is so beautiful, so peaceful here, far from noise and traffic and the world. There are good books here to be read and studied – Gill and Belloc and Chesterton, sociologists, historians, and philosophers. There are the Scriptures to be studied. There is God’s beautiful world, the world He loved around us, with its simple people, hard-working people, poor people. Life is beautiful here, and I hate to go… It is so good to have such beginnings as this to come to, for “refreshment, light, and peace.” Dorothy Day

As I prepare to leave Nada tomorrow I’m having a hard time coming to any worthwhile conclusion about the experience. Dorothy’s thoughts above were written at the end of a visit to her daughter’s farm in West Virginia, and they do a good job of summing up my time in Crestone. The beauty, the peace, the books, the people…it’s all been so good.

My 40-day journey officially ends Sunday when I return to the east coast. Before then I’ll be considering a proper ending to this contemplative experience, and probably this blog, as I meander through Denver, Boulder, and Ft. Collins.

For now, I’ll leave you with my final weekly reflection that I shared with the group today. Maybe it will have something to say to those of you with similar anxieties. 

Advent Conspiracy

December 3, 2012
Blessed is the season that engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love. Hamilton Wright Mabie


Ah, Advent!

December 2, 2012
Be alert! You do not know when the time will come. Mark 13:33


I love Advent. The music. The colors. The wreaths, and calendars, and creches. The "permission" to check-out of America's December busyness. And, most importantly, the feeling that something special is about to happen. The experience of Advent waiting certainly changes as we age; but while our eagerness is no longer for Santa's arrival, that same sense of I-can't-stand-the-wait anticipation is an ideal mindset for this season. Many graces contribute to that child-like euphoria; for me, patient attention is key.

I've walked past many a deer out here that were just about to cross a path or road... until I showed up. Instead of darting out, they freeze-sometimes with members of their group split between two sides of the path. I'm never quite sure what to do myself. The times I've stopped to let them pass have been telling: they stay frozen. They're waiting for me to move on. And so I do, once I get the message. After I've reached a safe distance, they rejoin their friends waiting patiently on the other side of the path and together continue on their way. But they will wait it out as long as necessary. They seem much more concerned about preserving life than rushing through it.

Their alertness is also quite remarkable. I watch from inside my hermitage in the mornings as the deer rummage for food among the sand and brush. As I reach for my camera in utter silence at least one lifts its head on alert. It spots me- from 20 feet beyond my window- and stares. They never fail to spot me. They appear to be in states of constant attention to their surroundings- again, aware, I suspect, of the fragility of their lives.

I think I've heard a variety of "stupid deer" references in my day. In fact, there's a whole series of YouTube videos under that theme. Well, the Crestone deer have acquired some sense about living that the rest of us require a lifetime to figure out.







New Wine, Old Wineskins

November 30, 2012

We bottled wine today, on this, our final workday at Nada.

Each of the monks has their own particular hobby or interest, as members in any healthy community (e.g. relationship, family, monastery, etc.) should have. Eric is a master carpenter/jack-of-all-trades. Ceil & Connie do pottery (not like do pottery, mind you!) Suzie sketches. And Thomas make homemade beer & wine. I can't vouch for the beer yet, but the wine was quite tasty. Before we'd even proven our worth Thomas had opened two bottles for our pleasure. We enjoyed an impromptu spread of cheese, crackers, olives, and wine in between sterilizing, filling, and corking 62 bottles of Nada Red.



Filling the bottles sounds easier than it actually is. Getting it to the top without spilling over took some skill...which I grew impatient with before mastering, as you can see from the drop cloth.

I moved onto corking, which is probably simple for anyone with any degree of upper-body strength. But for me, it was as struggle. I can assure you I wasn't smiling in the 2nd photo.




Then I moved onto a task more fitting of my abilities:





C.S. Lewis & Dorothy Day

November 29, 2012

Dorothy Day died this day in 1980.
C.S. Lewis was born this day in 1898, one year after Dorothy’s birth.
In fact, both writers were born in November and both died in November- Day at 83 and Lewis a week shy of 65. 
Both struggled with faith in their early lives before passionately embracing and promoting Christianity. 
And both came to similar conclusions about the essence of living out that Christian faith:

C.S. Lewis, from Mere Christianity 
The rule for all of us is perfectly simple. Do not waste time bothering whether you 'love' your neighbour; act as if you did. As soon as we do this we find one of the great secrets. When you are behaving as if you loved someone, you will presently come to love him. 

Dorothy Day, from On Pilgrimage
 ...And the burden gets too heavy; there are too many of them; my love is too small; I even feel with terror, “I have no love in my heart; I have nothing to give them.” And yet I have to pretend I have. But strange and wonderful, the make-believe becomes true. If you will to love someone, you soon do…It depends on how hard you try... my whole life so far, my experience has been that our failures have been not to love enough.

p.s. This story of Dorothy's canonization process was featured on Weekend Edition Saturday, 12/1: http://www.npr.org/2012/12/01/166291580/catholic-hero-dorothy-days-road-to-sainthood 

We Are the Clay

November 27, 2012

This afternoon will go down as one of my favorite here in Colorado. (Did I say that about the hike too? Well, two favorite afternoons in one week then!) Annie, Jess, and I spent about 3 hours at Crestone Clay Art with master potter, Lynn Drake- a woman with the patience of a saint. It was my first-ever pottery lesson, and despite the artistic limitations brought on by perfectionism, it was a pretty good first attempt!


Lynn explaining the machine that turns blocks of clay into rope.

Finally beginning my coil bowl...
after first obsessing for 20 minutes over the perfect design.

After the design is complete, clay balls are used to fill in the gaps.
 
The clay is gently smoothed down and left to dry.
This made me nervous after my compulsive placement of the ropes!

But never fear...once you remove the dried clay from the mold the design returns! 

Now we gently paint on water to smooth out some cracked areas.
 
A pinch bowl is usually the first lesson in pottery. I guess we looked advanced :)
While you might not recognize it as such, this is going to be a small mug,
with a very "unique" handle.
The bowl and mug still need firing and glazing, which will hopefully get done before I leave next week. Otherwise Lynn will ship them. In all- a 3 hour class, a bowl and a mug from clay to creation, and a peaceful afternoon-....$25! Forget Paint Your Own Pottery...MAKE Your Own Pottery! I guarantee you'll impress yourself. 

There are a million and one comparisons to be made about pottery and the spiritual life. No doubt more than a few books have been written on the topic. Here are a few of my take-aways:

It’s amazing what can be created from earth; the possibilities for fashioning clay are endless.
Stop trying to control it! It will harden and crack.  
Don’t get too attached, especially before it’s been through the fire.
There is no such thing as perfect.
The flaw is the mark of originality.
Be creative. Be flexible. Be patient. Be gentle.





Letters & Leavings

November 26, 2012
God forbid that any of my friends should judge of my regard for them by the punctuality of my correspondence. Edmund Burke

I dreamt of writing a letter a day during this contemplative experience. But, my imagined routine wasn’t to be the reality, in all things. As one of the greeting cards in my abnormally large stock declares, “I write you letters by the thousands in my thoughts.” And it’s true. I’ve drafted a letter to each person I expect is following this blog at some point since arriving at Nada. But now I find myself at the beginning of my fifth and final week and must accept that many of those mental letters won’t get put to paper, at least on this side of the Mississippi.  And today, Desert Day, I needed to make room to read some letters that traveled here with me from Maryland. 


That overwhelming stack is what Loyola students and staff sent me forth with on my final day of work one month ago. Reading them in the moment wasn’t an option, given the wild emotions of the occasion. Not to mention, I wanted to savor them, to give each one the same precious time the writer gave to it.

To be honest, though, I’ve also been avoiding those letters- choosing instead the “safer” readings of Thomas Merton & the mystics. The truth is: that stack of letters is the only thing standing between me and closure. Once I read them, the Loyola chapter of my book of life will need to close. As well, the volume pertaining to my career in campus ministry will also reach an end. It’ll be time to put aside both identities. And though I’ve physically packed up, locked the doors, and driven away from those worlds, emotionally it feels a bit like a very long vacation that I’ll return from in a few weeks.

One of my many former priest-bosses thinks this whole closure thing is silly. “Lay people always need closure!” he said, half mystified, half exacerbated. Well, I’d argue (successfully so, I might add) that’s it’s not just a lay person need. More like a human person need. I’m not saying that priests aren’t human, of course! I guess I’m saying that they need closure just as much as they rest of us, but maybe don’t want to admit it. Or maybe, sadly, they’re so used to transient lives – moving from one assignment to the next every 4 or 6 years- that actually coming to terms with all those endings would be too painful. Indeed, closure is painful, whether it means the end of magnificence or misery.

I’m also not saying that closure means elimination, or destruction, or repression of what was. Bringing closure to my life at Loyola doesn’t require me to sever the relationships or erase the memories…though there are some I’d be quite happy to erase! But most I want to keep. And all will remain part of me; they are threads in the fabric of my life.

You all know what I mean. You’ve said goodbyes and closed doors. And more often than not you’ve carried pieces of those leavings with you into the next chapter, and even the next. It’s as it should be. We’d make no progress toward our greatest selves if we left behind all the lessons we have gleaned from where we've been.

That said, it’s nonetheless necessary to mark an ending. To recognize that what has been will never be again. Even if you return to a previous job, a relationship, a neighborhood- or in my case, return for a visit every now and then- you can never pick up exactly where you left off. What was has ended. What will be can begin, but it will be something new. Something similar, maybe. But something new still. The old things have passed away; behold, new things have come. 2 Corinthians 5: 17

Ritual is a signature element of the Catholic tradition, and of my psyche, it seems, after 34 years of practicing this faith. So, reading these 27 letters was a sacred act for me. I read each one- laughing out loud and tearing up, sometimes from the same letter- and recalled the face and essence of each writer as well as a memory of my time with him or her.

I’ll hold on to the letters for awhile- months, maybe years- as I did with my letters from Providence College. The writers have left out all my dark spots and rough edges, choosing to shine a light on only the good. There are few jobs in this world that can send you away with such tangible appreciation for your efforts. Younger kids are still too self-absorbed, and adults have become a bit too guarded. (I can't imagine my sister's former Bank of America coworkers writing letters to express their gratitude and fondness for her when she left!) No, this work of mine has been a rare privilege. And there will be days that I need a reminder that, for a brief time and in small ways, I made an impact.

But when the next cold night comes around, I will light all the envelopes in my little stove and let the unnecessary stuff burn to ash- the superficial shells. The stuff that was left out of the letters but was part of the chapter. The anger, the stress, the pain. The stuff that doesn’t matter anymore.

Then my ritual will be complete. And then, by the grace of God, I’ll find closure. 

A Walk in the Woods

November 25, 2012
Happy Birthday, Michele Dusek!

The earth is full of thresholds where beauty awaits the wonder of our gaze. John O’Donohue

After nearly four weeks, we’ve finally taken the hike I’ve been itching for. To hang around the foothills and not explore the heights is an invitation left unanswered. 

After mass, community breakfast, and a birthday celebration for our pseudo-director, Ceil, most of us headed out for our 5 mile trek. The community owns about 35 acres of a nearby mountain and maintains a very small hermitage used for occasional private retreats. This one-room cabin makes mine look luxurious! No running water, no indoor plumbing. One of our group members- the other Jess- opted to stay up there the next two nights. She also does solo back-packing in the Andes. That's the difference between 24 and 34.

Not much needs to be said, other than this was probably my most favorite day in Colorado. Gorgeous afternoon, challenging-enough trail, and lovely companions. 

Enjoy the view. 



 












Black Monday


November 23, 2012
A prophet is not without honor except in his native place and in his own house. Matthew 13: 57

I don’t know who got to decide that the one day of the year that brings out the best in people would be followed by just the opposite. Like the week before the election, I gave thanks yesterday for being so removed from media bombardment. Although, advertising is quite skilled at permanent infestation: far from a T.V., I can still hear the piercing shrill of the announcer ringing in my head: “Don’t miss Kohl’s biggest sale of the year! Doors open at 6am. Shop early for the best deals… before it’s too late!”

Yuck.

As much as I despise what our culture has done to the day after Thanksgiving, today pales in comparison to what I’m calling to Black Monday - the day the Vatican announced their excommunication and laicization of Maryknoll Father Roy Bourgeois. To say that I’ve been disturbed by this news from November 19th is an understatement. It has consumed my week and stirred up some pretty serious venom in my head and heart.

Fr. Roy has been a Catholic priest in the Maryknoll Order for 45 years. During his early years as a missionary priest, he was immersed in the brutal civil wars of Central and South America- first in Bolivia, and later in El Salvador. Through his ministry he encountered countless lives affected by the violent repression by each country’s military. He grieved, as others did, the deaths of thousands, including the 1980 murders of the Archbishop of San Salvador, Oscar Romero, and the four North American Churchwomen, and the 1989 assassinations of six Jesuit priests, their Salvadoran housekeeper and her daughter. In time he discovered, as others did, that many of the perpetrators of these and other incidents of murder, rape, torture, and disappearance were trained in these tactics- on U.S. land and with U.S. tax dollars- at the School of the Americas in Columbus, Georgia. Fr. Roy established the SOA Watch outside the gates of Ft. Benning in 1990 and has energized tens of thousands of faith-filled people to rally every November and to lobby Congress for the closure of the School - students, clergy, nuns, parents and children, retired adults, former military personnel, myself, and others.


During these years of standing on the side of the oppressed, he came to meet Catholic women who felt oppressed in a different way. These women identified a personal call to the priesthood, a vocation to the ordained life, within the Catholic Church. Fr. Roy chose to stand with these women and, in a similar way as he spoke out against the injustices in Latin America, he began to speak out against the injustices in the Catholic Church, his own community.

Let me pause here and acknowledge that when I first learned of women feeling this “call,” I was dubious. “Men are priests. Period. What are they even talking about?” thought my Catholic school girl brain. Thankfully, I’ve moved on from that opinion, but only through repeated encounters with what was once a foreign concept.

After several demands for Fr. Roy to recant his support for women’s ordination, the Vatican followed through with its threats. Fr. Roy is no longer a priest, no longer a member of the Maryknoll order, and- in the eyes of the Vatican- no longer a Catholic. In practical terms, that means he is also bankrupt- stripped of the pension and retirement support other members of religious communities receive after devoting their adult lives to serving the Church.

One can think what they will about a woman’s right to ordination. But one can’t miss the glaring hypocrisy of this situation if you’ve been around the U.S. Catholic Church lately. Priests, bishops, cardinals actively and passively allowing the sexual abuse of children- for decades- in Boston, Philadelphia, and likely every diocese in this country- not only remain “Catholic” but most remain in their positions of high authority. No laicization. No excommunication. And in most cases, not even a conviction.

The Vatican described Fr. Roy’s support of women’s ordination as a “grave scandal against the people of God.” Let’s think about this rationally, shall we?
*Attending the ordination of a woman and the showing of a documentary on women’s ordination.
*Sexually abusing children and covering up the sexual abuse of priests under your authority.
Hmm…which one sounds grave and scandalous to you?

If the decision handed down by the Vatican and Maryknoll wasn’t so scandalous it would be laughable. This decision, coupled with their treatment of American nuns over the last year, seem to point to only thing: fear. The fear of the other half of the planet? Possibly. But certainly the fear of sharing power. For a change.

Thus, in their carefully orchestrated effort to hold back the inevitability of Church hierarchy that includes the full manifestation of God- both male and female- the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith will demand allegiance to their definition of vocation. They will insist that they know better than God the form and function of God’s unique call to each one of us. As Fr. Roy has stated multiple times, “Who are we to say, as men, that our call from God is authentic but God’s call to women is not?”

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I want to offer thanks for not receiving the call to ordination. It’s a painful call. In a community that rejects the legitimacy of your relationship with God, it’s a lonely path to walk. Few are as courageous- as prophetic- as Fr. Roy to stand in solidarity with these women and to speak out on their behalf. Certainly other priests voice similar support, but most anonymously, off the record, or behind closed doors. 

Like Archbishop Romero, the world does not stand quietly by prophetic voices. It silences them. And so, the saga of Fr. Roy’s relationship with the Catholic Church and, specifically, his Maryknoll family, has come to a bitter end.

But I hope, and pray, and fully expect that his call- to speak truth to power- is only just beginning.


You can read Fr. Roy’s brief autobiography here: http://www.roybourgeoisjourney.org/book/book.pdf

There’s a bumper sticker that seems made for times like this:
If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention.

Giving Thanks

November 22, 2012
"I love being in America for Thanksgiving. Imagine a whole country setting aside a day just to be grateful." an Irish retreatant at Nada Hermitage

To begin today, and everyday:

i thank You God for this most amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
~e.e. cummings

And after the Thanksgiving feast:

We end this meal with grace
For the joy and nourishment of food,
The slowed time away from the world
To come into presence with each other
And sense the subtle lives behind our faces,
The different colours of our voices,
The edges of hungers we keep private,
The circle of love that unites us.
We pray the wise spirit who keeps us
To change the structures that make others hunger
And that after such grace we might now go forth
And impart dignity wherever we partake.
~ John O'Donohue, Benedictus 

In short:

If the only prayer you ever say is thanks, that will be enough.
~ Meister Eckhart 

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Birthday, Monkey Myles!

November 21, 2012

On the eve of your birth, word of your coming passed from animal to animal. 
The reindeer told the arctic terns, 
who told the humpback whales, 
who told the Pacific salmon, 
who told the monarch butterflies, 
who told the green turtles, 
who told the European eel, 
who told the busy garden warblers, 
and the marvelous news migrated worldwide. 
Debra Frasier, On the Day You Were Born

Happy 4th birthday, dear nephew! 




Tuesday Postscript


Two comforting additions to my desert life arrived today.

The UPS man drove into Nada as I was returning from a walk. I remember the driver; he has a big brown mustache. The community seems to get frequent packages. “Beautiful day today!” said the man with the brown mustache. “Yes, it is” I said, thinking “just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the last two weeks, actually. But you’re a better person than I am for still noticing it.”

He had dropped the package off inside in the front door about a minute before I crossed the threshold. It was a small box.
And it was addressed to me!
From: Geoff & Drew’s of Malden, MA "The finest cookies, brownies, and freshly baked goods."
OMG. I don’t know who sent this, but they have my eternal gratitude. I don’t even know what’s in the box, but I know I’m going to love it.
Here’s what was in the box:

Deliciousness. A million thanks Sharon, Coleman, Caroline, & Philip Kane!
In case you were wondering, I’m not planning on sharing them. Terrible, I know. But if I pace myself, they’ll take me through my final day in the desert. There is no substitute for chocolate.

After picking up the UPS package I noticed a manila envelope in my mailbox. From Loyola. A few lost paychecks perhaps?

Ah yes, the King of Reliability, Mr. Jonathan Pennachia, had come through again. Jonathan is a junior at Loyola and an all-star intern in Campus Ministry. I had lamented to him over email about the music at liturgies here. It’s not bad; in fact, the two Carmelites who usually lead us in song have really lovely voices and have recorded several c.d.’s. The selections, though, are either unfamiliar, or more often, way old-school. In short, I was a little homesick for Loyola Chapel Choir. At my request, Jonathan sent a few of what we call Orders of Worship; you may know them as “mass programs.” (I'm pretty sure everyone reading this blog already knows that I like church music- well, good church music, that is!- so I'm not at all embarrassed to share this story.) 

Jonathan also included notes from a few other Campus Ministry all-stars- Kristen McNeill, Meghan McHale, & Ed Ortiz- which made me feel like I was right back in my office in Cohn Hall. (Well, sharing it with my old coworker Patrick Range who was quick to move in! Just kidding, Pat. It’s all yours. )


A really delightful and uplifting afternoon. Thanks, Community! 

Reflection on Week Two-ish


We have all known the long loneliness, and we have found that the answer is community.
Dorothy Day

If you’re in a committed relationship, you may not have noticed the point when many of your I’s turned to we’s and our’s replaced your my’s. With time, things begin to get shared by partners – our T.V., our house, our dog. People begin to get shared too.

During my first week at Nada I began to notice a surefire clue into the authenticity of this community. It was a habit- an unintentional habit, I suspect- that assured me this was not simply a gathering of individuals posing as a unit. This clue, this habit, was a two-word phrase- our friends. “Our friends made this for us.” “Our friends own the shop downtown.” Or on occasion, “A friend of ours sent this to us.” “We have a friend in Denver who…”  

I’m not sure why that phrase first struck me, and why I continue to notice it. Maybe I’m used to hearing it from couples, so when it’s used by individual Carmelites, I’m stumped by its plurality. Maybe because I’m single and have few opportunities to use it myself. Regardless, my initial confusion quickly moved to pleasure; I probably grin a bit whenever one of the five Nadans uses the phrase.

Why? What’s the big deal? Lots of people use the phrase everyday.

Yes, lots of people use the phrase everyday. And I don’t think they recognize the inherent decisions they’ve made by using it. They have decided to release their exclusive grip on their friend or loved one. It’s a lot easier to share your T.V. than it is to share your friends, especially the good ones. And when you’re part of a community-authentic or not- it’s natural to want to keep something for yourself, to have ownership over something, to not have to share everything.  Moreover, identifying the other as “our friend,” not “my friend,” is a decision to be communal, and that’s no small deal. When you’ve decided to be communal- to be part of a community- you’ve decided to share it all…the blessings and the burdens of relationship.

This witness to community was demonstrated twice this weekend, from my view at least.

The loaded phrase- “our friends” -was put to the test the last few months here in Crestone by both Nadans and neighbors. Here’s my interpretation of the sequence of events associated with Eric’s father’s illness:
Summer 2012 – Neighbors to Nadans
You are our friends, and so we must help you. We have our own homes to clean, our own work to manage. But we share the responsibility of community, and thus, we will take on the burden so that you might be rightly blessed.

November 2012 – Nadans to Neighbors
You are our friends, and so we must give thanks for you. We could use our money and our time in more practical ways. And we are just returning from travels and preparing for others and could use a restful evening. But we share the responsibility of community, and thus, we will take on the burden so that you might be rightly blessed.

I also saw this community transaction, this sharing of responsibility for human relationship, in the fictitious life of Lars (in "Lars and the Real Girl.") After years of an isolated and stalled existence and months of delusional bliss grounded in anxious fear, Lars is liberated by a loving community who chooses to share the responsibility of one man’s health and happiness while sacrificing their own time, lifestyles, and reputation. The sister-in-law and her husband, the church ladies and the workmen, the doctor and the coworker- together insist that Lars and Bianca- his delusion- are “our friends” and assume the accompanying blessings and burdens of that shared friendship. I think Mary Richards had Lars in mind when she wrote: “Symptoms of growth may look like breakdown or derangement; the more we are allowed by the love of others and by self-understanding to live through our derangement into the new arrangement, the luckier we are.” (Centering in Pottery, Prayer, and the Person.) That community of support, friendship, and responsibility accompanied Lars out of delusion and into new life, and were themselves transformed along the way.

The assistance of one friend at Nada this summer would have been appreciated, but inadequate; and the presence of one friend at Saturday night’s feast would have been celebrated, but awkward. In a similar way, the joining of one person to Lars’ reality would have been kind, but incomplete. It was only by the grace of the whole community that Nada and Lars were able to thrive instead of breakdown.

Therefore, when you decide to add “our friends” into your verbal repertoire, it means that when tested, you will join with another to take responsibility for your community. And, in turn, they will join together to take responsibility for you. You don’t need to be part of a couple to use the phrase “our friends,” but you do need to be part of a community. Then, and only then, will you live your way out of the long loneliness.