Sister Julia Walsh, FSPA (Franciscan Sister of Perpetual Adoration) and her Christian friends contemplate the challenge of really living the Gospel when Christianity has become too fluffy and watered down.
Convinced that this Jesus business- this Gospel living- is very radical and uncomfortable, these disciples proclaim something different than common Christianity. They experience Jesus breaking into hearts, igniting fires, encouraging and blessing. They feel Jesus uniting the body through holy communion when they gather around dusty tables and smoky fires to share and care. Together they pray, pay attention, and play.
Then, nourished for action they go forward preaching Love, Peace and Truth. Facing the oppressive systems of the global empires, they struggle and ache. Their response is the Way of Jesus, the Gospel Life. With hands and feet, they pray "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done." And they create the Church they long for.
And, here’s a fun little Christmas video I found that I thought you might enjoy. It’s not just a fun story about talking toys and figurines. The video is also packed with a bit of Catholic theology, so you might learn something too!
As a Franciscan, I really am celebrating Christmas all year. I do all I can to celebrate the salvation that comes from the Incarnation; to adore Jesus, my love with deep joy.
Adoring Jesus, praying and working for peace is the everyday type of Christmas celebrating I get behind with my whole heart. It’s the other stuff–the stuff of Christmas cookies, silly songs and decorations– that now feels like a chore. The fun can wear off when a whole community isn’t with us in something, don’t you think?
Anyhow, Merry Christmas! I hope you’ll go celebrate salvation and do something prayerful and playful. I hope you’ll use your freedom to build peace on earth.
God be with us; thank God that God is with us! Amen!
It is 7 p.m. and there are two things on my mind: I am hungry and I need to use the bathroom.
Dinner service ended a half hour ago but one person has yet to leave. I wait at the back door, ready to finish my job, which involves making sure everyone has left and locking the door.
I spent two years volunteering full time at André House and now volunteer part time there. André House, a soup kitchen in downtown Phoenix, Ariz., provides basic-need services including a nightly soup line that averages 630 plates per night.
This gentleman is taking his time to finish his meal, pack his bags and move on. I have not seen him before and I try not to hurry people who are not causing a problem. The only thing in a hurry that evening was my own patience.
I tend to move fast and focus on to-do lists. He is taking his time and slowly appreciating each moment. I have no significant reason to rush him so I try to accept his pace.
He finishes his meal and slowly takes his tray up to the dishwasher. Returning to his seat he carefully packs his belongings, putting each item in its own place in his backpack. Then, carefully unrolling his bedroll and blanket, he proceeds to reroll them. Securing the bed roll to his backpack he stands up to stretch.
In my head I continue to tell myself to be patient and constantly repeat my to-do list: lock up building, turn off lights, eat dinner, study, clean, go through emails and write a paper. And this list goes on. Yet right now, all I can do is wait.
Then he walks over to the prayer table, taking a few moments to look over the books, pamphlets, rosaries and prayer box on it. He examines each item; reading the materials, rearranging them and observing the flowers and statues.
I remind myself that I have no vital reason to rush right now, but I am not good at waiting. Yet somehow, in the next moment, I begin to wonder: “How often do I check my email or Facebook page on my phone when I could just be still? How often do I fill time with business when I could stop and slow down, appreciate and look more closely at the things around me?”
The man picks up his bag and a book from the prayer table. Walking over to me, he asks if he could have the bible he found. “Of course,” I say, and tell him to have a safe evening. But still he does not leave. He tells me how lucky he is to have a bible. This bible is perfect for him: large print so he can see it under the street lamp at night. It has a soft cover so it is bends in his backpack and will not poke him.
Photo by Global Awareness Through Experience (GATE)
Then he goes on to tell me about his blanket–a Mexican, woven blanket of many colors. It is light weight and easy to carry. He admires its multiple colors. It is tightly woven to keep him warm and also protect him from the ground. He talks slowly as he explains all the things he likes about his new-found bible and his over-used blanket.
Then he looks me straight in the eye and says, “What do I pray for if I am over-blessed?”
Here I am, impatiently waiting for him to leave so I can go home to my safe apartment, a hot dinner and my warm bed.
And here he is, over-blessed, going out to spend another night on the streets with nothing but a bible and a warm blanket.
A fascinating thing happened this school year when I tried to teach my students to love their neighbors.
Kids can be so mean. I remember this from when I was in school. As a teacher now, I see this reality right in front of me. It’s awful. At a Catholic Christian school it seems even more disturbing, and as a religion teacher I feel a bit of responsibility for it. I try to design curriculum that responds to my observations and helps my students to grow in Christ.
To help my students deal with people who are unkind, I planned a unit that focused on the teachings of Jesus. I wanted them to learn how to be bold, brave, creative, peaceful, compassionate and kind–just like Jesus taught. My students memorized the Beatitudes and the great commandment. They realized that Jesus’ teachings are not fluffy or cozy, but really messy and difficult.
We also mulled a while on what Jesus REALLY meant when he said ”love your enemies,” and “turn the other cheek.” Basically, we studied the Third Way of Jesus which is to creatively stand up for oneself and to honor the dignity of oppressors. To help the students understand I made a handout called Jesus’ non-violence explained. Even though it’s really a simple concept, it’s extremely challenging to understand.
As I said, a fascinating thing happened when I tried to teach my students to love their neighbors. I found myself telling my students that practicing Jesus’ methods of peacemaking–in that Third Way style–meant that we have to get downright loving and sassy.
A slogan emerged: Let’s get sassy for Jesus! We laughed about how it sounded like a country song. The former cheerleader in me wanted to make it into a chant: ”Sassy for Jesus, yes we are!“ I’m thanking the Holy Spirit for giving me a catchy way to teach the truth, because the students still remember it.
God’s got a great sense of humor, and humor is what true, loving, non-violence takes. We can make light of persecution because, with the freedom that Christ gives, we are just as powerful as everyone else. We see Jesus alive in all people, even those who are mean. We get to love them and remind them of their inherent dignity. It’s so good!
In the teenage world, this love and sass could come out when people make fun of our shirt or our shoes. For example, a creative, non-violent, Third Way practitioner might respond by saying “It shows how I feel about mean people. Isn’t it beautiful!?”
Recently I asked some of my students how the whole “loving your neighbor, loving your classmates” thing is coming along. They groaned. “Sister, it’s so hard!”
Yes, loving our neighbors and being non-violent IS really hard. But wow, it’s so worth it. May God help us. Amen!
soil slides aside
allowing an emergence
flower seed breaks, becoming
resurrected over the reasons and chances
that it might not make it
or shouldn’t come
alive it rises, a new life
a new colorful character in the neighborhood
sustained by the power of the sun
Earth knows how to welcome the stranger
room is made, food provided
a warm loving home to the foreigner
yes to new life, yes to self-sharing
praise for Earth knowing and role modeling
it’s actually quite natural to boldly give
radical hospitality
A crowd prays at a detention center in Illinois, June 2012, blessing a bus as it brings immigrants to the airport to be deported. Photo by Julia Walsh FSPA
A bus full of immigrants leaves a detention center in Illinois, June 2012, to bring people to the airport to be deported. Photo by Julia Walsh FSPA
As we catch our breath and sigh with relief in solidarity with the Boston area, we can pause and consider all the lessons learned this week.
I find the wisdom in this article particularly relevant: we are better than this.
As we learn, let us remember that God designed us as loving, good, relational creatures who naturally respond to harm with forgiveness and peace. As we heal, let’s act as we’re designed.
Turn to your community today and get to know your neighbors. Pray, share meals, do a Spring clean-up, play a sport, share a good conversation. We need each other. We are made for each other, and we are made for good.
When tragedy and violence shatter our peace we want answers. Why?! How?! Who?! How could God let this happen?! Our laments rise like incense, meeting storm clouds of emotion.
Today, the laments are heavy in the city of Boston. The bombings at the marathon yesterday cause our nation to shudder.
The laments are also thick in Iran where there was an awful earthquake just a few hours ago. Christ hear us.
The laments are constant in hospitals and funeral parlors where intense suffering is often too sudden. God have mercy.
Thanks be to God we are not alone in all this. The good news is that God hears our cries and that God is intimately with us as we suffer.
Thanks be to God that Jesus taught us what to do. This is what Jesus said:
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid. – John 14: 27
We can have faith. We get to take care of each other. We need each other. We really can only do this together. In community with Christ we can make peace, pray and help one another. With Christ in community we can offer healing and hope. This compassion is the heart of peacemaking and Gospel living.
Mr. Rogers, with his simple wisdom, understood this well. If we look around within the human community, we can quickly recognize the peace of Christ alive and well. We don’t need to be afraid.
Thanks be to God Christ is alive and well and among us. Christ hears our cries and knows our pain. Christ is with us, helping us and healing us through the arms of our loving neighbors.
Jesus came and stood in their midst and said to them, “Peace be with you.” When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side. -John 20:19b-20a
Christ is still showing us His wounds.
Christ is the energy of God alive and arisen in our midst. In my life, one of the most profound ways I experience that Christ energy is by communing with creation. The peace of Christ beats with the rhythm of an ancient drum in the depths of the woods and in the heart of the ocean. And earth is hurting. Like our brother Jesus, we have harmed the earth with our violence and sin.
Two examples: As highlighted in this film, the inhabitants of the Carteret Islands just north of Bougainville, Papua New Guinea, are running for their lives while their island is overtaken by the rising ocean waters. Climate change is causing the icebergs to melt at rates faster than humans have ever known. Christ is wounded among us.
Here’s a video highlighting what these wounds look like:
When Christ showed his wounds to his disciples he said “Peace be with you.”
As Christ shows his wounds to us, He also says “Peace be with you.”
We are privileged and blessed to be able to nurse the wounds of our earth, our Christ, during this holy sacred time. We can stop can using plastic, we can reduce our carbon footprint, we can teach others the truth and we can clean up the mess we have made. We can share the Christ of peace and be instruments of healing and blessing.
Let’s have mercy, Christ have mercy, peace be with you. Amen!
Easter joy is ringing and Alleluias are all over the place. Jesus is alive and we can celebrate! This is the Easter joy I was hoping for, praying for.
I wanted to feel Easter joy because it had been a hard, exhausting Lent. I intensely felt the story of the Triduum this year. Holy Thursday was profound, Good Friday was awful and sad and Holy Saturday was horribly depressing.
Then, on Easter morning, I was giddy with joy. Church bells rang before dawn, at six a.m. I filled candy bowls with jelly beans and danced and sang Alleluias as I got ready to go to church. I was very excited and happy. Jesus is amazing, coming back from the dead and showing how powerful and strong He is! Wow! God is good!
The good news is that Easter is a regular thing, a much more regular thing than we might think.
Holy Thursday sharing is our daily bread. We nourish one another through our sharing in community. Our acts of ministry and daily caring for one another is the living servant-leadership of the foot washing Jesus modeled. Our bodies are holy. Yes, Jesus is the bread of Christ. And, we are the body of Christ. Together, we are Eucharist alive, living the Holy Thursday story on a daily basis.
Good Fridays happen way too much. People are oppressed, hurt, abused and tortured completely unjustly. We turn on each other and look for scapegoats. We force people to carry crosses of persecution they do not deserve. Men and women are killed by death sentences still. Children live in war zones, prisoners are tortured. Violence is found in hearts, homes, neighborhoods and entire nations worldwide. Humanity is cruel and violent. It’s horrid.
The grief of Holy Saturdays are thick too. Worldwide, women weep at graves of those killed unjustly–even their own children. People of faith become clouded by confusion and grief when their visions don’t fit with what God has in mind. We hold vigils and memorials and lean on each other in our sadness. We get frozen in our sorrow and are forced to have a solemn sabbath.
As I am saying, praise be God, Easter is a regular thing! We are fed by our daily bread of Eucharist and times when our bodies are honored as sacred and holy. We cry out for peace and justice when people are oppressed and hurt. We bond in community as we deal with our sorrow and sadness. And then, most importantly, Easter resurrections are regular too. Every day we find our voice, unite, rise up, renew, celebrate freedom from oppression, fear and injustice. God is so good!
Here’s a song- and a movement- all about regular Easters–a song of chains breaking and women gaining freedom and celebration:
“Break the Chain”
Lyrics by Tena Clark Music by Tena Clark/Tim Heintz
I raise my arms to the sky On my knees I pray I’m not afraid anymore I will walk through that door Walk, dance, rise Walk, dance, rise
I can see a world where we all live Safe and free from all oppression No more rape or incest, or abuse Women are not a possession
You’ve never owned me, don’t even know me I’m not invisible, I’m simply wonderful I feel my heart for the first time racing I feel alive, I feel so amazing
I dance cause I love Dance cause I dream Dance cause I’ve had enough Dance to stop the screams Dance to break the rules Dance to stop the pain Dance to turn it upside down Its time to break the chain, oh yeah Break the Chain Dance, rise Dance, rise
In the middle of this madness, we will stand I know there is a better world Take your sisters & your brothers by the hand Reach out to every woman & girl
This is my body, my body’s holy No more excuses, no more abuses We are mothers, we are teachers, We are beautiful, beautiful creatures
I dance cause I love Dance cause I dream Dance cause I’ve had enough Dance to stop the screams Dance to break the rules Dance to stop the pain Dance to turn it upside down It’s time to break the chain, oh yeah Break the Chain, oh yeah Break the Chain
Dance Break Inst.
Dance, rise Dance, rise
Sister won’t you help me, sister won’t you rise x4
Dance, rise Dance, rise
Sister won’t you help me, sister won’t you rise x4
This is my body, my body’s holy No more excuses, no more abuses We are mothers, we are teachers, We are beautiful, beautiful creatures
I dance cause I love Dance cause I dream Dance cause I’ve had enough Dance to stop the screams Dance to break the rules Dance to stop the pain Dance to turn it upside down Its time to break the chain, oh yeah Break the Chain, oh yeah Break the Chain
Here’s something really fun that you might get a kick out of. Some sisters in my community and I are dancing to our own little music video for the Break the Chain movement. Talk about the Easter story coming alive at a convent!!
Happy Easter everyone! May we all dance with great freedom! Alleluia!
It’s Lent. I am a disciple, trying to fast and pray in the desert. I’m getting hungry for some great elation, getting worn out from discomforts. I am all hot and bothered–hah! I am disturbed.
I’ve been thinking “perhaps that’s the whole point of discipleship.” We must be disturbed. This journey with Jesus is a journey of conversion– personally and communally. We must remain open to God changing our hearts, our minds and our lives from the inside out.
Disturbed is defined as “intruded on, bothered, rearranged, mixed up, interfered with and turned upside down.” A dictionary also told me that those who are disturbed often are “concerned, upset, flustered, unsettled and disconcerted.” I have learned that all those things happen when we’re living the Gospel.
When I have gone to live with those on the margins of society, I have been appalled, infuriated and outright disgusted with what they must live with. Racism, discrimination and violence; health, education and environment issues are all tangled into the web of social problems related to poverty. For example, world hunger isn’t really as simple as “we need to share our food.” We also need to change the system.
I showed this video to some students at the high school recently in order to demonstrate how complicated problems like world hunger are:
When we learn the truth of how–and why–people are suffering, it’s hard to not become upset and turned upside down.
I am not sure where I learned the phrase, but I often find myself thinking that in order to follow Jesus we must be standing on our heads. This past week a student asked why John the Baptist was standing in the water when he was preaching (as he was in the movie I was showing them). I didn’t have a good answer because I had no clue. What I said was all I could think of: “All holy people seem slightly crazy.” I was surprised when my student nodded with what seemed to be satisfaction. I think that if a religion teacher would have told me that when I was 15 I would have been a bit upset. “You’re saying I have to be crazy to follow Jesus!?”
Well, yes. There is a certain amount of radical trust, impulsiveness, scandal and risk that is required if we’re really trying to follow Jesus.
Eleven years ago, when I was only 20, I took one of those crazy risks. I flew to the other side of the world and studied abroad in South Africa.
I was wandering around a big foreign city where crime rates were high; many people didn’t speak my language, and I was enjoying it. I was disturbed and deeply converted. I began to understand myself differently. Maybe I wasn’t a shy, small town farm girl after all. When God disturbs us–turns us upside down–we even start to think about ourselves in new ways.
God quickly showed me how to be involved with his people and his church. I prayed, started asking people about opportunities and then began volunteer ministry at a shelter and in a prison. A lot of things unfolded and with every new experience I was transformed, converted, changed.
In South Africa I developed relationships with the wealthy and privileged and the poor and marginalized at the same time.
I was exposed to the extreme contrasts of economic injustices. It felt very unfair–very wrong that people who were extremely rich could live right alongside others who were so poor they dwelled in tin shacks, had to carry their water and used car batteries for electricity.
I remember one day when I came home from volunteering at the shelter and was especially confused and overwhelmed–disturbed–by all that I had experienced. My housemates were getting ready to go see the musical Cats and offered me an extra ticket. I quickly got dressed up and went along but barely enjoyed the show. “How could people possibly enjoy the wine they were sipping while people were right outside the doors–on the streets–without any food?” I wondered.
I knew that Jesus wanted me to share, not feel guilty or stop having fun. For the rest of my time in South Africa I decided to love and give without abandon. If people asked me for things I’d trust God and their goodness and give meals, clothes, money, school supplies; whatever I could. It was risky but worth it. And the amazing thing I learned about giving was that I didn’t need to worry. I could do it freely. If I was recklessly being loving, generous and faithful God would take care of me. And God totally did, being a loving parent after all.
Now, back in the middle of mainstream United States of America, the land where the uncomfortable and our injustices are much more hidden, I find myself wondering if it is my calling is to disturb others, to shake people up, challenge them and tell the youth that yes, you must be slightly crazy if you want to be a disciple.
The fascinating, beautiful, wonderful thing is that God is still disturbing me by what I am encountering. Good thing I get to be in the desert to feast, or…um…fast, in all these conversions.
“simple and quiet: a scene from Lesotho” Photo by Julia Walsh FSPA
“Witness Against Torture: I am Still Waiting” Photo by Justin Norman
“Eternal God…You know that these men have testified falsely against me. Would you let me die, though I am not guilty of all their malicious charges?”
This week the daily mass readings begin with the cry of Susannah, unjustly accused by corrupt officials, sentenced to death in the presence of the people. We read that God hears her. But Susannah is not saved by a bolt of lightning striking down her foes, or by being mysteriously transported to safety. God arouses the Holy Spirit stirring a “young lad,” Daniel, a witness in a crowd of impassive witnesses, and this small person shouts, “I will have no part in the death of this woman!”
People in the crowd are startled. Many had been grieved by the proceedings, but this was out of their hands, the elders, the leaders had decided. Yet here is this stirring, “What did you say?” they ask.
And Daniel says to the people, “Have you become fools, you Israelites, to condemn a daughter of Israel without due process and in the absence of clear evidence?”
In this story, the people respond, turning the tables by turning the accusers over for questioning. It is now they who must prove their case, which they fail to do. So Susannah is delivered, back to her family, and the accusers take her place in receiving the full penalty of the law.
I am struck by how clearly this story illustrates that God moves by moving people. Would this providential delivery have been possible had Daniel not responded to the spirit stirring him to speak? What if the people had not listened? What does all of this mean for us in our time?
Hearing this story for the first time, my thoughts immediately went to an outcry that is currently falling on deaf ears. There are 166 men being held at Guantanamo Bay detention center in Cuba. They are held there without due process, accused in the absence of clear evidence. Their detention is indefinite, a torturous reality. Adding insult to injury, the sacred texts of these men of faith are being tampered with and desecrated, letters from their wives and children are censored or withheld. At Guantanamo, more men have died (9) than have been convicted of a crime (6). The men are experiencing a living death, confined to their tomb until the day that their corpse can be released to their family without fear that it will speak of what it has suffered.
Yet the men there are finding ways to cry out, to God, to their captors, to this crowd of people in the United States, to us. They are using the only tool they have left, their own body, hunger striking. They are not demanding release, only humane treatment, just procedures.
As a woman of faith, I sense the Holy Spirit seeking to arouse a voice in the crowd. We are given the example of Daniel for a reason. God desires compassion and justice and these divine gifts come through people who respond. But what can we do, when the prisoners are not standing directly before us, when the crowd is not crushing about us?
We can still adopt and adapt Daniel’s words, “I will have no part in the death of these men,” “Have we become fools, to condemn men without due process and in the absence of clear evidence?” And we can find the crowds to speak it to, and draw a crowd to speak it with us.
Witness Against Torture (WAT), a group of men and women from across the United States, has been seeking an end to indefinite detention, due process and resettlement for those detained, and the closure of Guantanamo Bay detention center since 2005. Together we are responding to the hunger strikes with tangible actions. Beginning March 24th (Holy Week, for those in the Catholic tradition) we will hold a seven day solidarity fast. Throughout that week we encourage people to call the White House; send letters to the prisoners acknowledging that they have been heard by the public, even if officials have yet to respond; join us for vigils (see witnesstorture.org to find out if there are any happening in your city, or start your own); participate in the fast for a day or more; spread the news in any way you can.
Adnan Latif, a Muslim man who, after eleven years of detention, died at Guantanamo wrote a poignant poem in which he asks, “Who will save the hunger striker?” He died, without ever having been proved guilty of “all their malicious charges.” How many deaths before the cry is heard?
amynee
Ben Anderson sj
joshua
eadawson
ecdiedrich
franciscansisters
jaynep2
jericaarents
lukejhansen
Steven Cottam
Julia Walsh
skhennessey
)
